No Attachments

by King, Tiffany

  "I'll fish."

  "Fish?' I quizzed. "When have you ever wanted to fish?"

  "I've recently discovered deep-sea fishing is quite the pastime."

  "When have you ever gone deep-sea fishing?" I asked, skeptically.

  "I've gone out a couple times with a buddy of mine."

  "I didn't know you even liked to fish," I said.

  "That's because I really never gave it a chance. I've discovered it can be very relaxing, almost like meditation without all the mumbo jumbo."

  "Retirement though? Won't you get bored? You've always been such a computer nerd."

  "I'm ready for a change, and the upside is I'll be there for you," he said.

  "Dad, I don't want you to shackle yourself to me," I mumbled.

  "Honey, when you were sick before, it somehow became all about me. I allowed my grief and fear of losing your mom to cloud my senses. I burdened you by wearing my grief on my sleeve. Even though you were sick as a dog, you continued to console me. This time it's my turn. I'm going to be the strong one," he said, unfolding my favorite blanket from home and spreading it out over me.

  I was touched at his thoughtfulness. He'd always been a good father, making sure all my basic needs were taken care of, but after my mom died, he'd closed himself off emotionally, always keeping me at arm's length. It was a nice feeling for him to be so attentive.

  "Thanks, Dad," I said as he tucked the blanket around me. My limited energy melted away and I fell asleep to him smoothing a hand across my hairless head.

  Chapter 26: Waiting

  Nathan

  I impatiently tapped my fingers against the tabletop waiting for my lunch date to show up. Waiting had made me short-tempered and I had already alienated the waitress who was probably spitting in my drink. She should have been used to my mood swings since the restaurant had practically become my home away from home over the last few days. It was far enough away that I wasn't technically breaking the rules, but close enough that I could act at a moment's notice. The harried waitress started to approach my table again, but I waved her off like she was an annoying gnat. I could hear her openly bitching to her fellow waitresses who all clucked their tongues sympathetically. They'd been on the receiving end of my temper at one time or another during my stakeout. I would have apologized, but at the moment, I only cared about one thing, and if my lunch appointment didn't show up in the next few minutes, I would be taking matters in my own hands.

  Two minutes later, I was rising from the table with the intention of leaving when the person I had been waiting for hurried through the restaurant's door.

  "You're late," I snapped, sinking back into my seat.

  "Sorry, I wanted to wait until she fell asleep," Charles, Ashton's father, apologized, sliding into the seat across from me.

  My expression immediately softened. "How is she?" I asked earnestly, waving the waitress away as she approached our table. I took no notice of her glares and grumbling as I focused on the man in front of me.

  "She's better," he said in a voice thick with relief.

  "Really?" I asked, releasing a pent-up breath I wasn't even aware I was holding.

  "Yes. Her doctor said she's on the road to recovery. She has one more round of chemo and then we will see."

  "She's really okay?" I asked again, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. The last few days had been absolute hell. Unbeknownst to Ashton, I had been at the hospital waiting for updates from her father. At one point, when they thought she might not make it, I had stood over her bed, clutching her unconscious hand in my own. I had silently willed her not to give up.

  "She really is. Some of her spunk is already returning," he said, chuckling softly.

  "What does that mean?" I asked.

  "I stuck that shirt of yours in the middle of a stack of clothes I brought to her room. She couldn't take her eyes from it."

  "You're a meddling old fool, but I love you for it," I said, grinning at him. I was grateful to Charles for trusting me, for believing that my feelings and intentions for Ashton were real. I had suggested fishing together as a way for us to get to know each other, and maybe relieve some of the stress. On one of our fishing trips, he had mentioned the shirt of mine that Ashton had kept. At the time, I'd been struggling with doubts that Ashton still had feelings for me and was beginning to feel like a fool for selling my condo and moving across the state so I could be closer to her. As October melted into November, her silence had begun to wear on me.

