by Alexa Davis
I knew that I hadn’t gotten the job, and while I was pissed off with myself, I was kind of glad, too. An assistant position was far below my skill set, which of course meant that it paid a lot less. Although it would have been something, it wouldn’t have helped too much. I didn’t feel like it would have put a dent in what I needed.
The worst thing about it was that was all I had. If I didn’t get something soon, I would end up flipping burgers or something; then, I wouldn’t be in any decent position to help Mom at all. Why the hell didn’t I save more money in New York? I knew that I couldn't because living expenses were so high there, but it didn’t feel good. I felt like I’d made a whole range of mistakes I couldn't take back now.
I half expected Mom to race excitedly to the door, begging to know how I’d done, but she didn’t. For a split second, I was relieved that I didn’t have to explain myself to her when I really wasn't in the mood, but then I instantly became worried. This wasn't like her at all; where the hell was she?
“Mom?” I called out loudly, walking a little nervously through the house. “You there?”
It was still strange to me to walk through the halls, seeing a different place. I kept expecting to find the old wallpaper up on the walls, and the same photographs hanging in the place where they’d always been. I found the new carpets strange, too... And that wasn't even getting to the inclusion of all my adult, New York stuff being there.
I’d tried to put it all in storage, but Mom really insisted that I didn’t, and I hadn’t wanted to upset her at the time. The only problem was the more I looked around, the clearer it became that it was more my stuff than hers, which made me feel weird.
I didn’t like to think that she’d just accepted that she was going to die because I didn’t want her to give up, but the evidence continued to point in that direction, regardless.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“Up here,” she eventually called, filling me with relief. “I’m in the bathroom.”
She sounded sick, which worried me, but she’d done a lot to reassure me that things had been good at the doctor’s, so I had to believe that.
I hadn’t wanted to go, to face Matthew after everything, so I had lied and told her I had a job interview to go to, but now I regretted that. I felt out of the loop, like I didn’t know anything. I should have pushed my own pride to one side for Mom’s sake. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
“Are you okay?” I asked again as I got back to her side, clearly seeing that she wasn't. She was pale, green, sickly, and hanging over the toilet. “Oh my God, what’s happened? Do you need me to call someone?”
“No, no,” she begged weakly. “I’m fine... I think I just need to get some rest.”
She held her hand out to me, and I took it quickly before tucking myself under her armpit and lifting her upright. She was far too light, but I had to do my best to look past that. I couldn't make judgments when I was so badly needed.
“I’ll be all right in a minute,” she weakly promised me. “I just need a little sleep.”
As soon as I got her into the bedroom, I tugged her top up over her head to try and get her into something more comfortable, and in the next instant, I felt a cold, painful bolt of shock racing right through me. She was thin...really thin. I could see every single one of her bones poking through her body and it made me feel dizzy and sick.
This was bad, it was really bad, and it left me totally heartbroken.
Was Mom going to die? Was this cancer going to kill her? I mean, I knew that I’d thought about it in a hypothetical way to attempt to prepare myself for it, but now it was hitting me like a massive thump in the face. Now I was starting to really understand that I might be left alone, after all.
“I’ll see you in a while,” I smiled weakly at her before lying her in the bed. I pressed my lips lightly up against her forehead as a stray tear fell from my eyes. “You just get some sleep; I’ll come and wake you up in a bit.”
As I moved seamlessly into the next room, the tears gave up trying to stay inside and they simply streamed down my face. I felt muddy, raw, and numb all at once. This was a real struggle, and it was only going to get worse; it was time to accept that.
When I’d moved back from New York, I’d expected things to be difficult, but I hadn’t expected it to be the time I lost my mother. I thought she would be sick, that I would help her back to good health, and that would be the end of it.
Little did I know...
I slumped my head back, falling deeper into the couch as the emotions flooded through me. I felt like I was bursting at the seams, slowly falling apart, and I didn’t know what to do.
“I wish you were here, Dad,” I muttered to myself, desperation clawing at me. “You would know what to do right about now.”
I spotted the picture of him sitting on the mantle, the one that would always be there no matter what, the constant in an ever-changing home. I stood up to grab it, needing to hold it closer to me.
I studied his face intently, seeing a lot of myself within him; we had the same shape of eyes, and very similar cheekbones, and we shared the same smile. We were similar enough to have a lot in common, and different enough to not fall out too much. He really was the perfect dad, and I wished that he’d been around to see me grow up. I wanted him to know the person that I’d become, because I felt a lot of that was to do with him.
The best part about my dad was that he’d always known what to do in any kind of a crisis. Not only did he always have the right answers to any kind of problems I faced, he always managed to lighten the mood, too. He knew just how to make me laugh, even when it felt like the world was piling on top of me, and that was exactly what I needed.
I tried to imagine what he would say to me in that moment, and I knew it would be some very inspiring message about staying strong for Mom because she needed me. That was exactly what I needed to do; it just wasn't as straightforward as it probably should have been.
