by Amber Garza
Not that she needed my approval. I meant what I said. She could watch whatever she wanted. But I knew that wouldn’t be good enough for her, so I nodded. Holding the remote in her hands, she looked at me with a quizzical expression. “Do you need to work?”
“What?” The question came out of left field.
“It seemed like when I got here that maybe you’d been writing beforehand. I don’t want to take you away from your writing time. You can go work on it if you need to.”
I glanced back at my laptop, the lid securely closed. Guilt racked me at the memory of what I was actually doing when she got here. Not that it was wrong. Researching a successful treatment for Lennie was nothing to be ashamed of. But the truth was, that I hadn’t really been working on my book lately. It had taken a backseat to Lennie and her disease. I had gotten so far in the book, but the last week or so I’d been distracted.
However, tonight wasn’t about my book. It was about Lennie.
“No, I don’t have to write,” I answered her.
Wearing a satisfied grin, she leaned forward and set the remote down on the coffee table in front of us. It was then that I realized how cluttered it was. Magazines, empty soda cans and crumpled up pieces of paper were strewn across the glass top. My face heated up with embarrassment. I was about to stand and swiftly clean it up when Lennie scooted in my direction. She leaned up against me like she wanted to cuddle, and I froze. This night kept getting better and better. Adjusting my position, I curved my body so it fit against hers. Sighing, she rested her head against my chest. I dropped my arm, clutching her to me.
For awhile we watched the show. Sometimes she would laugh or giggle. But pretty soon she was still and quiet, her breathing even. Her eyes closed, her lashes resting on her porcelain skin. I didn’t have the heart to move, afraid I would wake her. So I watched her sleep until I started to get tired myself. Then I rested my head against the side of the couch and closed my eyes.
16
I awoke to sounds of a scuffle. Grunting, punching, hitting, flailing, screaming. And it wasn’t coming from upstairs. My eyelids flipped open, my heart rate kicking into high gear. The noises were loud, close. In this very room. Once my eyes focused and my gaze had swept the area around me, my heart slowed, relief washing over me. It was only the TV. Why had I fallen asleep on the couch with the television going? I never did that.
Feeling a heaviness on my chest, I peered down. Blue light flickered over the girl lying in my arms. My stomach tightened. Sarah? What was she doing here? Frozen, I stared down at her blond hair, her slender body. I couldn’t see her face because it was turned in the other direction. I found it difficult to draw breath. How was this even possible? It was like she was a ghost sent here to torment me.
I needed her gone. I needed to get her out of here before anyone found out.
Strands of her hair were stuck to my hands. What the hell? When I lifted them, my palms were wet and sticky. Was that blood?
My pulse pounded at the base of my neck. The sound of gunfire from the television caused me to flinch.
I squeezed my eyes shut. No, no, no. This can’t be happening again. Not again.
She stirred, murmuring in her sleep. I opened my eyes. Her face was upturned now, her lips parted as she breathed evenly. Lennie? Oh, that’s right. The memories flooded me of Lennie coming over last night because she was scared about her MRI. I exhaled, my whole body relaxing. Not Sarah. Lennie.
Lennie was here.
And everything was all right.
Satisfied, my heart slowed a little. I stared at Lennie’s beautiful face in the dim lighting, in awe over every little detail. After several minutes exhaustion took over and my head rolled to the side, resting against the cushions. Eventually I fell back asleep to the soundtrack of Lennie’s even breathing.
When I woke up in the morning, Lennie was gone. Vanished, as if she’d never been here. The TV was still on, chatter and canned laughter playing softly. Light spilled in through the windows to my left. My entire body ached from sleeping curled up on the couch. Hoisting myself up to a seated position, I rolled my neck, stretched my arms. Still my shoulders were tense, my back throbbing, my arms numb. Yawning, I stood. With several large strides, I made it to the TV and clicked it off. Glorious silence blanketed me.
