Utterances

by Jo Michaels

“I told you the story of how she got sick and all the hospital visits, but I wasn’t ready to show you what I believe saved her. Please, listen with an open mind, okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll do my best.” Tristan settled back against the bedside again.

  “Her doctors told me a month after my eighteenth birthday that she had, at most, six more weeks to live. I’d been practically living at the hospital when I wasn’t at work, even had a lame cupcake there with a candle in it for my big day, and I was wretched. There was nothing I could do except watch as she wasted away. But I read an article in a science magazine in the breakroom at work that said people who are bedridden often respond well to being read to.

  “I made it my life’s mission to read her all the books I could before she died and left me alone. She was such a good mom. Loving, kind, and she used to bake the best cookies you’ve ever tasted. Giving her a little bit of my time and energy in return seemed a small price to pay, you know?” She took her eyes off the cover of the book to peek at Tristan.

  “Yep. I understand that. I’d do the same for my mom or dad,” he said.

  “She always loved books. Besides me and my dad, I’d say they were the highlight of her life. When she got hold of a great one, she’d talk about it for days with this huge smile on her face.

  “I’d run out of things to read, so I went into an old, second-hand bookstore one day on the way to the hospital. Everything looked boring, but then I came upon this.” Simone turned the book so he could see the cover and ran her fingers over the edge of the infinity symbol. “It was stuffed way in the back of a shelf, and it probably had a good inch of dust on it.

  “There was no price sticker, and the pages were blank, but I was certain I needed it—and for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking about cost. If it had been fifty bucks, I would’ve paid it.”

  When Tristan opened his mouth, Simone held up her hand. “Don’t ask. I’ll get there.”

  He relaxed again, eyes narrowed.

  “I bought it. Cost me just twenty dollars. Why would I have paid whatever the book cost? Because something told me it would fix my life.” Tears of joy gathered at the corners of her eyes as she gazed at her treasure and rubbed her fingers over the raised symbol on the front.

  “I wrapped it up, it went with me to the hospital that afternoon, and while I was showing it to my mother—who couldn’t even see it because she was comatose—words scrawled into existence on the pages, beautiful, silver ones, begging me to read them. So, that’s exactly what I did.

  “Each day for a week, my mother’s health improved. By the end of the fifth, all her hair had grown back, and day seven’s blood tests revealed she was cancer free. That was the point I reached the end of the story I was reading. Of course, the doctors said it had been the chemo that saved her, even though they’d told me there was nothing more they could do.” She lifted an eyebrow.

  Tristan was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the book. “Why do you think it was the book that did it?”

  “Because it changed me, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  It was a struggle to find a good explanation, to tell him how she knew; she settled on showing him. Jumping up, she dug through a drawer until she found a photo Lilian had taken before Simone started reading. “This was me a week before, and it was taken about six months ago, a couple of weeks before I met you.” She held it up beside her face.

  His eyes darted back and forth between the two several times before his jaw dropped. “You look older.”

  She nodded. “I’m guessing a few years. Can’t tell how many. Nothing super noticeable unless you see me with this photo. My mom sort of notices, but she was loopy and on a lot of drugs, so she’s not totally sure.”

  “What does all this mean?”

  “It seems to mean that when they’re needed, healing words somehow appear on these pages, but if I read them, I lose a few years of my life. That’s what I figure, anyway. I haven’t had a chance to test it further.”

  “In other words, you think this book can cure cancer but does it by syphoning off the reader’s… I don’t know, soul?”

  “I’d prefer to think of it as life-force, but yeah, that’s pretty much it. I also think it’s not limited to cancer.” Dropping her head, she chuckled. “As long as I have this book, no one I love can be taken from me. Sounds crazy. I know.”

  “It really does, but I understand now what it must mean to you.” As he spoke, his words grew softer. “Leaving something that provided me with that much security would certainly incite panic in me, too. I know how attached you are to your mom.”

  Regret slammed into her like a semi. “What I did out there… What I’m trying to say is, you’re as important to me as she is, and I’m sorry I screamed at you. I wasn’t thinking. It’s easy to see it now, looking back, that if I’d just asked you or explained that I had an important book in my bag that I needed—and I do need it—you would’ve driven me back without question.” Lifting her head, she gazed at him and took his hands in hers. “I’m pretty sure I love you, too. You’re everything I could’ve wished for, and I hope you accept my apology. Hurting you isn’t something I intended to do.”

  “Say it again,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “The part where you said you love me.” A huge smile split his face.

  “I love you, Tristan. With all my heart.”

  “How do you know?”

  That question nearly threw her for a loop, but then she remembered what it felt like when she thought he wouldn’t be part of her life anymore. “Because I can’t imagine my tomorrow without you in it.”

  Releasing one of her hands, he ran his fingers along her jaw, ticked them up, and pushed her hair out of her face, smoothing it behind her ear. “That’s exactly how I love you.”

  An inferno blazed under her skin. He could say it a million times, and she knew she’d want to hear it again.

  Inch by agonizing inch, he moved closer.

