Draw Me In

by Megan Squires

  Us. Together. A future full of promise and a life full of hope, because we allowed ourselves those two things, no matter what the odds protested.

  EPILOGUE

  “Are you excited to go see Uncle Ian?” I sang against the round cushion of her cheek. How a baby could smell so good was beyond me, but Izzy’s sweet scent was so scrumptious I wanted to eat it up. Sometimes at night I’d lay awake, kissing every inch of her sweet face, still not believing she was mine. My little miracle.

  Isabella’s cherub eyes flickered with excitement. She had her daddy’s color, all baby blue.

  “Can you say Uncle Ian?” I asked, shifting her weight on my hip as we rode the elevator up to the fifth floor loft. I squeezed her chubby thighs and Izzy curled into my side with a giggle that echoed off the tight walls. When she laughed, everything in my world slowed, time dripping by like sweet molasses. Her laughter was joy in pure, audible form. One of those sounds that hadn’t been tainted by a life’s worth of worry or stress or influences or pain. It was innocence personified, and I wanted nothing more than to keep her like this forever. To slow our existence down and treasure each second of her little life. To say I adored her would be the understatement of the century. This little girl was life’s biggest blessing in every sense of the word.

  Though it had been over two years since I’d lived here, the moment the elevator doors spread open to the dark greeting of the hallway, I was instantly transported back in time.

  So much had happened after the move. The cancer and the treatments. Graduation and a year later, a wedding, followed by the sudden surprise of two unexpectedly pink lines. We became a family, the three of us. But truly, we had been one long before that. And it wasn’t limited to just Leo, Izzy and me. Maybe it didn’t necessarily take a village to raise a child, but it definitely took a lot love, and our Isabella was blessed with so many people in her life to smother her with that love, to the point of suffocation.

  One of those smothering family members stood on the other side of the doorframe tonight, greeting us with a smile and an instant hug, his two arms wrapped around us both Go-Go-Gadget style. “There’s my favorite girl!”

  “Why thank you,” I smirked, my eyebrows jumping up and down teasingly. Joshua scowled at me in mockery and scooped Izzy from my arms. “Oh, you meant Izzy.”

  “She’s here!” Ian’s voice met my ears before his figure came into view. He raced from the bedroom to greet us, and for a moment I thought an actual tug-o-war would ensue with my baby in the middle. Joshua relented with a smile and let Ian have his moment with his goddaughter. “I’ve missed you, Love.” Pressing his lips to her forehead, Ian kissed the crown of her dark hair and Izzy wrapped all five fingers around Ian’s pinky, squeezing it tight. If it was possible for a grown man to melt, Ian had just turned into butter. He kissed her again and said, “All ready for your six month photo-shoot?”

  I’d figured that was in his babysitting plans for the evening. Having a phenomenal photographer as a best friend meant all of our best memories had been captured and documented, and ours adorned every wall of the penthouse apartment Leo and I shared. From our Villa wedding to the maternity pictures, and even to the birth of our little girl, Ian had been there for it all, his camera ready to snap every moment.

  And for a while, I wasn’t sure how many moments we would have. Recording them in that way had been a sort of obsession for me, and I was grateful Ian readily offered his talents to help me meet those goals. I could always count on him to humor me, even when it meant coming to Leo’s treatments to document his progress or staying over late that night to photograph my labor pains. I had albums that documented it all. I think part of me needed the tangible evidence of this unbelievable life of mine to realize it wasn’t a dream. I’d pinched myself to the point of bruising, and those albums were torn and tattered from all of the times I’d spread open their pages. This was my reality, and it was better than anything I could have ever created on my own.

  “It’s been two weeks since the last photo session,” Ian defended, nodding his head toward his camera like I should expect to see dust coating the lens.

  I peered around the two of them to glimpse a white backdrop strung from the rafters, studio lights blaring like starbursts onto the paper. There was a pile of plush stuffed animals and a box full of Cheerios on a table nearby. Pink tutus and headbands with fake flowers practically the size of Izzy’s head hung from a clothing rod. It honestly looked like the dressing room belonging to a Broadway actress.

