The Girl Next Door

by Selene Castrovilla

  He was right. Guilt was a useless emotion, and it had been pretty darn destructive as well.

  I squeezed his hand and promised not to waste any more time feeling bad. Or at least, try not to. But the way he was talking bothered me.

  “You’re acting like it’s a done deal,” I said. “Like you’re already in the past tense.”

  “I don’t mean to. Look, I’m getting the stem cell transplant. Who knows … maybe the treatment will work. But whether it does or it doesn’t, when I leave here, I don’t want to come back—ever.”

  I took in a deep breath, then let it out. “I understand.”

  ***

  Mom and I were sitting with Jess when the door to his room swung open and Gwen strode in, click-clacking in her heels.

  “Well, well, the gang’s all here,” she said, I suppose in greeting.

  “Hello, Gwen,” Mom said. She was the only one who responded; I wouldn’t speak to her unless I had to, and Jess wasn’t speaking to her at all.

  Gwen nodded at Mom. “Ellen.” She came closer to the bed. “Jesse, how are you feeling today?”

  Jess stared at the TV hanging overhead, just as if it were turned on.

  “Still not talking to me?”

  He hadn’t said a word to her since the dinner. He was so pissed, he hadn’t even brought his kitty pillow with him to the hospital.

  “Jesse, may I please speak to you alone?”

  After a few beats of silence, she turned to me. “Well, Samantha, if my son won’t hear me out, will you?”

  “Uh… … yeah, Gwen,” I said. “Sure.”

  Jess grabbed my hand tight.

  She said, “I heard you and Jesse the other night—I heard him tell you he wanted to end his treatments. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop; I was about to knock, but, well, I had this feeling that something powerful was going on in there, between you two. So I listened at the door. I’m sorry.”

  She waited then, I guess to see if I would respond about that. But I was beyond caring about who heard what; and anyway, I’d done my share of eavesdropping myself.

  Jess sat silently, squeezing my hand harder.

  “What Jesse said to you—that hurt you, didn’t it.” It was a statement rather than a question, but I nodded anyway. She continued, “That was such a selfless thing you did—to support his decision. I—I don’t think I could’ve done that.”

  She waited again, but still I said nothing.

  “I saw then … how much you care about Jesse,” Gwen said. “And then I realized that you don’t want to take anything away from me; you just want to give him something back.”

  “Yes,” I said, struck with a sudden affinity. “Yes—that’s it, exactly.”

  Jess’s grip lightened.

  “I’ve thought about this a lot since then,” Gwen said. “You love my son.”

  I nodded again.

  “Then—then he has my permission to marry you.”

  Jess’s hand loosened fully now, resting on mine without grabbing at all. “Mom?”

  “Yes, Jesse?”

  He reached his other hand out to Gwen. “Thanks, Mom.”

  She took it. “You’re welcome, Jesse.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Jess had his stem cell transplant.

  They injected the cells right into the tube in his chest. He had to stay in the hospital another two weeks, until his bone marrow healed. A few days after the transplant, he started getting stronger—a little stronger every day. By the time he checked out of the hospital, he was taking baby steps around the room on his own. So far, so good. But the doctors could do nothing more but wait and see if the treatment had worked—if the cancer would stop spreading.

  Five days after Jess got home, he was up and around again. We headed downtown to the city clerk’s office on Worth Street with Mom and Gwen to get our marriage license. The following Sunday we were married by a judge in Central Park—in our spot.

  Mom, Gwen, Maria, and Teddy were all there. So was Pete. He’d visited Jess a bunch of times in the hospital, and had hung out with us at home, too—the three of us. I’d told them how left out I’d felt; Pete certainly understood, after Jess had cut him out of his life, and they agreed that gender was irrelevant in friendship.

  It was a perfect September day. The weather wasn’t hot anymore, but it hadn’t gotten too breezy, either. It felt like we were finally getting our place in the sun. The air was tinged with the scent of fall foliage and the aroma of warm, doughy pretzels.

