“I’m not doing great, as you can imagine.”
“I can empathize even if I can’t understand fully. How is the lymph node swelling?”
“It’s gone down, but . . . I mean, I don’t know if it really has. I want to think it’s smaller, but yesterday, I would have sworn it doubled in size and grew eyes.”
He smiles at that. “Your mind can do that to you. What helps is information and we’ll go over the test results from yesterday first, and then we can talk about the lymphatic system and Hodgkin’s Lymphoma specifically, which is the most common and treatable type to have.”
I could give two shits about the system or anything. “Honestly, Doc, I just want to know what the results are and then the plan to get rid of the cancer.”
He nods. “I understand. Please, have a seat.”
I do as he says, taking the chair from the desk. Dr. Dowdle rubs his chest as he looks over my test results. Yesterday, he had me go for a CT scan, more blood work, and a biopsy in another lymph node.
I got home, curled into a ball, and passed out. I’d never felt so exhausted in my life. Between the constant worrying, trying to pretend that I’m fine, and working twelve-hour days, I just don’t have much in me.
“I agree with Dr. Pang’s diagnosis of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, which is very treatable, so I want you to feel a little relief there. The scan indicates that it has not spread past the lymph node in your groin, which is another good thing. As far as staging goes, you are Stage IA.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that it’s the best kind of cancer staging we have, if you can call any of it good. You’re young, overall healthy, and the only real symptoms you’ve had are intolerance to alcohol and a swollen lymph node. Sometimes, we’ll see severe fevers, unexplained weight loss, or night sweats, and that would mean you’d be IB. Your stage number and letter determine your course of treatment.”
Yeah, I’m still lost. I’ve gathered that this is the better of the stages and letters, but I still have cancer. “What’s my prognosis? How long do I have?”
Dr. Dowdle shakes his head. “Oliver, you caught this extremely early. You’ll need two rounds of chemotherapy over the course of two months to start. Most likely, that will be enough to put you into remission. If it isn’t, we will reassess and make a new plan. I want to assure you that Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is treatable.”
The weight that’s been sitting on my chest eases the slightest bit. “You think I’ll be okay?”
“We’ve seen exceptional rates of remission with this course of treatment. As I said, you’re in optimal health, and there is no sign that it has started to extend into the lymph system.”
I let out a huge sigh. “Okay. So, I’m not dying.”
“Not today, no. I’d like to start treatment next Friday. Who do you have as far as caretakers or family?”
“I haven’t told anyone.”
“No? Do you have a spouse or family member who can help if you experience side effects from the chemotherapy?”
“My wife doesn’t know. Her father just died from cancer last week, and I . . . well, I can’t really burden her with it.”
His eyes fill with sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear about that, but you’re going to need someone to at least check in on you.”
“I have my siblings,” I explain. I had hoped I could keep this to myself and deal with it quietly. I hate being a burden and like to think I can tackle my issues without help. This doesn’t seem as if it will be that type of issue.
Dr. Dowdle nods once. “All right. Let’s get things set up for next week.”
We spend the next thirty minutes going over the treatment plan and making sure I understand the risks and possible side effects, but all I keep thinking about is Maren and how the hell I’m going to get through this and lie to her for the next few months.
Twenty-Nine
MAREN
“Hey, Stella!” I say as I answer the phone.
“Hey! I wanted to call earlier, but I have been super busy at the resort and time got away from me. How are you?”
I sent her a text this morning, needing some sister-in-law help to prepare for when Oliver gets here in a few hours.
“I’m doing better,” I tell her honestly.
“There are probably good days and then bad ones.”
“A lot of sad ones too.”
“I bet. I’m really sorry about your dad. He was such a sweet man, and our family is truly honored to have gotten to meet him.”
I push back in my chair and look out my office window. Directly in my view is a pair of wind chimes that are hunter green, my dad’s favorite color. Natalie and Liam hung them so I can see and hear them faintly. Each time the wind blows, I feel my father here. It’s crazy, but I swear that I only hear them when I really need to.
“Thank you. He loved all of you.”
That is the truth. My entire family fell in love with the Parkersons. They were warm and caring when we needed that more than we knew. I will always be appreciative of the love they showed that week.
“What’s not to love?” she asks with a lilt in her voice. “I would love to catch up, but with Oliver on his way to you, I’m a little frantic here. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course. I was actually calling because I want to surprise Oliver and do something he really loves, but I’m not sure if he’d like seafood on the beach or dinner at my place. Last thing I want is to make this trip stressful.”
She sighs. “You know, I would normally say that Oliver would just do whatever and be great about it, but have you noticed that he’s been . . . off recently?”
I shift in my chair. A few days ago, I had a feeling that something wasn’t right with him, but I brushed it off. It’s back now, reminding me that my gut doesn’t usually steer me wrong. Only I’ve been not myself lately so I don’t know if I’m correct.
“Yes, but I’ve been off too,” I confess.
