by Ivy Black
“What’s his name gonna be, prez?” Domino calls.
Prophet smirks at me. “Since you’re working this whole James Dean vibe, we picked out a special name for you.”
Doc laughs. “Turn your kutte over.”
I do as he says and look at the nameplate above the right breast. “Spyder,” I read with a laugh. “The car Dean died in. That’s a little morbid.”
“Thought you’d like it,” Prophet says.
“I do, strangely enough,” I say, then look up at Leadership, giving them all a nod. “Thank you.”
“Like I said, kid, you earned it,” Prophet says.
“And I have a feeling you’re gonna earn it ten times over before this is all done,” Cosmo adds.
It’s a sentiment that doesn’t only send a chill down my spine but also seems to steal over the entire room. We all know the storm is coming and we want to be out ahead of it before it breaks.
Spyder Preview
Chapter Two
Bellamy
“How are you feeling, Mom?”
“Like I’m dying. How are you?”
The burst of inappropriate laughter is out before I can stop it. But it’s quickly followed by the heavy weight of guilt and grief pressing down on me. I know gallows humor is the way my mom deals with things—it’s always been her way. She’s always said she’d rather laugh at the darker side of life than give it power by fearing it or letting it take hold of and control her.
I used to think it was an admirable way to handle things. I used to applaud her for being so rational and even-keeled in how she dealt with adversity. But now, as I look at her lying in her enormous bed, her small, frail frame engulfed by a massive and fluffy comforter and pillows that seem too large for her, I want to smack her for being so darkly humorous. This isn’t funny. This isn’t a game.
“I wish you wouldn’t make jokes like that, Mom.”
She grins. “Then, maybe you shouldn’t laugh at them.”
“Mom,” I say more sternly.
“What? It’s true. There’s no tap dancing around the fact that I’m dying, Bellamy. And pretending otherwise isn’t going to change that fact, dear. So, given the choice between lying here being miserable all day and having a few laughs, I’m going to choose the laughs every time. You should know that about me by now.”
I let out a long breath. I do know that about her, but that doesn’t make this any easier. She’s always been a small woman, but now, she looks so small and so fragile. She looks diminished. The ovarian cancer is ravaging her body and she’s wasting away before my very eyes.
I sit on the edge of the bed and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze and she offers me a small smile. The disease might be destroying her body, but she’s still got that spark of intelligence as well as that familiar glint of mischievousness in her eyes. Physically, she might be deteriorating, but mentally, she’s still very present.
But I know it’s only a matter of time before those lights are snuffed out and she’ll become a little more than a hollowed-out shell of her former self. It’s a thought that tears my heart into pieces every single time it passes through my mind. I try to keep from thinking dark and despondent things, but I can’t help it. I can’t keep those thoughts at bay entirely. And I hate that I can’t. I don’t know how much time I have left with my mom, but I don’t want to spend it miserable any more than she does. I want to enjoy every last moment I have.
“I wish you hadn’t come back here, honey. I know what you gave up just to be here and I hate that you did it because of me,” my mom says.
“I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t, Mom. How could I not be here when you needed me most?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t need you here, honey. I’ve got nurses and others who look after me,” she argues.
“Strangers shouldn’t be looking after you, Mom. That’s my job.”
A sorrowful look crosses her face and I know what she’s thinking. It’s true that I’d built a life for myself out in Colorado. I was a well-respected teacher, was working on becoming a homeowner, and had been dating. Nothing serious, but I’d been slowly working on opening myself up enough to the possibility of love—something I wasn’t sure was possible in my life.
But when I got the call telling me my mother had ovarian cancer, I gave it all up and returned to Blue Rock Bay—something I told myself I’d never do, once upon a time. Don’t get me wrong, Blue Rock is a nice city. It’s a great place to live, to raise a family, and build a life. It’s just too small and confining to my liking.
Having spent the first eighteen years of my life here, I was hungry to see more of the world. And so, I traveled for a year after high school—mostly through Europe—then took the academic scholarship I was offered to go to the University of Colorado. I got my bachelor’s, master’s, and teaching certificate from Colorado, then went to work there. Built my life there.
