* * *
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I pull myself up from the floor. My legs feel they aren’t going to be able to carry me, but I make them. I walk to the door and pull it open. I head down the pathway to the boathouse.
Then I see him. Sitting on the dock with Oliver. Two fishing poles with bobbers that float in the water are nearby. On any other day, it would make me smile. “Dad!”
I startle him, and he jumps. “Oh! Hey, cookie. I didn’t know you were comin’ over.” When I come to a stop in front of him, he scowls up at me. “What’s wrong with you? You look god-awful.”
“I saw the medication in your bathroom,” I say point-blank. My voice cracks, and I will myself to keep it together. “And I know what it’s for.”
He drops his eyes, and an emotion I’ve never seen on my father’s face settles in—shame.
“What’s going on?” I ask with a touch of desperation.
He pats the wood dock beside him, and I take a seat. He clears his throat. “I have lung cancer, Charlie.”
Five simple words, a statement spoken simply. Surely five words shouldn’t turn my world upside down...but they do. I take a few unsettling breaths and try to fend off the tears that I thought I’d run out of. Lung cancer? He’s never smoked a cigarette a day in his life. I don’t understand.
“I found out in January,” he adds quietly.
I gasp. “Seven months ago?” My mind immediately flies to all the rotten things I’ve done over the past seven months. The lunch dates I denied and the dinners I turned down. How could I be so selfish? And all the time I’ve been spending with Jackson. I’ve already lost so much time—time I could’ve spent with him. It’s enough to make me hate myself.
My heart and lungs feel so wound up and tight, I worry they may explode. “Why didn’t you tell me then?”
He pulls me into a hug, and my tears come—tears for my sweet father, the one person who’s been the only constant thing in my life. He’s always been there for me. Until now I’ve taken him for granted. And that hurts like a punch to the gut.
“Why is this happening?” I splutter, barely able to get the words out.
Oliver whines behind us, and my dad reaches back to give him a reassuring pat. “Calm down, cook,” he soothes. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and sniffle a few times. “I want to know everything.”
“I don’t want to do this with you so upset.”
“At least tell me something!” I feel like I’m about to crack. “I won’t get any rest until you give me some peace of mind.”
He thinks for a long time before he speaks. “It’s stage two—a large tumor, but still confined to my lung. I was healthy when I was diagnosed.”
Not fair, not fair, not fair—my brain screams. I can’t even concentrate.
“I was responding well to the chemotherapy, but we had some changes so my treatment plan’s been changed. Every Friday afternoon I have rounds of chemo and radiation. In two months I’ll have another PET scan. If it doesn’t show any improvement we’ll consider operating. There’s no reason to lose hope, Charlie.”
His words crush me. This can’t be happening. It can’t be real...but it is. Now I know why he’s been missing so much work, why he’s been ill, appeared so weak. I realize I haven’t seen him without a hat in months, and it’s probably because he’s losing his hair. He used to never wear hats. I should have noticed. And the reason for his thinning facial hair is because it won’t grow back. All the signs are there, all the signs that said something was wrong. And I’m an idiot, because I ignored all of them. I ran from them.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Sobs come again, shaking my entire body. There are so many things I could have done differently if he would have told me sooner.
“You’ve been so sad since Adam. I didn’t want to give you another thing to be upset about.”
That only makes me feel worse. I was so busy wallowing in my misery that I let this slip by for seven months. I take in a shuddering breath and try to tame my emotions. I can’t focus on the time I’ve lost. I must focus on making the best of our time now. It’s hard, but it’s the only thing that I can do now.
I stay with him most of the evening, taking all the information he’s willing to give and trying my best to accept the situation. When I return home I fill Taylor in before locking myself in my room. I pick up my cell phone and dial Jackson.
I don’t expect him to answer, so when he does I’m surprised and unsure of what to say. “Hi,” I say timidly.
“Hi.” His voice is quiet and oddly cold. It doesn’t bring the comfort I was expecting.
“How are you?”
He clears his throat. “I’m okay...considering.”
“That’s good to hear.” Why does this feel so wrong?
“I don’t have much time to talk. I’ve—”
I cut him off before he can finish. “My dad has lung cancer.”
The other side of the line is deathly silent. The only sound that crosses over the line is the quiet rhythm of our breathing and eventually the sound of my sniffling as I cry.
“I can’t do this right now,” he says in a steady, measured tone.
“I really need a friend.” My words are whimpered.
“I can’t be a friend right now.”
Every muscle in my body gets tight. “What about a boyfriend?”
The silence stretches long again before he finally mutters, “I don’t think I can be that either.”
Then everything drops. My stomach. My heart—everything. “What are you saying?”
“What I’m saying is that—I don’t know what I’m saying,” he says. “I’ll be back Wednesday. We’ll talk then.”