I’d never been one of those people who enjoyed unnecessary noise. Growing up I’d had friends who would have the TV going in the background all of the time, especially when they were alone. As if the actors on the shows could keep them company. I didn’t get it.
Padding into the kitchen, I passed the table where my laptop sat. It was closed, untouched. My eyes subconsciously scanned the table and kitchen counter for any signs of her. A note maybe. But there was nothing.
The only remnant she left was her scent, which still lingered in the air. I inhaled sharply, savoring it before it could disintegrate.
I was pondering why she would leave so early when my gaze bounced to the clock on the wall, and I saw that I overslept. I guess there was no reason to get up early when Lennie was already here. With her in my arms, my internal clock must have shut off.
Remembering the medical test she was so nervous for, shame washed over me. I should’ve gotten up with her. I should have taken her to the hospital. What kind of guy made her go through this alone?
Purpose renewed, I got ready as quickly as humanly possible. Then I headed out, racing to the hospital. I had no idea what time her appointment was or even where it was. But I knew she was having an MRI, so I was sure someone could direct me.
After parking, I weaved through the lot and walked right through the glass double doors. Once inside, the sterile scent filled my nostrils. Two nurses walked in my direction, their pants rustling with each stride. I spotted a doctor a few feet away wearing a white lab coat, a stethoscope around his neck. My body went hot, my throat dry.
The walls bent around me, the room starting to spin.
“Colin, we need to talk,” The doctor said.
I shook my head.
No, no, no. I don’t want to hear it.
Pressing my palms to my ears, I attempted to block out the sounds, but it was no use. They weren’t coming from outside.
“Sir, are you okay?” A woman’s voice cut into my thoughts.
I was acting like a lunatic.
I had to get out of here.
Blinking profusely, I yanked myself back to the present. The room came into focus. It was still blurry at the edges, though. I took large gulps of air to combat my shallow breathing.
“Sir?” The woman repeated.
“Yes!” I practically shouted. “I’m fine. Thank you.” Spinning around, I blindly staggered outisde. It wasn’t until I was safely at my car that I felt my chest expand and air fill my lungs.
I wanted so badly to be there for Lennie, but I couldn’t. Not if it involved the hospital. Anything else she needed, I was her guy. But not this. Not now. Not yet. Hell, maybe not ever. It may have been a long time ago, but the memories were fresh, ripe, as if it had just happened. Weird how certain events were like that. Instead of dulling over time, they became more vivid.
With shaking fingers, I turned on my car. Then I pulled out of the lot. As I drove away from the hospital, I had to alternately wipe my palms on my thighs because they were so slick they couldn’t grip the steering wheel. Not sure if I could make it all the way home, I parked along the curb outside of the coffee shop. I didn’t have my laptop, but it was all right, because I wasn’t sure I was in the right frame of mind to work anyway. Perhaps a coffee would settle my nerves. I knew it sounded odd, since coffee was supposed to amp you up. But I’d found that coffee could do both for me. Give me energy when I was tired, but calm me when I was anxious.
Besides, I figured Lennie might stop by the coffee shop after her appointment. If that was the case, I wanted to catch her. To find out how it went. To console her if need be.
So I went inside and ordered a coffee. The largest size they had. Then I
sat at a table in the corner. Leaning back in the chair, I stared out the window and sipped the coffee. I forced myself to think of other things. Anything besides the memories that threatened to overtake me. I honed in on the wind as it brushed the window, at the signs that waved in the breeze from the building next door. I listened to the women talking at the table behind mine as they complained about their husbands. They went on and on about how their husbands didn’t help enough with the kids, how they didn’t do dishes or put the toilet seat down. It was nauseating, really. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I tuned them out. Instead, I focused on the whir of the espresso machine, and the names the barista called out, some unique and different, others predictable. Like a coffee connoisseur, I allowed the coffee to linger on my tongue, attempting to detect all the flavors the menu boasted of – citrus, chocolate, floral. And pretty soon, the sick feeling that had taken root in my belly when I set foot in the hospital finally waned. I didn’t feel scared or worried. I felt safe and calm.