  Finally, he pulled her into an embrace and buried his face in her hair. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I need some time to process it, okay?”

  Her heart grew heavy again, and she nearly relapsed into tears. But he pulled back and locked her eyes with his.

  “This doesn’t mean I need to think about whether I want to be with you. It just means I need time to think and go back over the events of this evening. Can you give me that?”

  “I’d walk through the fires of Hell, endure any amount of pain, if it meant you were on the other side, waiting for me,” she answered.

  “Thank you.”

  “No, Tristan. Thank you.”

  She walked him to the door.

  “I never left, you know,” he said, running a thumb over hers.

  “What do you mean?” Squealing tires and smoke were a clear memory in her mind.

  His eyes left their hands and travelled to her face. “Because I was hoping you’d call, I drove around town, trying to make sense of what happened. I nearly came back twice, and right before your text, I was going to give it up and head home, afraid by then if I did come back, you’d think I was some kind of crazy stalker.”

  Recalling what her mother had said, Simone smiled. “Even if you are, I signed up for your brand of crazy. You’re stuck with me now.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  They hugged goodnight before he kissed her cheek and left.

  Idly, her fingers ran over the spot where his lips had been as she made her way back to her room and collapsed on the bed, her heart overflowing.

  There was nothing for her to do the next day, so she hung around the house and unpacked boxes. At the bottom of one of the bigger ones, she found a dress that looked as though it had been hastily thrown in. She figured her mother had used it to pad something in lieu of newspaper or bubble wrap. Simone pulled the article out of the box and went to hang it up.

  As she turned away from the closet, she caught sight of
the new desktop her mom bought herself as a housewarming gift. They were supposed to already have cable and internet access, and an idea lodged itself in Simone’s head. She hooked everything up and pressed the power button, feeling like someone had hooked her nervous system up to the electricity in the apartment instead.

  After several screens of setup, including hooking up to the server, she opened an internet browser and typed “book that heals” in the search bar and pressed Enter.

  Over ten pages of results popped back at her, but there was nothing about a book with an infinity symbol on the cover. Most of the suggestions were about healing oneself with prayer or meditation—and most, of course, centered around God and the Bible. Frustrated, she stood and went to unpack some more boxes while she thought about a better search term.

  A couple of hours later, she returned with a few options: book with infinity symbol that is read and cures cancer—nothing, words appearing on blank pages like magic—nothing, and magical ancient book that heals—mostly witchcraft books and stories of ancient magic healers.

  If there were an actual book in the world that healed people when it was read, she figured there should be some record of it somewhere. Because she couldn’t find anything, she started to question her own sanity. After all, it had only cost her a twenty.

  Maybe I made it up. Maybe I am crazy.

  With that idea playing through her mind, she returned to the task of unpacking, working late into the afternoon. Finally, she finished, broke down the last box, and grabbed her cell phone to call Tristan.

  He picked up on the second ring. “Hello, beautiful. How was your day?”

  “It was amazing. Our apartment is all unpacked. How about yours?”

  “You’re a rock star! The whole thing, huh?” He laughed.

  “Yep, the whole thing.”

  “Well, I only had one class today, and it happened to be business management, so my day was fantastic, too. I’m heading home and was about to call you and ask if you’d like me to come over.”

  She did, and she told him so, asking him to grab a movie on his way. When she hung up, she realized she’d made a mistake and redialed.

  “Dang, miss me that much?” he asked when he picked up.

  “Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. We have no food, Mom has the car, and I was wondering if you’d take me to get some groceries.”

  “Of course! Does that mean you want me to eighty-six the movie and we can pick one out together?”

  “Yeah it does!” Excitement over the notion of going grocery shopping with a guy and then picking out a movie with him—like they were an old married couple—had her giving the response a little too loudly, and she pressed her lips together and giggled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell.”

  His sexy chuckle came back at her. “It’s okay. I like to know my girl’s excited to see me. Be there in about forty-five minutes.”

  “See you then.” She pressed the end button and flipped the phone closed.

  While she waited, she headed back to the computer with an idea taking root. Her mom had given Simone three weeks to get rid of the book, but if she could prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it did what she thought, then there was no way anyone could make her throw it away or sell it. Hopefully. Opening the browser again, she typed in her search term and scribbled a couple of addresses that were within walking distance on a notepad before clearing the history and clicking the X in the corner to shut everything down, thanking school for the computer classes.

  That piece of paper was tucked into a side pocket of her backpack, and she pulled the tiny zipper closed, determined to prove—first to herself and then to everyone else—she wasn’t a nutcase, once and for all.

  While she waited, she wondered how she’d slip away from Tristan and her mother every day for a week.

  The answer was simple: Simone would have to lie.

  It was difficult for Simone to remain impassive about the plan as she shopped with Tristan. She hated that she was going to have to lie, but she couldn’t risk him being there—just in case she was off the rails. No, whatever happened, she needed to see it for herself first. If it worked, she’d tell everyone else the whole story and apologize for lying.

  She and Tristan finished getting groceries, picked out a raunchy rom-com, and headed back to the apartment. He cooked spaghetti, and they sat in front of the TV to eat.

