Butterfly Dreams

by A. Meredith Walters

  What a horrible thing for her to say.

  The pressure that put on me was suffocating.

  It was too much for my teenage brain to compute. Too much for my young heart to handle.

  In that moment I hated her for putting those expectations on me.

  Expectations I knew I’d never be able to live up to.

  “I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Harrison for as soon as possible,” I wheezed into the phone.

  “Hi, Corin, how are you?” Lynn asked, recognizing my voice.

  I hadn’t been seeing Dr. Harrison that long. I should probably be concerned that the staff could already identify my voice without me having to give my name.

  “I’ve been better. Which is why I want to make an appointment. I woke up this morning with swollen lymph nodes and I’m in a lot of pain,” I explained. I sat up in my bed and tried to stretch out my limbs. I could feel the telltale ache in my groin.

  “Okay, well, there’s an opening tomorrow morning. Does 9:00 work?”

  I covered the phone and coughed. It sounded phlegmy. And my chest did feel tight. I knew there was a nasty strain of flu making the rounds. I wondered whether I had contracted it. I had gotten the flu vaccine as soon as it became available, but maybe it was one of those mutated strains that was drug resistant.

  My panic piqued and I squeezed the phone to my ear. “He doesn’t have anything available today? I’m feeling really bad.”

  “Let me put you on hold a minute and talk to Dr. Harrison,” Lynn said.

  “Okay. Please let him know how bad I feel,” I emphasized.

  “I will. Just one minute.”

  I listened to John Tesh for three agonizing minutes. By the time Lynn got back on the phone, I was ready to dig my eardrums out and stomp on them.

  “Dr. Harrison said to have you come in for some blood and we can run a flu test as well as some others. Then you can come in tomorrow and we should have the results. We’ll expedite the lab work.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. That sounds good. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll let the nurse know to expect you.”

  I hung up and got out of bed, slowly making my way to the shower.

  I didn’t think what I had was the flu. It felt more serious than that. With very little time to spare I opened up WebMD and looked up my symptoms.

  A few minutes later I was pretty much convinced that I had throat cancer.

  He stopped breathing and the doctors and nurses rushed into the room, making me leave. The long, steady drone of the monitor pierced my ears. He had flatlined.

  His heart wasn’t beating.

  “Don’t leave me, Dad,” I whispered, watching from the hallway as they worked on him.

  But he did leave me.

  Just like Mom.

  And I was alone.

  At least the feeling was familiar.

  I thought about Beck and how quickly your life could change. He had been a healthy, active man, and in the blink of an eye he died.

  Well, those were some warm and fuzzy thoughts for first thing in the morning. I really should have taken a job writing Hallmark cards.

  It was already eight-thirty. I needed to get to the shop in an hour to help Adam open.

  And I was supposed to go to Geoffery’s service with Beckett that evening. A funeral was just what I needed when I was obsessing about my own mortality.

  That would provide fodder for my neurosis for months.

  Once I was showered and dressed, I got into my car and headed toward Dr. Harrison’s office. I called Adam and let him know I might be a few minutes late. He seemed unsurprised. That should probably bother me. But I was too distracted by dying to think much about it.

  I wondered whether Geoffery would be in a casket or if he had been cremated.

  If he was in a casket, would it be open? Would we have to look at his waxy, dead face all evening?

  I would have shuddered at the thought if I didn’t hurt all over.

  I knew that I wanted to be cremated.

  I had put in a lot of thought to how my remains would be handled. I had planned my funeral in excruciating detail years ago.

  My will had been written and I had already completed a Do Not Resuscitate form in the event that one day I fell into a coma and was being kept alive by life support.

  I knew that I never wanted to be left a vegetable.

  I didn’t want a prolonged hospital stay when the time came and I was approaching the end.

  I had given my sister a copy of everything. Of course she had laughed at me and told me that I was ridiculous.

  As if I could ever hope she’d understand.

  She didn’t know what it was like to live every day knowing it could be your last.

  She had no freaking clue.

  The lucky bitch.

  My service would be understated. I had picked out a beautiful poem by Christina Rossetti that I wanted to be read. Not by Tamsin. She’d just mess it up and put no passion into it all. Adam wouldn’t be much better with his surly demeanor. In the funeral arrangements I had left the reader undecided. Maybe they could just pull a random off the street for the honor.

  I knew that I wanted Sarah McLachlan’s “I Will Remember You” playing in the background and I had requested roses of every color.

  For all the planning I had put into my own funeral, I hated going to them. I had only been to two. And those two had scarred me forever.

  “Why aren’t you dressed yet, Cor?” Dad asked from the doorway. I was still lying in my bed, burrowed underneath my covers.

  “I can’t go, Dad,” I said hoarsely.

  “You have to go, sweetheart. You can’t let down your mom.” Dad’s voice hitched and cracked and I saw him look away so I wouldn’t see his tears.

  Too freaking late.

  I was all too used to the sight of his grief. It was the same horrible thing I saw every time I looked in the mirror.

  So I stopped looking.

