by Gina Azzi
Chapter Nineteen
Cade
It’s early morning when Lila slips through my hospital room door, a box of Dunkin’ Donuts munchkins in one hand and a tray with two coffees balancing on her other upturned palm.
She peeks around the door into the hallway and then closes the door quietly before turning to face me.
“Everything okay?” I smile at her. “You look like you’re about to commit a crime.”
She fidgets nervously and holds up her intern ID. “I’m not supposed to be here,” she whispers.
I laugh loudly and she shushes me.
“I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper back.
She smiles, the tightness around her eyes subsiding as the lines in her forehead smooth out. “I’m glad you’re awake. I was worried it was too early.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t spent this much time alone with my thoughts since I had Mono when I was sixteen.” I make a face at her.
“Kissing too many girls?”
“You know, it was just one girl! Daniella Martino. She gave me freaking Mono.” I’ll never forget the look of horror that passed Mamma’s face when she learned I had the kissing disease. Or Dad and Jared’s hysterical laughter.
“That bitch!” Lila’s face contorts in mock horror.
“What’d you bring?” I gesture toward the Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Goodies.” She places the munchkins on my bedside table and lays a napkin out on my stomach. Then she hands me a coffee. As an afterthought she asks, “You don’t have any dietary restrictions or anything, do you?”
“Now you ask?” I reach into the box for a chocolate munchkin, popping it into my mouth.
“Do you?” Lila presses, her eyes wide.
“No, relax.” I pat her knee as she sits on the chair next to my bed. “Thank you for bringing breakfast. It’s a welcome change from the hospital food.” I take a sip of coffee, enjoying the bold roast as it slides down my throat. “Ah, I miss real coffee.”
Lila helps herself to a munchkin, biting into it thoughtfully, leaving a trail of powdered sugar around her lips and on her chin. I smile at her, wiping at my own face. She laughs, taking my hint and dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
“So, how’ve you been? What’d you do last night?”
“I’ve been okay. Nothing too exciting to report. I had a girls’ night last night with Kristen and Sam.”
“How was that?”
“Actually, really fun. Kristen got smashed. Poor girl is going to be hurting today. Sam made us drink lots of sweet, sugary, girly drinks.” She twists her face in disgust.
Hmm, don’t most girls like sweet, sugary, girly drinks?
“Not your cup of tea?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’m a—”
“Tequila girl?” I finish for her.
“Exactly.” She smiles, but the worry lines reappear in her forehead as she watches me nervously.
“What’s up?” I ask gently, pushing the button on the side of the hospital bed so I can sit up straighter.
She chews her bottom lip nervously and sighs. She reaches over and takes my hand in hers. “I saw Miers and Hendrix at Stella’s last night.”
I smile at her, teasing to make her smile. “Did they hit on you?”
She swats at my hand. “No, nothing like that.”
I squeeze her hand, knowing what’s coming. “Ask me.” I study her face, the way her mouth turns down at the corners. I note how her line of sight stays glued to our joined hands, her blinking increases. I say nothing, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts.
After a beat, she looks up and meets my stare head-on. Her eyes are big and clear, a deep blue I want nothing more than to lose myself in. “Are you okay?” she whispers.
“No,” I say the word and am surprised by how steady my voice is, the clarity of it ringing in my eardrums.
Lila’s eyes fill with unshed tears, glistening brightly. God, she’s beautiful.
“Ask me.” I say it again.
“How bad?” Her eyes never leave mine.
“It’s cancer.” I watch her breath shudder in her chest, a tear spills onto her cheek, her lips thin into a hard line. “Osteosarcoma,” I clarify. “I got my biopsy results yesterday.”
Lila hangs her head, her hand going soft in mine. She fights for control of her emotions.
“Hey,” I whisper, causing her to look up. “Come here.” I pat the space next to me on the bed.
She shakes her head cautiously. “I … I can’t.”