“Maybe it’s just what you two went through that is coming to a head. I don’t know. Ollie isn’t usually this moody and prickly. He’s just not, but all week he’s been. Even to his nieces, which is a cardinal sin to him. The sun shines out of those girls’ asses. I could be crazy, but it’s just not sitting right with me.”
Now it’s not with me either. “Did he say anything?”
Maybe it’s me.
Maybe now that my dad is gone, he’s having all these regrets.
Maybe he wants out and the annulment will be the relief he needs. I’m doing it because I want to show him that I choose him, but what if he doesn’t want to be chosen?
My heart starts to pound harder, and my mouth goes dry as I wait for her answer.
“Nothing really. Just that he’s working hard, tired, misses you—a lot. As a girl who was madly in love with someone and couldn’t be with them, I get it. Maybe this weekend is what he needs?”
The tightness in my chest eases. He misses me. Maybe it’s not regret, but longing and fear. I am dealing with the same thing. This long-distance thing is going to be impossible, but I have a plan. A good one. One that affords us both a path through this.
“I miss him too. Okay, if he’s been stressed out, then the last thing I want to do is make this any harder. We’ll stay in, and it’ll be perfect.”
We’ll spend tonight relaxing and hopefully reconnecting, and tomorrow, we’ll have dinner at home where I’ll start my big plan by proving to him that he’s who I want.
Always.
I get through the hour of work I have left and head home, where I clean and then walk through the house fluffing pillows and making sure the throw over the couch is at the right angle. Then there is nothing left to do.
It’s been two very long weeks without seeing Oliver, and while I don’t think he cares how clean my house is, I want this weekend to be perfect. We have a lot to discuss, and I think that everything is going to go smoothly.
My home is a beach cottage a few blocks away from the Chesap
eake Bay. I bought this little fixer upper and spent the first two years doing nothing but renovating. It’s adorable with board and batten siding, black framed windows, and a porch swing that’s more of a bed off the deck. The whole house has a beachy vibe, but it’s still very clean and classic. I spent a lot of time making every inch of this space what I wanted.
I hear a car pull up, and I rush to the door, not caring that I have zero chill. The door opens wide, revealing Oliver walking toward me.
I smile.
He smiles.
Then he drops his bags on the walkway and pulls me in his arms.
All the fears I had are gone. He wants me, and when I’m against his chest like this, I know it’s exactly right.
He tilts my head back, pressing his lips to mine. “God, I missed you.” His deep voice echoes in my ear.
“I missed you more.”
“Not a fucking chance.”
I grin and kiss him again. We kiss, long and sweetly as he lifts me, my knees bending as he spins us.
My laughter makes me feel a billion times lighter. “Let’s go inside before my neighbors get suspicious.”
He kisses me again. “Good plan. There’s a bed in there too?”
“There are two beds.”
“Two beds, two days, too many options to make you orgasm.”
I roll my eyes and giggle. “Let’s go, Casanova, I want to show you the inside of my home.”
He grabs the bags and brings them in, dropping them just to the side of the door. “Wow.” The approval in his voice makes me grin. “This is amazing. Seriously.”
I’d already told him about the renovations I’d done. Since he had gone through it with the resort, it was nice to have someone to talk to about the trials of dealing with contractors. One-point-oh was never interested. He couldn’t have cared less and didn’t think the place was anything worth discussing.
“You like?”
“I love it. It’s really perfect.”
“I think so. When I bought it, I had planned to flip it, but I couldn’t dream of it after a week. It was just too perfect for me.”
Just like you’re perfect for me.
I don’t say it, but it feels as though he heard it. Oliver comes to stand in front of me, my face framed by his strong hands as he leans down to kiss my forehead. “Show me the rest,” he says with an edge to his voice.
We walk through together, holding hands and smiling at each other as I show him the various projects. When we’re done, we head onto the back deck and lie together on the swing. It’s not a normal swing, which is why I love it, it’s almost the size of a twin bed. It’s also the most comfortable place ever.
“I missed you,” Oliver says as I listen to his heartbeat. “I didn’t know how much until I saw you.”
I lift my head, resting my chin on my hand. “I know how you feel.”
“I’ve been a dick to everyone at home.”
“I doubt that.” Even though his sister said as much, I don’t want to betray that conversation.
“I have, but . . . I’m so stressed, and there’s just so much . . .”
“You don’t have to explain it, I get it. My head has been such a mess. I keep saying I’m going to snap if I get just one more bad thing.”
“What do you mean?” Oliver asks.
“We had some issues with a mission this week. I was so overwhelmed, and I kept wishing I could talk to my dad. I wanted to call him, but I can’t anymore, you know? I’m alone.”
Oliver’s hand moves up and down my spine. “You’re not alone.”
“I have you. I know I do, but we’re so far apart.”
“We knew this would be hard.”
“It’s been two weeks, and I want to scream,” I say with a smile. I’m only half joking. I have wanted to get in my car and go to him so many times.