  Halfway through, Yvette walked through the door. “Hey, kids! Something smells amazing. You been cooking again, Tristan?”

  “You bet I have. There’s plenty left. Help yourself.”

  After piling a plate with the pasta and meatballs, she flopped down in a chair in the dining room and dug in.

  Simone turned her attention back to the movie. One of the actors delivered a great zinger, and she laughed out loud. Eventually, her head found Tristan’s shoulder, and she snuggled into his side. Everything was perfect for once.

  Their film ended way too soon; he grabbed the disk, got up to leave, and waved bye to her mother as he walked toward the door.

  Simone followed him to his truck and hugged him, hating every part of herself for what she had to do. Just as she was about to let go, he stopped and pulled back, forehead wrinkled.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Why?” Damn him and his sense of my moods.

  “I dunno. You seem off somehow.”

  “No. I’m fine. Just tired. I unpacked the whole apartment today.” She chuckled.

  “Okay then.” His expression hadn’t changed.

  “See you tomorrow?” There was no way she’d see him the next day, but if she suddenly had something going on that late at night, he’d surely get suspicious.

  “You will.” He kissed her on the forehead, let go, and got in the vehicle.

  It was possibly the worst kind of betrayal. There she stood, telling him she’d see him soon, not even knowing what kind of shape her plan would leave her in. And he was just starting to trust her.

  All her dinner presented itself behind the bushes. Once she was done dry-heaving, she breathed deeply to calm down, wiped her face, and went back inside.

  Her mother was gone, probably to her room, so Simone headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth and get ready to go to bed as well. She emerged and ran smack into Yvette’s chest.

  “Honey, did you hook up my computer?”

  Oh shit, oh shit… Simone’s mind raced to come up with an excuse. Finally, she let out a bark of a laugh. “Yeah! I forgot to tell you when you got home. Thought it might be a nice surprise. After all, I unpacked everything else.” She grinned, trying her best to play it off as a forgetful moment.

  Instead, she got the side-eye from her mother. “Okay. I told you before I’d get you your own computer in a few weeks. Mine’s for work, all right?”

  “I swear, Mom, I didn’t do anything on it. I only hooked it up. It seemed like the only thing left undone besides shopping.”

  That earned a smile, and Simone almost let out a sigh of relief.

  “Well, okay. I’m going to bed. Goodnight, Simone.”

  “Night, Mom!” She wanted to sprint, but she forced herself to stroll idly to her room. Once there, she fell on the bed, wrapped her arms around the pillow and book, and crashed hard.

  Yvette was already gone when Simone woke the next morning. She called work and rearranged her schedule for the week to evenings only, got dressed, grabbed her pack, and strode out the door.

  First on her list was an old-folks’ home. It was only about a mile away, so she trudged there to see if any of the residents had a debilitating disease and might like to hear a story. As she walked, she thought about what she might do if no words appeared in the book. She drove herself to the edge wondering if she’d be willing to give it up if she failed. Finally, she paused for a breather and pulled her phone out of her bag to text Tristan with an excuse.

  HEY. WORKING EVENING SHIFT ALL WEEK. WILL SEE YOU MONDAY. I’M BUMMED. SOMEONE CALLED OUT. I LOVE YOU.

 
; His response came back quickly. WHAT WILL I DO WITHOUT YOU FOR A WHOLE WEEK? I LOVE YOU, TOO.

  LOL! I’M SURE YOU’LL THINK OF SOMETHING.

  I DO HAVE MIDTERMS COMING. GUESS I’LL STUDY. LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU’RE FREE AGAIN. MY HEART WILL BE WAITING.

  WILL DO. She put the phone back in her bag and continued the journey. Cool air enveloped her when she pulled open the door to Shady Pines. Behind the counter, a pretty young redhead smiled and welcomed Simone.

  She approached and idly rested her forearms on the mahogany. “Good morning. I was wondering if you have anyone here that’s close to hospice that might want some company in the form of a good story being read to them.”

  Still smiling, the girl nodded and typed on her computer. “We sure do. Several of our residents don’t have a lot of family nearby, and they love visitors.” Her mouth rounded to an O, and she looked up. “Head down the hall to the right. Room four twenty. Her name is Mrs. Shandy. You’ll like her. Still has a bit of spunk even though the poor thing only has limited time until hospice.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s wrong with her?”

  “Dementia and stage four pancreatic cancer. She’s yellow, but don’t let that scare you. It’s normal. Plus, she loves to be read to.”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” Simone turned to head in the direction indicated.

  “Oh! Ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you please sign in on my list? We have to keep a record of everyone that comes and goes. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Of course!” Spinning back around, she grabbed the pen and signed the name Alexandra Lingerfield on the page before hurrying to room four twenty.

  When she knocked and there was no answer, she cracked the door. “Excuse me? Mrs. Shandy?”

  “Yes?” The voice that came back was barely audible.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Simone pushed the door open wider and stepped over the threshold. Instantly, she wished she hadn’t as her olfactory senses slammed her into the past.

  Hospital.

  Chemo.