“I am glad to have you here, honey. It’s so good to see you,” she says.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back for your birthday. I wanted to, but I couldn’t get it worked out.”
“Oh, that’s all right, sweetheart. I was happy enough that you did the video conference thing with me,” she tells me, which somehow adds another layer of guilt to the heap I was already feeling.
“Well, we won’t have to worry about it now, since—”
“Since I might not make it to my next birthday,” she says with a cackle.
“Mom! You are awful,” I say, unable to help myself from laughing along with her despite myself.
“That I am,” she replies. “And even though I hate that you gave up your life in Colorado to be here with me, I’m glad you’re here all the same.”
“Me too, Mom.”
A soft knock on the bedroom door draws my attention and I turn to see Nurse Ranovich, my mom’s day nurse, standing there.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s time for me to give your mother her medication and a bath,” she says, her voice slightly colored by an Eastern European accent.
“Of course. I’ll see you for dinner then?” I ask.
“Looking forward to it, honey.”
I walk out of my mom’s room to let Nurse Ranovich do her thing and head upstairs to my room. I sit down in the chair at my old desk and spin around, taking it all in. The countless memories of this place come flooding back as I soak it all in. Of all the places in the world I thought I’d end up, back in my old room in Blue Rock would have been last on the list.
It’s not that I was unhappy here. In fact, I had a happier childhood than most people I knew. My parents loved and doted on me, and though we didn’t have the kind of money some of the other kids I grew up with did, we were comfortable enough. But then, my dad had a heart attack and died in my sophomore year in high school and my entire world was turned upside down.
The shame fills me as I think back to those days after my father died. I was so caught up in my own grief that I never stopped to think about how my mom felt. He was the love of her life and she was so happy. I guess I never stopped to think about the hole that had been ripped in her heart when he passed. Having never had a soulmate myself, her grief was different than mine and it never occurred to me that she might be hurting every bit as much as I was.
After my father passed, I acted out. I lashed out. And it pains me to remember what a horrible little bitch I was to her. It was then that I decided I needed to get out of Blue Rock. I remember vowing to myself that once I got out, I’d never come back. The happy little bubble of childhood I’d lived in had burst and I wanted nothing more than to put the grief and the anger I felt at having my father taken away from me so unjustly in the rearview mirror and never look back.
Of course, once I got to school out in Colorado, I started missing my mom and our home. Not enough to go back, but having been away for a while, and learning to cope with my own grief through my own therapy, I wa
s able to let go of a lot of the anger inside of me, recognizing it as a childish response.
So, I was finally able to bury my pride and call her. And I’m glad I did. We spent some time together and grew as close as we used to be. Closer perhaps. Even though I was living in Colorado and building my life there, my mom was genuinely happy for me, and it didn’t diminish the bond that had been rebuilt between us. Which made getting that phone call feel like an absolute punch in the gut.
I’m not ready to let go of my mom. I’m not ready to say goodbye. And it makes me kick myself again and again whenever I think about all the time that I wasted being a petulant little girl. Knowing I wasted years being mad and keeping her at an arm’s distance is a regret I am going to live with for the rest of my life. I have no idea how much time she has left—not even her doctors can say with any real certainty—so all I can do now is try to make up for the time I lost because I’m an idiot, by cherishing every last second that I have with her. And that’s what I plan on doing.
Getting to my feet, I grab my bags and throw them on the bed, then start to unpack, placing all of my clothes in my old dresser and closet. Literally nothing has changed in this room. All of my old things are right where I left them. It’s as if my mom hermetically sealed my room like a time capsule.
After getting all of my clothes put away, I decide to leave the boxes for later. And since I’m here for the long haul, I’m also going to have to make arrangements to have all of my other things currently filling my mom’s garage sent to storage. But that’s all going to have to wait since I have an appointment to keep.
* * *
An old threat reborn. A newfound love. A showdown that could end it all.
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See you on the inside,
Ivy Black