He makes me happy and safe. “You make it so that I don’t think of cancer and death and sadness. In your arms, I’m okay.”
Oliver shifts and then closes his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Long drive, and I’m already dreading leaving.”
“Then no more talking about leaving and sadness. Tonight, we have pizza, and tomorrow, we’ll go exploring. I want to take you to my favorite places, and Mark would love to see you.”
Oliver hugs me tighter. “No sad for tonight.”
I lie back down, closing my eyes as I, once again, settle into the steady beat of his heart. “Just us.”
“Just us.”
Thirty
OLIVER
All weekend I’ve had ample opportunities to tell her. On the ride down, I promised I would when I got here, but I couldn’t, not after what she said while we were curled up on the swing.
Now, I leave in the morning, and I’ve yet to find a way to say it.
I have cancer.
I have cancer. It’s not going to kill me, but I have it and I’m going to be okay.
Maren looks up from her plate and smiles.
Say it. Just tell her.
“The food is good, right?”
I haven’t tasted a damn thing. I nod. “Definitely.”
She went through a lot of trouble to make this weekend fun and light, but there’s darkness hovering over me.
The next few months are going to suck, and I’m not going to be able to come here. I’m going to be sick and dealing with treatments. While it’s beatable, Dr. Dowdle was clear that I will still have a few months of hell.
I thought I could just go through it without Maren knowing, but that’s not right. I don’t want to keep this from her or lie and make excuses as to why we can’t see each other.
No, I have to be honest and trust that we’ll figure it out. From everything I know about her, I can’t see her walking away.
“Oliver, there’s something I want to talk about . . .”
“Me too,” I say, putting my fork down.
“You do?”
I nod. “Yes, but you go first.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I’m in no hurry to ruin the rest of the small amount of time we have left together. I really wanted to do it after we made love, when she was sated and maybe a little less likely to be upset, but those moments came and went without the words coming from my lips.
She lets out a huge sigh. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” Maren rushes out of the room, and returns with something that looks like an envelope, before placing it on her lap as she sits. “I first want to tell you how much I care about you. I didn’t know that I could feel this way about anyone. I thought I had my life all figured out. I had plans, and those plans weren’t this, but then they became this, which is great and perfect. I know you wanted to be alone and didn’t plan this either.”
Her rambling has me going in circles, but it sounds like she needs me to agree. “I did.”
“That’s what is so perfect about us. We were completely okay with the plan to walk away at the end of this charade. We never had plans to be together past our fake wedding.”
“Which changed,” I say carefully.
“Yes, but not by choice, not really. Not in the end.”
I lean back, trying to decipher what she’s saying. It’s impossible, so I just nod.
She grabs the envelope and hands it to me. “Here.”
I grab it, open the flap, watching her as I do it. She looks nervous. When I slide the paperwork out, my vision goes red.
She filed for a fucking annulment.
An annulment. After everything. This whole weekend of us being together, saying all kinds of bullshit, she had this planned.
I can’t believe this.
Once again, I’m not what the woman I love wants.
I’m fucking done.
I look up at her, and instead of sadness or regret, she looks hopeful. “You want an annulment?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But what?”
Her head
jerks back at the bite in my voice.
“Well, I just thought . . .”
“You thought what?” I ask, anger in every syllable. She didn’t think. She just fucking went off on her own.
“I thought this is what you’d want?”
What part of me driving here and spending time with her made her think this is what I want? Nothing.
No, this is what she wants.
This is exactly what I wondered about. Her father is gone, I’m no longer required for her scheme, so she’s cutting ties. Unreal.
Well, this time, I’m not going to go quietly into the night. I’m done with being used by women, and she is the worst out of all of them. I’m married to her, and she still doesn’t want me.
“No, you thought . . . hey, my dad is dead, I don’t need to keep up with this, never mind the fact that my husband has shown me in every way short of screaming it from a rooftop that he’s falling in love with me. I think I’ll file for an annulment.”
“That’s not what—”
I slam the papers onto the table. “What was this weekend, Maren? Just one more weekend where I fuck your brains out before you end it all? A chance to get what you need before you walk away as though you’re the victim?”
“Oliver, wait, I’m doing this for us.”
I laugh because that’s the most ridiculous fucking thing I’ve ever heard. “Spare me. I have the goddamn paperwork in my hands.” I scan the document and shake my head. “On grounds of false pretenses. Well, isn’t that sweet? I tricked you into this now?”
“No, of course not,” Maren says quickly. “The lawyer and I agreed . . .”
“I don’t fucking agree!” I yell and get to my feet. “I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe this!” I run my fingers through my hair. I must be the biggest idiot who has ever lived. Here I was, ready to tell her that I needed her, that I was falling apart, and all the while, she was planning on leaving.
I grab the envelope, head into her room, and start to throw my shit into my bag. Fuck this. I’m not going to stand here and listen to this crap. I have enough on my mind, and this annulment is the last thing I need.
A Chance for Us (Willow Creek Valley Book 4) Page 22