What? What? Words can’t even describe the emotions that erupt in me. I’m mad as hell, scared, lonely. I feel abandoned and betrayed. And just...lost. I don’t deserve this. I just had a bomb dropped in my lap, and he can’t speak to me for longer than thirty seconds about it? “You’re unbelievable, you know that? And you’re an asshole.”
“Charlie...” His tone is admonishing.
“Oh, shut up,” I say. “You really know how to do a number on a girl.”
“You don’t understand,” he answers with forced calmness.
I grit my teeth and clench my hands into fists. “Of course I don’t understand! You hide behind a brick wall, and it never comes down.”
“What do you expect?” he shouts, suddenly as angry as me. “I’m fucked up. I’ve got wars in my head that could put the one in Iraq to shame.”
“I wouldn’t know, because you never talk about it.”
“Because there isn’t anything to say. It was fucked up, and I saw a lot of fucked-up stuff. And now I’m fucked up because of it. It’s pretty fucking simple.”
“You’re a coward. A fucking coward,” I spit back.
“I warned you, Charlie. I tried to be your friend. You wanted more.”
“We both wanted more!” I shout. “I didn’t force anything on you.”
Now we’re both mad and silent, passing angry breaths back and forth across the line. Finally he speaks with strained words, “I can’t do this with you, not right now. We’ll talk Wednesday.”
I hang up and fling my phone against the wall across from my bed. It crashes to the floor. Then I throw my face into the pillow and cry...and I don’t know if it’s for my father or for my lost relationship.
* * *
The first time I lost Jackson I was eighteen. I can almost remember it perfectly. Maybe because it all feels new and fresh again, like it just happened yesterday. It was storming outside; thunder boomed and lightning illuminated the sky in flashes. Very fitting, now that I think about it. Jackson showed up at my
house at midnight. I was wearing pink pajama bottoms and an old Ramones T-shirt that had holes in it.
I met him on my front porch, because I knew it would only be a matter of minutes before one of us started yelling. We were going through what I thought was a phase. Everything led to a fight—everything. I stood in front of him with my arms crossed and a scowl. “What are you doing here?”
He was wet from the rain and a little out of breath. “I need to talk to you.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Oh my God. You need to talk to me? You came to my house in the middle of the night so we could talk? What in the world is so important that—”
“I’m breaking up with Mary Jane,” he said, cutting me off. “And you’re going to break up with Manny.”
“I am not going to break up with Manny.” I thought he was crazy. Manny and Mary Jane were our cover stories. We needed them.
“I’m not doing this anymore, Charlie. We need to tell Adam what’s going on.”
I immediately shook my head. “We aren’t doing that. Absolutely not.”
It was ridiculous, now that I think about it. I don’t even know why I was so scared to tell Adam that I had feelings for Jackson...I just was. I hate myself for that. Adam wouldn’t have cared—not much anyway.
“Yes, we are,” he said. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’re either going to do that, or I’m done.”
“Done with what?”
“You.”
My chest started to get a little tight, and I might have had tears in my eyes. “I’m not telling Adam,” I said quietly. “And I don’t want to break up with Manny. And I don’t want you to break up with Mary Jane.”
The desperation in his eyes was undisguised. “Charlie, please. Let’s just do the right thing.” He reached for me, and I took a step back. “I care about you, but I can’t keep doing this.”
“I’m not telling Adam,” I said for the second time. That’s when Jackson told me he loved me, and I told him he was crazy. He stormed off toward his car, and I started to follow. I started to shout after him, tell him I was sorry, tell him I would make everything right.
But I didn’t, because the front door popped open and Adam stepped outside. I was standing out in the rain like a lunatic, drenched from head to toe, and he was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. So I went back inside. I let Jackson walk away.
After that things between us were messed up. Like, couldn’t-be-in-the-same-room-together messed up. Couldn’t-look-at-each-other messed up. Hated-each-other messed up. Just messed up. But none of that matters, because four months later he was engaged to Mary Jane and shipping off for basic training with Adam.
I’d lost him. And now I feel like I’ve lost him for the second time, and it’s not any easier than the first.
* * *
I bolt upright in bed, panting and sweating from the awful dream I’ve just had. My heart races out of control, erratic and refusing to be calmed. It was a dream of a funeral—my father’s.
It’s strange how real it felt. The weather was warm and the sun was shining, not the kind of day you imagine for laying someone to rest. The priest who performed the ceremony was dressed in black, read from his Bible and spoke in monotones. My father’s glossy wooden casket was placed in the plot next to Adam’s, and I cried as it was lowered down.
The worst part of it all is that I was the only one in attendance—Billy wasn’t there. Taylor wasn’t there. Jackson wasn’t there. I was left to grieve for my loss totally and completely alone.