  "So she stared at the shirt. That may not mean anything," I said.

  "You telling me I don't know my own daughter? Don't be an idiot, boy. She's head over heels in love with you."

  "Did you bring her the flowers I bought?" I asked, sitting back in my seat.

  "Yes, though she thinks they're from me," he grumbled.

  "That doesn't matter as long as she got them," I said as our waitress approached our table cautiously.

  "I'll have the club sandwich with the fries," I said, placing my order before she could ask. I smiled broadly at her as I handed over my menu.

  "And you?" she asked Charles after shooting me a look that pretty much indicated she thought I was crazy.

  "When do they think she'll be released?" I asked, pumping him for information.

  "Her doctor is going to wait until after her last chemo treatment. He wants to make sure her immune system doesn't decide to act up again. Once she's out of the woods, she'll start recovery."

  "How does she look?" I asked, unable to shake the image of how she had looked hooked up to all the machines when I had last seen her.

  "Rough. It's obvious she's in pain," he said, holding up his palm when I went to interrupt. "I talked to Dr. Davis before I left, and he said he had already put in the order to up her pain medicine," he finished before I could say anything.

  "She shouldn't have to be in that much pain," I said through gritted teeth.

  He sighed, used to my outbursts by now. "Agreed, and we're taking care of it. We care about her well-being too," he reminded me. "You have to remember, Ashton is very stubborn, and we're trying our best to read between the lines."

  I slumped down in my seat as my sudden burst of anger dissipated. I knew he was right. I had seen firsthand just how stubborn Ashton could be. It just frustrated me beyond words that I couldn't be by her side when she needed me the most.

  "How's the writing going?" he asked, changing the subject.

  "Not bad. Turns out I kind of have a knack for writing stories. The News Journal just bought another one of my stories and optioned for the one I'm currently working on. I've also landed a couple online writing jobs. Who knew a lie about a fictional job would turn into something? Of course, I know you had a part in it. Thanks again, Charles."

  "All I did was place a call to a friend of mine. The rest was all you."

  "We sure have come a long way from you wanting to shove my nuts down my throat," I joked.

  "You hurt my girl and you just better hope you can choke them down," he threatened.

  I nodded, falling back on the crux of the whole thing. She had asked me to wait and I was trying my damnedest to be patient, but having her so close and not being able to be with her was killing me.

  Charles and I finished our lunch in silence. "You'll call me if anything happens," I stated, dropping money on the table to cover the check.

  "You know I will. Are we fishing Sunday?" he asked, pulling on his light jacket.

  "Do you think it's wise to leave her for a day so you can go off fishing?"

  "Boy, this fishing trip isn't for me. I guess you haven't looked in a mirror lately, but trust me when I say you look like hell."

  "How's Wilma?" I asked, ignoring his observation as we exited the restaurant together.

  "She misses Ashton, but otherwise she still acts like she owns the place."

  "Sounds like a typical cat," I said. "I'll see you Sunday as long as you think it's okay to leave her for a day."

  "By Sunday she'll be ready t
o cut off my head if I don't give her a break," he said before crossing the street.

  I watched his retreating back for a few seconds as he disappeared through the hospital doors. My steps were noticeably lighter as I rounded the corner to the hospital's parking garage. The last few days had been the worst of my life and had given me a better insight to why Ashton had tried to keep me away. I now knew she was trying to spare me the heartache, but she underestimated my feelings for her. Even after a two-month absence, she still dominated my thoughts. She was my first thought in the morning and the last at night. The note she had left me was nothing but a tattered mess from the countless times I had read it and still, I waited.

  I fed Fred when I arrived home before stumbling to my bed and crashing. Four days of sleepless nights had finally caught up to me. I slept through the rest of the day and all that night.

