He shrugged, then stared at the red stripes on the wallpaper.
“How ’bout a breakfast bar?”
“I guess.” His voice was low and he still wouldn’t look at me.
“Sweetheart—” Tangy anguish twisted inside me as I fought to find words for him. Everything sounded so damn false. It was like Dr. Chadwick said—trite clichés did nothing. So I said the one thing that rang true: “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he quietly told the wall.
***
When I came back, Jess was still staring at stripes.
“Jess?”
He looked at me—at least that was something.
I gave him the breakfast bar, then put a glass of milk and his meds on his nightstand. “Thanks,” he said softly.
“Are you gonna study today?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think so. You go ahead, though.”
“That’s what you said for the last three days. How are you going to get everything done?”
He shrugged again. “Who cares, anyway?”
“Jess … all right, I’m not going to argue with you. But will you at least come sit with me in the park?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Sam.” His eyes moved to the wheelchair, and if he could’ve, I knew he’d have shot out lasers to disintegrate it. “I’m not going anywhere in that.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not that strong. I’m practically killing you with my bathroom trips.”
“No, you’re not.” I took his hand. “Please?”
I hated that look in his eyes, that hollow look. Just past sad, just short of defeat. But at least he held my stare.
I climbed into bed next to him, pressed close and felt his heart pounding. I risked a real kiss, in broad daylight. Gwen would have gotten quite the eyeful.
“Okay,” he said, many heartbeats later. “And—might as well bring a book for me, too.”
Gwen blocked the hallway like a stiff sentry. She thought it was absurd for us to walk to the park and told us so in her usual diplomatic way. She said we should take the wheelchair, and that’s why it was there. And just the mention of that stupid chair struck Jess dumb.
I said we’d manage just fine and guided him past her. Then Maria popped her head from the kitchen and offered to help, but I said no thanks.
Once out the door, we kept having to stop and take breathers, leaning against walls, furnishings in the building, and the brick facade outside before making the sluggish journey across the street.
Finally, we were there. And it was worth it—what a spectacular day to be in the park. The shade cooled things off, the air was sweet with the scents of flowers and grilled sausages, and the birds were doing their chirpy thing. Zippity-do-dah.
We didn’t go to our spot—it was too far; but I settled for a big, thick tree to sit under, near the entrance. I propped Jess against it and sat facing him, unpacking our books.
“Comfortable?” I asked, handing him the play he had to read for English: Shakespeare’s “Henry the Fourth, Part II.” He’d just finished part one when he got sick in January.
“Uh … yeah,” he said. I understood—he was as comfortable as he was going to get.
I took out my math book and tried to think trig.
“Hey,” Jess said softly. “Sam.”
I looked up. “Yeah?”
“I still wanna do it, you know.”
“Do what?”
“Get married.”
I put the book down in the grass, moved close to him, and held him. He looked so sad, so lost, like a kid determined to do something, but with no idea how.
We hadn’t talked about getting married since the night before he started the chemo. He’d gotten sick so fast. I’d wondered if he’d forgotten his proposal, or maybe changed his mind. Either way, there didn’t seem a reason to bring it up, though. And really, it seemed so hopeless, the idea of us getting married. How could we? It’d been enough that he’d asked, that he’d wanted to marry me. It’d been enough to put me at ease, to know that he truly cared that much.
“I’m sorry I haven’t talked more about it. It’s just … I’ve been so sick.”
“It’s okay, Jess,” I said, taking his hand in mine, interlocking our fingers.
“But we need to plan… . ”
Could he really mean to go through with it—to actually get married?
“Sweetheart, we can’t get married without permission.”
“So, then we’ll get permission.”
The thought occurred to me that the chemo had affected his brain.
“Jess, your mom isn’t going to let us get married.”
“Why not?”
Is he serious? “Have you met Gwen?” I asked.
“She’s been cool, she’s been better lately.”
“Not that cool.”
“We’ll see,” he said, squeezing my hand.
It was nice, his planning our wedding. I just hoped his intentions didn’t come crashing down like everything else had.
“We’ll see,” he repeated as his pulse beat into my palm.
***
The opportunity to see just how cool Gwen was came sooner than expected when we woke up the next morning and found her glaring at us.
How could I have fallen asleep with Jess? Stupid, stupid.
“Isn’t this a lovely sight,” she said.
“It is, actually,” Jess told her.
“Is what?” she asked.
“It is a lovely sight,” Jess said. This was it—he was coming clean about us. His tone wasn’t daring or confronting, it wasn’t snotty or sarcastic. It was strong and clear, and it said “enough.”
Gwen wasn’t sure what to make of this so she waited for more, saying nothing.
“Mom, the last time you found Sam and me in bed, when I said we weren’t lovers, it was true. We weren’t.”
Gwen raised her eyebrows at what she had to know was coming next, but she kept quiet.
“But things happen, and then people realize what they maybe should’ve figured out sooner but didn’t. And then things change.”
Gwen blinked, elevated her brows even farther, but still said nothing.
“Mom, Sam’s my girlfriend now.” As if to provide a visual to further explain, Jess took my shaking hand in his. I was freaked, sure that this was the end of my staying over.
