The Other P-Word

by MK Schiller

  “Was that your idea?”

  “No, we brainstormed. I suggested the jukebox because Tilla wanted one for the bar. He came up with the idea for hand-picking every song. He said whenever someone played a selection, he wanted it dedicated to her.”

  Evan whistled. “Mike did good.”

  He kissed my temple. I should push him away. I should pull him closer. Why wouldn’t my brain, heart and body be on the same page for once?

  “I wonder where he’s taking her,” I said.

  “To the same French restaurant.”

  “Is he going to order the right bottle of wine?”

  “Yeah, the expensive one, and he can afford it this time.”

  “Did you help with that?”

  Evan shrugged. “I made the suggestion.”

  The music ended. The creak of the front door sounded. I crept back to the interior door, opening it slightly just in time to hear Tilla’s gasp. Actually, her gasp was so loud, I would have heard it either way.

  “You got us a limo? I love it.”

  I couldn’t hear Mike’s reply.

  “Did you help with that too?” I asked Evan.

  “No, I thought it was you.”

  “It must have been Mike’s idea.” Evan laughed. “What’s so funny?”

  “Either that or they just stole someone’s limo.”

  “No, I’m sure…shit, if that happened…”

  “They’d have a great story to tell.”

  “They might go to jail.”

  “Tilla’s dad would bail them out.”

  “And hold it over Mike’s head.”

  Evan shrugged. “You worry too much. Let’s go to work.”

  He held open the door, and I ducked under his arm.

  Evan only played one song tonight. Counting Stars…not One Republic’s version but one by this band called Sugarcult. I’d never heard it before. But the intense way he sang the words stayed with me the whole night.

  Patrons made requests but the only other performance he gave was when he threw the bottles up in the air. If someone wanted to hear a song, they had to settle for the jukebox.

  At the end of the night, we cleaned up as we usually did. We’d gotten good at it. He automatically took out the garbage and stacked the chairs. I swept and mopped.

  I polished off all the fingerprints on Tilla’s gift. “Why don’t you play us something, Billie Marie?” Evan asked, as he put in quarters.

  Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve seemed fitting. It mirrored my feelings. I took his hand. We didn’t talk. He pulled me against his chest. I wrapped my arms around his neck.

  “I love you,” I said.

  “Billie—” His voice sounded like a faraway whisper.

  “I do.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  He pulled back. “That won’t work. Don’t do this, Billie. I told you from the beginning.”

  “Things changed, Evan. For both of us. Are you telling me I’m like all the other girls?”

  “You’re not like anyone else I’ve ever met, but that’s not the point.”

  “Yes, it is. I have a passport. I can write during the day and we’ll have our nights.”

  “Your life is here.”

  “I’ll stay here until Marley has the baby and then I’ll meet up with you.”

  “Billie—”

  I cut him off. I only had the courage to say this once. “I’ll miss them but my family would understand. It’s not as I won’t see them again.”

  “No.”

  I ignored it. I pretended that he didn’t say it. My face remained frozen in its forced state of confidence. He swallowed, heading for the bar.

  “Do you not love me?” I hated the question. I hated the way he looked at me…full of remorse with a hint of reproach. “I know you do, but I would really appreciate if you could answer the question.”

  “I need a drink.”

  He took out a bottle of tequila, stared at it for minute before putting it away and taking out a bottle of wine instead. He poured two glasses and gestured for me to sit.

  Time to release my inner thorn. “Answer the question.”

  “Isn’t this what you do, Billie? Didn’t you tell me you imagine things to be something they’re not?”

  A hard shot of anger with a mixer of humiliation stung my throat. “Don’t patronize me. I didn’t imagine us. Answer the question.”

  A painful expression flickered on his face, as if I had really struck him with a torn. He tipped the glass, emptying it. His fingers shook as he slammed it down, the action just an octave below a shatter.

  “You’re really doing this? You’re using our wine or truth game to avoid this question?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You saw me drinking, didn’t you?”

  I marched to the table, slamming my fist on it with such strength some of the wine sloshed out of the glass he’d poured for me. My hand would hurt later. He reached for it but stopped himself. He always stopped himself at that last crucial moment. I wouldn’t let this go.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded.

  “Too much to fix.” That phrase sounded familiar. I had said that to him once, a long time ago when he’d been nothing more than the guy who made my heart beat really fast, not the man he was now who owned that heart.

  “I don’t want your cryptic answers. I won’t settle for them. Not this time.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I get what this is. You’re frightened. You don’t want to love me because you might lose me. I saw that in your eyes when we were surfing that day. I saw your fear. But that’s not living, Evan. You try to be aloof and cover those vulnerable parts of you, but I saw them all the same. Maybe in flashes and sparks at odd times during the past few months, but they were clear to me. You showed them to me. You’ve spent ten years in mourning. It’s time to start living again.”

  He laughed, a bitter chuckle that soured the air between us. “You’re batting outside the ballpark.” He leaned close to my face. “I’m sorry I led you astray. You want the truth? ’Cause it’s ugly and I’m doing my best not to hurt you right now.”

