It’s past lunchtime, and my stomach grumbles. I go back to the kitchen and grab ingredients to make a sandwich. Check on my mother again. She stirs, mumbles something I can’t make out. Opens her eyes. Blinks at me several times. That old familiar angry expression that I know so well twists her thin pale face, then she blinks again and relaxes. “You’re here? I thought I had dreamed that.”
“I’m here for a little longer, then I have to go. Are you hungry? I got food.”
“Food? We don’t have no food.”
“I went to the store. Got a few things for lunch and dinner. Stuff you can prepare with no trouble. Some frozen meals, pasta, and fruit.”
She stretches her arm to me. “Okay then. Help me up, please.”
I take her frail hand. I can feel every bone under the dry, patchy skin. Help her up. She looks around and walks to the kitchen. “You cleaned?”
“A little, yes.”
“Looks good, thank you.”
“Sit down, Mom. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
I make the sandwiches in silence. She watches my every move. I set a plate in front of her and take a seat on the other side of the table. “What would you like to drink? I got milk and some Gatorade too.”
“Gatorade, please.” Her eyes light up in a way I can’t remember ever seeing.
I give her a glass and open the bottle for her. Get myself water. “I cleaned your room too, did some laundry. You can sleep on your bed tonight. It will be more comfortable.”
“Ah, thank you. I couldn’t make myself go in there. Every time I tried to clean, I got sick again.”
She’s so polite, I’m not used to this. It’s disarming. I came here ready for a fight, ready to confront her for everything she did to me and for everything she allowed to happen to me. But now? Now I can’t. And I don’t know if I’m mad that this too was taken from me or relieved that I don’t have to bring up the past and all of its sordid details.
She eats with slow, measured bites, as if it hurts to swallow. “Where do you go to college?”
“Riggins.”
“That’s a good school. When is your graduation again?”
“Less than two months, May seventeen.”
She’s pensive. “May? I guess I won’t make it, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“The doctors gave me a month, maybe six weeks, if I’m lucky. I’ve never been lucky.” She attempts a laugh, but it sounds like a cry and turns into a coughing fit. She covers her mouth with a napkin, her frail body convulsing with each attempt to draw breath.
I come around to her side, hesitate, step closer and rub her back, as gentle as I can. Tears blur my vision. Why? Why is this upsetting to me? This woman who I have not seen in four years. This woman who was never a mother to me. This woman who never loved me or cared for me. And yet I cry for her. Knowing that she’ll die in a few weeks tears something in me.
After all this time, and after everything she did, I still love her. It surprises me, and it doesn’t.
When the cough subsides, and she stops gasping for air, I go back to the other side of the table. “There’s nothing else they can do?”
She takes a drink. “No. And even if they could, I don’t know that I’d want it. I’m tired. So tired. I did enough living. Bad, horrible living. I’m done.”
I reach for her hand across the table. “Mom …” I don’t know what to say, but in this moment I forgive her. “I guess we must make the most of that time.”
She squeezes my hand. “I’d like that. And maybe I can be a good mother for you now.”
I want to believe it. And I want to believe that a month or two will be enough to erase a lifetime of pain and neglect. Maybe there will be a miracle cure in the next few weeks. One can hope. But …
Sometimes hope is a dragon.
Sometimes hope is a butterfly with broken wings.
Chapter Fifty-Three
I spot my father crossing the street to get to my building and meet him halfway.
“Thanks for meeting me. I needed to talk to someone, and you’re the only one who can understand this.”
“Sure. Is everything okay with you?” His gaze searches my face.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get some coffee, then we can talk.”
He falls into step next to me for the next couple of minutes until we get to the mostly empty cafeteria. We get our coffees and find a quiet place to sit against a wall.
I meet his eyes. “This is about Mom. I went to see her yesterday.”
“How is she?”
I shake my head. “Not good. Not good at all.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and waits for me to elaborate.
“This … this was the first time I went back since I left for college. Nearly four years.” If my confession surprises him, he doesn't show it.
“Was she mean to you?”
“Not at all.”
He leans in. “Was it drugs? Was she high?”
I shake my head again, dreading the word. Is there a more hated or vicious word in any language? “Cancer. She has cancer.”
He falls back into his chair, his shoulders drop, his lips move silently, and his gaze shifts to the side as if trying to comprehend what I told him.
“Cancer?”
“Yes. Lung cancer. She … she looked terrible. Sickly and emaciated.”
“Is she getting help, getting any treatments?”
“She said she was, she showed me a chemoport on her chest. It’s not good. Not at all. She doesn’t have much more time.”
“How long?” His voice trembles.
“A month, six weeks at the most.”
“God.” A hand covers his mouth, then drops. “Thank you for telling me. I would like to do something. What can I do?”