  I wore Mom’s wedding gown, of simple white silk. Around my neck was a gold locket, a gift from Jess; there was a picture of him inside. Jess wore a black tux with a burgundy bow tie and cummerbund to match my bouquet. He looked incredible.

  We’d each written our own vows. I went first:

  “Jess, when I moved next door to you fourteen years ago, we felt an instant bond. You were my best friend growing up, and you still are. We played together, then loved together. And while we could say that we’ve been shadowed by sorrow, I’d rather say that we’re surrounded by love, and that makes us the luckiest people on earth. I love you, Jess, now and forever, and I choose you as my husband.”

  Then it was Jesse’s turn:

  “Sam, I’ve always been a few steps behind you. It took the worst thing imaginable happening to me to realize the love we had. I’m so grateful for your companionship, your support, and most of all, for your heart. Today we stand here, where we spent so many hours of our lives together, in our oasis, our own field of dreams. It’s a dream realized to be here, holding your hand. I love you, Sam, now and forever, and I choose you as my wife.”

  Teddy, wearing a miniature version of Jess’s tux, jogged up and presented our rings. We slipped them on each other’s fingers, both of us promising, “With this ring I pledge my love.”

  The judge said, “By the authority vested in me by the State of New York, witnessed by your friends and family, I have the pleasure to pronounce you husband and wife. You may now seal your vows with a kiss.”

  Everyone clapped when we kissed.

  ***

  We went to celebrate at The View, a restaurant on the forty-sixth floor of the Marriott Marquis in midtown. The tables were on a slowly revolving circle, so that you got a 360-degree view of Manhattan while you ate. Watching the city from that high perch, I felt like I was sitting on top of the world.

  We’d done it. We were married.

  Everyone was happy and laughing together. It was a moment for the history books.

  Gwen came from behind and hugged me. I whiffed her breath—she didn’t seem drunk. “Samantha, I hope you’ll join me in putting the past behind us.”

  “Sure, Gwen.”

  “If I must have a daughter-in-law, I’m truly glad it’s you.”

  “Thanks.” Is that a compliment?

  Jess was watching us. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. The day was a big hug-fest, which was definitely a good thing.

  Jess went off somewhere, saying he’d be right back. Gwen sat back down by Mom, then Pete came over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey, Mrs. Parker,” he said, his eyes grinning widely. “I told you not to worry about Miss Pink.”

  Pete was barely recognizable without a baseball cap propped on his head. He wore a deep purple suit with threads of blue and yellow running through it. In the park he’d had an uncomfortable, squirmy kind of look on his face, and he’d tugged at his collar incessantly. I was surprised his tie was still on now; it was loosened, with the top shirt button undone—but still there. He looked relaxed, like he’d grown into his new skin.

  “Thanks, Pete,” I replied. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Anytime, Sam.”

  I sat back down and Teddy bounced over, then plopped onto my lap.

  “Sam, is Jesse my relative now?”

  “Yeah, he’s your brother-in-law.”

  “Then, would you care … ”

  “What, Ted?”
/>   “We’re having special relative day in kindergarten. Is it okay if I bring Jesse instead of you?”

  I smiled. “Sure, Ted. I don’t mind at all.”

  “Thanks, Sam. I’ll catch ya next time.” He hopped off my lap and jumped to the window on the tips of his toes to watch the world go ’round some more.

  Jess came back and kissed me. “Did I tell you I love you today?”

  “I think you mentioned it,” I told him.

  Just then a bunch of waiters came out. One was carrying a cake with two candles burning. They were singing: “Happy wedding to you, happy wedding to you, happy wedding day Sam, and by the way Jesse loves you.”

  “Just in case I forgot to mention it,” Jess said.

  The cake said: “I love you, Sam.”

  “Some things can never be overstated,” he said. His eyes beamed with the reflection of the candles. “C’mon, let’s both make a wish at the same time.”

