by J. L. White
In the half second that follows, strangely numb, I count forward.
Ten days.
Chapter 26
Mason
It’s been an interesting week with Corinne. I haven’t seen her much until yesterday, because she’s up at Hartman and I’m down here in Swan Pointe, but even on the phone and video chat, she hasn’t been herself.
I’ve asked her a couple times if she’s nervous about her upcoming MRI, and she denies it every time, but that has to be it. It started with the phone call, and hasn’t let up. She’s trying to be her normal self, I can tell. But there’s an undercurrent of somberness. When she thinks I’m not looking, I’ll catch her staring off into the distance, her brows in a tight knot, and her mouth drawn down.
I want to ask her cousins if it’s always like this for her, but even though we usually see at least a little bit of them when she comes to Swan Pointe, we haven’t this weekend. When I asked her about it, she said, “I just want to be with you this weekend.”
I spend all day Friday and half the day today trying different things to cheer her up, only with moderate success. Then, as we’re finishing up our burritos from The Burrito Bar not far from my work, I get the perfect idea. More than perfect. It’s fucking brilliant.
Corrine
We’re supposed to be heading back to Mason’s Place, but he takes what I think is wrong turn on State Street. “Where are we going?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
Two days.
“Okay.” I take his hand and squeeze. I smile at him, trying to keep all my recent anxiety away.
Two days.
I want to enjoy every second I have with him. I don’t want to ruin it. Not yet.
Two days.
It’s been incessant. And ominous.
I give myself an internal shake, as I’ve had to do so many times recently. “Do I get a hint?” I give him what I hope is a playful smile. I don’t feel very playful, truth be told, but I’m trying.
“A hint,” he says. “Okay. Bones.”
“Bones?” I face forward. We’re turning onto Mitchell Street. “Are we going to the cemetery?” That was stupid. We’re nowhere near the cemetery.
“Uh… no.”
I wish I’d kept my guess to myself. I don’t need to reveal how morbid my thoughts have been lately.
“Here’s a different hint. This should make it easy.”
“Okay.”
“Four legs.”
“Four legs?” Then I realize what part of town we’re in. “Wait a minute.” I look at him and he has this ridiculously huge grin. But I really, really hope he’s not taking me where I think he is. “Um…” I say, and then the building comes in sight.
I’ve never actually been here before, but I stalk them on Facebook almost every day. Well, not for the last week or so. It’s a brown, one story, nondescript building, with a plain black sign that reads, Humane Society of Swan Pointe.
“What are you doing?”
“You said you can’t have a dog because of your apartment, right? What if we get you one now, and it can stay with me until you graduate and have someplace to bring him?”
I’m shaking my head. This is a bad idea. Really, really bad.
“No. I should wait. The dog will think it belongs to you. It’ll get confused when we try to bring it—” I stop.
Bring it where? I still have no plans for living anywhere else besides Lizzy’s old place. I don’t know if I’m even going to have to worry about it, now do I? Why the fuck would I want a dog? What the fuck am I supposed to do with a dog if I get sick? How is that fair? As if things aren’t bad enough right now. As if I wouldn’t be giving up enough already.
“It’ll be fine. As much as we see one another, the dog will know you, too. Besides I’ve seen you with dogs. They all love you no matter who they belong to.”
He’s parking the car. He’s turning off the engine.
“No,” I say, apparently too quietly.
He’s opening the door.
“No!”
He freezes, and looks at me.
“No. No, I’m not doing this.” I’m not acting right. I know I’m not. I should just come up with some sort of reasonable explanation, and not get so upset. But I’m not getting out of this car. I’m not going in that building. I’m not looking at all those animals and having to walk out of there without one. Because we’re definitely not going home with some poor dog.
If he wants to get a dog on his own, that’s his business, but it can’t have anything to do with me. I’m still shaking my head.
“Okay, okay. What’s wrong? I thought you’d like this.”
“Well, I don’t. Can we please go?”
He shuts his door and starts the car and we pull out of the parking lot. I don’t even look at the building. I look straight ahead. We don’t talk. I should try to fix this, but I can’t.
Two days. Two fucking days. Two goddamn fucking days.
What’s wrong with me? It’s not like I’ve never done this before. It’s not like I don’t know what to do. Why am I losing it already? I can lose it later if I have to, but I shouldn’t be doing this now.
I can’t seem to help it, though. When we get to his house, he apologizes, as if he’s the one who did something wrong. But I still can’t make it right.
We get out of the car, and instead of heading for the door, I just head to my car. “I think I’m going to go.”
“Corrine, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would upset you.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I promise. I just need a nap. I’m just really tired and I need a nap and you haven’t done anything wrong, okay?”
I’m sorry, I think. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
“I just need a nap, all right?” It’s a ridiculous thing to say, because it’s six o’clock at night. Who takes a nap at six o’clock at night? But I can’t stay here right now. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t have a conversation with him and try to pretend everything’s okay.
