Five
CANCER.
His son had cancer.
Oh God.
A hundred different emotions hit him at once. A hundred questions. How? Why? When? It wasn’t until Hope started talking that he realized he’d asked his last question out loud.
“Joshua was diagnosed a little over six months ago. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. We began treatment immediately and everything seemed to be going well. At the end of his treatments, Joshua was in remission and it was like being given the gift of him all over again. Life went back to normal. Doctor’s appointments became almost routine, and then at one appointment the doctor told us . . . the doctor t-told us . . .”
The catch in Hope’s voice snapped Nick out of his numbness. For the first time since she’d told him of Joshua’s illness, he looked at her. Really looked at her. And what he saw tore him apart.
Her face had gone white and her lips trembled with barely-contained anguish. Tears streaked down her cheeks. And her eyes. God. The pain in them was a blow to his own soul.
“Everything was s-s-supposed to be o-okay,” she said, and he could see how hard she was struggling for control. “Joshua was supposed to be fine. After his appointment we were going to a music store in the University District to try out the guitar he’d been saving for.” Her words caught on her tears.
She looked impossibly young and vulnerable standing in front of him with her eyes full of fear and a world of pain stacked on her small shoulders.
He felt her heartache as clearly as he felt his own. Before he could stop himself, he reached up and wiped her tears away.
He couldn’t shake the image of her standing in the doctor’s office, happy and excited and thinking about the day ahead. Then, with just a few words from the doctor, their world had been ripped apart once more.
Everything was supposed to be okay.
Her words burned through him.
Joshua was supposed to be fine.
Emotion clogged his throat.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps that seemed to almost break her in two. She looked up at him, tears streaking down her face. “I-I d-d-don’t know if I’ll be s-s-strong enough for him again.”
“Oh God, Hope.” The years slipped away and once more they were teenagers with nothing or no one besides each other to shelter them from the stormy world. Without thinking, without remembering what had or had not been said during the last sixteen years, he gathered her in his arms. She stiffened but he didn’t let go. He kept his arms around her, holding her, gently rocking her. A sob caught in her chest and a shudder swept through her, but still she held herself erect as if she’d only had herself to rely on for so long she was afraid to let anyone else in.
“Please,” he whispered. “Lean on me. Let me help you.”
“I can’t.”
Nick swallowed hard and tightened his embrace. “You don’t have to shoulder this all by yourself. I’m here.” He leaned forward and where his fingers had earlier traveled, drying her tears away, he kissed those same spots. Tentative at first, he brushed his lips across her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her bottom lip, trying to let his actions communicate the feelings he couldn’t put into words. He pushed her hair away from her face, kissed the tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Hope,” he breathed as he tilted his head back and looked into her eyes.
Her eyes echoed his own pain, his own need to reach out and find solace. At that moment it was as if they were the only two people in the world. When he bent down, she met him more than halfway. Their lips touched.
The blast of a nearby car horn had the effect of a bucket of cold water.
Hope jumped back. She touched a trembling finger to her mouth, her eyes full of confused bewilderment. “No . . .”
“Hope.” Nick reached out for her.
She stepped back. “I . . . I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“Hope,” he said again as he tried to close the distance between them, only to have her retreat once more.
“This wasn’t why I came to see you.” She stepped back again. “I only wanted . . . I only meant . . . Oh, hell.” She released an uneven sigh. “I only wanted to talk. To tell you about Joshua.”
A gentle wind battled with her long hair and blew it across her face. She tucked the loose strands behind her ear only to have to repeat the process seconds later. “You’ll get tested? To see if you’re a match?”
“Of course.” Her doubt irritated him.
At his instant answer, her shoulders sagged. “Thank you.”
Thank you?
Thank you?
Her gratitude burned a path straight to his gut. Was she really thanking him for helping his own son?
He clenched his jaw to keep from responding. Now wasn’t the time to tell her what he thought of her thank-you.
She dug through her purse and pulled out a business card. With only a slight hesitation, she closed the gap between them and handed him the card. “This is the name and number of Joshua’s doctor. Please call him. He will make the arrangements for your testing.”
Nick took the card. “I’ll call immediately.”
“Thank you.”
His jaw set again at hearing those two words he’d just now come to despise.
“Well, then.” She took a few steps back. Her purse strap slipped off her shoulder; she readjusted it back on. “Dr. Parker will let me know the results so there’s no need for you to call . . . What I mean to say is, since we won’t need to see each other again, this is good-bye. And thank you, Nick. Thank you.”
Nick barely heard what Hope was saying; he was too intent on the card in his hand. Dr. Thomas Parker, Pediatric Oncologist.
Doctor.
Oncologist.
Letters so small they should be rendered all but insignificant, but if anything, their diminutive size packed an even more devastating punch. Made the horror of what he’d learned this evening all that much more real and yet unbelievable at the same time. Nick looked back up, ready to try to explain it to Hope. But she was halfway down the boardwalk, hurrying away. And then he remembered what she’d said.