Next to my father’s plot was a freshly dug grave with a headstone that had my name clearly etched across it into the stone: Charlie Marie Day. In the moment I hurt so much that I dropped to my knees and crawled into the ground to be beside them. They’re all I really have left anyway.
Chapter Seventeen
“Is this really necessary, cook?” My dad scowls at me from behind his massive oak desk. He isn’t enjoying the extra attention I’ve been giving him.
I smile brightly. “Yes, it is, because I want to spend time with you.” I’ve forced him into having breakfast with me every day this week, and the majority of our workdays have been spent together. This isn’t the most efficient arrangement for work, but it makes me feel better.
He sighs loudly. “You’re exasperating. If you want to spend time with me, why don’t we do somethin’ this weekend?”
“We can do something this weekend too, if you’d like?”
“That’s not what I meant. I need to get some work done. I’m no toddler, you know. And I’ve got Oliver here if something happens—he’s like Lassie.”
I laugh out loud for the first time in days. “I’m glad I don’t have to worry about you falling down any wells.” Oliver wiggles happily at my feet when I bend to pet him.
“You don’t have to worry about me at all.”
I let go of a sigh. “Yes I do, Dad.”
His eyes soften. “And I appreciate that, but I really do have to get some work done today.”
“I know.” I turn to leave but stop and spin back around. “Can I talk to you about something before I go?”
He nods. “Lay it on me.”
“It’s about finding another secretary. Have you posted any listings?” Jackson is taking a temporary leave of absence. Temporary, which means he’ll be back in a few days, and I’m not ready to face him.
“You’re doin’ a fine job, Charlie. Why would I need to look for someone else?”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Jackson and I are kind of...on the outs, and I would rather not work closely with him.” The admission tugs at my heart, but I push the emotions away. I refuse to cry about this in front of my dad.
My confession is rewarded with an over-the-top eye roll. “You’re just being dramatic. The two of you will be fine.”
“Please?” I sound desperate.
He studies me for a few seconds before shaking his head. “Okay—fine. I don’t want to, but I’ll put an ad out to find some extra help.”
I plant a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you.”
“The office down the hall will always be yours if you want it. You know that, right?”
I start to pace backward, out of the room. “I know.” I stop at his door frame. “Love you, Dad.”
He grins. And it’s the same goofy one as always. “Love you too, kid.”
* * *
On Thursday Jackson is back in the office, or at least I think he is. The door to his office has been shut all day, so I haven’t seen him. But I’ve heard him, so he must be in there. I haven’t spoken to him since our awful conversation on the phone, and part of me hates him because of that.
In my anger, I open our instant messaging system and pound out a message to him on my keyboard.
Charlie Day: I hope you know you really suck.
It’s childish, but at this point I don’t care. I’ll do anything to make myself feel better.
Jackson Stiles: I’m fully aware of that.
His smug reply only fuels my anger.
Charlie Day: Well I hope you also know that I hate your guts.
Jerk.
Jackson Stiles: I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
Charlie Day: Well, I do!!!!!!!!!
A tad much with the exclamation marks, but I have a point to make.
Jackson Stiles: Why don’t we talk about this in my office?
I read his message aloud in a mocking tone. I will not jump when he says so, thank you very much.
Jackson Stiles: I heard that.
I throw a pen at the door that joins our offices. Emitting a pathetic clink, it falls to the ground. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
Jackson Stiles: You just did.
Charlie Day: Shut up!
/> Jackson Stiles: I’m not making any noise...you are.
Charlie Day: You’re an idiot, Jackson. A stupid, dumb idiot!
I click out of the conversation with a scowl on my face. Our message screen is reborn moments later.
Jackson Stiles: That’s a little redundant, don’t you think?
I fume. Stupid, dumb idiot! I pick up my phone and dial the extension for our IT guy, tapping my fingers impatiently while I wait for him to answer.
“This is Ron,” he answers.
“Ron. This is Charlie.”
“Hey, Charlie—what can I do for you?”
I speak loudly into the phone. “I need to have someone blocked from my messaging system. Is that possible?” I hope Jackson is listening now. I sit back and smile as I wait for his reply.
“Well—” I hear Ron scratching his scruffy jaw on the other side of the line, “—I’ve never had anyone ask that before. It’s not an active feature, but it’s something that I can investigate.”
I pause for a few seconds. Can I really make this poor man waste his time because I want to act like a four-year-old? “No, no, Ron, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” I mutter.
I mumble a thank-you and goodbye into the receiver and slam my phone back into its cradle. So much for that.
Jackson Stiles: Nice try.
Charlie Day: Leave me alone, you harasser.
Jackson Stiles: Would you please just talk to me? I’d like to apologize in person.
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