He pulls me into his arms. “All right.”
I hug him tightly, tucking my head down against his chest, pinching my eyes shut. I squeeze him tighter, and he squeezes me too. Tighter, I want to say, but I don’t think it’s going to help. There’s no magic for me today. There hasn’t been for a week. Because even though I’ve been allowing myself to believe that there’s safety in Mason’s arms, the reality is, there are some things he can’t protect me from.
Two days.
I squeeze him tighter. I want to stop time.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” he asks tentatively.
But I’m about to lose it, so I shake my head and pull out of his arms and go to my car, not knowing what to do next.
I end up at Lizzy’s, because of course I don’t need a nap. She and Brett and Little Max are sitting down to dinner, but she takes one look at me, pulls me aside, and asks, “Are you okay?”
I instantly realize this is not where I should have come. Talking about this is only going to make it worse. I need to just put my chin up. Try to get it together. I need to just do what I always do.
Why haven’t I called Connor and gone on an adventure? I haven’t even been thinking about my bucket list. I’ve just wanted to spend time with Mason, and then I go and do this. Why did I freak out so badly on him?
Lizzy and I are sitting on her staircase. I close my eyes and rest my forehead on my clasped hands, taking a deep breath. “I’m just having a weird day. I’m okay.”
She’s rubbing my back slowly. “You don’t seem okay.”
Well, two fucking days. What does everyone expect?
I exhale, far more frustrated with myself that I am with her. She’s not expecting any more of me than I expect of myself.
“I’m just, I don’t know. I’m a little stressed out. I’ll be okay. Sorry for interrupting your dinner.”
I start to stand, and she stands with me. “Are you worried about your MRI?”
I fold my arms, look toward the game table, shrug my shoulder. That’s about as much talking about it as she’s going to get.
“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
I adore my cousin, but why the fuck do people say shit like that when they have no fucking clue if it’s going to be okay? They don’t know any better than I do, or the doctors either. We’re all just stumbling along wishing for the best.
But I know better than to pin my hopes on wishes.
“I’m going to go home.”
“Are you all right?”
“I just need a nap.”
“Okay.”
She gives me a hug and tells me, again, that everything will be okay. She says it with a big smile, like that’s all it takes to make things so. But I understand she means well, so I smile back and let her believe I’ve been comforted.
By the time I get to the car, I finally know who I need. I think about texting, but call instead.
“Hi,” Rayce answers. “What’s up?”
“Can we watch a movie?” I don’t have to pretend with him.
“Just you?” he asks soberly. He knows what this is.
“Yeah. Are you busy?”
There’s the briefest of pauses, then, “No. Come on over.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
When I get there, he already has blankets on the couch and an obscenely huge bowl filled with popcorn. He likes the super buttery microwave crap. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t want any, anyway.
As I approach the couch, he grabs one of the blankets and starts to wrap me up in it. I tuck my hands under my chin and hang on to it like a lifeline as he wraps it around and around. When I was little, he’d wrap me up like this and call me “little burrito.” Back then, my biggest problems were the bullies at school who’d pick on me for my size.
Over the years it’s turned into this thing we do. Sometimes it’s so long in-between, that I wonder how he knows without me coming out and saying it, that this is what I need. But he always does. He did it when my parents split up and I had to move away and leave everyone. He did it a few times when I was sick. I don’t know how he ever, as a kid himself, figured out that sometimes I just need to be wrapped up and comforted by my big cousin.
It’s not the sense of safety Mason gives me. Rayce has never had magic that deep. But it’s still good, and I need it.
He’s tucking in the last corner, and keeps his eyes on his task as he asks, “Want to talk about it?”
He always offers. Sometimes I take him up on it, eventually. But often I don’t. I shake my head.
He looks me in the eye now. “You remember our deal, right?”
I furrow my brows, not sure what he’s referring to.
“If anyone hurts you…”
“No. God, it’s not that.”
He nods briefly, satisfied. “I didn’t think so, but I had to ask.”
We sit down, him in his work clothes and black socks and me in my blanket cocoon. It used to feel so cozy and safe. But this deep pit in my chest is still aching.
He grabs the popcorn bowl, brings it onto his lap, and puts his arm around me. I lean into him, praying to God this will help me feel some comfort.
He tilts the bowl slightly toward me, offering. I shake my head.
“Thinking about your test?”
I nod. I guess that’s all it is, right? But it’s not like I’ve never faced an MRI before.
He doesn’t comment. He doesn’t tell me it will be okay. He just gets us settled in deeper, hugs me more securely, and reaches for the remote. This is something I can always count on from Rayce. He rarely makes me talk if I don’t want to. He knows when I just want someone to sit with me and not pretend.
He pushes play, but has to push pause again because there’s a quiet knock at the door. It’s almost like whoever it is wasn’t sure if they wanted to be heard.
