Stupid Love

by Cindy Miles

  Max Thibodeaux was exactly where I knew he’d be when I drove up. A big man at six foot three inches, he was sitting on the porch swing. When he saw my Jeep, he rose and jogged out to meet me.

  “There’s my baby girl,” he said, hurrying over to me and all but hauling me out of the Jeep. He embraced me, and I laughed.

  “Dad, it hasn’t been that long,” I said against his shirt. His familiar scent hit me, and I hugged him tightly.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, and pushed me back. “Let me take a look at ya, yeah.” Eyes the same color as mine raked over me, head to toe in a quick assessment, and then they narrowed, and he turned me around, then back again. Concern instantly replaced the playfulness that was there a second earlier. And he frowned. “You’ve lost weight, M-Cat. Somethin’ goin’ on?”

  “Damn, Daddy,” I grumbled. “Can’t you just be home for a while?” I play-smacked him on his heavily muscled arm, and gave him a bright smile, hoping to lure him away from the train of conversation he was trying to jump on. “I thought we’d go out for supper—I’m starved.” I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked at him. “So where to?” God Almighty, I’d at least wanted to tell him later. Let him relax a moment or two before jumping into this shitty situation with me. Why in hell wouldn’t he just let that happen? Instead, he had to be so goddamned observant.

  It was several moments under Max Thibodeaux’s piercing eyes before he sighed. “Fine, fine. Steak pie. Let’s go get steak pie.”

  I smiled at him. “Steak pie it is,” I replied. Then, I thought of something else that would take his mind elsewhere. I grinned. “Guess what? I met someone.”

  I sat across from Max Thibodeaux as we dined on McMurty’s Best Steak Pie, at McMurty’s Steakhouse. It was a neat little hole-in-the-wall joint on the outskirts of Killian with a dim interior and wood-slat walls, and decorated with cowboy relics. I wasn’t nearly as hungry as I usually was; trust me when I say I hate it. Because man did I love to eat. My appetite just wasn’t there. It was the weirdest damn thing. My dad, though? Yeah, that man could Put It Away.

  In between bites and big chunks of potato wedges dredged in some kind of magical spicy sauce, my dad eyed me with that Max Thibodeaux Intimidation Glare that worked on everyone but me. “So, tell me. About this boy.”

  I shrugged, a coy smile on my face. “Well, he is…not like any other guy I’ve dated.” I picked up a potato wedge and pushed it around in some ketchup. “He’s older—”

  “How much older?”

  I grinned. “Chill, pops. He’s twenty-five. Very level-headed. Going for his Criminal Law degree.” I felt my eyes light up. “He wants to be a Ranger, like his grandpa. Super respectful. As in, I’ve never met someone so respectful before. Ever.”

  Max’s gaze turned somber. “Did you tell him?”

  My heart dropped. He wasn’t going to let it go. Ever. “No, Dad. Of course not. I’ve only known him a little more than a couple of weeks. That’s not something you drop on a person you’ve only just met, yeah?” I locked my gaze onto his gaze, pleading, willing him to let it go with my eyes. “Jace is—”

  “His name is Jace?” my dad asked.

  I nodded. “Jace Beaumont. Eldest of four. Knows his way around an engine, works full-time at the garage and goes to school full-time, and before that he’s been breaking horses since he was seven. And, he is a pilot.” I said with a grin. “Crop dusts during the summer and fall. And guess what he did?”

  Max chewed on a potato wedge. “Do tell.”

  “He surprised me by taking me to an outdoor movie in the park, and guess what the movie was?” I didn’t wait on him. “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir!”

  Max’s mouth tipped up. “One of your favorites. Did he…like it?”

  I threw my napkin at him. “Of course he did.”

  “Umm-hmm,” he muttered, then looked at his plate several seconds before looking back up at me. I knew by the serious look in his eye what was coming. “M-Cat, you gotta tell him. It’s bad enough you’ve kept it from your friends all this time.” He leaned toward me. “If you think for a second that you like him more than a casual date, then it’s only fair. Now. Why have you spent the entire night pushing your food around but not eating it?” His eyes pleaded, and his voice lowered. “Did you get your MRI results back yet? It’s been weeks now.”

