“How did you know about this place? It seems so secluded. It’s adorable.” I take in the quaint little mom-and-pop coffee shop with its hand-painted glass windows and soda-shop booths. When I look up at Jace, he is studying me with a strange look. “What? Is there something on my face?” I wipe at my mouth.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types on it.
Jace: It’s just that I hardly ever hear you talk. I had forgotten what your voice sounds like since we only text each other. You have a great voice, Keri.
I think about what he said. I realize that I sit all the way across the room from him so that even when I do talk to other people at the clinic, it’s in hushed voices or whispers mostly. In fact, the only times I can remember speaking to him are when he spilled my latte on me, when I commented on his Dolphins ball cap, and when I yelled at him via voicemail.
I guess when you don’t have a voice, you pay special attention to those who do. I wouldn’t call my voice anything special. In fact, I hate when I hear myself on a recording, because I think I sound like a twelve-year-old. But I understand where he’s coming from. I’m always looking at other women’s breasts so I can hardly fault him for commenting on my voice.
“Thanks. I always wanted one of those deep, sultry voices you hear in old movies. But unfortunately, my voice never grew up along with me.”
He shakes his head at me.
Jace: It’s perfect Keri. It suits you.
He holds the door open for me and we walk up to the counter where he hands a slip of paper to the barista. I take a peek and he had already written down my order and I smile over at him as he grabs a bottle of water and places it on the counter.
“What, no coffee for you?” I ask him, pulling out my wallet.
He gently pushes my wallet back inside my purse, pays for our order and texts me.
Jace: No, it still hurts to drink hot things.
He follows me over to a booth and motions for me to sit down. Then, surprisingly, he sits right next to me, not across from me as I thought he would. He smiles at me and leans into me, like he is going to kiss me. My heart beats wildly as he draws closer. Then he grabs my chin with his fingers and turns my head away and whispers into my ear, “Is this okay?”
And I melt. I’m a pool of hot melted lava on the floor of the quaint little coffee shop. Just like when he whispered to me a few weeks ago, his breath on my neck, the closeness of his body and the touch of his fingers on my face all have caused sparks to race up and down my body. I hope I don’t look as affected on the outside as I’m feeling on the inside. I try to compose myself, but it’s hard with that spicy, rugged scent of his filling my nose.
“Yes, it’s fine. So you can whisper? How long will it be before you know if you can speak?” It is a question I’ve wanted to ask so many times. We just had the one conversation that first day when he told me it could be months before he would find out the outcome of the surgery. It’s been about that long, so I’m hoping for some good news.
He doesn’t lean into me again, but he types out another text.
Jace: I can whisper a little bit, but it’s hard. I’m not sure when I’ll know. I think it just takes time. But I do get sick of texting sometimes. Plus, I really wanted an excuse to sit next to you.
My heart can’t take this. The up and down. The yes and no. The back and forth. I’m trying to put up a protective shield around it. A barrier against these feelings I’m having.
“Say something, Keri,” he whispers in my ear. “Let me hear you.”
We spend an hour or so talking, texting and whispering about everything. About nothing. And when we get up to leave, I’m certain that I’ll never feel for another person—ever—the way I feel about this man.
Chapter Fourteen
As I drive home, I realize he never told me how he found out about that coffee shop. Maybe Stacy told him about it. Then again, you’d think after ten weeks of chemo, I’d have heard of it as well, given that everyone knows I like coffee.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I excitedly hope that he’s decided to break the rules and contact me—just because. He did say ‘rules don’t apply to us.’ I’m still not sure what that means. When I check my phone, I see that it’s a number I’m not familiar with so I wait until I’m home to read it.
At home, when I read the text, I’m surprised to see who it’s from.
Morgan: Keri, it’s Morgan. Jace gave me your number a while back, just in case. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that we’re no longer together. But, I still love him and I need to know that he’s okay. Can you tell me how he’s doing? Oh, and please don’t tell him I asked.
Really? Why is she asking me? Me, of all people. Isn’t she friends with Jules? Wouldn’t Jules know more about his condition that I do? My first inclination is to lay into her. Ask her how she could possibly leave a man as compassionate as Jace. How does she even think she has the right to ask me about him? Because she brought me a latte once? I want to tell her to go to hell. I’m contemplating what to say when I get another text from her.
Morgan: I know I don’t have a right to ask, but I’m asking anyway. I’m not a very strong person, Keri. I’ve always kind of relied on others, especially Jace. You are different. I think that’s why he’s been able to get through this ordeal without losing hope. You have inner strength that he can draw from. Thank you for being such a good friend to him.
