“Thank you, Smug. Are you going to fire him?” Wrong as he’d been, she really didn’t want to think that the only thing the man had was going to be taken away from him.
“This’d be the first complaint against him. No evidence to prove he broke the law. He’ll spend some time in the office instead of in a cruiser. Then we’ll have to see. Y’all let me know right away if there’s any more trouble.”
“I’m sure there won’t be, but yes, we will.” She hung up the phone feeling a little safer; now that this was out in the open, that would be the end of it. Plus, she was pretty sure Luke had made a clear point to Dave last night before he brought him to the house. Dave had sputtered and denied, but she could see the fear in his eyes. He knew Luke had the ability to back up any threat he might have made.
When she entered the kitchen, Luke immediately asked, “You called the sheriff?”
“Yes. He’s taking care of it.”
He nodded. “Good.”
As they sat down to breakfast, Analise tried to open the subject of Olivia’s treatment. Luke was quiet and, although they hadn’t come to any open agreement yet, she felt sure he’d back her up when the time came; he’d bolster her argument for Olivia to take a shot at chemo. It was only common sense.
Olivia quite firmly said there was nothing to discuss. She’d given careful thought to all aspects, and this was her decision. She ended by saying, “If I’d wanted family discussion, I would have informed everyone before I made up my mind.”
Analise ignored the sting of that comment and pressed on. “What about Cole?” She was glad he’d already left for school; she didn’t think they should have this conversation in front of him again.
Olivia’s gaze honed in on her. “You think that he hasn’t been at the very core of my decision?”
“He’s young, he needs his mother.”
Olivia nodded and sipped her coffee. “Exactly why I’ve decided to be his mother and not some chemotherapy patient. In another eighteen months he’ll leave for college. That’s not much time, I won’t be an invalid and waste it. What good will it do him if I spend the entire time incapacitated? He’d feel like he had to drop everything in his life, make me the center of it.” She put a hand on Ana’s. “You know as well as I do, treating an illness like this is all- consuming, not just for me, but for everyone around me.”
“You can’t just ignore this illness. That won’t make it go away!”
“Ana, nothing will make it go away. That’s my point. I’m feeling good now. I may feel good for months and months. I don’t want to deliberately make myself sicker. Don’t you see?”
“No. I don’t. If there’s a chance that treatment could push this back into remission, I think you should try.” She looked at Luke. “Tell her. Tell her what makes sense.”
Luke licked his lips and leaned his elbows on the table. He ran his fingers down his coffee cup. Then he looked Analise in the eye. “I can’t. It’s Olivia’s decision.”
She felt like the air had been ripped from her lungs. “But you said you’d think about it overnight.”
He nodded. “I did. And I didn’t change my mind.”
Analise slapped her palms against the table. “She’s throwing her life away! What if it did cure her this time? What if in another year, they come up with a permanent cure? She has to try!”
“Ana. Ana. Don’t yell at Luke about this. It’s not his fault. And it’s not his decision,” Olivia said.
Analise stood so abruptly she jostled the table, sloshing coffee from all of their cups. “Then why did you drag him into this at all? He isn’t family!”
“Because we need someone who isn’t family to keep us from upsetting this boat. To help us talk it through.”
Analise looked sharply at Luke. “Did you encourage this decision—when you knew and we didn’t?”
Luke stood. “Ana—”
She interrupted, “Drive yourself to the work site today. I might need to leave.” She grabbed her keys and walked out the door. She couldn’t stay a second longer. She was too angry; she needed to punch the air, to scream at the top of her lungs. Which was just what she did when she was alone in the truck.
Cole waited in the school parking lot for Becca to get there. He kept himself hidden from Mrs. Baker’s classroom window, just in case she looked out. Not that he cared if anyone knew he was skipping school. It didn’t matter now.
Finally, he saw the old Volvo coming down the street. He sprinted to the curb and waved her down before she pulled into the lot. The second she stopped, he opened the passenger door and got in.
“Let’s get out of here.” He knew it was a long shot. He really couldn’t imagine Becca Reynolds skipping school.
She looked at him for a long moment.
“Please,” he said.
Without a word, she pulled out on the street and drove away from the school. When they’d gone a few blocks, she asked, “What’s happened? You look terrible.”
Cole scrubbed his hands over his face. The early morning sun stabbed at his eyes, his brain felt like it had been wrapped in fiberglass shavings and the lump in his throat suddenly made it impossible to talk.
“Cole?” There was genuine concern in her voice, which only made the lump in his throat worse.
She reached over and touched his shoulder. But she didn’t ask any more questions. He looked out the passenger window and watched familiar sights pass by, feeling like he was disconnected from the world. When he realized where she was headed, he had to bite his lip to keep from crying.
A few minutes later Becca turned into the lane that led to the old plantation house. She parked her car in the same spot she had the last time they were here.
For a long time, they sat in silence. Cole was thankful that she wasn’t pushing him, badgering him like most girls would to find out what was going on.
Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “My mom’s sick.”
