by Sarah Ready
Dany stays quiet. But she keeps holding my hand and pulling me forward.
“I was mad at her, so I stayed out longer than I should have. When I got back—” I choke on the word.
“It’s alright. I know,” she says.
Of course she knows. Everyone knows.
But I have to say it. It feels necessary to finally tell someone the truth.
“When I got back, the first building had already collapsed and the fire had spread to the rest of the complex. Fifty of the seventy-one people that died were already dead. My mom was on the pavement. I found her, choking on the smoke in her lungs.”
“Oh no,” says Dany.
“I begged her to be okay. For the first time in my life, I told her I loved her. With her dying breath she said, ‘You did this. Your love is suffering.’”
Dany stops. When she looks up at me, there are tears in her eyes.
“That’s horrible. She’s wrong. That’s wrong,” she says.
“It’s alright.” I pretend to shrug it off. “My aunt took me in. It was fine. Now you know. I renovate buildings so families, poor or otherwise, never have to die because of shoddy building practices. I build so that a kid like me doesn’t have to lose”—I clear my throat—“lose anyone he…”
“Loves,” she says.
“Sure,” I say.
A tear falls down her face. I lift my finger to wipe it away. When I do, I realize that I’m crying too.
Good god. I’ve never cried over the fire. Never. Not during. Not after. Not at the funeral. Never.
“Sorry,” I say. I clear my throat and wipe at my face with the back of my hand. I choke the tears back.
“Don’t,” says Dany. She catches my hand in hers.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t. You can cry if you want,” she says with a wistful smile. “Tears are truth.”
Then she moves closer and wraps her arms around me. Her head rests over my heart.
I put my arms around her as well and we stand there in the afternoon sunlight in the middle of downtown Stanton holding each other.
After a minute she looks up. Her eyes are clear. I think mine are too.
“How about that kebab place?” she asks.
“I’m starving,” I say. Glad that I don’t have to talk more about the fire.
I wonder. Would Dany understand that her helping with the Rose Tower bid will finally allow me to get the absolution I need?
If I had come home earlier, I could’ve saved my mom. I’ve been making up for that mistake my whole life. If I can build this development, a safe home for working families, maybe my penance will finally be complete.
My shoulders relax.
We start to walk again, and I decide maybe I can tell Dany that I want more. Not a family. Not marriage. Not anything about love or feelings. Not yet. But more. We could continue on as we have been. Having fun, making love, living each day as it comes. So that what we’re doing doesn’t have a looming expiration date.
“Guess what?” she asks.
I stop. There’s something in her voice. I turn. Her eyes are lit up.
“What?” I ask.
She smiles. “The doctor says I only need two more treatments of chemo. Then I’m in the clear.”
“What? That’s amazing.” I whoop. Pick her up and swing her around. She laughs then beats at my chest.
“Put me down. Put me down.”
I grin and set her on her feet. She beams up at me. This is the best news.
She’s going to live. Live. I didn’t realize until this moment how scared I was that she wouldn’t.
“That’s amazing,” I say again. “We need more than kebabs. We need a celebration dinner. Champagne. Cake. Deep-fried Snicker balls. Whatever you want to—”
I cut off. There’s a man hurrying toward us.
It’s Shawn.
35
Jack
* * *
What could he want?
At my expression, Dany turns. Shawn waves her down.
“Daniella.” He’s out of breath and takes a second to compose himself. He pulls down the sleeves of his designer suit and straightens his tie. “Daniella, my word. Look at you. You look amazing.”
She tilts her head and smiles at him. Her soft smile, directed at him, hits me in the gut.
I have an overwhelming urge to take her away. Throw her over my shoulder and run. Not hear what he has to say.
Then it’s too late. He grabs her hands. She lets him.
“I’m so happy to see you. You look wonderful. You look amazing.” He looks like he’s about to pull Dany in for a hug.
“Hello, Shawn,” she says. Her voice is breathy.
I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Like he’s starving and she’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. He squeezes her hands and they look into each other’s eyes.
Holy crap. They’ve forgotten I’m here.
I clear my throat.
Shawn’s nose narrows as he shoots a glare my way.
“Look, Daniella. May I speak with you privately for a moment?”
“No,” I say.
Dany frowns at me.
“Now?” she asks.
“Please. Only for a minute.”
She’s going to relent. I can tell.
“Okay. For a moment,” she says.
I don’t know why this makes me feel like hitting something. He was her fiancé. She needs to clear the air to move on. Let go of baggage. Tell pencil neck she doesn’t want to see him again.
She turns to me. “I’ll be right back.”
I close my mouth in a tight line. I tell myself that she may be walking away with him but she’s coming right back to me.
I watch as they have a short animated discussion a few doorways down. Shawn gestures widely. He looks unhappy and desperate. Dany shakes her head and steps back. Shawn grabs her hands. He gets down on his knees.
What the…?
Dany pulls him up. She’s shaking her head again.
Then she says something that settles him down.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
Finally, after a few minutes of heated conversation, Shawn gives Dany a kiss on her cheek.