  Waking up refreshed the next morning, I placed a call to the hospital and cajoled the nurse into giving me an update on Ashton's status. Pleased to hear that she was on the road to recovery, I got back to my everyday responsibilities, even though the task of trying to take my mind off of her was impossible. The rest of the week followed the same routine: wake up, call the hospital, pretend I was a normal human. The only deviations from my schedule were the days I allowed myself to camp out at the diner to work. I was happier on those days. Being close at hand though, I was beginning to feel like a crazy stalker.

  I was working at the diner the following week, sucking down coffee that the waitresses kept filled to the brim, when in a moment of weakness, I had confessed my real reason for constantly being there. The response was immediate. I was no longer the customer they tried to pawn of on one another. Instead, every waitress fought over who would serve me after that.

  "Today's when she's being released, right?" Cathy, one of the older waitresses, asked, joining me at the booth they designated as mine. It was a prime location due to the fact that it butted up to the big plate glass window that faced the hospital.

  "Yeah," I said, taking a sip of the coffee she'd just topped off. "Charles doesn't know when though."

  "Are you going to talk to her?" she asked, resting the coffee pot on the table.

  "No, I'm going to respect her wishes."

  "That girl doesn't realize how good she has it. I wish I had a man pining after me. You come look me up if you ever get tired of waiting for her," she joked. I knew she wasn't serious. Our story was common knowledge now and all of them were rooting for us.

  The day seemed to pass in slow motion as I waited to catch a glimpse of Ashton as she left the hospital. I kept my phone on the table so Charles could reach me if something had changed. By the time the sun started to set, it became obvious that they had decided not to release her today. Dropping a couple bills on the table, I headed out of the restaurant decisively. I was sick of waiting for Charles to contact me. I would find out for myself what was going on. Fear was of course clouding my head. What if she'd had a relapse and that was the culprit for the silence?

  I was halfway across the street, standing on the median, waiting for traffic to let up, when the hospital doors slid open just as the complimentary valet service pulled an ivory-colored Towncar up to the curb. My eyes found those of the frail woman who held my heart in her hands. I saw her eyes widen with surprise and throw a question to her father who was pushing her wheelchair. I saw him shake his head in denial. Her eyes found mine again, no longer filled with surprise but with horror before they quickly darted away. My heart dropped to my knees as I watched her instruct her father to help her into the car. Within seconds, their car smoothly merged into the oncoming traffic. I stood on the median in disbelief as cars whizzed by me on both sides, but still I remained. In all the times I had fantasized about what our meeting would be like, none of my scenarios had gone like this.

  I made my way to my vehicle, paying no attention to the traffic around me or the honked horns or obscene gestures. I was too busy trying to sift through the facts in my head, the most glaring being that I was a fool. I romanticized about a relationship because of some letter, which in hindsight could have been her way of gently letting me go. She obviously never expected me to change my life around for her. I couldn't even blame her for my stupidity. She didn't ask me to sell my condo and move across the state. All she asked was to give her time. It was obvious by the look she'd given me that she'd never expected to see me again. Our time in Woodfalls was exactly what she always said it was. We'd come together with no attachments. It was time for me to accept that it would never be anything more. It was time to move on.

  Chapter 27: Trying to Heal

  Ashton

  My emotions were a mess by the time my father pulled into our circular driveway. The ride home had passed in tense silence. I ignored the furtive glances he sent my way throughout the drive. I was too angry to acknowledge them.

  It annoyed me that I required his help to get to my room, but my hospital stay had depleted my limited energy supply to a nonexistent level.

  "Can I get you anything?" he asked once I was settled on my bed with Wilma.

  I shook my head, anxious for him to leave. He started to say something, but thought better of it and walked out of my room. The sob I had been holding back since I saw Nathan bubbled up through me the moment the door closed. I wanted to curse fate that he had seen me at that moment. I cringed at what he must have seen. I was a weak shell of the woman I had been in Woodfalls. My body was frail and ravaged from the sickness that had ripped its way through me, but vainly, it was my head that I was the most ashamed of. Upon my release from the hospital, I'd been expecting to go straight home, so I didn't see any reason to wear a hat or one of the silk scarves that my father had bought me. Without looking in the mirror I knew what my head looked like, all I had to do was smooth a hand over its surface to know. All the auburn hair he'd loved was gone. There was nothing left for him to run his fingers through. I could not stand to see the pity in his eyes, so I'd instructed my father to bring me home.