  “You spoil her, you know?” I laughed, smoothing my anxious hands down the length of my black cocktail dress.

  “Like it’s my job!”

  Ian didn’t wait for goodbyes and swiftly carried Izzy into the “studio” as I handed over the diaper bag to Joshua and began running down the list of instructions.

  “Her bottle is in the inside pouch, along with her pajamas and her favorite blankie that she can’t sleep without. And she likes to fall asleep in your arms rather than in her pack-and-play. And she prefers Row, Row, Row, Row Your Boat to Three Blind Mice.” My voice quivered a little at the end of my words, and Joshua placed a hand on my forearm, slinging the bag onto his shoulder.

  “She’ll be fine, Jules. Promise. You go enjoy your evening and don’t give us another thought. Stay out as late as you like. We’ve got things covered.”

  I looked over my shoulder. Bursts of white pulsed against the walls and Izzy’s squeals of laughter matched the click, click, click of Ian’s shutter. I wanted to go give her one last kiss, a squeeze, and a “Mama loves you,” but then the waterworks would start and I hadn’t figured out how to turn off that faucet. Hormones had never been kind to me before, and apparently the ones that accompanied motherhood were a whole new animal, one I had yet to tame.

  I swung my gaze back to Joshua.

  “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

  “Of course. Now get!” He shooed me toward the door as though beating dust out of a rug and I obeyed, slipping back into the elevator and then out the lobby and onto the concrete walkway. The December air bit my skin, my breath puffed out of me in white clouds that hung suspended inches from my lips. I ran my hands up and down my arms, willing the friction to create some semblance of warmth to layer my body.

  I didn’t have to wait more than ten seconds before our sleek black SUV pulled up to the curb, the windows a tinted onyx barrier.

  Balancing on my six-inch heels, I stepped off the curb just as Chauncey, our chauffeur, skirted the bumper of the vehicle and popped open the door to the back seat.

  My heart dropped.

  “No Leo?” I sighed, lowering a leg into the car. The seat cushions were warm and I sank down into them and let the leather hug my body.

  Chauncey shook his head and said, “No, Mr. Carducci said he’ll meet you at the gala and that he sends his apologies.”

  He held out a velvet black box that I grabbed from his hands before he shut the door.

  I supposed the apology was in that box, but what I really wanted right now was for Leo to somehow jump right out of it and into this backseat to join me. He’d been working overtime lately and tonight would be one of the few nights this week that we’d have some one on one time. A little pre-gala, backseat make-out session had been racing through my mind all day. Unfortunately, it didn’t sound like that was on the agenda.

  I set the box down and shifted in my seat, my eyes glazed over as the city lights blurred past in my periphery. My dress was short, hitting mid-thigh when I stood, even higher when I sat, and I pulled down on the hem to somehow add just a few more inches to its length. I knew no one would be looking at me tonight—Leo was definitely the man of the hour—but I had to at least be a presentable trophy wife draped to his side.

  I never understood why that term had become something derogatory. Honestly, I loved being Leo’s trophy wife, because it implied that he was a total winner. And he was. We both were. We’d fought and won so many more battles than just the one
with his cancer. So if anyone deserved a prize, it was Leo. I proudly wore that title tonight, so maybe even the slightly skanky dress was actually a good choice.

  After a quiet five-minute drive, Chauncey pulled up to the hotel, the tires fitting into the grooves of the curb. A man outfitted in a tuxedo with a wool black coat with tails down to his calves walked up to greet me and he slung his arm into the crook of mine as I stepped onto the concrete.

  “Mrs. Carducci,” he nodded, a half-bow. You’d think after two years I’d be used to the sound of it, but every time someone said my name it was like hearing it for the first time. “Right this way.”

  The foyer was glittery gold; crystals and beaded garland draped over every available surface. Three Christmas trees at least a dozen feet around, all staggering in height, filled the rotunda, their glass ornaments like huge reflective bubbles, iridescent and illuminating. Everything was encrusted in a copper-colored glow.