Gwen cleared her throat. Then she swallowed saliva. I watched her gulp and I waited: would the woman ever speak?
Finally, she did. “I see.”
There was a great silence as we all took in the implications.
Then she said, “It would’ve been nice if you could have … been honest … told me… .” Her voice trailed off.
“You weren’t very open to honesty, Mom,” Jess said.
“Right,” she said, then cleared her throat again. “Well, then … ” She turned away, like she was leaving.
“Mom,” Jess said. She turned back, looked at him. “Things are different with us now, too. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you.”
She nodded. Then she said, “I bought you some Essiac—it’s an herb that’s supposed to help fight cancer. You make tea with it. That’s why I came in here, to see if you wanted some Essiac tea—”
“I’d love some Essiac tea, Mom.”
Chapter Twenty-five
It was the night before Jess was going back in the hospital for his radiation and stem cell transplant. He was going to be in there for at least three weeks.
He wasn’t thrilled, needless to say, but he was glad his chemo was ending.
We were having dinner in the dining room as a send-off. Mom and Teddy were invited, too, and Jess had decided that this would be the perfect time to announce our engagement. I had my doubts, but he’d been further encouraged by Gwen accepting us and not giving me the heave-ho. It was nice she’d accepted me as Jess’s girlfriend, but … girlfriend was a far cry from wife.
We all sat a
round the long rectangular black lacquered table: Mom, Gwen, Maria, Teddy, Jess, and me. Maria had roasted a turkey and made all kinds of dishes to go with it: stuffing, wild rice with mushrooms, garlic mashed potatoes, sauteed string beans, grilled peppers, corn, salad, and three kinds of pie for dessert.
It was like Thanksgiving in August, except the room was more Halloweenish: black wallpaper with red flecks, a black lacquered china cabinet to match the table and chairs, a misshapen chandelier with sharpened fragments of glass dangling from it, and more creepy modern art on the walls—The Addams Family goes art deco.
Teddy looked gawgeous in Mom’s pearls and a fuchsia silk scarf wrapped around his head like a designer babushka. On his feet were my prom shoes, which he’d reminded me the day before that I’d promised he could borrow sometime, and then informed me that yesterday was sometime.
I’d dug through my closet, found them buried under an avalanche of novels I’d knocked over searching for something else. They were covered in grass stains and soil, and battered by books—not a pretty sight. I’d handed them over to Ted with trepidation. He inspected them with a frown, then made a disapproving clucking sound.
“Dirty, and crushed,” he’d said, glaring at me, but slipped them on anyway and clomp-clomped out of my room.
Tonight Teddy kept us entertained, relieving us from the task of conversation by displaying his vast knowledge of the alphabet, numbers, continents, and French. His pre-K teachers had taught him French words and songs, so we were serenaded as well.
When Maria put out the apple, cherry, and lemon meringue pies, Jess told everyone our news.
“Sam and I want to get married.”
He didn’t get the response he’d hoped for.
Everyone kind of stared. After a few moments of silence, except for Teddy tapping his fork on the table and humming “Frere Jacques,” Maria said, “Good fo‘ you!” She jumped up, came around the table, and gave each of us a big smooch on our cheeks.
Mom said, “I have to think about this a little. You guys don’t understand what it means… .”
I’d expected that kind of reaction from Gwen, but not from Mom. “What more do we need to understand, except that we love each other, Mom? It’s not like we’re going to set up house somewhere.”
“Absolutely not!” Gwen jumped from her chair, shoving it back with such force that it teetered and almost fell. She banged her fist on the table, rattling the plates and pies. “Enough of this lunacy! There absolutely will be no marriage!”
Teddy got spooked by this. He leapt from his chair and ran from the room, and then Mom threw her napkin down and went after him.
Gwen stood there glowering at Jess and me.
“Mom,” Jess said, his voice low and shaking, “Can’t—can’t you be on our side?”
“No, Jesse. I can’t.” Then she focused on me. “Isn’t it enough, what you have of my son? Do you mean to cut our legal ties as well, to take him away from me completely?”
“Gwen, I—it’s not like that—” I sputtered, but before I could get any more words out, she turned her back on us and left the room, leaving Maria, Jess, and me with a whole lot of untouched pie.
***
Mom coaxed Teddy back into the dining room, which was a lot easier when he saw that Gwen had left. Then Mom cut him a piece of apple pie. No one else felt like eating anymore, and for me, that was saying a lot.
“Mom, did you think about it yet?” I wanted at least one of our parents to approve, and the whole thing was downright depressing at that point.
“Oh, what’s the use, Sam?” Jess muttered quietly. He’d been crushed by Gwen’s words. “We can’t get married without my mom’s permission. Just take me to my room, okay?”
I was too down myself to even try to cheer him up. I stood up, then bent to lift him.
“You’re right Sam,” Mom said. “I did think about it, and you’re right. I don’t know why I hesitated. You two deserve to declare your love publicly, and officially.” She nodded her head with approval. “I want you to be married.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said.