“Sure you can. I promise you’ll feel better.” I tug her hand toward me and she sits gingerly on the side of my bed. “Lila?”
She shakes her head quickly before laying her head on my chest and curling into my side like a sleepy kitten. The napkin flutters to the floor. Her arm fastens around my waist. Her hair spills over my shoulder, tickling the top of my arm. She squeezes me tight, and I wrap her in my arms, hugging her to my chest. I hear her sniffles, her little sighs, the tiny sobs she tries to conceal.
I make reassuring noises, glide my hand up and down her back, offer her any comfort I can as she cries.
After a few minutes, she raises her tear-stained face. Her cheeks are marked with tear tracks and the tip of her nose is red like cherry ice. “I’m sorry.” She tells me, her eyes pleading. “I’m so sorry you’re sick. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m lying in your bed crying on your shoulder while you’re, you’re—”
“Shh, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re here. I’m happy you’re lying in my bed. I’m sorry you’re crying.” I smile at her gently. “You know, you really are beautiful when you cry.”
She laughs, covering her face with one of her hands. I move it gently and tug her back into place against my chest. “I’m going to be fine.”
“Really?” she asks, her voice mumbled by the bunching material of my T-shirt.
“Really. My doctor thinks he and his team can remove the entire tumor. It’s not going to be easy, but it’s not impossible either,” I say, repeating Dr. Somers.
She looks back up. “I’ll be here.” Her voice is steady, her eyes serious. “I know we haven’t been together for that long.” She rolls her eyes. “But whatever you need, whenever you need it, I’ll be here, okay?”
My throat constricts as the ice cubes expand in my chest, making it hard to breathe, difficult to swallow. I nod.
She leans forward, her hair swinging forward over her shoulder, providing a curtain as she kisses me lightly, sweetly.
I kiss her back, threading my fingers through her hair, securing her lips to mine.
The ice cubes constrict and a relief I never anticipated surges through my body. I pour everything I’m feeling into kissing her. For a moment, time stops. We’re not in a hospital bed, I’m not sick, and she’s not crying.
I’m just a guy desperately kissing a beautiful girl with blond hair and cornflower blue eyes.
She really is beautiful when she cries.
Chapter Twenty
Lila
When I leave Cade’s room, I duck into the bathroom to pull myself together before I begin my internship. The splotchy spots on my face are starting to recede back into my skin. I wash my face with cold water and pat it dry with a paper towel. My nose is still a bit red, but not too noticeable. My eyelids don’t look like Kermit the Frog’s. Yet. Well, that’s a relief.
I hoist myself up on the counter, grateful that I’m alone in the bathroom. I take a few calming breaths, noting the blue ribbon that is painted along the walls. For soothing. I roll my eyes.
Cade has cancer.
Cancer.
Osteosarcoma.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. A mental picture invades my mind: the big, strong, brawny football player alone and lying in a hospital bed, in a white room with a blue ribbon dancing on the walls. Why is life so unfair? How could this happen to him? He’s only twenty-two years old. He’s worked his whole life for a shot at a
professional football career and now everything, everything he’s sacrificed for, is being ripped out from under him.
And he’s making jokes! Comforting me while I sob in his arms like a crazy, emotional train wreck.
My stomach rolls in disgust.
My hands come up automatically and I bury my face in them, embarrassed by my reaction to Cade’s news while I was in his presence. That’s not fair to him. Now he has to comfort and appease everyone, calm our fears while he’s the one who has cancer.
Osteosarcoma.
My phone chimes with a text.
Dad: Lila, please get in touch. I’m leaving for Newport next weekend. We need to talk before I go. It’s important.
Ugh. He’s seriously the worst.
What could be more important than what Cade is experiencing right now? Than knowing that you might die? Than having someone tell you that you have cancer?
Osteosarcoma.
I jump as my phone rings and Sam’s face lights up the screen. I ignore the call and check the time. Crap, I’m going to be late.