Becca made a sympathetic noise deep in her throat. “How sick?” she asked softly.
Suddenly he needed air or he was going to puke. He got out of the car and leaned against the passenger door, bracing his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.
He heard Becca’s car door open and close, and her feet on the ground as she hurried around the car. When she reached him, she stood in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders.
He slid away from her touch, down the car until he was sitting on the ground with his knees bent. Putting his elbows on his legs, he ran his hand through his hair. Then he looked up at her. Her face was distorted by the tears in his eyes. “She’s dying.”
“Oh, Cole.” She sat on the ground and put her arm around him. He leaned into her, and she took him in an embrace. Resting his head on her shoulder, he let himself cry.
Luke gave Analise all morning to cool her anger. He went about his work, watching her out of the corner of his eye as she assembled the fountain. She worked with a focused determination that seemed to be fueled by her frustration.
He wished there was something he could do or say to make her see his position. It wasn’t a matter of taking sides, as she was making it. He’d already cost this family one member; he couldn’t shoulder another death. Besides, he truly felt it was Olivia’s decision.
Finally, just as noon approached, he walked over to Analise. “Time for lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.” She continued to bend copper tubing with a ferocity that bespoke her anger.
“Ana, you need to eat—and we need to talk.”
She dropped the tubing with a clatter and stood to face him. Her hands were clenched at her sides and her eyes snapped with rage. “How could you? How could you do that to me?”
“What did I do to you?”
“The least you could have done was lend a little support. Olivia needs treatment!”
His patience slipped a notch. “Does she? Or do you just need her to go through whatever is necessary so you don’t have to face being alone?”
Her sharp intake of brea
th told him he’d hit his mark. “That’s not fair. Cole—”
“Do you really think Cole will be better off with a mother who lingers for months or even years, never fully herself? How is he to go on with his life? How is he supposed to leave for college, knowing his mother is hanging by a thread? Olivia made her choice—and I think she did it for Cole.”
She shifted her weight and threw her hands in the air. She shouted, “You didn’t have to support her in not getting treatment.”
“I didn’t. It’s not my place to voice an opinion. I only supported her in the fact that it was her choice to make.”
Ana braced her feet apart and leaned slightly forward. “So tell me. If you could allow yourself to voice an opinion—what would it be?”
“You mean what would I do if I were in her shoes?”
“No, what would you want if your father was in her shoes?”
“I hope I’d be able to support whatever choice he made. All things considered, I think it would be the same choice that Olivia made.”
She looked like he’d taken the last step in ultimate betrayal. “I see.” She started walking toward her car.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“To see Dr. Creighton.”
Since it was the lunch hour, Dr. Creighton had no patients. Analise knew from experience that the doctor didn’t go out for lunch, but used the time to catch up on paperwork, eating takeout at his desk. When she entered the office, his receptionist wasn’t at her station. Analise walked back into the treatment area and knocked on the doctor’s private office.
“Yes?”
She opened the door to see him taking off his reading glasses and standing up.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Creighton, but I really need to talk to you.”
He motioned her to a chair opposite the desk. “I expected you sooner.”
Analise sat down and twisted her hands in her lap. “I would have been here sooner, but she just told me last night.”
The doctor took his seat. “I see.”
“I need you to tell me about her condition. I suppose you know she’s decided not to have treatment.”
Dr. Creighton folded his hands on his desk. “Of course, I can’t discuss specifics of Olivia’s case. But I’d be glad to answer any questions you have about the disease and its treatment possibilities.”
“I’m her family.” Analise couldn’t keep an indignant edge from her voice.
“If Olivia were here with you to give her permission it would be different. Do you want to wait until we can all be together to discuss it?”
She wanted to stamp her feet and scream. “No. Tell me what you can.”
“Of course, you know her history. It’s very rare that we get a four-year remission with Stage III ovarian cancer, as her original diagnosis was. Even so, when there is recurrence, no matter how long the remission, it becomes a matter of staving off the illness, not curing it.”
His voice left the cold facts behind and gentled slightly. “You know how poorly Olivia tolerated chemo last time. You were with her every step of the way.”
Analise nodded, trying to block out the memory, telling herself that the end result was worth the misery. If Olivia had been as pigheaded last time as she was being now, she’d already be resting inside the iron fence at the old plantation. Four years. She’d gotten four years.
“With additional chemotherapy we see varying degrees of success—twenty to sixty percent will see some results. When there has been a longer period of remission, the chances are better we’ll see some results with another round of chemo. Of course, the statistics include just an arresting of the progress of the disease for a short period as a response.”
“You’re making it sound hopeless.”
He pursed his lips and shook his head. “No. Not hopeless. I’m telling you the realities—the statistics. Even in the twenty percent bracket, you never know who that twenty percent is going to be. So, no. Not hopeless.”
“What about specialists? Should she see someone—not to discount your ability,” she quickly added.
“I can tell you, I’ve had her case reviewed by the best. The consensus is always the same. But, of course, she can go for additional opinions.”