Jesse was still grey. “Yeah, thanks, Ellen. But there’s one problem—we need both our parents’ consent.”
Mom bowed her head. “Sorry I can’t help you further, Jesse. But maybe—maybe Gwen’ll come around, too.”
I hoped so, for Jess’s sake even more than for mine.
It meant so much to him, to be my husband. It was like he felt if he could just have that, then he’d have some kind of control again, some kind of power over his own life. I knew he thought it would make up for all the injustices he’d suffered, being sick.
I didn’t see it that way, really, but I wanted desperately for him to feel some relief. And I wanted him to have some kind of peace, like the peace he’d given me with his proposal.
And it seemed as though everything hinged around control: Gwen thought I wanted what was left of hers, Jess was struggling to get a smidgen of his back, and once more I felt completely out of control.
***
Jess and I lay in bed, holding each other. He shifted around, like he just couldn’t get comfortable, and his pulse was racing.
“Jess, don’t be nervous about tomorrow.”
“I’m not—well, okay, I am … but it’s not that.”
“Is it Gwen?”
He shook his head no. “Sam, I made a decision that you need to know, since it affects you, too.” He looked so serious.
“What is it?”
He took my hand. “If this clinical trial doesn’t pan out, I’m stopping my treatment.”
I yanked my hand away and clutched at the covers. “No, Jess!”
“Yes.”
I started to say something, but his face told me there was nothing more to say.
“I’m through being a lab rat. I’ll do the complementary medicine, stuff like that, but I’m done with the hospital torture chamber.”
I held back my tears. I wanted to be supportive, even though I was feeling a queasy, fracturing kind of pain in my chest, and I knew that my heart was breaking.
“Okay,” I whispered, barely able to get the word out.
“You understand, don’t you? I want to enjoy my time left with you.”
This was it—what I’d really been afraid of.
This was the result of talking to God.
Mom said it wouldn’t hurt me—she was so wrong.
Jess, spouting on endlessly about gratitude; he had his peace. But what about mine?
I patted his leg, felt the fragments settle inside of me. I simply said, “Okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Two days later, they radiated Jess’s entire body.
I went in to see him as soon as he was done. He was sleeping; I should have known he would be. When he’d had radiation on his spine, on the tumor, it’d wiped him out. I could only imagine what having rays sweep through every cell in his body did to him.
I stood just inside the door, staring at his red skin. His words from the other night came hurling back at me, hitting me with a jolt, waking me up.
Jess’s decision had made me feel abandoned, and I felt like he’d failed me somehow. But now I wondered: Have I actually failed him?
I’d pushed him into that bed, prodded him into fighting for that 4 percent chance, and taken away some of the time he could have enjoyed in the sun. He’d missed out on the sunshine, and yet he looked burned. Now that was irony.
Why had I insisted, bullied him into this? For him, or for me? I’d wanted him to fight, and to try everything, but wasn’t that selfish when I wasn’t the one whose life was at stake?
Why was it so hard to know right from wrong, to see which choices are good ones, or the right ones? For 4 percent, for a supposed cure that so far had cured no one with his kind of cancer. Was it my choice to make?
I stepped closer and he opened his eyes. They were dim, almost extinguished. He gave me a weak smile.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I said, giving
him a kiss. “I guess I don’t have to ask how your day was.”
He laughed, but it turned into a cough.
I sat in the chair next to him and took his hand. I held it while he fell back asleep.
***
“I’m so sorry, Jess,” I said the next day.
“About what?” His eyes were a little brighter, thank God. Not back to normal, but brighter.
“I’m sorry I made you do this. This treatment.”
“Don’t be sorry. Maybe it’ll work.” His voice was soft.
“But you—you don’t think it will.” I nearly choked on the words.
He looked away from me, at the wall. His answer was a whisper. “No.”
“You never did, did you?”
He turned back and looked me in the eye. In a stronger voice, he said, “No.”
“Why’d you do it, then?”
“For you.” He reached for me and I took his hand. “Because you wanted me to fight.”
“But you said you didn’t want to die—”
“I don’t, but I’m going to. I know it, Sam. Don’t ask me how, but I know it. And that’s okay—I accept it. But I’m also grateful for each moment I have, and I want to enjoy them. If I keep doing these treatments and buy a little more time… is it worth it to live in this stifling hospital room?”
He went on: “Someone posted a description of life on the cancer support website that I really like. They compared life to a stained-glass window, with each colored pane being a different part. Our health is only one piece—one we usually ignore. But when we get sick, it clouds up and we can’t see through it, but we stare at it, as if it’s the only pane there is. Then we ignore the beauty of all the other parts. But I want to look through the whole window, Sam, and I can’t do that here.”
I wasn’t crying, but I was damn close.
“Don’t be sad, Sam. We’re all going to die, we can’t escape it. I was miserable, I was feeling sorry for myself, but you changed all that. Your love touched me, and it was the beginning of my road back.”
I clenched his hand and didn’t say anything.
“Don’t feel bad about what you did or didn’t do. Please don’t. What will that do, besides take away time from us?”
The Girl Next Door Page 14