I look at him questioningly, wondering if he’s expecting someone.
He pulls his arm off me, puts the bowl on the coffee table, and gets up. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappears into the foyer, and I hear the door open. This is followed by whispering: his low voice and someone I don’t recognize, I don’t think. A woman? I don’t hear the door close, but he appears again, heading for the bar in the kitchen. He’s glancing around, then spots something on one of the black stools.
I see it too, then. It’s a little black clutch.
He grabs it, holds it tight by his side away from me, and goes back to the door.
Jesus.
There’s more whispering. This time I can make it out.
A woman: “Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll call you later.”
I hear a brief kiss and the door shutting again, but I’m off the couch, shrugging out of the blanket.
He comes back in, frowning when he sees me. “What are you doing?”
“You weren’t working late. You had a date.”
“Yeah? So?” He grabs the blanket from the floor and throws it around my shoulders again. I’m letting him wrap me up again, but maybe I shouldn’t. I’m an adult now, and he’s an adult too with a life of his own. Maybe I shouldn’t lean on people like this anymore. Maybe my demons are too big for this now, anyway.
“God, Rayce, you should’ve told me you had someone here.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is.” This isn’t right. I don’t even know what I’m doing.
“I just met her. She’s not as important as my little cousin.”
I almost forgot what it was like for people to disrupt their lives for me. I hate this. God, I hate this. I start to tear up.
“Hey, little burrito.”
That only gets the tears flowing harder. I’m falling apart. I wasn’t supposed to do this here.
“Whoa there.” He holds me by both shoulders and pulls me in. “What is it? This seems like more than the test.”
I nod against his chest. It is, but why? Why? Why am I hurting so much this time?
“What’s got you so upset?”
“I don’t know,” I say pitifully.
“How can you not know?”
But I just shake my head.
“What do you need? What can I do for you?”
I don’t know. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just need to feel safe, even if just for a little bit.
“Can we just watch the movie? Please?”
“Okay. I’m sorry. Come here.” We get settled in again and he starts the movie, giving me what I want. He holds me tightly in my little cocoon, and I lay my head against him, and wish and wish that none of this had ever happened. I wish I’d never had cancer. I wish I could’ve had a normal life. Why did this have to happen?
But even as badly as I feel, I at least have enough wits about me to know that’s a dangerous road to go down. So I stop. I make myself focus on the movie. I focus on being very still, a little burrito protected by my big cousin.
But I’m not a child anymore. And the person I need to make me feel safe is Mason. But he can’t give that to me right now. If he saw me like this, he’d make me talk. And I don’t want to talk.
I just need to be with someone I know will be here for me no matter what, and Rayce is blood. I don’t need to feel guilty about his commitment to me through the worst.
Chapter 27
Corrine
When I get home, I’m more calm, resigned to face whatever is coming. I go into the spare bedroom and the closet where I’ve stashed a couple cardboard boxes. The closet is otherwise empty, and I never come in here. Tonight though, I’m feeling the need to take stock.
I sit cross-legged on the floor, pull the flaps on one box, and lightly rummage through my collection of hats and scarves. Some of them are from America, but most of them are from all over the world. Connor was still living on his boat back then, so in between visits he’d pick up a Rasta cap or beret or something
like that, and bring it back for me.
Some of the hats are too impractical to actually use. I preferred the soft ones that I could wear lying down. My favorite was actually a head wrap he got from South Africa. But it was still fun to have some of the other ones. He made it fun, even though it really sucked.
I run both hands through my hair, letting the long strands lace through my fingers. I grabbed a lock by the end. I pull it taut, and mark my finger just below my shoulder where it ends.
Took me two and a half years to get to this point.
I sigh, looking over probably the coolest hat collection anyone dying of cancer could ask for, but I so don’t want to fucking need it again. I sit there for a while, absently running my fingers over the soft fabric of the scarves, along the hard rim of the Gaucho hat.
I do the same in the other box, then lift out one of the journals that’s at the bottom. I thumb through it, the pages flipping rhythmically, but not reading it. I remember fine what it was like.
I stay there for a while, sitting quietly in the silent house until things are more quiet and silent within me. Then I slowly close the boxes, and tuck them back in the corner.
Two days.
I’m going to make them count.
Mason
Corinne has to take a day off school Monday for the test, because she has to take it in Swan Pointe. I’ve taken the day off work as well, and go with her. She said there was no need for me to, and that I’d just spend most of the time bored to death in the waiting room. But I told her I wanted to be there. She didn’t fight me on it. Her meltdown on Saturday scared the hell out of me, but the last two days have been better.
It’s a beautiful day, so I pick her up on my bike. As she comes out of her house and sees me on the bike, she stops short and stares at it.
“Should I have brought the truck?”
“No. I just realized, we haven’t done a road trip yet. Why haven’t we done that yet?”