It didn’t help that I was convinced Mom wasn't being totally honest with me. I had a feeling that she knew more about her condition than she was letting on, that she’d had some bad news at the appointment I missed and didn’t intend to tell me.
She hadn’t even decided on what treatment method she wanted to use yet, which was driving me crazy. Until she made that final choice, we couldn't move forward, and we both knew every moment counted. Each second was important, and I wished she could understand that much.
I had the horrible, gnawing sensation that money was the issue.
“Right,” I muttered to myself, standing up with a newfound determination coursing through me. If it was money she needed, then I would do my best to sort that out for her. I would get back online, back into the grind of the job hunt, however depressing it was, until I got it sorted. I needed to get a job now – any job – and I couldn't stop until I had that goal achieved.
“I’ll do it, Dad,” I told his picture as I set it back down. “I’ll be strong, I promise you that much.”
I logged on quickly and typed in all the same information as I had done the day before, expecting to see all the same job posts, but much to my surprise, I saw a brand-new posting, one that seemed too good to be true.
“Speech therapist,” I whispered to myself in shock. “Seriously?”
I clicked on the post, needing to know more, needing to find out what the downside to this was going to be, but I couldn't instantly see one. It wouldn’t be too different to what I was doing in New York, plus the pay was pretty good, too. I had to pinch myself to check that I wasn't dreaming.
But then my eyes fell on something else: the location of the job.
“Are you fucking serious?” There it was: the issue. The fact that the job would be in Matthew’s office would be killer, so much so that I almost logged off completely, totally disregarding it.
But then my eyes found their way back over to Mom’s bedroom and I quickly realized that I didn’t have much choice. I was going to have to do
this; I really didn’t have any other choice. As much as it killed me, I emailed off my resume with aggravation spiking through my veins.
What would it be like working with him every day? Would I be able to keep my distance? Would it be awkward? I couldn't even begin to imagine it, but then again, my need for money and security was more important than my damn pride. My pride had held me back from too much in my life. I couldn't let it do that again. This was the time to finally make the smart decision, and I hoped that it wouldn’t backfire.
There was a desperate need within me to know more, so without even thinking, I did the thing that I hadn’t done for many, many years. Well...ever, actually. I’d always avoided logging on to his Facebook page before because I knew it would hurt, but with the thought of getting over myself floating through my mind, I searched for him and found his page.
“Fucking hell,” I cursed myself angrily as my heart fluttered at the mere sight of his profile page. Why did he always have to have such an effect on me? Why couldn't I just see him and feel nothing? It didn’t feel fair at all.
The image of him was a very simple, innocuous one of him standing in a bar with a pint in his hand, but it made me feel sick with nerves. How the hell could I be around that man without going insane?
Selfishly, as I closed the computer down, shutting his face away from me, I hoped he would feel as awkward as me and ignore my application. Life would be harder in a lot of ways, but also so much simpler if I just didn’t get the job.
Chapter Fifteen
Matthew
Saturday, Day Of The Lottery Drawing
I couldn't face breakfast alone in my sad, lonely apartment where memories of Ashlee were all over the walls, so I headed to the local coffee shop, instead. Everywhere I looked, all I could see was her: that gorgeous body, her beautiful face contorted in ecstasy, and it was killing me inside. I hated the fact that things had gotten so weird between us all over again, especially considering the way it had gone last time. It was the worst case of déjà vu I’d ever experienced in my whole, damn life.
Why could things never just be simple between us? Why couldn't we just seem to make things work? I didn’t like to think of it as a sign that we simply weren’t meant to be, but how else could I view it?
If I was to learn now that we were never going to make it work, it would mean everything had been for nothing. All that hurt I’d held onto for all those years, all the women I’d hurt just trying to fill up the massive, gaping hole that she left in my heart, the small glimmer of hope I’d clung onto despite myself... It would all come to nothing.
I sipped the hot coffee and took a bite of the toast that was slowly getting colder with every passing moment, wishing desperately that things could be different. I hated the fact that it was Peggy’s illness that had brought me and Ashlee back into the same town, and it was even worse because I’d seemingly screwed things up all over again.
For a split second, I allowed my eyes to slide shut as I thought about how simple things were back when we assumed we had it all going for us. I remembered her lilting laugh, her pouting lips when things didn’t quite go her way, the way her hair fell past her shoulders, growing increasingly messy as the day went on.
I’d loved her so innocently then, so wholly. There was never any of this second-guessing, this confusion, which was making it even more difficult to comprehend. Before Ashlee’s father died, I never had to try and work out what she was thinking or how she was feeling; she always just told me. I wished we could be like that once more.
“Hi, Doctor Turner,” a voice burst out, dragging me from my thoughts. “It’s unusual to see you here on a Saturday morning.”
“Oh, hi, Mr. Smith,” I grinned at him. I knew that we were out of the clinic, and that I could have called him by his first name, but it felt like we had a mutual respect and I wanted to keep that alive. “How are you doing today?”