We won’t need to see each other again.
This is good-bye.
“Go ahead and run,” he said into the night, grabbing for his cell phone, ready to move heaven and earth to save his son. “But this is far from good-bye.”
* * *
HOPE shut her front door and locked it. Closing her eyes, she sank against the smooth wood and drew in several deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart.
She’d kissed him.
Kissed. Him.
She dropped her purse and keys onto the tiled entryway. The small thud and jingle echoed loudly in the too-quiet, too-dark, too-empty house.
Oh God, what had she done?
Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t agreed to Susan spending another night at Chelsey’s. Maybe if her daughter were here, distracting her, Hope would be able to shake the memory of what had happened. But she feared nothing could.
Her fingers brushed across her trembling lips. It was almost as if she could feel his hands on her again, wiping her tears away, supporting her in his strong embrace. She closed her eyes, tried not to remember . . . but heaven help her, how was she ever going to forget?
But she’d have to. This time she wasn’t going to give him a second chance to break her heart, because her heart wasn’t the only thing at stake here—so were her children’s. And their well-being, their happiness, meant more to her than anything.
Nick had agreed to get tested. That was all that mattered. And if he was a match—God please please let him be!—she knew Nick would be in and out of their lives with as much impact as a television weatherman. There was no way he would stick around for any length of time.
Determined, she pushed away from the door an
d headed into the kitchen, flicking on the overhead light as she entered. She turned on the burner under the kettle and waited for the water to heat. Maybe a cup of tea would help.
The answering machine flashed red, indicating she had several messages, but she ignored them. No doubt they were creditors. She knew it wasn’t the hospital; they’d call her cell if she didn’t answer the home phone. The creditors could wait another day to hear from her. Instead, she picked up the phone and dialed a number she knew by heart.
This call had become a nightly ritual between Hope and the nurses on Joshua’s floor. It didn’t matter how many hours she spent at the hospital, she still needed to make this one last call before she went to bed. If it wasn’t for her job or Susan, Hope would have long ago taken up permanent residence alongside Josh, gladly sleeping on the floor if it meant being able to stay close to him. But even if that had been possible, Joshua didn’t want that. He wanted life to remain as normal as possible—as impossible a feat as that was. But for his sake, Hope did her best. She’d do anything for her children, and if that meant smiling when she didn’t feel like it and rambling on about the most mundane of things, that was what Hope would do. So to please Joshua she filled their hours together with commonplace things, trying her hardest to coax a smile from him. She told him about their neighbor’s new escape artist puppy who would wander over to their back door and whine until he got a treat. And heaven help Hope if she wasn’t there to indulge him. The little terrier terror would dig holes in her front yard until his tummy was satisfied. She regaled Joshua with the latest antics of their postal carrier, Mrs. Langstein. A lovely woman who, for the past decade, ever since her husband had passed, had taken it upon herself to play matchmaker. Time and time again, she’d purposefully misdelivered the single people’s mail on her route in hopes of making a love connection. And then there was Mr. Baxter, a retired aeronautical engineer who now filled his days with gardening. He’d turned his front and back lawn into rows upon rows of vegetable beds. Many nights, Hope (like all her neighbors) would come home to find a generous bag of fresh-from-the-garden vegetables on her front porch.
They were silly, seemingly unimportant things, but Hope knew how much Josh liked hearing them, so before she arrived at the hospital, she made sure she was well versed on any and all of the happenings from their little community in Tranquility Bay.
Retrieving a mug and teabag from the cupboard, she waited. On the second ring, Mary, an older woman with grown children and pictures of her half-dozen grandchildren prominently displayed at the nurses’ station, answered.
“Hi, Mary. It’s Hope.”
“I was just thinking it was about time for your call. And before you ask, Joshua’s fine. He hasn’t woken up since you left.”
“Thank goodness. This morning was tiring, but I know the visit with his friends did him good. Hopefully took his mind off tomorrow’s treatments.”
“Yes,” Mary said with a familiar sympathy.
“Do you happen to know if Dr. Parker got back the test results?”
“I haven’t seen them, but I’ll double-check if you like.”
“No, that’s okay. He didn’t think they’d be back until tomorrow anyway.”
“You know what they say. No news is good news.”
“Yeah,” Hope said without conviction. Once, she’d believed in that. Now—now she knew the truth.
Melancholy threatened to settle above her like a dark cloud, and Hope quickly changed the subject, forcing it away. “So, how many more days till you leave?”
“Two and counting,” Mary replied. “Hawaii. Can you believe it?” She gave a slight laugh. “Frank and I haven’t gone on a trip since . . . well, since I don’t know when.” She laughed again. “I’d say we’re due.”
Hope smiled. “Overdue. If I don’t see you in the morning, have a great time.”
“I’ll bring us all back a lei and a little of that magical white sand. We could all use a little magic. Now you get some rest. Your Joshua is in good hands.”