  We puffed out those candles and everyone applauded. Then Mom clinked on a glass and said she had a toast:

  “To Jesse and Samantha: You came up against life’s cruelty and pain far too early, but by loving each other you found strength, comfort, and even triumph. Both of you sacrificed a part of yourselves for the other. That’s a lesson to us all. I’m proud to be your mother and mother-in-law. Here’s to you, kids!”

  Everyone yelled “Cheers!” and sipped their drinks. Jess and I kissed.

  “Hey, look at this!” Teddy shouted from his seat by the window.

  Outside, a skywriter was hard at work. When he finished, the sky was filled with the fluffy white words:

  “I love you Sam.”

  “Just in case I forgot to tell you,” Jess said, wrapping his arms around me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  October came.

  The wind picked up. Spiky copper leaves fell from the trees, swirling in the wind. And my world crumbled down on top of me.

  Jesse’s cancer was spreading. The treatment hadn’t worked.

  Jess had been feeling okay since getting off his treatment. Just tired, that was all. I’d clutched a delicate feather of hope… .

  Jess didn’t get upset when Dr. Raab told him the news. He thanked the doctor for everything, and he even shook his hand. Dr. Raab asked if he was sure he didn’t want to try anything else. Jess said he was sure.

  I felt like I’d been hit by an eighteen-wheeler. Me and my feather, both plowed down, flat.

  We left Dr. Raab’s office and Jess linked his arm in mine, denim rubbing Windbreaker. Slowly, he led me back down the winding asphalt path dusted with leaves, through the bronzed park, back home.

  He wanted to make love to me; that’s all he asked for. We’d been doing it pretty much constantly. He said he wanted to get in a whole lifetime’s worth.

  I slumped on the bed, lost in my despair.

  Jess touched me. Raised hairs along my arm.

  He caressed me, then whispered, “Focus on our love, Sam. It can’t take that away from us.” Then he touched me… .

  ***

  When we finished, he lay in my arms. “This is how I want it to be,” he said as I massaged the back of his neck.

  “What?”

  “When I get sicker. I don’t want to go back to the hospital. Okay?”

  “Okay.” I still felt numb from the news, but the old tingling pain inched back into my veins. I felt a familiar ache in my chest and wondered, How many times can a heart be broken?

  I’d told him I understood when he’d made the decision to end his treatment. And I did—I understood his reasons very well, and I respected them. But I also hated them. But he didn’t know that. How can I tell him?

  He said, “I don’t want a ton of painkillers, either. I know it’s gonna be bad, and I don’t care. I just want to be aware of every moment I have with you.”

  “Jesse … I heard the pain is unbearable—”

  “They can give me something—maybe I can get the pump I read about in a pain control book, so I can regulate it myself. But I don’t want to be zonked out. I want to have every second with you that I can. I’m telling you now, because I heard that sometimes you can’t talk when … when it gets close.”

  I stroked his arm.

  “Okay.”

  The pain in my heart intensified.

  Fiery.

  Scalding.

  “I want you to hold me just like this—I want you to hold me when I die.”

  I ran my palm over the black fuzz on his head and kissed him. I had everything I could ever want, and soon I was about to have nothing.

  “Okay,” was all I said.

  ***

  But it wasn’t okay.

  My husband was dying. How could that be okay?

  It hurt so bad, but I couldn’t talk to him about it. He’d found his peace, and of course I was glad. But I was at zero on the peace scale, and it was all I could do not to scream or cry at any given moment.

  Dr. Chadwick did his best to help me.

  We worked on the tapping at every session. I’d start on my wrist, tap three times, take three deep breaths in, out, in, out, in, out. Still tapping I’d say an affirmation: “I am loved and will never be alone.” I’d repeat this on every spot covered in the tapping instruction book: the top of my head, my forehead, my cheeks, above my lip, my collar bone, the side of my left hand. As I spoke and tapped against my skin, I’d feel a tingling release … and for a moment I felt lighter. But the heaviness always came back, sometimes in minutes, sometimes in seconds. It was like a boulder on my chest.