“Well, I’ve been writing all week,” he told me quite seriously. “Trying to get my book finished, but today, I’m focusing solely on the lottery numbers... Gotta hope again! You never know.” That comment reminded me of my own ticket which I’d slipped into my wallet before washing my pants the night before. “I’ve played my lucky numbers again.”
“You have lucky numbers?” I smiled bemusedly at him. “How did that happen?”
“I played these numbers thirty-five years ago, on the instruction of my late wife June, and I’ve just been doing the same ever since. They’ve never actually been lucky for me, but I figure they must be at some point, right? And today, when the winnings are so high, well, I’m hoping that this is going to be the one for me.”
“Wow,” I nodded happily at him, examining his ticket closely. “Thirty-five years with the same numbers. You are definitely due a win.”
“Well, as it’s on tonight, this might be the last you see of me. I’ll be off if I win the billion dollars, exploring every inch of this wonderful planet,” he joked, which had me laughing loudly. “If not, I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“See ya then!”
As he shuffled off, I glanced around the coffee shop, wondering how I would feel if I won. Would I be as desperate as Mr. Smith to get the hell out of Florence, or would I want to stay among the people that I’d known my entire life? I couldn't imagine living anywhere else, existing with other people, which may have made me a little closed minded, but that was just the way I preferred to live my life. Travelling around and living everywhere might have been Mr. Smith’s idea of happiness, but mine was right there.
Of course, I could have been a whole lot happier, but I was trying not to think too much about that one.
*****
The television was playing in the background as I set about cooking a sad meal for one. I used to think that only having myself to truly worry about was awesome and I wouldn’t change it for the world, but it seemed that now that Ashlee was back, my entire view had been shifted, and everything that had once pleased me no longer did.
Maybe if we’d just met now and we didn’t have our complicated history, if we’d just met in the bar and she’d come back to my place, she would be with me, cooking alongside me, making jokes, laughing at me, generally making me happy.
Or maybe I would have simply viewed her as another one night stand, not worth my time for anything more serious...
“...and this week’s rollover lottery number are...”
I was half listening to the draw, but not as intently as I probably should have been. Instead, my mind was flickering all over the place, picturing different scenarios with Ashlee, wondering what would have been best for us.
“...seventeen...”
As I did that, I stirred idly, trying ensure my food didn’t burn. I’d been known for leaving food to bubble over and burn more than once because of outside distractions and I wasn't in the mood for that. I felt mentally and physically exhausted, and all I wanted to veg out and not think anymore.
“...four...”
My brain was so busy thinking over everything, dissecting absolutely every detail, and I almost couldn't handle it anymore. I just wanted to forget.
Wait...
Seventeen and four – I was sure that I had those numbers. Maybe I was about to win something, after all! I grabbed hold of my wallet and searched frantically for the ticket, finally feeling the first burst of excitement about what could actually be.
“...thirty-two...”
“Shit,” I muttered, noticing that I had that one, too. My heart thundered loudly in my chest as I realized that this was the closest I’d ever been.
“...fifty-two, thirteen, twenty-three...”
“Fuck,” I fell backwards, a buzzing so loud in my ears that I almost couldn't cope. I had all those numbers. I’d damn well won it, and my life was about to change forever.
I was about to go from small-town doctor to billionaire. My debts could be sorted, I could continue to run my practice for the people, I could afford to pay Ashlee if she decided to work
for me, and I could even help Peggy with her treatment if she let me.
But then a horrible, cold sensation began to creep right through me as I considered the reality of being a lottery winner. I’d seen a documentary on it once, and it had haunted me for a very long time after, a feeling that was coming back. The winners always said that the money and the publicity that came with it had ruined their lives. People always crawled out of the woodwork, whether they were begging for money, blackmailing you, or selling stories about your sordid secrets to the press, which was something that I couldn’t handle.
Suddenly, all the women I’d slept with in my one-man mission to get over Ashlee flooded my mind, and I imagined them telling the world about me. Some of them I’d done some very kinky things with; on occasion, I’d fucked them in my doctor’s office, and I’d always treated them just a little bit like shit.
What would happen to my practice if that all came to life? I felt like I would lose everything, and that terrified me. Sure, I could have a whole load of money, but I loved my job, I relished my business, I wanted to help others, and I didn’t want that taken away from me.
No one would want to see the doctor who had been involved in a threesome, or who had explored the joys of anal sex with one very willing young lady. Of course, now I could see that I had been just pushing life’s boundaries, trying to stop the pain from eating me alive, but I highly doubted I could get the rest of the world to see that.
I remembered Talia, the sexy model who was just passing through town. Riley, the cougar librarian who had been surprisingly wild. Sara, the baker who had caused an argument with her husband, just to have a quick, back-alley screw with me.
I pictured all of them flooding back into my life, demanding things, yelling at me, making me feel awful, and a panic attack started to form in my chest, making my heart hurt under the pain of it all. I couldn't cope with my past mistakes coming to light; I never wanted to think about them ever again. As soon as I was done with those women, I wanted to just forget about them, and up until that moment, I’d managed to do that quite successfully.