“Thanks, Mary. For everything. Good night.” Hope hung up the phone and leaned back against the counter. She knew Mary was right; she knew he was in good hands, but every minute she wasn’t with him she felt torn. Worry gnawed at her and guilt burrowed in and refused to leave. Her son needed her, and she needed to be there with him. And then there was Susan . . .
A fresh wave of worry swept through her. She had two children, but with Joshua needing so much of her time and there being only so many hours in a day . . . There just wasn’t enough of her to go around.
Lean on me.
Let me help.
Nick’s words came back to her.
Right. Lean on him. He’d give her as much support as a cooked spaghetti noodle.
The kettle whistled. She was just about to pour the boiling water over her dry teabag when she stopped and then set the still-full kettle back on the burner. Tea wasn’t what she needed.
But what did she need?
The answer eluded her.
She flipped off the kitchen light intent on heading to bed, where she was sure she’d spend another night tossing and turning. But as she was leaving the kitchen, the blinking light from the answering machine caught her attention once more. For all of two seconds, she was tempted to continue to ignore it.
She pressed the button marked Play.
Not surprising, the first two messages were from creditors. She’d tackle those later. The third call was from Ben.
“Hi, it’s Ben. I know you’re at the hospital but I didn’t want to bother you on your cell—and we all know I can’t text.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you and am here whenever you need me.”
The machine clicked off.
For several long moments she stood in the darkened kitchen, staring at the answering machine. It was late but not too late to return Ben’s call, but still she made no move to call him.
Unbidden, her thoughts returned to Nick and the kiss they’d shared—the kiss she’d actively participated in. A fresh wave of remorse hit her. How could she have let him kiss her? And worse, how could she have kissed him back?
He’d abandoned her, that was true. But that was in the past and she wasn’t a teenager anymore. Passion didn’t rule her heart and her actions. She was stronger. Some (Dana) would even say jaded. But that wasn’t true. Now Hope knew what to value. Her children, always. And if and when the time was right, someone like Ben. Someone steady and thoughtful, patient and understanding. If she needed a shoulder to lean on (which she didn’t) Ben would be there for her. And for Joshua and Susan. All she had to do was pick up the phone and he’d be there.
Nick came when you called, her traitorous heart reminded her.
Yes, but he’d leave again. Jetting off to one state or another. To this race or that. To that redhead or that brunette. He hadn’t changed a bit in the last several years. His exploits were legendary and accessible to anyone with an Internet connection.
Hope didn’t delude herself. Nick’s kisses might set her on fire, but Ben’s were like a warm, comfortable blanket. No highs and no lows. Ben would be home every night and not in a different time zone or country each week. She could grow old with him.
But could she love him?
Yes, of course she could. Ben was the man for her.
* * *
“WHERE have you been? I call, you don’t answer. I leave messages, you ignore. Do you have any idea what I’ve been going through? I’ll tell you what I’ve been going through. Hell, that’s what. I’ve been dodging calls from the whole damn country.”
Nick held the phone away from his ear and let his business manager rant and rave on the other end. After over ten years of working together, Nick could picture Ken stomping around his house, yelling into the phone and pulling at his already thinning hair. A short man in his early fifties, wi
th a potbelly and the tendency to never wear matching socks, Ken Sterling was nothing to look at, but what he lacked in physical attributes, he more than made up for in off-the-charts intelligence. A former CIA man, Ken had worked behind the scenes, gathering information where others had failed. His financial genius had netted the government billions. But for all of his success, after more than two decades, Ken was ready for a change. So with his passion for racing and his Midas-like touch with money, he’d sought and carved out his ideal job. Over the course of the last ten years, Ken Sterling had more than quadrupled Nick’s investments. But right now, Sterling’s problems were far from the top of Nick’s list of priorities.
Had it really been only less than an hour ago when Nick had learned the devastating truth about his son? It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then.
The knowledge threatened to cripple him, but if there was one thing Nick had learned during his years of racing, it was that if you stopped moving, you were run over in the dust.
In the last three quarters of an hour he’d placed over a dozen calls, talked to the people he needed to talk to, and left messages when they weren’t available. Sterling had been one of his last calls.
“Nick? Have you heard a word I said?”
Nick stopped his pacing. “No.”
The distinct clink of ice being dropped into a glass and liquid being poured came across the line. “I hope you’re listening now because we have problems. Let me recap. Pepsi is threatening to sue because you missed the shoot. Noble Oil—you remember them, don’t you? Your sponsors? Well, they’re climbing the walls—and me—because of Pepsi’s threats. I’ve been playing patty-cake with the producers from the Diane Sawyer special, keeping them content until I could reach you and nail down a date for the interview. And Dale,” Ken said, referring to Nick’s crew chief, “Dale is convinced you’ve been kidnapped by the opposition. And I’m not even going to mention the race this weekend.”
Business matters were the last thing on Nick’s mind at the moment. “Patty-cake, Ken? I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Boardwalk Summer Page 6