* * *
I leave the hospital after lunch. When I step outside into the sunshine, I’m instantly relieved to breathe in fresh air. I fill my lungs greedily, expelling all the heaviness and darkness that’s been plaguing me since my morning chat with Cade.
Breathe, Lila. You’re fine.
I take the bus back to campus and wonder about Cade. When was the last time he breathed in sunshine and warmth? A week ago? How is he not going stir-crazy?
I need to make him a hospital basket: a package of books, magazines, movies, and his favorite snacks.
I need to do something.
I re-read the text message he sent me earlier in the day.
Cade: Lila, thanks for coming by this morning. I’m glad we got to talk in person. I’m sure this is a lot to take in. If you want to talk about anything, give me a call. If I don’t answer, it’s because I’m sleeping off the sugar coma from too many munchkins. ;)
I roll my eyes, aggravated by his flippancy, touched by his sweetness. Why is he worrying about me? It should be the other way around! I haven’t responded to his message yet because I have no idea what to say. How am I supposed to act knowing this?
What am I supposed to do?
I mean, I barely know the guy! We’ve been dating for like five seconds.
Even though I can’t stop thinking about him doesn’t mean he needs someone like me, someone who is a pathetic mess, distracting him from what he needs to be focused on right now: his well-being, his recovery, himself.
When I get back to the dorm, I’m emotionally overwhelmed and in desperate need of perspective. Kristen is napping, sleeping off her hangover, so I strip down to my underwear and snuggle into one of Cade’s oversized hoodies. I breathe in deep, weaving his scent into my subconscious. Then I collapse into my bed and give my overactive mind a rest as I fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cade
Miers pops his head into my room in the early evening. “Yo. Good, you’re awake.”
“What’s up, man?”
He strolls into my room and plops down on the chair next to my bed. “Oh, I love Dunkin’.” He looks into the box of munchkins next to my bed and roots around until he snags three chocolate munchkins. Bastard. They’re my favorite. “Where’d you manage to get some munchkins from? Hitting on the nurses?”
“Nah, man. Lila dropped by this morning.”
His head snaps up. “Did she?”
“I know you saw her last night, bro. What happened?”
He sighs, tugging his hand over the back of his neck like he always does when he’s stressed. “I ran into her at Stella’s. I was with Hendrix.”
I nod. Lila said as much.
“She was standing by herself. Said her friends were dancing, so I thought I’d chat with her for a bit. You should have seen the sharks circling her, dude. I thought if I walked away, she’d get hit on by like fifteen guys in five seconds.”
I feel my face stiffen and my hands clench. Of course guys hit on Lila. Still, I don’t like hearing about it.
“Sorry.” Miers ducks his head, noticing my fists.
“Nah, it’s fine.”
“Anyway, I just asked her if she’d talked to you and she immediately knew something was up. Sorry, dude. She’s perceptive as hell, even drunk.”
“How drunk was she?”
“Not nearly as drunk as her friend. That girl was sloshed.” Miers shakes his head, chuckling. “Cute girl though.”
“How did she get home?” The protectiveness I feel surprises me, even more so since I know there’s no way I could get to her if she needed me. That realization sucks even more.
“Cab. She was with friends. I’d never let her leave alone, you know that.”
I nod.
“So what happened when she showed up this morning?” he asks, fixing me with a serious look.
“I told her.” My voice is flat.
“And?” He sounds exasperated.
I drag a hand over my face, scratching the stubble around my mouth. “She cried.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“She really cares about you, dude.”
I nod, not agreeing or disagreeing with his observation. I sigh loudly.
“How was practice?” I change the subject.
“Fine.” Miers keeps his expression blank, and I know he doesn’t want to upset me. “You about ready to get out of here?”
“What?” My face snaps up to his. Did I hear him correctly?
“I’m taking you out for dinner. Burgers and beer.” A smile lights up his face, all seriousness from earlier gone.