“I don’t know. The house was a mess. She said she has a caseworker who helps, but I was in such a shock I forgot to ask about it. And she was so tired, she fell asleep after a few minutes of talking. I cleaned the house, bought some food. I’m not sure how much more I can do.”
“I could get someone to help. Check on her, clean the house, make some food. You think she’d be okay with that?”
“I don’t think she’s in a position to reject any help. And I would like that. I’d feel better if I knew for sure someone was there.”
“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. I’m glad you told me.”
I’m glad too. It’s nice being able to talk to someone who understands. “It’s a four-hour round trip for me. With classes coming to a close and work, I can’t be there every day. On some weekends, maybe. But I work a lot of weekends too.”
He sits back. “I want to stop by and talk to her. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Would you want to go together sometime, maybe?”
“Yes. She’s different now. I think she would like to see us both together.” I hope she would. I hope that seeing me with my father would make her feel better for all the crap she put me through. Maybe then she can forgive herself for keeping him out of my life. And I can forgive myself too.
“Okay. I’ll go visit her tomorrow. I’ll ask about the caseworker and get in touch with them, see what I can do to help.”
“She said someone from a church was bringing food in. But the fridge was empty. I’m not sure if I believe her, or if they don’t visit her enough.”
“I’ll check into that too and let you know.”
“Thanks—” I hesitate, then go for it. “Thanks, Dad. I don’t think I can do this alone.”
His eyes fill with unshed tears, and he smiles. “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again. And thank you.”
“What for?”
“For calling me Dad.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
It’s been weeks since Becca’s last text message. Time. She asked me for time, and if it’s all I can give her, I will. But that doesn’t mean I can’t try to check on her through other means.
I ruffle
Tommy’s hair and pull a chair to sit next to him. He inhaled the breakfast I made for us.
“Want more?”
“No, thanks.” He speaks around a mouth full of pancakes.
I wait until he swallows, finishes his orange juice and settles back into his chair. “How is she?”
His shoulders lift nearly to his ears. “Okay, I guess. She says she’s okay, and she looks all right to me. But she won’t tell me what happened, and you won’t tell me what happened, so why am I the errand boy between the two of you?”
“Errand boy? What do you mean?”
“Every time I see her, she asks about you.”
“She does?” Hope plays games with my heart, and it bounces around my chest tripping on itself.
“Yes.” Tommy pushes his dish away. “I wish you two would figure out whatever it is that’s broken and fix it already. I like both of you better when you are with each other.”
I cross my arms on the table, scratch at the stubble on my face. “I like myself better when I’m with her too.”
“See what I’m talking about?” He gets up and pushes his chair back with more force than necessary. He’s clearly annoyed. “She told me the exact same thing.”
“She did?” My heart is doing somersaults now.
“I don’t get it. You two are idiots. You know what? I’m going to her building right now and telling her that to her face. You’re an idiot, and she’s an idiot. And I’m the idiot in the middle.”
“She asked me to give her time, Tommy. You know that.”
“The thing about time, big brother, is that you can never get back the time you wasted.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
I pace my room, shaking my hands and keeping an eye on my laptop screen. Waiting for his link to go live. If I keep this pace much longer, I’ll wear down a path on the floor.
The moment his name shows in bold, I jump on the bed. I nearly drop the laptop on the floor in my eagerness to get to him before someone else does. I hit the link to dial him and put my earbuds in. He answers on the first ring.
“Becca? Is that you?”
It’s so strange to hear him say my name this way that I’m momentarily frozen.
“Becca, talk to me, please.”
I swallow the lump taking residence in my throat. “Hi. Yes, it’s me.”
“God, Becca.” The sound of a loud breath comes through the connection. “You asked me to give you time, and I have, but it’s been weeks.”
“I know. I’m sorry, I had—have a lot of crap to work on. I’ve been busy. But that’s not the reason I ghosted you.”
“No, it’s not.” He sounds sad.
“I had a lot to think about. That day—your birthday was both the best and worst day of my life. It was the highest high and the lowest low. I was so happy, and then everything came crashing down.” I stop, breathe, blink away the tears. Dylan’s rhythmic tapping tells me he’s still listening. “You finding out everything was my worst nightmare. And then the stuff I told you about Theodore … I was sure you’d hate me or call the cops on me. God. I expected the police to come find me for a week.”
“I would never. My only regret is not being able to kill him myself.” There’s such a contained rage in his voice it surprises me.
I never imagined Dylan as a violent man.
I lick my dry lips. “I want to thank you for everything you did for me. For listening and guiding and pushing me when I didn’t want to see or do what I needed to do to free myself from the self-imposed prison I created.”
“You don’t have to thank me. How have you been? Tommy said you’re okay, and you said you needed time. But not being able to see you and talk to you …”
“It’s been hard for me too. But I needed this time to figure myself out.”