  “I don’t want to go. Don’t make me,” I begged. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to hear people talk about what a wonderful woman my mother was.

  I most certainly didn’t want to see my dad’s red-rimmed eyes, puffy and unseeing.

  “Get dressed. Please. I don’t want to argue with you today of all days. Do this for your mother.”

  Do this for your mother.

  Live for your mother.

  Be happy for your mother.

  How could I do that when I couldn’t imagine doing any of those things for myself?

  I was only at Dr. Harrison’s office for a little over fifteen minutes. Lynn offered me a sweet and this time I took it. The sugar made me feel a little better. She booked me in for a follow-up appointment for the next day so that I could find out the test results.

  “We’ll see you tomorrow at ten-thirty,” she said as I was leaving.

  I nodded and headed back to my car.

  My phone rang as I got in.

  “Hello?”

  “I was about to send out the cavalry. Where have you been?” Beckett asked, and the sound of his voice made me smile.

  “I had to have some blood taken,” I told him.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” He sounded so worried and his concern warmed me from the inside out.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been feeling right today. Dr. Harrison is going to run some tests.”

  “Is it your heart?” he asked, and I could hear the very real fear in his voice.

  “I don’t think so,” I said truthfully. I knew it wasn’t my heart. That wasn’t my concern anymore. But I hadn’t told Beckett that. I wasn’t sure why.

  I pulled out onto the road and headed toward the studio.

  “Oh, well, that’s good.” He sounded so relieved I felt a little guilty. “Are you up to going tonight?” he asked, and I knew this could be my out. I didn’t want to go. I would give anything not to experience the crying. The sorrow.

  “No, I’ll go,”
I found myself saying. I really was a glutton for punishment.

  “Do you need me to come over? I’ll blow off work. I can try to make you a grilled cheese or something.”

  “Don’t use me as an excuse to get out of going to work,” I laughed.

  “Damn, you caught me. But really, if you need me, I’m there, Corin.”

  “I know, Beck. But I’m going into the studio. I think Adam will kill me if I take another sick day.”

  “You’re going into work when you feel that bad?” he asked incredulously. I didn’t want to tell him that if I took any more sick days, Adam would most likely blow a gasket.

  “I’ll be okay,” I lied.

  “So…” Beckett began, and I didn’t like the tone of his voice at all.

  “So?” I asked, immediately suspicious.

  “I was at my parents’ last night having dinner. We had pasta. Not lasagna. So it was pretty awesome.”

  “I’m happy for you?” I posed the statement more as a question. While I was super happy about the great pasta that wasn’t lasagna that he had last night, I wasn’t sure why he was bothering to tell me about it.

  “Yeah, Mom made this cream sauce that was out of this world. I hate marinara but alfredo, damn, I could eat that stuff all day. Well, if I could. I’m not supposed to eat a lot of heavy carbs because of the cholesterol. Gotta take care of the ticker, you know.”

  “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

  What in the ever-loving hell?

  “Zoe, that’s my sister, she asked about you.”

  Whoa. Huh?

  “How does she even know about me?” I asked. Was Beckett talking about me to his family? I was both flattered and ready to freak out.

  “Because I told them obviously,” he chuckled.

  “What did you tell them? Do I want to know?”

  “That you and I were dating. And that it was, you know, kind of serious.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Beckett had just said we were kind of serious.

  Inside I was squealing.

  In between screaming like a banshee and wanting to run for the hills.

  “That sounds like a ringing endorsement,” I stated.

  Stop wanting to giggle like a schoolgirl, Corin!

  Beckett chuckled. “Fine. We’re super-duper serious. We’re so serious you can’t get any more serious.”

  “Super-duper? Wow. That is serious,” I teased.

  I pulled up in front of the shop and parked the car. I wasn’t in a rush to get out though. I could talk to Beckett all day.

  I could see Adam in the window wiping down tables. Krista was standing beside him, leaning over his arm. Was she brushing her boob against his arm?

  I squinted, trying to see more clearly.

  Yep, she totally was. There was some definite boob grazing going on.

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “You know I would do no such thing,” I replied, distracted. I was too busy watching Krista, who thinks our president is a man named Baba O’Reilly, rubbing her big ole boobies all over my best friend’s arm.

  And he was smiling at her.

  Smiling!

  It had been years since I had seen Adam’s teeth. I was starting to think he didn’t have any. But there he was flashing the pearly whites in Krista’s direction.

  What was going on in the world?

  “Good, because I told them I’d bring you over for dinner next week.”

  “Oh that’s nice,” I murmured, not paying attention.

  And then I realized what he had just said.

  Now hold on a cotton pickin’ minute.

  What?

  Well, guys, there just went the room.

  “Um. Excuse me?” He was going to have to clarify that one.

  “I got roped into it, Cor-Cor. I promise,” he wheedled.

  “Don’t you dare Cor-Cor me, mister!”

  “They want to meet you. They know you’re important to me. It’s not a big deal, right? My family’s pretty cool. Well, Zoe can be a pain in the ass, but just compliment her earrings or something and she’ll be fine.”