  “I always want the truth.”

  “I’m not afraid to love again. I just don’t love you.”

  I staggered, stepping back from him. He’d successfully cut all my thorns in one fell swoop. I had no more defenses. My lower lip trembled and the rest of me followed. He sucked in a long swig of air.

  “I won’t wait for you. Not one week, one month or ten years. I won’t be here when you’re ready, Evan Wright. Do you hear me?” My voice quaked with each word.

  “I won’t be ready. You don’t have to wait.”

  He walked out of the front door, slamming it as he left. My knees gave out as I gave in to it all…all the tears, the anger, and most of all, my own stupidity.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I discovered that I could sit in the fetal position for incredibly long periods of time.

  Evan moved out. He left his guitar at my door. I almost smashed it to pieces, but I stopped, noticing the note.

  Billie,

  I’m so sorry I hurt you. I never meant to, but I was selfish. I enjoyed you too much. Sometimes when I was with you, I remembered who I used to be—carefree and happy. Thank you for that. But the reality is I became careless with us. I told you I’m not a good guy. You kept forgetting that. I should have reminded you more. I can’t return your feelings, but the time I spent with you was the best time of my life. I will never forget you. The guitar is for George. He has a talent for music. Maybe he can learn to play it.

  Evan

  I thought about smashing it anyway. I mean, I could buy George a new one. But I didn’t. I cried instead. My eyes were splotchy and red by the time I reported for work. Tilla took one look at me, hugged me hard, uttered a few expletives around Evan’s name and sent me back to my room.

  I didn’t argue.

  That wo
rst day of my life that had taken place several months ago was a walk through the tulips compared to this. My feelings for Preston had been shallow water compared to this dark, desolate ocean that claimed all my tears and stole my breath. I walked around my tiny room, hating each scuff and scratch, especially the ones we’d created together.

  I sat on the fire escape, replaying it all—our laughter, our intimacy, our little talks, all the bottles of unfinished wine that made up our relationship. Evan did love me. I knew that in my heart. If I were someone else telling this story, I’d have pity for this girl, who insisted this elusive man loved her. But I wasn’t telling it. I was living it. I’d lived those nights, I’d woken up to find him staring down at me, the slatted moonlight highlighting his features. He’d lain down, embarrassed and turning away from me, but never letting go of my hand. When he’d pulled me out of the water in Orange Beach, I’d seen fear in his eyes. Mostly, I’d felt it in his kiss, his touch, his soft breath as it had washed over my body.

  ‘You make me happy to be in this world, Billie.’

  Trying to maintain my good employment status, I returned to work. But I wasn’t very sharp. I mixed up orders. I served Frisky Frank or whatever the fuck his name was, and got pinched in the process. When Evan’s groupies asked about him, my answers came coiled with coldness.

  Mom and Damien took the triplets to Disney World. Marley and Rick were getting ready for their new arrival. Dillon was busy with Josh. Stevie and Adam were helicoptering Bobby’s first grade teacher.

  Secretly, that was the positive thing, because I couldn’t face them right now. I didn’t tell them Evan had left. I forged my voice with fake optimism every time I spoke with any of them. Misery was best when it served a table of one. I ate it up, occasionally pairing it with a nice bottle of merlot and a pound of good chocolate.

  Evan had been alone for ten years. The devastation in my heart was painful, swallowing me up in depression at times. What had he gone through? I tried to shake that sorrow for him and go back to hating him, but each time I kept drifting back to memories of his kiss, his chocolate-colored eyes, his jagged little scar. And his voice…the one he used to sing, powerful yet raspy. The one that whispered to me at night…soft and sultry. The play with me voice, the come fuck me voice…flirty with a kick of southern twang. The choked voice I’d only heard once in that bathtub when he’d held me, fully clothed and more naked than I’d ever seen him.

  About a month after he left, there was a knock on my door early in the morning.

  Evan?

  It was Tilla. Her eyes were puffy and her shoulders sagging.

  “Are you okay?”

  She pulled me into a hug.

  “I didn’t know. Evan didn’t tell me. He told Mike. I knew something was bothering my husband. I just found out last night, I swear to you. I’m so sorry, Billie. Mike swore me to secrecy. It’s what Evan wanted, but I don’t care. This is wrong. You have a right to know.” Her words came out like an avalanche, one toppling over the other with no blank space between.

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “Evan didn’t leave. He didn’t go on the tour.”

  Had he really wanted to be gone from me so badly he’d lied? “Where is he?”

  She kept crying until my patience wore so thin it was transparent.

  “Where is he, Tilla?” I asked with more force. “Tell me.”

  “I think he’s at the doctor’s right now.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The doctor’s office was nondescript. Evan sat in a chair, reading a magazine. He looked up at me before he should have noticed—before I made a sound or said a word. This wasn’t my Evan. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes.

  I took the seat next to him.

  “Mike told you.”

  “He told Tilla. She told me. Is it true?” I held my breath, but his expression and slow nod provided the answer.

  “Let’s talk outside.”