  The grand ballroom doors were stretched open wide at the end of the entryway and I could hear the jazz ensemble inside playing God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen in a lazy, drawn out piano rhythm. The clinking of crystal and the buzz of conversation filled in the beats and rounded out the tune.

  “Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Carducci,” the man said as he slipped his hand out from my side. I nodded my thank you and stepped into the room.

  There he was.

  Gorgeous as ever, his jacket fitted over broad shoulders, his bow tie pressed into that shallow divot of his thick neck. Eyes an intense ocean blue, his mouth a permanent offering of a smile to anyone that walked up to mingle or to simply exchange a hello. I could stare at him like this all night, watching him interact in a way that was so effortless for him. There was so much life here, all of these people, everyone with their own story. If I had time, I’d want to sit down with each one of them and ask what brought them here tonight. But I knew their answers. Leo. Leo was the reason for it all.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a man with silver hair and a ruddy glow to his skin announced, bending down to the microphone on the podium at the stage in front. Round tables holding ten or more chairs each dotted the room and even though they weren’t instructed, the party-goers all began finding their seats.

  Leo’s eyes met mine and he nodded his head toward the table at the very front of the room. Excusing himself from conversation with a couple I’d recognized from our last soiree, he came over to me, his hand grazing the bare slope of my back. My stomach clenched and I trapped in a breath as his fingers ran back and forth over the low seam on my dress.

  “You look amazing,” he breathed into my ear. The hormones that had messed with my new-mommy emotions were now seriously playing games with my newlywed ones. Warmth spread throughout me, filling me with heat. “This dress.” His eyes ticked down every inch of my body, then back up again agonizingly slow. “I kind of want to cancel this whole night and just take you home right now.”

  “Not a bad plan,” I offered, my mouth pouting more than necessary around the words. “But since you’re the keynote speaker, that might not be the best move.”

  “True,” he conceded with a sigh, but his hands obviously weren’t in agreement. They raked up and down my bare spine a few more times before I pulled away from him to ease the temptation. Tonight was a big night for him. I didn’t want to interfere at all, even if that meant keeping my mind out of the gutter for the next few hours. I could manage that. But truth be told, my mind would probably just end up in the bedroom instead.

  “I’ll be sure to save a few moves of my own for later tonight.” Leo didn’t respond verbally, but the crease of his brow and the piercing stare of his eyes said all I wanted to hear.

  He exhaled deeply and said, “We should find our seats.”

  The roar of conversation had now waned into a soft rippling murmur of voices, and all it took was a few clinks against a crystal glass to get the volume down to pin-drop status.

  Silver Fox took to the mic again and began the festivities.

  “As you all know,” he started, hands hooked casually around the lipped edge of the podium. He pressed his weight down onto the surface as he spoke. “We’re here tonight to honor a very special man.”

  There was a low utterance of agreement as guests nodded and smiled, saying things like “Yes he is,” and “Amen to that!” as though we were hearing a preacher give a sermon from the pulpit.

  “Now, how many of you have been to ceremonies like this very one that started with a line similar to that?” He cocked his head to the side rhetorically, waiting the standard amount of time for his audience to hear the words. “We honor people we consider special. We hold galas for them. We toast them. We raise money in their name and call it a cause.” He had the perfect voice for this, one that commanded your attention in a gentle, thoughtful manner. There were hints of ex-military in there, the many years of retirement softening the tone and delivery. “But what do you do for someone like Leo Carducci?” Another reflective pause and far-off look for emphasis. “What do give a man that has already given so much?”

  My fingers found Leo’s under the tablecloth and I squeezed them as I rested my hand onto his thigh. He kept his eyes trained on the stage ahead, stoic and professional. Focused.

  “I’ll tell you what you give him. You give him the floor, because I guarantee you, anything I have to say will pale in comparison to what this man can offer.” Laughter accompanied by the intermittent clang of silverware and ceramic chimed through the air. I glanced to Leo and smiled, though he continued to look forward. The slow swallow I could detect hinted at his nerves, and I squeezed his hand once more to offer my encouragement. “So without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, would you please join me in welcoming Mr. Leo Carducci.”