My chest feels like it’s about to explode.
Shawn quickly walks away without looking back. Which is good, because at that kiss I really wanted to knock his head against the brick wall.
I give Dany a minute. She’s still leaning against the wall in the alcove. Finally, she heads back to me.
“Alright?” I ask.
She nods.
“Do you mind if we head back?” she says in a quiet voice. Her hands are trembling.
“No celebration? We were going to…” Then I can’t avoid it any longer. “What did he say?” I ask.
“He proposed. Again. He wants to marry me. In Hawaii. On the beach. In two weeks—”
I stop. There’s pounding in my ears. I don’t know if she’s still talking. She keeps walking. After five or six steps she realizes I’m not with her. She turns around.
“What?” she asks.
I shake my head.
She walks back to me, but she’s careful not to touch me. Dread fills me. She doesn’t get close enough to touch me. I reach out. She pulls back. The pounding in my ears gets louder.
“What did you say?” I ask. There’s a tight clenching in my chest.
“Nothing.” She won’t look me in the eye.
“You said nothing? It looked to me like you were saying a lot.” I realize my voice is getting louder.
“Well, you know…”
“I don’t. That’s why I’m asking. You told him no?” Please say you told him no.
She shakes her head. “No. Yes. No.”
“What is no, yes, no?” I don’t like the desperate feeling coursing through my veins. That countdown clock may have hit zero.
“I told him I need some time.”
“Are you kidding?” I burst out.
She
looks stunned. “No. I need to think.”
“Why? He’s an ass. He dumped you after a mastectomy. Do you remember what he said to you? If not, I do. I can reiterate.”
Her face loses color. I’m immediately sorry I said it, but more than that I’m angry. And scared. Which makes me even more angry.
“You can’t possibly consider his offer,” I say. My throat is tight and hot. Please tell me you won’t consider his offer.
“Why?” she asks.
“What?”
“Why not? Tell me why not.” She’s pushing me. I can tell.
I shake my head. “Because he’s a jerk. Because you can’t be yourself with him. He doesn’t love you.”
She steps toward me. “And you do?”
I’m speechless at the question blazing in her eyes. Then what she asks sinks in.
This is it. She threw the challenge between us. I can pick it up. Tell her I do love her. That I knew I loved her the second I first saw her.
But I can’t. I don’t know how to say the words. Get them past the fear.
“Do you?” she asks again, in a small voice.
The words are screaming in my chest, but I stay silent.
What if I tell her I love her and then she dies? What if she says…you did this, your love is suffering? What if she leaves? What if…
She steps forward. “What if I told you that I want to have kids? That someday I want to get married and have a big, huge family. I want to be surrounded by love. That all that is on my list. What would you say?”
She reaches out a hand. The question hangs in the air. Will you do this with me?
But the minute she mentioned kids, family, love, everything in me shuts down. I can only see all the families that died, the kids and babies and moms that burned, all of them lost.
I look down at my clenched hands. It’s funny, when you tell someone the truth about yourself, they can use it against you. Did she know what mentioning family would do to me? Is that what opening up about my past comes down to?
“I don’t do families. It’s not on my list,” I say.
The chasm I sensed before widens. She drops her hand.
“Even if it’s with me?” she asks.
“I can’t,” I say.
“But why?”
The lump in my throat falls down into my chest. It burns an angry, hurting heat. Why is she pushing this?
“I see what this is,” I say. I feel like the devil is pushing me forward. Hurt, it says, hurt. “You know you’ll be better soon. All this will be in the past. You can forget about me. About the new you. You can go back to your nice cushy life. Like you always wanted. I was the rebound. I should’ve listened the first time you told me you didn’t want a rebound relationship. Stupid me for not taking you seriously. Congratulations, you get to finish your list. Number ten, have a beach wedding. Check.”
She doesn’t contradict me. She doesn’t say anything at all. She looks at me with a pale, sad face. The distance between us widens and I don’t think I can do anything to stop it.
Then, because I’m a sucker for punishment and there’s a cold misery spreading through me, I plead, “Don’t consider his offer. Don’t run from the life you’re making. Don’t.”
“Why? Tell me why,” she says.
She wants to hear me say I love her. She wants me to tell her that I’ll marry her on the beach, that I’ll give her a family. And I want to. I want to tell her. But I can’t.
“Dany…” I shake my head. There’s burning in the back of my eyes. “Can’t we keep on like we are? Having fun. No complications? What’s wrong with keeping things as they are?”
She sighs, a weary defeated sound. “I’m tired. I want to go rest,” she says.
I stay quiet. Hoping this isn’t the end.
She waits. Her expression growing more distant.
“Alright,” I say. “Okay.”
As we walk back to the truck, our steps heavy, she says in a small voice, “It’s funny, you saying you don’t do families.”
“Why?” I ask, even though I don’t want to know.
She shrugs. “Because you already have a family. One that loves you.”
Sissy. I lower my head. Stare at the ground. Shame, that’s what I feel. I haven’t done right by Sissy either. I keep pushing her away.