  He walked over to a teenage boy on the far side of the room. “Hey, Bri, there’s an article about how they do the NCAA standings that’s pretty good,” he said, handing the kid the magazine. The boy’s mother gave Evan a look of gratitude.

  “Thanks, Evan.”

  Then he gripped my hand, stopping at the receptionist desk.

  “Amy, can you text me when the doctor is ready?”

  She looked up, eyeing me suspiciously at first, until her smile softened. “Sure, Evan, I can do that.”

  He knew people here. He’d come here often. This is where he went for his…errands.

  We walked outside the brick building. The September wind picked up. I hugged my jacket closed. He went to remove his, placing it over my shoulders.

  “I don’t want it.”

  He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his jeans. He muttered a curse and kicked the brick façade of the building. “This isn’t the right place for this conversation.”

  “Don’t make me wait for the answers. I didn’t bring a bottle of wine. You don’t get to avoid the truth this time.”

  He sighed, turning to me. “I have a tumor over my heart.”

  He paused, letting the words sink in. I repeated them, not trusting my own ears. I choked a bitter breath. “When you said there was something wrong with your heart, you were being literal, not figurative.”

  “I tried to tell you so many times, but every time I’d start, I couldn’t finish. I thought why? Why do I have to fuck up our short time together with this? You didn’t need that and I sure as hell didn’t want to spend our days in darkness. You shined a light in my life that I had no intention of shadowing.”

  “Tell me about the tumor.”

  “Not much to tell. Apparently, it’s been there for a long time…benign and just fine.”

  “And now?”

  “It’s grown into my heart…the fucking squatter,” he said with a small laugh, trying to force the joke.

  I swallowed the dam of emotion threatening to choke me. “What are our options? And when I say our, I mean as in you and I. What are our options?”

  He shook his head.

  I clutched his shirt. “There has to be things we can do.”

  He placed his hands over mine. “There are no options, my optimistic girl.”

  My knees shook. I would have fallen if he hadn’t held me. “How long have you known?”

  “I received the final diagnosis the day you put that picture on my wall. I was angry with you.”

  “Angry?”

  “If you weren’t in my life, that news wouldn’t have been so difficult for me. I thought, after the way I’d acted, you’d leave. Go back to your family in the suburbs. I never imagined you’d stay. I didn’t want this for you, Billie. I know what it means to have someone die on you, and I thought it would be easier if you were pissed at me—if I cut you loose. If it was my choice, and not some random act of fucked-upness.”

  That explained a great deal. “Is this is where you come during your errands?”

  “Sometimes…along with the other places I told you. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me for a long time. A week before I met you, I was short of breath and had a heart palpitation. That had never happened to me. They said it was a panic attack. But it didn’t make sense to me. I insisted on more tests. Then they suspected I might be on drugs. Ridiculous.”

  He’d been dealing with this the whole time we were together. He’d concealed it away, tucked it beneath his rough exterior, choosing to be alone in the sorrow. My poor, lonely, lost boy.

  “They did so many tests. Then when I finally found out, I was trying to get a grip on it. Figure out what the right thing to do was. You were already a part of my life by then.”

  “The right thing was to leave me?”

  His cell phone vibrated. “I was trying to save you from it. Ask me why I’m not a good guy, Billie.”

  “Why aren’t you a good guy, Evan?”

  “I let you fall for me. I knew it was happening and I didn’t stop
it.”

  “Did you fall for me?”

  He hugged me tighter, his lips moving against my forehead. “I crashed heart first and head last, angel.”

  I’d held it in this whole time, but a powerful tremble rolled through my body. He tightened his arms around me. We stayed like that for several minutes, until his phone buzzed again.

  “I have to go now. They’re calling me.”

  “I’m coming in with you.”

  “I’m just here for meds. It’s come down to that.”

  There was a finality in his words I refused to accept. I followed him back inside. He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut off any protests.

  “I’m coming in with you,” I said softly.

  He didn’t respond but he didn’t stop me either. The doctor wasn’t annoyed that Evan had kept him waiting. In fact, they had a pleasant conversation about sports scores. I sat impatiently, being introduced only as Billie. Evan confirmed that the doctor could discuss his case with me. Evan was a case—a case.

  The doctor, an elderly man with a shiny balding head, threw around terminology I didn’t understand. I texted the words to myself, vowing to look it all up later. He signed the prescriptions and gave Evan precautions on each medication. I watched the exchange, thinking the slips from the prescription pad looked like little white flags. I searched for it…a ray of light, a shred of hope, a raft to carry us away from all this. All I saw were the white flags of surrender.

  “What about radiation?” I asked in a voice so low I had to repeat myself.

  “We can’t do it on this type of tumor. Too close to the heart. It’s likely to cause an immediate failure,” the doctor answered.

  “What about removal?”

  “Billie,” Evan said, shaking his head.

  The doctor answered anyway. “Again, a surgery would be extremely difficult given the location.”

  “Does difficult mean impossible?” I asked, sitting up in my chair.

  “No it does not, but I doubt you’d be able to find any surgeons willing to perform it.”

  And there it was.

  My shred of hope.