“I can’t just leave, Miers.” I indicate my surroundings, annoyed. Way to get a guy’s hopes up.
“I’m breaking you out.”
A nurse knocks on the door before pushing into the room. It’s Michelle, my favorite nurse. She looks frazzled, her red hair falling out of her ponytail. She squares her shoulders at Miers, hands on her hips. “What’s this I hear about you pestering Dr. Somers to let Cade leave for dinner?”
“What’d he say?”
She throws her hands up in the air. “Be back by 10:00 PM. The latest. This is not a joke.” Her eyes narrow at Miers.
My mouth drops open in shock. No way. I look over to Miers. How the hell did he pull this off?
“Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he says politely, standing up.
Michelle comes around to the side of my bed and takes out my IV. She fixes me with a steely gaze. “One beer, Cade. That’s it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
Her eyes soften and she shakes her head at Miers. “I have no idea how you managed to arrange this.”
Miers smiles and shrugs.
“Just be back at ten.”
“I will,” I tell her seriously. “Thank you, Michelle.”
“Don’t thank me. This was Dr. Somers’s call.” She winks as she leaves my room.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask Miers incredulously.
He smiles. “Let’s not waste any more time in here. We’re going to Anchor’s Tavern. Steaks, burgers, beers, fries. Hendrix is meeting us there.”
“Sounds good.” I stand up and slip into a pair of jeans and a button down shirt that Miers dropped off earlier in the week. “Miers.” I wait for him to meet my gaze. “Thank you.”
He smiles sincerely. “Don’t mention it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lila
The days after I learn of Cade’s diagnosis are hectic. I’m taking any extra time at the hospital just to stay busy, keep me distracted. On top of that, Brandon has called three times. Apparently, Mom’s depression has sunk to a new low. She isn’t coping at all and swallowed a considerable amount of Ambien, which resulted in a short stint in the hospital. She would have had to take a lot more pills to cause any severe damage, but still … I was shaken by the
news, afraid of the dark turn her thoughts had taken.
She is officially depressed.
Dad and Brenda enjoyed a long weekend in Newport.
Brandon reassured me that there is no need for me to come home. He had flown home several days earlier and was taking care of things. I just need to stay focused on my internship, on my medical school applications, on my dream.
Some dream.
I stare at a wad of gum on the ground while I sip my latte outside the hospital’s main entrance. Technically, I’m done for the day, but I don’t want to leave just yet. If I go home, I’ll be on the receiving end of concerned looks from Kristen and Sam. I’ll also have to endure the not-so-subtle eye conversations they pass back and forth when they think I’m not looking.
I scuff my Converse sneaker across the pavement, momentarily distracted by a bumblebee. Around me, patients and doctors and families and hospital staff enter and exit the hospital. Some look tired, completely spent after a twelve-hour plus shift. Others look devastated, distraught after receiving bad news about a loved one. Some are giddy and smiling, good news, a new baby, a kick-ass procedure. I study the different reactions, various emotions flitting across the unnamed faces of strangers.
A doctor I recognize leaves the hospital, politely holding the door open for the family exiting behind him. He nods at them and flashes a smile, his eyes darting down to check a message on his cell phone. A smile crosses his face and he looks genuinely, truly happy. He pauses at the side of the door to respond to the message and shakes his head subtly at whatever he’s just read. A fellow doctor slaps him on the shoulder and he looks up, his smile widening, exchanging pleasantries, raising his arm in farewell as he walks toward the parking lot.
Do I want this? The twelve-hour plus shifts? The warring emotions that squeeze one’s soul when you can’t save a patient? Can’t heal a good, deserving, loving, wonderful person who looks at you with pleading eyes and a pure spirit. Can I balance the overwhelming enormity of what it means to be a healer and still be a good person, a good friend, a good girlfriend? Do I even want to try and balance those different versions of myself on a daily basis?