Finishing up my coffee, I watched the glass doors waiting for Lennie to step through them. She never did, and eventually I gave up. It had been hours since she left my apartment, so I assumed her test was over. Most likely she’d gone straight home. Reaching into my pocket, I fished around for my phone, deciding to give her a call. But my phone wasn’t in either pocket. Thinking, I pictured it sitting on the kitchen table next to my laptop.
Crap. What if she’d been trying to reach me?
Standing up, I felt like a failure on so many levels. I’d promised to be there for Lennie, and yet today I hadn’t been there for her at all. After leaving the coffee shop, I headed for home all the while thinking of ways to make it up to her.
When I reached my apartment the first thing I did was check my phone. There were no missed calls. This should have bothered me, but honestly it didn’t. It was better this way. Now I could show her that I’d been thinking about her all on my own. Not simply responding to her call.
After dialing her number, I pressed the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Colin,” she answered, sounding tired.
“Hey,” I responded. “How did it go today?”
“Fine.”
“Yeah?” I pressed, wanting more.
“Yeah,” she said in a tone I couldn’t read, and it caused my stomach to knot. “I mean, I don’t know anything yet. I won’t for a couple of days.”
Ah, okay. “You were gone when I woke up.”
“You looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.”
This made me smile. “But you should’ve. I would’ve gone with you.” It was a lie, but she didn’t have to know that. No reason for her to know all the ways I’d failed her today.
“I know, but it was fine. Nothing I haven’t done before.”
The hopelessness in her tone made me sad. Darkness blanketed me, her statement driving it all home. She shouldn’t have to do it. She should be able to live her life. To enjoy each moment. But cancer was robbing her of that. Her full-time job was to keep herself alive. That’s all she lived for. And it didn’t seem fair. I didn’t understand why some people had to go through this. Why her? Why any of us?
I doubted I would ever receive the answer to that question, and that only made me angrier.
17
It was several days before I saw her again. I had thought about calling her many times, but didn’t. I figured she needed her space. When she was ready, I knew she’d reach out again. That moment came early on a Friday morning. I was at the coffee shop writing when she marched in and promptly sat down at my table. Nervous energy radiated from her so strong, I wasn’t sure if I should bask in it or move far away.
“I have news,” she said, not indicating whether it was good or bad.
I was afraid to ask. So I stayed silent, lips pressed together, waiting for her to continue.
Leaning forward, she dropped her hands to the table between us. Then she smiled the largest of grins. One that would have frightened me if it had been on anyone else’s face. “The tumor is shrinking!”
“What?” It was so much better than I’d ever expected. I mean, I’d heard of this happening. In fact, in all of my research on the experimental drug she’d been using, there were many success stories. But for every success story there was also a person who didn’t respond to it.
“Yeah.” She rubbed her palms together in excitement. “The treatment is working.”
“That’s amazing.”
“I know.” Reaching across the table, her hands found mine. We linked our fingers, and I squeezed hard. “I had been hoping…you know…” her eyes shifted around, as if she had confessed to some major crime. “But I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Didn’t want to be crushed if it wasn’t working. Plus, I’d been having headaches and stuff. And then there was that time when I almost passed out. All signs seemed to point to the tumor growing, not shrinking.”
“But it isn’t growing,” I reminded her. “It’s shrinking.”
She nodded, her eyes sparkling.
I never wanted that sparkle to go away. I didn’t want the light to dim. “Let’s go out and celebrate.”
“Now?” Her eyebrows raised.