  Wilma crawled up onto my chest, rubbing her fur against my tear-stained cheeks, trying to comfort me. I smoothed my hand down her back as she purred her pleasure. "You don't care that I'm a bald skeleton do you?" I murmured as she continued to purr loudly. "I saw our friend today. He looked amazing," I told her as she continued to rub against me like she totally understood what I was saying. "He's even more handsome than I remembered," I told her softly, knowing she was the only one I could confide in. She was still lying on top of me when I eventually fell asleep with thoughts of Nathan still running through my head on an endless loop.

  I felt fractionally more human the next morning when I woke. I made a silent vow not to cry again. It was no use crying over spilt milk. So he'd seen me at my worse. I would make damn sure the next time he saw me I would resemble the woman he remembered rather than the glimpse of the one he'd gotten at the hospital. I would be stronger and no longer sick the next time he saw me.

  My father was fixing my breakfast when I joined him. He looked at me warily, obviously trying gauge whether I was holding a grudge. "So, you told Nathan I was in the hospital," I stated.

  "Yes," he answered, setting a plate with pancakes in front of me.

  "Is he this fishing buddy of yours?" I asked as pieces of the puzzle came together. I remembered a conversation with Nathan where he told me his favorite pastimes were scuba diving and deep-sea fishing.

  "Yes," he answered, sitting across from me with his own plate.

  "Why didn't you tell me you were friends?" I asked, nibbling at my pancakes. I really wasn't hungry, but eating was the only thing that would help restore my body.

  He sighed before answering. "I wanted to, but you seemed so closed off to the subject."

  "How long has he been here?" I asked, acknowledging his comment with a small nod of my head.

  "Since October."

  "So he lives here now?" I asked, ignoring the fluttering in my heart.

  "Yes. Are you going to see him?" h
e asked nonchalantly.

  "No," I answered, leaving no room for argument as I forced myself to finish my breakfast.

  We didn't speak about Nathan for a long time after that. Christmas came and went and January bled into February. My body went into semi-remission and the doctors put me on a regimen of medication. They were once again optimistic. I decided against counting the days down to the five-year mark this time. Instead, I measured the days in increments as my body began to recover and my hair began to grow now that I was no longer having chemo treatments. I also joined a gym and slowly began to build my body back up. Ironically, my exercise of choice turned out to be running, which of course reminded me of Nathan every time I stepped on the treadmill. When I wasn't working out, I was interning at the local hospital in the psychiatric department while I waited to get into the master's program I had applied to. My days were full as I worked to keep busy, but no matter how busy I kept myself, thoughts of Nathan were always lurking just below the surface. As my body became stronger, I didn't shove them away, knowing that soon I would see him again. I knew that he doubted my feelings for him by things my father had let slip, but in the end, I would show him just what he meant to me. I would tell him I fought the battle for him.

  I should have expected fate to jerk the carpet out from under me since I seemed to be some kind of cosmic joke to it, but when it struck, I was completely unprepared. Ironically, it was me who opened the floodgates.

  "How's the fishing been going?" I asked my father casually over breakfast one morning at the end of February.

  "Good. Nathan can't go out as much as we'd like now that he's so busy," he said, not looking at me.

  "Busy?" I asked, parched for any information about him.

  "Yeah, he's been dating this girl he met over at the News Journal," he answered, looking unconcerned as he added eggs to my plate.

  "Dating?" I asked, not sure I had heard him right.

  "Yeah, I guess he finally got the hint that you had moved on."