  The hall thundered into applause, a clapping of hands matched with the cheers and hollers you would expect from a high school football game and not from a roomful of men and women in such formal attire with such formal titles and such formal businesses. It was refreshing and real, a display of authentic emotion.

  Turns out I wasn’t the only person absolutely in love with this man.

  Leo rose from his seat, a hand pressed into stomach to hold his jacket there. I studied him as he walked the three steps up to the stage. His hand engulfed the announcers and then they swung into one of those half-hugs that men often do. Smiling, looking at the podium as though he had a script to read from, Leo blushed while pausing to wait for the applause to die down.

  “Thank you,” he spoke over the noise. “Thank you all for having me here this evening.”

  I was thankful for the amount of doctors I knew to be in attendance tonight, because it honestly felt as though my heart could explode within my chest. I was filled with so much pride it physically hurt.

  “Many of you know my story.” A respectful quiet fell across the room. “Many of you know how I lost my mother to cancer when I was fifteen, and that I was a cancer patient of my own at that point. Many of you have heard about the remission and then the reoccurrence, followed by another remission and then another bout.” I bit into my bottom lip to pin back the tremble and a red-haired woman at my side wrapped her arm around my shoulder. I’d never met her before, but in that moment I felt like I knew her. She curled her fingers into my skin and pulled me toward her for comfort. “My success in the clinical trial I was allowed to be a part of was plastered all over the media, and I’m proud to say that as of today, I’ve been cancer-free for exactly one year, eleven months, and twenty-four days. Give or take.”

  I flinched at the outburst of applause and shook off my emotion. Reaching for the glass of ice water at my place setting, I took a long sip.

  “So you know my story,” Leo continued. He spoke as a politician, all polished and intentional. Confidence and assuredness poured out from his mouth. But then he paused, a stutter in his flow. “But many of you don’t know my wife’s.”

  The instant heat of a thousand-plus eyes burned into me. I closed my own to center myself
, breathing in deep and then out slowly three times before opening them again. When I did, Leo’s met mine in a loving embrace, like he had his arms wrapped all around me with just that look. I could feel his reassuring warmth and I relaxed into it.

  “I first met my wife at a coffee shop.” A few complementary chuckles. “Needless to say, I quickly became a caffeine addict.” More laughter. “So often, the ones in the limelight get all the credit. When the papers announced that I’d beaten my cancer once more, it was as though I was the one responsible for that success.” A server came to my back and lifted a plate of greens over my shoulder and onto the table. I raised a fork to pick at it, but I had no interest in eating. I only wanted to take in every word Leo said. “They gave me all the credit—some of it to the doctors—but none where it truly belonged.” His eyes never parted from mine as he carried on. “The idea for Caring for the Givers was born out of the need to recognize the great sacrifice that those in the caretaker position often make.” A trickle of applause started up but Leo politely waved a silencing hand. “Being someone’s backbone, someone’s strength, someone’s hope, and someone’s motivation is an incredible weight to bear. It’s a way of life and honestly, it truly is the best medicine of all,” he smiled. His voice was low and steady as he stared into the bright lights that hung from the ceiling. “But being a caregiver isn’t a job. You don’t get to clock in and clock out and leave the emotional burden at work. You put it on. It becomes a part of you; your own kind of cancer you have to permanently wear.”

  A tear slipped from my eye and I swiped it quickly with the tip of my finger and then ran the moist pad of it against the hem of my dress. Leo caught me and shook his head so slightly with an empathetic nod.

  “Caretakers come in all shapes and sizes. And just like cancer, it doesn’t discriminate. You don’t apply to become a caretaker. Sometimes you’re born into it like I was with my mother. Other times you marry into it. Sometimes it’s a friend or a coworker or a loved one that needs the support only you can provide.” A low murmur began to grow as guests finished up their first course at the same time Leo wrapped up his speech. I still hadn’t eaten a thing, but I didn’t at all feel hungry. In fact, in this moment, I was overwhelmingly full.