  “You’re fighting it, Sam,” Dr. Chadwick would say every time. “You’re resisting your own recovery. Why do you think that is?”

  I never answered him.

  I didn’t care why that was; I was tired of thinking. I was tired of trying to feel better.

  All I wanted to do was curl up and be with Jess—not that it brought me any comfort. It felt like there was a time bomb ticking beside us, set to destroy. I’d wake up constantly, needing to feel him against me, needing to know he was there.

  Due to my mental roadblocks the tapping was a bust, so Dr. Chadwick came on stronger about going to a support group. He’d been bringing it up for a while, but I’d ignored him. Who wanted to be in a roomful of misery? That was how I saw it.

  I could see why Jess needed a group; that was different. Besides going online for support, he’d been heading downtown for meetings in Greenwich Village. Being with other people with cancer helped him so much, because they all understood.

  But what—besides more sadness—was I going to get from meeting other people who’d lost or were about to lose someone they loved?

  Then I came home one day and Jess told me I was looking pale and skeletal—like I was the one who was sick. I burst into tears, feeling guilty that I couldn’t hide my despair from him, that I’d added my burden to his, even though I’d tried so hard not to.

  He held me. And part of me felt so good in his arms, but another part wormed around so much, it felt like it would tunnel right out of my skin. After a while he said, “There’s a group for caregivers that meets at the same time as my group.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Sam … please go to the meeting,” he said softly.

  I couldn’t refuse my husband.

  ***

  I was in a room filled with strangers.

  It was a cozy room, I had to admit. Fluffy, cream-colored couches circled the perimeter of a cozy yellow room; a percolator gurgled coffee on a table in the corner, chocolate chip cookies piled on a plate beside it. Lots of chatting people—women mostly, with a few scattered men thrown in. They were all older than me, some by a lot. It seemed like they all knew each other. Some of them were even laughing.

  It was strange, seeing people in my situation laughing; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d laughed, or even smiled.

  Everyone was comfortable except for me.

  All I really wanted to do was get through it, and g
et back in a cab with Jess. Cuddled up next to him in the cab on the way there, I’d been able to pretend that we were going somewhere else, somewhere normal; that we were normal. But then we pulled up in front of the building and that was that—reality was back. We weren’t normal.

  And yet these people seemed able to function.

  I sat there observing for a few more minutes, and then the meeting started.

  “Welcome, everyone,” the leader began. It was one of the men—a short, balding man who looked to be around my mom’s age. “I’m Tom. We’ll open with the Serenity Prayer.”

  Did everything on earth revolve around the Serenity Prayer?

  We all said it, and then the floor opened for discussion. It was an open night, meaning there was no set topic, and people talked about whatever was on their minds.

  I just listened; I couldn’t begin to open up like they were. It was way too much trouble to even think of where to start.

  I felt like a foreigner; I’d assumed that everyone there would be consumed with their own problems, but they seemed able to function, and able to take care of themselves. The room wasn’t filled with misery. Only I was, which made me feel even more alone.

  They called for a ten-minute break to get coffee. I got up and poured some, more to have an excuse to get up and do something than because I actually wanted it. Lately I didn’t enjoy anything—nothing had flavor.

  A thin woman with short blond hair who was probably in her thirties introduced herself to me as Sylvia.

  “I’m Sam,” I said.

  “Your first time here?”

  I nodded.

  “I could tell. You have that look—the haunted look.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.

  “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” she told me. “We all came in that way.”

  That was hard to imagine; she seemed so at ease. “Really?”

  She nodded. “You’ll feel better one day.”

  I looked at the wood floor, feeling guilty at even the thought of feeling better.

  “It’s not your duty to suffer, Sam,” she said.

  I looked back up at her, startled. It was like she’d read my thoughts.

  “I’ve been there,” she said. She touched my hand. Her compassion was almost too much to tolerate. “You didn’t give your loved one cancer, Sam. You don’t have to feel bad.”