Well, crap. What am I supposed to say to that? Just when I want to hate her, she goes and makes me like her again. Even though I still fault her for breaking up with him, I guess I can understand how some people can’t handle certain situations. I see it all the time at Freeway. Parents send their kids to us because they can’t deal with them. They need a break from the constant battle in their heads over what is best for their children. Most of them genuinely love their kids, but they need time apart to figure things out. Maybe Morgan just needs a break. Maybe after she steps back for a while, she will realize that being with him, even though he has cancer, is better than being without him. It’s this possibility that scares me the most. If there is a stronger emotion than love, I don’t want to know about it. I already love him. I already don’t want to live my life without him in it. I already know I will never have this bond, this connection with another living being. I thought Tanner was my soulmate. I was wrong. I wonder, however . . . can Jace be my soulmate even though I’m not his?
Me: Hey Morgan. He looked much better today. He’s put on a little more weight. He even told me that if he keeps his weight up for two weeks after chemo, that they will remove the feeding tube. That is great news.
Damn it! Why was I so nice to her? Why did I give her any details? Maybe so that she won’t ask him directly. I struggle with what I will tell Jace the next time we talk. I have no loyalty to Morgan, especially after what she’s done. We both love the same man. But by not telling him, am I being selfish? He loves her and he would want to know that she is asking about him.
~ ~ ~
Monday Madness is in full bloom. The silver lining is that I only have two more cycles after this. I’ve made it this far. The light at the end of the tunnel is calling out to me. I can do this.
I’m lying on my pillow, with a cold washcloth plastered to my head, trying to hold down the water I just drank. I’m staring up at the corner of the tub where my phone is displaying that wonderfully hideous picture of Jace, when a text message pops up. I reach up and pull the phone down to me.
Jace: I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. But every Monday night when I get sick, I swear I won’t go back to chemo. And the only reason I go back is because of you. You get me through chemo. So I thought maybe if you were up for it, could we try to get each other through this as well?
Me: Sure, Monday Madness will be a fraction more tolerable if we can share the misery.
Jace: Monday Madness? Is that what you call this? It sounds like some kind of reality show.
Me: Oh, don’t get me started on stupid reality
shows. I think the worst one is that guy who is building some kind of fortress in the middle of nowhere so that his family can ride out the apocalypse. I mean, really? You have an extra couple of million lying around and that’s what you do with it?
It takes a while for Jace to get back to me and my heart hurts. I know he hasn’t forgotten about me, he’s getting sick. I’m not sure that anyone who hasn’t been through chemo sickness can really understand what happens. Most people probably think it’s like getting food poisoning—that you just throw up for a while and then you’re better. Frankly, that’s what I thought would happen before my first time. It’s so much worse. At least for me. And apparently for Jace. For me, it’s like someone sticks a sharp knife into my stomach, and then twists it, and for several minutes I pray that I will throw up soon because that is the only thing that will bring me some relief. And in between the frequent bouts of nausea, there is flop sweating, diarrhea, hot flashes, chills and blurred vision. This cycle lasts about four or five hours and every time, I think that I can’t possibly survive it anymore. Every time, just like Jace, I tell myself I won’t go back to chemo. And every time, like Jace, I go back to see him. I put myself through this hell just so I can share a few hours with him once a week. I thank God for Jace. I truly believe I wouldn’t have stuck it out if it weren’t for him.
Fifteen minutes later, when I’m dealing with another wave of nausea, I hear my phone alert me of a text. As soon as I’m able, I read it.
Jace: I hate that show, too. So, Keri, what would you do if you had an extra few million bucks burning a hole in your pocket?
Me: That’s easy . . . I’d probably give it to The Freeway Station. Either that or maybe I’d start a whole other house exactly like it.
Jace: If you were anyone else I’d say you were full of shit, feeding me bull because you know I work for a charitable foundation. But, I do believe that is exactly what you’d do with it. Have I told you lately how great I think you are? Thanks for helping me through this.
Me: Ditto. I’m not sure I would have made it this far going it alone.
I don’t hear from him for another half hour or so as we each battle with our on-and-off waves of sickness. We go on like this all night, periods of texting and then not. And it does make it slightly more bearable. What is that saying . . . ‘misery loves company?’ It’s so true.
When I hit the five hour mark, I know I’m about done. My throat is sore, my abs feel like they’ve been through a killer workout, even my teeth hurt. And as exhaustion sets in, I send him one last text.
Me: Same time next week?
Jace: I wouldn’t miss it for the world. There is no one else on this Earth that I’d rather puke my guts out with than you, Keri. And I mean that from the bottom of my heart.
This makes me smile. Smile, at a time when my body wants to just give up and die.
Chapter Fifteen
Two things have kept my mind occupied this week. The first is the daily battle within myself to not pick up the phone and dial Jace merely to hear his voice again. The voice that is now in my dreams along with his whispers. But the one thing that keeps me from actually doing it is the idea that he might feel the same way about me if I lost my breasts. Would he crave them as I crave his voice? I mean, if we were together, that is. The difference is I could replace my breasts.
I fell in love with him knowing he may not get his voice back; before I even heard his voicemail greeting. I convince myself that it’s not important. I need to be a good friend and let him know that it doesn’t matter to me. Because it doesn’t. I could live my whole life with him whispering in my ear. I wonder if Morgan would say the same thing.