  He wasn’t going to let it go. God, I hated doing this. I wanted to lie. Tell him everything was fine. I knew where this would lead, and I didn’t want it to. Shit! Why was any of this happening?

  “Memory Catherine? You’re scarin’ me.” His hands reached for mine, and I noticed they were trembling.

  I lifted my gaze to his, and the second ours eyes met, he knew. The sounds of McMurty’s fell away, the clanking of silverware and dishes, the quiet hum of patrons’ chatter. It grew muffled, and all I saw was my dad’s big blue eyes watering.

  “Jesus Christ God, no,” he said quietly. His eyes shut briefly, and he cursed.

  “Dr. Cates has asked that you and I come tomorrow,” I said slowly. “He wants to do another MRI.”

  Max waved the waitress down and asked for the check. He looked at me. “Why, Memory? What’s goin’ on?”

  “Not here, Daddy,” I pleaded. “Not here.”

  Max Thibodeaux’s face paled before my eyes. I hated it. Hated that I was the cause of it. And I hated that it scared the living hell out of me.

  It was a quiet ride home, and I slipped a quick look at my dad as we drove. His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead, brows drawn, and a muscle flexed at his jaw. All of the familiar signs of my dad worrying. When he pulled up to the porch and killed the engine, he just sat there, staring ahead. I knew then we weren’t leaving the truck until I told him everything.

  “I didn’t want to worry you while you were on a job,” I began. “After Dr. Cates told me it was back, I couldn’t believe it.” I gave a half-hearted laugh. “It’d been so long, I thought it was gone for good.”

  “How bad?” Max’s voice kinda cracked; my heart kinda broke.

  “Just like before,” I continued. “Only now that I’m older…”

  My dad looked at me. “The risks are greater.”

  I nodded. “I made a decision, Dad.”

  He didn’t blink; but his eyes grew curious. “What do you mean, Memory?”

  “Dr. Cates told me that I had some time to consider surgery,” I said. “That the possibility of shrinking the tumor with experimental medicine might work, whereas surgery, chemo and radiation may not—”

  “There’s no question to the surgery and chemo, Memory,” Max said sternly. “No question.”

  “Dad,” I said, and grasped his hands. “I’m twenty-two. The decision is mine. Don’t you see? I don’t want to risk what I have now. My friends. My college graduation. You. And now this new thing with Jace.” He looked at me, his eyes flashing a frantic kind of terror and anger mixed, but I ignored it, smiled, pleaded. “I want to live, Daddy. I want to have fun. I want to graduate. Not become a vegetable, and then a burden. Or not make it at all.”

  Max wasn’t budging, and his jaw tightened. “What time is the appointment tomorrow?”

  “Two thirty,” I said. “I’ll have to duck out of Dr. Malcolm’s class a little early.”

  He nodded, then silently climbed out of the truck and walked into the house.

  My dad and I didn’t say much the rest of the night; I knew what a blow this was to him. Unexpected. A shock. And I knew, too, that I would always be his baby girl. Not a twenty-two year old with thoughts and decisions that might vary from his. When something troubled Max Thibodeaux, it troubled him clear to his heart. And then he kept it inside. A self-induced sort of suffering. First, he’d almost lost me as a kid. Then two years later we’d lost my mom. She’d gone to the grocery store and all I remembered was a knock at the door, my dad answering it and the police officer standing there, hat in hand. He told Dad my mom had been in an accident, and we’d hurried and dressed and gone to the hospital. I
remember the doctor talking to my dad, and his words she was dead on arrival, Mr. Thibodeaux still stuck in my head. Dad had yelled. He’d sworn in Acadian French. And he’d cried. How much more could he take? Glimpses of the funeral remained in my memory, but mostly visions of my dad’s face. Pale, eyes red; crying.

  I didn’t even have anyone I could talk to about it. Totally my fault, though. As I’d mentioned, when we moved to Killian from Lafayette six years earlier I’d been dogged determined to keep my cancerous past a secret. I didn’t want anyone treating me like I would drop dead at any given second. Whether they meant to or not, it would happen. So I told no one. Not Claire. Not Crisco. Not anyone. Dad had nagged me about it for a while before finally giving up the fight. He knew I’d do what I wanted to do. And for some reason, guilt bit at my insides for doing it.