We walk back to the truck in painful silence.
From the way Dany sits, and the expression on her face, I know we’re done. It’s all over.
When we get back to the house, she goes upstairs and shuts her door. I don’t stop her.
36
Dany
* * *
I only have two more treatments left. This part of my life, the chemo, the list, all of it is coming to a close. I look at the women around me. Gerry with her lime green velour tracksuit. Cleopatra with her pinched, sour face. Sylvie with her knitting. Matilda with her sweet smile and love of horrible cat T-shirts. I’m so grateful for them all.
I wouldn’t have done all that I have if it hadn’t been for their support and inspiration. We’d been talking about going out for a celebration dinner. A girls’ night out.
I decide to take a plunge and share what’s happened with Shawn. I don’t want to think about Jack.
“How do you all feel about a wedding in Hawaii?” I ask. I’d like to hear their thoughts.
I haven’t responded to Shawn yet. I haven’t talked to Jack either. On both fronts, there’s been silence. Shawn, giving me time. Jack…I don’t know.
It’s been harder not speaking to Jack. I can hear him moving around the house. Brewing coffee. Sanding. Painting. Making a home. But it’s been quiet too. It’s as if I can feel his pain.
But it was his choice. He doesn’t want me. Not even the new me. He doesn’t want any of me. Not if it means commitment. Or love. And I won’t accept that.
So, the silence.
Which is funny, because all the girls have gone silent too.
I clear my throat. “So, uh, Hawaii?”
They all start talking at once.
“Bah,” says Cleopatra. But she is saying it in a happy way with a strange, pinched smile on her face.
“Oh, my dear, I’ll have to finish your blanket right away,” says Sylvie.
“I knew it, I knew it,” says Gerry. She claps her hands and her neon plastic bracelets clink together.
Matilda reaches over and squeezes my hand. “That’s so romantic. I told you he liked you.”
“Oh. No. No, no, no,” I say.
The laughing and excitement dies.
“No?” asks Matilda.
“I’m not marrying Jack,” I say.
“Who else is there?” asks Gerry.
“Shawn,” I say.
They all give a blank stare.
“Who the heck is Shawn?” whispers Gerry.
“My fiancé,” I say.
“That wanker who gave you the cancer kiss-off?” says Cleo.
“You can’t be serious,” says Gerry.
“I am not giving that ogre my blanket,” says Sylvie. She drops her needles.
“Oh, Dany. That’s an awful idea,” says Matilda.
I look around at each of them. I don’t see understanding or sympathy, I see judgment.
“Have you gone off your rocker?” asks Cleopatra.
Gerry shakes her head and frowns at me.
Sylvie gives me a disapproving grandmother stare.
Matilda drops my hand. “What about Jack?” she says.
I look down and see the IV pumping chemo into me. It stings, feels cold.
“What about Jack?” I ask. My voice is laced with the hurt and anger I feel.
Matilda flinches back.
“Rude,” says Cleo. She shakes her head at me.
I defend myself. “Jack doesn’t want me. He only wants me when I’m a short-term item on a list. When I’m fun. He doesn’t want me.” My voice cracks. I hold my breath to stop from crying.
Sylvie lets out a long sigh. “Dear heart, just beca
use Jack is being a nincompoop doesn’t mean you should make bad decisions, too.”
Gerry pipes in, “Getting married in Hawaii would be the stupidest, most chicken-shitted thing you could do.”
“Humph, Hawaii’s for losers and wusses,” says Cleo.
I turn to Matilda, “Anything else to add?” I ask.
She runs her fingers over the iron-on cat on her shirt. “Do you think, maybe, you’re afraid?”
I shake my head in denial. What is she talking about?
“It’s safe going by a list—”
“I went bungee jumping, and got in a bar fight and—”
“But when did you risk your heart?” she asks.
“I was learning to love myself,” I cry. And I risked it with Jack, didn’t I?
She shakes her head no. It feels like betrayal. Matilda has always been my closest friend in this group.
“You said you used to hide behind a mask. This list was another one. More fun. But still a mask. Not once have you risked letting someone see you. Love you just as you are. You haven’t even let yourself,” says Matilda.
She’s so petite, a tiny, gentle, unassuming person. Except, she just packed a punch. It hit hard.
“She’s right, dear,” says Sylvie.
I look at her in shock. They’re turning on me.
I fight at the tears clawing up my throat. It’s really important that I don’t cry. I don’t want them to see me cry.
“I thought you were my friends,” I say.
“We are,” says Gerry.
I shake my head. “No. You’re not. Friends wouldn’t do this. You’re just four women, who happen to be stuck in this god-awful crap hole at same time as me. We were all just unfortunate enough to get cancer and be trapped here together.”
There’s a bitter, astringent smell in the air. I hate it.
“Now, dear,” says Sylvie.
“That’s not fair,” says Matilda.
Over the sound system that awful eighties love ballad begins to play. Again. I hate this song. Loathe it. Something in me snaps.
“Do you know what’s not fair?” I point my finger at Matilda.