  Beckett wanted me to meet his family.

  I guess we were super-duper serious.

  He wanted to introduce me to his mom, dad, and sister.

  Me.

  Even if the thought of being critiqued and analyzed by his family freaked me out, I was incredibly touched that he wanted to open up his life to me like that.

  He was including me in every part of his world.

  In that moment my neuroses didn’t matter. My constant anxiety and fears were nonexistent. Because I was swimming right for Beckett.

  I was going to do this for him.

  “Sure,” I said after he had stopped babbling.

  “Sure,” he repeated.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “I’m going to put that damn word on a T-shirt,” he muttered.

  “Would you rather me say no?” I taunted.

  “You said sure. That word is binding. Might as well write it in blood.”

  “I’d rather not,” I remarked drolly. “So I’m going to meet the family, huh? I guess it’s better to show off the crazy early on. Get it over with.”

  “I hate it when you do that,” he said softly.

  Adam’s mouth was doing something strange. Was he laughing? No way! Yep. It totally looked like he was laughing. And Krista was laughing. I needed to get in there and see what fresh brand of nuts was going on!

  “When I do what?” I asked, climbing out of my car and closing the door, making sure to lock it.

  “When you put yourself down. Why do you do that? You’re not crazy, Corin. Not even a little bit.”

  I stopped staring at my friend and employee and listened to the man filling my ears with his heartfelt assurances. You’re not crazy was so much better than You’re so pretty.

  How was it that this man saw the absolute best in me so easily? I should ask him if his meds impaired his judgment at all.

  But I knew they didn’t. This is just what he thought.

  About me.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I loved him.

  It danced there, ready to burst out.

  It was too much. Too soon.

  But it was the truth.

  I loved him.

  “You’re actually pretty damn awesome. So if you say one more bad thing about Corin Thompson, you’re going to have to deal with me. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I whispered, my throat tight.

  Damn it.

  I did love him.

  To the depths of my crazy, crazy heart.

  Dad’s small, deteriorating body in that hospital bed. The pain in my chest when I thought I was having a heart attack.

  The ache in my joints that I was sure was fibromyalgia.

  The possible cancer. The almost aneurism. The diseases and pain that were a continual part of my life.

  Could I be happy?

  Was that even possible for someone like me?

  “Good. I’ll see you this evening. Call me if you need me. You know I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

  A heartbeat.

  What if something happened to him like Mom? Like Dad?

  What if something happened to me?

  Now that I’ve found him.

  What if I lost him?

  “Okay. I’ll see you later.” I was having a hard time speaking. He brought out such intense emotions in me.

  It swept away everything else.

  I ended the phone call just as I came into the studio. Krista was finished playing boob tag with Adam and was now straightening the new inventory on the shelves.

  Adam was nowhere to be seen.

  “Good morning!” I called out. Krista waved.

  “Where’s Adam?” I asked, putting my purse and coat behind the counter.

  “I think he went into the storeroom. He didn’t really say,” Krista said, eyes wide.

  “Okay. Thanks. Is everything ready for t
he preschool group?”

  “Yep. Just need to get out some more red paint,” Krista answered, sounding a little nervous. Did she share Adam’s kid phobia?

  “Sounds great. I’ll go and find Adam.”

  I walked into the storeroom and found him pulling boxes of supplies off the shelf.

  “Hey. There you are.”

  “Didn’t realize you were looking,” he replied gruffly.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  Adam dropped a box on the floor and the top popped open. He started pulling out bundles of rags that we used for cleanup.

  “Learning Spanish,” he huffed, and I smirked.

  “So, is the preschool group the only thing we have booked today?”

  Adam shoved the box back on the shelf, rolled the rags into a ball, and tucked them under his arm. “Should be. But it would be nice if you looked at the schedule once in a while.”

  He swept by me and out of the storeroom and I was left standing there gaping after him.

  What had crawled up his ass?

  I followed him into the office. “Did I do something to piss you off?” I didn’t like confrontation. I tended to avoid it at all costs. It had become a survival technique growing up around Tamsin.

  Adam’s shoulders were tense as he shoved the rags into a cabinet we kept in the corner for supplies. “How long have we known each other?” he asked suddenly.

  “Is that a trick question?”

  Adam turned to look at me and there was something in his eyes that I had never seen before.

  “I’ve tried to be there for you. After your dad. With all your nutso health stuff. I’ve covered the shop every time you need to take a ‘sick day.’ I don’t complain. I don’t tell you that you’re a whack job. I let you do what you need to do. You know why?”

  Should I get mad because he just called me a whack job? Or do I freak out at the sudden intensity in his eyes that pinned me in place?

  “Because you’re my friend?” I squeaked.

  “Damn straight. Because I care about you. But even I have my limits, Cor.”

  “Uh, I was pretty sure that you barely tolerated me,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. Then I unfolded them and put my hands in my pockets. Then I took them out and let them dangle awkwardly by my sides.

  Why can’t I figure out what to do with my hands?