  And now I’d encountered Jace Beaumont. I wasn’t about to tell him—especially now. We’d only just met. Besides, the experimental medicine may very well work. It had to. I had…too much to accomplish. Too many things I wanted to do.

  Laying on my bed with the lights off and an old Abbot and Costello movie on, my cell buzzed beside me, and I squinted at the neon light. It was a text from Jace, and I was surprised that, despite how dreadful I was feeling, just seeing his handsome face flash on my screen made my heart leap a little.

  Jace: There’s this girl, see? She’s kinda driving me a little crazy. Can’t get her outta my mind.

  A smile pulled at my mouth, and I bit my lip as I typed.

  Me: Hmm. Funny. Sounds a little kookoo. Anyone I know?

  Jace: Maybe. :-) Whatcha doin’?

  I thought about that question. I had been lying on my bed, sulking, my mind going in a hundred different directions. But then, a few words from Jace and that hollow feeling kind of faded. That fascinated me.

  Me: Just watchin’ an old movie and wondering when you’re gonna kiss me again. :-) What about you?

  Jace: Funny. I was wondering the same thing. Busy tomorrow night?

  Me: What time?

  Jace: I get off work at 7.

  Me: I’ll be the one on the porch with a goofy grin on my face. :-)

  Jace: I’m beginning to really dig goofy. :-) ‘Night, Ms. Thibodeaux.

  Me: ‘Night, Mr. Beaumont.

  I watched TV until my eyelids felt heavy, and just before I drifted off to sleep, and the house grew quiet and still, I heard a sound coming from down the hall, in my dad’s room. Ever since I was little, after my surgery, he always slept with the door open. So he could hear me. Now, I heard him.

  And the sound of Max Thibodeaux’s muffled sobs made my throat tighten.

  By the time I pulled into the parking lot at school the next morning—a half-hour early so I could run to the library and print off a few things I needed—I had replaced my fear and heavy heart with the Memory Thibodeaux everyone knew and loved. I’d been doing it for so long it almost came…too easy. It wasn’t like I was trying to be someone else—the Memory they saw was me. One hundred percent. Crazy. Fun. Loving. Carefree. You know, if I had to describe myself.

  I’d merely left out a minor irritating detail or two. I mean, no one liked a Debbie Downer, yeah?

  I’d worn my cream colored slouchy knit hat with a red sweater, jeans and boots. It was the first day of February, and a brisk morning wind cut across Winston’s campus. My head felt pretty good, and maybe the new MRI would show signs of improvement? I had high hopes anyway, and it made me feel a little lighter. Perhaps my stint as an experimental lab rat would turn out okay after all.

  While my papers were printing I ran to the metal artworks section and browsed the books there. I was scanning the selections when a voice came through the books.

  “I heard that the best place to pick up chicks was at the library,” the drawl—smooth and tinged with amusement—said from the other aisle. “Guess it’s true.”

  I smiled, glancing through the books as I walked, and saw Jace through missing volumes, moving in the same direction. “That’s funny, because I heard the best place to pick up guys was at a garage. You know? Like, pretend you need an oil change or something.”

  Jace’s soft chuckle sounded through the rows of books. “You sound experienced.”

  “I am. Once I pretended I didn’t know how to change a belt.” I snorted. “Worked like a charm.”

  Jace rounded the end of the aisle, a grin on his face. He wore a dark gray skully pulled over his head, his green eyes danced, and those perfectly shaped lips curved just right. “I always suspected that one.” He slid his hands onto my hips and backed me against the books. He towered over me, head slightly dipped in my direction.

  My arms crept around his waist. “Teasing. You totally saved me that night.”

  His eyes turned smoky. “No. You saved me.” He glanced once to his left, then to his right, and lowered his head. “I decided I couldn’t wait until tonight to see you,” he whispered against my lips, just before his settled against them, and they were warm, firm, and perfect. My heart plummeted as he deepened the kiss, and my heart quickened. He brushed lightly across my lips, then pulled back and looked at me, a crooked smile in place.