“I miss you, Becca.”
“I miss you too. And I miss our talks.”
“Our talks? Is this what this call is about?” His voice goes cold.
“I need your advice.”
“My advice?” His tone is incredulous and not professional at all.
I take a breath, dig deep for courage and push it out of my mouth. “Yes. You see, there’s this guy I like, and I’m not sure how to tell him. We had a bit of a misunderstanding and a fight. I want to let him know how very attracted I am to him. I want to let him know how much I miss him, and how much I care about him. So, how should I do this?”
“Have you tried just saying the words?” His voice softens.
“I’m not that great at expressing myself. What if he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to be with me anymore?” I hold my breath.
“He hasn’t.”
“I come with a lot of baggage. What if he tires of me?”
“He won’t. He has baggage of his own too.”
“Do you think there’s a chance this guy cares for me as much as I care for him?”
“He loves you, Becca.”
Oh my God. My heart stops for a second and then resumes beating so fast it’s like a sonic boom inside my chest. “I love him too.”
“You should invite him to come to commencement tomorrow to talk to you.”
My entire body is trembling. “Do you want to come to commencement tomorrow and see me graduate?”
“I’d love to.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
Chapter Fifty-Six
The weather is perfect for graduation day. Clear blue skies. The sun is shining, and a balmy breeze ruffles the flowers and leaves on the trees that I can see through my dorm room window.
How long have I waited for this day? It’s finally here.
I adjust my cap, grab the green stole and put it over my shoulders and look at myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my door. The stole makes my eyes look greener. I can’t stop grinning. A knock on the door makes me jump.
“Come on down, it’s showtime!” Tommy’s voice calls from the other side.
I open the doors and get squished in a hug before I can even say a word.
He steps back, takes a bow. “My lady.”
I grab my cell phone and keycard and put them in my pocket.
He gives me his arm. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I take his arm and close the door behind us.
The ceremony is being held in the campus Green. The biggest open area at Riggins. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of chairs have been set up in front of a large stage decorated in black and green. The same colors of my gown and stole.
Tommy walks me to the area where all the graduating students are gathering. Organized by major and last name.
He kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll see you after. Break a leg.”
“That’s for theater,” I say.
“And that”—he points a couple hundred yards away—“is a stage.”
He got me there.
Tommy points at a willow tree. “Meet me back here, right by this tree, when it’s over. Okay? I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Yes.” I squeeze his hand and walk into the auditorium, finding my spot.
My stomach rolls in anticipation. Four years of hard work, studying, volunteering, busting my ass to get here. And beyond that, how hard I applied myself in high school to have a better chance—the only chance at escaping my life so I could become someone else, someone better than my circumstances afforded me.
And now it’s finally here. Commencement. Graduation day.
“Becca Jones.”
I walk on trembling legs when they call my name, blinking away the tears when the Riggins president gives me my diploma. My hand shakes in his when he congratulates me. A long and loud whistle pierces the air following my name and a low rumble of laughter rolls through the crowd. I search the crowd—a sea of black and green among the students. Family and guests sit behind them. Too many for me to see who whistled for me. I exit the stage and take back my place. I clap when they call River’s and Skye’s names.
Two hours go by and the ceremo
ny is over with flying caps and shouts. Graduates and families mingle. There are people everywhere. I pick my way through the crowd to the tree Tommy asked me to meet him at.
I freeze in place, my feet rooted to the ground. I sway a little, mimicking the vines in the willow tree Tommy stands near. He’s not alone.
I’m overcome with gratitude. I hoped he’d come, but I didn’t expect this. The emotions I have been keeping at bay catch up with me. A sob escapes. I press my knuckles to my mouth, blink away the pesky tears.
Tommy stands with Hunter and Mara—my brother and sister—and their mom, Linda. My father pushes my mother in a wheelchair. She’s gotten weaker and thinner since I saw her a week ago. A thick blanket covers her legs, a shawl sits around her frail shoulders and her bald head is covered by a knit cap. She’s hooked to an oxygen machine. She defied the doctor’s prediction of six weeks, but anyone looking at her knows she doesn’t have much longer.
Mara and Hunter rush to me and hug my legs. I drop to my knees and embrace them back. I’m enveloped in a cocoon of little arms and giggles. I could get used to this.
“Congratulations, Becca.” Linda pulls me into a hug.
My father comes to me with open arms, and I let myself be hugged by him with no restraints. “You came,” I whisper into his shoulder.
“Of course, I did. I would never miss this. As long as I have breath in my lungs, I’ll never miss another important day in your life again.” He pulls back, holds my shoulders, making sure our gazes connect. “I’m so proud of you. I couldn’t be more proud if I tried. I love you, remember that always.”
Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3) Page 27