“So, if she accepts treatment, there is a chance that she could go into remission again.”
“It’s a possibility, although we don’t see it often. More likely we buy time.”
“What about new treatments? Isn’t there something in the works, perhaps a clinical trial?”
“They’re constantly working on new treatment. They just haven’t hit on anything that gives the kind of results we’d all like to see. As for clinical trials, you’ll have to discuss that with Olivia.”
“She doesn’t seem to be open to discussion at the moment.” She stood, ready to go. Then she stopped and made herself ask the question she’d been too afraid to ask Olivia. “How long? How long will she have, if she doesn’t get treatment?”
“Now we’re getting into that privacy issue. I’ve told Olivia my educated guess.” He smiled kindly as he stood and put his hands in his pants pockets. “I wish I could give you more to go on—but that would require a skill I don’t have: sight into the future.”
Once Cole got himself back under control, he took his time before he sat up. He wasn’t sure he could look Becca in the face after crying all over her shoulder. But she kept a hand on the back of his neck, massaging lightly, and he looked into eyes that held no mockery, no condemnation.
She scooted around on her knees in front of him with her hands on the sides of his face. “I want you to tell me anything—anything you want. Whatever you say will stay here, in this place—your constant. I won’t mention it again.”
He wasn’t sure he could say anything at all. His throat felt like he’d been strangled. She must have sensed it, because her gentle fingers stroked his neck. Then she leaned close and said, “I want to help.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap, burying his face in her hair. But the tears were spent. He started to talk as he held her close; the words came easier when not looking at her. The things he was about to say, he’d never said to another person, not even Ana.
“I’m so scared. I don’t want to be alone.”
She tightened her arms around him. “I’m scared for you.”
It was the most honest thing anyone had ever said to him. No, It’s going to be all right. No, We have to believe your mom can get well. No, Take one day at a time. Becca didn’t dance around the ugly facts. She came out and admitted it: He was facing something horrible. Instead of making him more frightened, it gave him strength.
“She was sick before, but the chemo worked. Now she says she won’t take any more.” His voice fell off to a whisper. “Why won’t she try?”
“Maybe it’s too hard,” she whispered back. “Maybe it’s just too hard.”
And in that instant, he began to see how it must be for his mother. He knew she didn’t want to die. His mother had more life in her than ten people rolled together. She didn’t want to be sick—and the chemo did make her sick. He had only been twelve, but he remembered hearing her and Ana up all hours of the night as she vomited until she would be too weak to walk to the bathroom. Oh, she had always put on a smile for him, always directed their conversations away from her illness. But there was no doubt she had suffered.
For a long while, he sat there on the ground in front of the old mansion with Becca in his lap. She called this place his constant. He supposed it was. But what seemed a miracle to him was that there was another person who understood it. She seemed a part of his constant, too.
He kissed her neck, where the hair had parted to reveal skin. This seemed a much more intimate kiss than those they’d shared on the lips. She didn’t pull away, as he feared. He felt her fingers slide into his hair.
When she leaned slightly away, her eyes had changed: They looked soft and inviting. As he looked into them, readying hims
elf to kiss her again, he said, “I want this kiss to mean something. Just so you know, it is a big deal.”
She smiled and bit her lower lip. She looked shy when she admitted, “They’ve all been a big deal to me.”
As his lips met hers, he felt a whole new world open up. It was more than just wanting sex, which he’d been wanting for a long time, although he had not actually done the deed. He wanted a connection to this girl; he wanted to share everything with her.
Becca Reynolds. Miss Goody. Who would believe it?
On her way from Dr. Creighton’s back to the park, Analise tussled with a decision. Doing what she knew she must was going to be painful, and there would be consequences for the business. But the business meant little when compared with Olivia’s health.
Her chances of getting Olivia back into treatment were going to be a whole lot better without Luke constantly backing up her decision not to do it. And, Analise had to admit, she herself needed to focus on her family, not on what she should or should not be doing in the dark of night with Luke Boudreau. His presence tempted her into poor judgment. And that had to stop.
Her heart felt swollen in her chest. She knew the day was coming for Luke to leave; it was inevitable. But now that she was faced with the reality, the thought of never seeing him again robbed her of her ability to draw a breath.
Nevertheless, she had to do what was best for her family. That was the cold truth. No sense in prolonging the torture. She had to act now, while her resolve was high.
When she pulled up to the job site, Luke was planting a grouping of azaleas on a mound that would serve as a backdrop for the fountain. He had his shirt off, damn him. There was no way she was going to do this while having to stare at his bare chest. She got out of the truck.
“Luke!” she called.
He looked up and wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Way too sexy.
“Grab your shirt and come with me for a minute.”
With a look of concern on his face, he did as she asked.
She didn’t want to take him anywhere in the truck. She wanted to make a quick and clean break. So she stayed here; when she’d said her piece he could just climb in his car and leave. He could be packed up and long gone by the time she got home tonight—no chance for her to weaken and change her mind.
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