I wanted to say yes. It may have been morning, but some people celebrated in the morning. Often when I passed the pub on the way home from writing in the coffee shop there were men and women already enjoying a beer or cocktail, and sometimes it was as early as ten am. However, the truth was, they didn’t look like they were celebrating. More like they were medicating. “Tonight,” I said, my mind made up. “I’ll pick you up and take you out for dinner and drinks.” Pausing, I thought over the sad amount of money I had left in my bank account. But then I tossed caution to the wind. This was a huge deal. It had to be celebrated. Tomorrow I’d take a break from my book and work on an article or review I could sell now. And worst case, I’d call Mom. But not today. Today was all about Lennie.
“Like a date?” Her hesitation gave me pause. Weren’t we already dating? She’d spent the night at my house, hadn’t she? We’d gone out multiple times. I was the person she was seeking out with her good news.
“Is that a problem?”
“No.”
I sighed with relief.
She opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, but then closed it, subtly shaking her head. “Um…no, that’s fine.” Her lips curved upward in such a genuine way it made me think maybe I’d misread her earlier hesitation. “I just wanted to make sure I knew what to wear.”
Oh, so that’s all it was. I sighed with relief, buying her words, even though deep down I knew there was more to it than that.
I took her to The Bay Steakhouse and Bar, a place I’d heard about but had never been to. It was supposed to be the kind of place you went for an anniversary, birthday, special occasion. In the past there was never a reason to try it out. Tonight I had a reason.
Lennie looked amazing, and I told her at least ten times on the drive to the restaurant. For the first time since we’d reconnected, she didn’t appear sick at all. Her cheeks had the rosy glow of a healthy person, her hair was shiny as it cascaded over her bare shoulders, and her eyes were alive, as they took in everything. Lennie was like that. She was the kind of person who was always looking around, always observing. But beneath the curiosity there was usually another emotion. Resentment, maybe. Envy, possibly. Anger, definitely. It was as if in everything she saw she was reminded of her mortality. Of the fact it could be gone as quickly as the blink of an eye. But tonight I didn’t see that. I saw curiosity and wonder, contentedness.
I wasn’t naïve enough to think that Lennie would one day be cancer free. I’d done enough research to know that wasn’t even possible. But I did know that if the tumor was shrinking, the treatment was buying her more time. And from the look on Lennie’s face, I’d say that more time was exactly what Lennie was banking on.
We were seated at a small round table in the back corner. A crisp, white table cloth covered it, and a smal
l candle glowed in the center. I held a chair out for Lennie, and she scooted into it. In her black sleeveless dress she looked like she was made for this type of restaurant. Self-conscious, I yanked on my collar. I’d dressed appropriately in a pinstripe collared shirt and black dress pants, but both of them were years old and didn’t fit me as well as I’d like. I hoped Lennie didn’t notice. After scooting in her chair, I went around the table and took my seat. The busboy filled our glasses with water and set a basket of bread in the middle of the table.
Lennie eyed the bread, but didn’t reach for it, so I pushed the basket in her direction.
“Have some,” I offered.
“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to get full on the bread.”
Opening the glossy menu, my gaze scanned it, my stomach tightening. After taking in the prices, I was thinking that getting full on bread might be the way to go. But I swallowed down the thought. This was Lennie’s night. It was worth any price.
When I glanced up, Lennie’s face was obscured by the menu.
Our waiter approached the table and introduced himself. Then he asked what we’d like to drink. This was the part of the night I was dreading the most. When I chose this restaurant, I did so with the intention of ordering a nice bottle of wine. They were known for their wine selection. However, I knew nothing about wine. I rarely drank it. And when I did, I chose based on affordability, not taste. Staring at the wine list wasn’t helpful because I had no idea what to look for. What was the best? Oaky? Sweet? Peppery?
My gaze met Lennie’s, and I nodded. “Do you have a preference?” I asked, hoping she would know what to order.
But she shook her head. “You choose.”
Great.
As if sensing my hesitation, the waiter asked if I’d like to talk with the sommelier. I had no idea what a sommelier was, but I took him up on his offer. It seemed like the right thing to do. The waiter left, and Lennie smiled at me from behind her menu.