The other thing that has plagued my thoughts is what to do for Jace’s ‘graduation.’ It’s not like I can afford very much. I can’t simply sell a painting and send someone on a spa day like he can. After much contemplation, I think I’ve come up with something. I just hope he doesn’t think it’s an idiotic idea.
Me: How excited are you that this is your last cycle?
Jace: Pretty psyched. But bummed that there are still people here that have more to endure.
I look around the room at the faces that have been here since I started; since Jace started. John, Grace and Melanie were all prescribed more treatments than either of us. From what I can tell, not one of them has experienced the Monday Madness the way we have, so I guess there’s that. But it by no means indicates that chemo has been a walk in the park for them.
Me: Are you free after? I’d like to take you somewhere to celebrate your graduation.
Jace: Keri, you don’t have to do that. Please don’t feel obligated to do anything for me. I really didn’t expect you to.
Oh, God. He doesn’t want to hang out with me again. I feel so stupid. For all I know, he is back together with Morgan. It’s been a week since we’ve talked. A lot can happen in a week. I sigh and my eyes look at the ground. I try not to look as wrecked as I am. I don’t need him knowing the extent of my feelings for him.
Jace: What I meant to say is . . . Yes, I’m free to celebrate. But only if you let me do the same for you next week.
Relief washes through me and I can barely contain my excitement over the certainty that we get to spend almost two entire days together.
Me: Deal.
Jace: So where are we going?
Me: You’ll have to wait and see.
Jace: Is it someplace quiet so that when I whisper to you, I will be able to smell that incredible shampoo that you use? What is it anyway, some kind of flower?
I’m reveling in the fact that he wants to be close to me. That he remembers my scent just as I do his. That his whispers could possibly affect him, even by some small measure, the way they affect me.
Jace spends the rest of the session making me crack up by trying to guess where I’m taking him. Then, as the graduation card circulates and everyone is saying their goodbyes to Jace, I start to get nervous about my idea. I hope he isn’t disappointed. Maybe I should have just planned to take him to lunch instead.
I’m waiting outside the clinic for Jace to finish up when hot breath washes over my neck from behind as he says, “Where to?”
I can’t move for a few seconds. I hope my legs will continue to hold me up and provide support for my body that has turned into a melted, quivering mess merely from his whispered words.
“I hope you don’t mind riding with me.” I point over in the direction of my less-than-impressive car. He smiles and motions for me to walk ahead of him. At my car, he sneaks around me and tries to open the door for me, but my key fob doesn’t work anymore. Embarrassed by the state of my old car, I put my key in the lock and say, “Sorry, I have to get in and unlock your side for you.”
He simply shrugs at me like it’s no big deal. I look out my window at the other cars in the lot and wonder which is his. Then after he gets in, I explain how I had to trade in the nicer car I had for two heavily used vehicles when Tanner’s car died shortly after my diagnosis. He needed a way to get to the temp job he got that would help pay for my treatment.
I don’t tell him that the nice car was my only indulgence from the money I got when I turned eighteen. With the money that wasn’t mine; wasn’t even my parents’. Money I did nothing to get other than watch my mom and dad die.
On the way to our destination I realize we can’t have a conversation unless I want to jeopardize our safety by reading his texts. He must understand this, as he keeps his phone tucked safely away in the pocket of his jeans.
It takes twenty minutes to get where we are going. Twenty minutes of what I thought would be uncomfortable silence. I was wrong. I’ve never felt so at ease with another person. We catch each other stealing glances and then laugh. Every so often I’ll speak to him, like when we pass by my apartment complex, or the gym I belonged to before I got sick. I get a huge smile and a raised eyebrow from him when I nonchalantly mention passing the salon that does my waxing.
When I pull into a parking lot, Jace gi
ves me an amused look and gets out his phone.
Jace: You brought me to the Tampa Museum of Art?
I nod my head bashfully.
Jace: But you hate art.
“But you love it. Plus, it’s not that I hate art, I’ve just never really taken the time to understand it. Anyway, I’ve developed a new appreciation for it lately.”
Jace: Is that so?
“Yeah, some guy I know likes to hide messages in his art.” I roll my eyes at him.
Jace: They’re not hidden, they are as clear as your beautiful blue eyes. If you just know what to look for.
I feel the blush creep up my face from his compliment. “Anyway, I thought maybe you could teach me a thing or two.” Suddenly, a thought pops into my head. “Hey, they don’t have any of your paintings here, do they?”
He laughs at me, little bursts of air coming through his nose.
Jace: I’m flattered that you think I’m talented enough to have a piece displayed here, but no. And, I’d be honored to share my knowledge of art with you, Keri.
“Oh, well, good. I know it’s cheesy and all and you’ve probably been here a thousand times before, but—” The touch of his fingers on my arm causes me to stop speaking. The heat from his hand radiates through my body, right to my core. He almost instantly removes it and starts texting.
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