  “Wow,” I said, a little breathless. “I rather dig your lack of patience.” I liked the way his skin was pale—not unhealthy pale, just…from the winter. And his brows and scruff were dark, and his eyes were so heart-melty green, and his lashes were ridiculously thick and long. I lifted my hand and brushed a fingertip over the silvery scar on his cheekbone. “Did you do this on purpose? You know—throw yourself into the fence off that horse?” I asked with a grin. “It’s awfully appealing, yeah.”

  His head lowered again, and those lips swept over mine. “Maybe—”

  “Excuse me,” a woman’s voice interrupted us, and we both jumped and knocked our foreheads together. The librarian’s face showed her displeasure at our smooching between the books. “Your papers are finished printing.”

  “Thank you,” I answered.

  The woman glared at us both and hurried off. And Jace lowered his lips to my ear. “Walk you to class?”

  I giggled. “Absolutely.”

  We hurried out of the library and once outside, Jace slipped my hand into his, tucking it into his pocket. “We kind of have a supper offer on the table,” he said, and grinned down at me.

  “Really?” I asked. “Do tell.”

  “Jasper,” Jace continued. “He lives two towns over and asked me to have supper with him. And when I told him I had plans with you, well,” he laughed. “You just can’t say no to Jasper. Plus, he really likes you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” I admitted. “As a matter of fact, I’d thought about giving him a call myself, so tonight is perfect.” I shot a look at him, and the sun glanced off his skin and my eyes were drawn to the shape of his lips. I swallowed a sigh. Was this really happening? “Will it be too late for him?”

  Jace turned his face toward me, and his eyes held mine, and that slow smile pulled at those lips. “I have a feeling he’d stay up till midnight, just to see you.”

  At the Arts building, he leaned down and brushed a soft, slow kiss across my lips and, when he lifted his head, his eyes were filled with a curious buoyance that I’d not seen in others. “Did you really know your belt was off?” he asked.

  I wiggled my brows and waved. “Bye, Jace Beaumont.”

  He simply stood, that wide, bowed stance, looking pretty damn good in the faded jeans that hugged his hips. He wore a silly grin, and watched me leave.

  After lunch with the gang at our usual spot, followed by an unexpected quiz over the properties of metal, I scooted out of Dr. Malcolm’s class early and headed home. Dad was waiting for me when I walked in, and I set my pack on the floor next to the door and walked right into his arms. Max Thibodeaux had tree-trunks for arms and, although he had the strength to squeeze the breath out of me, they hugged me gently to him instead.

  “Let’s get out of here, M-Cat,” he said, and his eyes told me he’d had v
ery little sleep the night before.

  The February afternoon was clear and sunny, and the wind had tree branches bending as we made the journey to University Hospital just an hour away from Killian. Dad made small chit-chat about his work, crazy antics of the roughnecks on the oil rigs, and avoided any and everything related to the very reason we were in the truck in the first place. I went with it.

  As we pulled into the cancer pavilion and Dad searched for a parking spot, I watched a woman push a man out in a wheelchair and take a bench beneath a tree. I kept my eye on him as we walked in. He was emaciated; bald, with an IV pole connected to the chair, and a bag of fluids going through a pump and lined into his veins. As we passed, he looked up at me, and I looked at him. His sockets and cheeks were sunken into his face; he was frail. He literally looked like paled, fragile hide stretched over bone. Unable to walk because of the extreme treatments he’d been put through and yeah, I knew that with all certainty, having done it once myself. His gaunt eyes followed me, and I gave a hesitant smile before looking away quickly. I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to see it—what his cancer did to the human body. I didn’t want to be here and, suddenly, my chest felt tight with anxiety.

  I knew right then and there that no matter what, no matter how much my dad pleaded with me, I wasn’t going to go down like that. Feeble. Decrepit. A husk of a human casing; a hollowed out shell of the person I used to be, just waiting for Death to come despite the remarkable miracle of Man’s Cure for the Fucking Inevitable. The medicine might work. It might not. Either way, I was going to take what life I had left and live the absolute Hell Out of It.

  I had just wrapped a towel around my waist and was about to take a razor to my face when a knock at the door interrupted me. I was surprised to see Brax there. Must’ve just finished up practice. He wore his uniform; one thigh and a hip covered in orange clay.