by B. N. Toler
“Which were?”
“Unimportant now,” I snap. “Has she . . .” Shit. How do I ask this?
“Seen anybody?” Marcus supplies.
“Yeah,” I grumble, hating the smirk on his face.
“No. Not one guy.”
My brows rise in utter shock, and relief runs through me. I know I’m a dick for finding relief in the fact she hasn’t been with anyone since I left, but I do. “Really?”
Marcus purses his lips and shakes his head. “No, Paul. Not really,” he snorts before he begins to chuckle. “Did you really think she was celibate for thirteen years?” And the bastard laughs harder.
I glare at him. “You’re a fucking dick.”
“Dude. She’s a beautiful, successful woman. Of course there have been other men,” he continues.
“A lot of other men?”
He grins widely and chuckles some more. “Wow. Back one day and you’re already jonesing for her.”
“Fuck off. Just answer the question, Marcus.”
He slides out of his chair and starts collecting his papers. “Only a few over the years. None since Neena was diagnosed.”
I feel guilty for even asking. “How long ago was that?”
“Four years.”
I nod; unsure of how to feel about that. On one hand, I’m glad she hasn’t been with a lot of other men. I know I’m asshole for it, but it’s true. On the other hand, she’s been taking care of our sick daughter. I never meant for her to be alone.
“Why’d you stay, Marcus?” I finally ask. “You hated her when I left. Now you guys seem like best friends.”
He looks up at me and sighs. “I stayed because she asked me to.”
I want to ask more questions, because frankly, that wasn’t an acceptable answer. Clara asked Marcus to do lots of things and he never listened. At least he didn’t back when I was around. But before I can delve in, Neena comes barreling down the hall and flings herself on me. “Paul!” I like her spunk.
“Hey, kiddo.” I laugh as I hug her. The warmness spreading through me is foreign as she squeezes me. How can I already feel so connected to someone I just met? “You ready to hang out today?”
“Definitely!” she beams.
After we say our good-byes and Clara gives me a thousand instructions of which I’ll never remember, Neena and I head out.
“Be careful,” Clara tells me in her typical serious tone, as we’re about to exit the building. And I know the words mean more. She doesn’t mean just be careful while I’m out with Neena. She means to be careful with Neena, period—don’t hurt her, inside or out.
“I will,” I promise. And I mean it.
I’ve been home since five, waiting for Paul to bring Neena home. He’s texted me several times throughout the day, letting me know Neena was good and they’d be back around dinner time. It isn’t until seven that I hear the front door open and Neena yells, “Mom!”
“Kitchen,” I yell back, as I put the last dirty plate in the dishwasher.
A moment later, Neena comes strolling into the kitchen, her face lit up with a huge smile. Seems today was a good day. I love seeing her excited like this.
“Can I use your laptop?” she asks.
“For what?”
“Paul and I want to watch some of his stunts on YouTube.” That’s when Paul enters.
“I told her it was getting late and tomorrow might be better.”
“Please, Mom,” she begs.
Closing the dishwasher, I laugh. “Sure. I guess.” Neena sprints away, leaving me and Paul chuckling. “I think you have a new fan.”
“My only fan these days,” he jests. His gaze moves to his side and his eyes narrow as he looks at the door frame leading into the kitchen. He glides his finger down the panel of would, a sideways smirk on his face. He’s noticed I kept the engravings, but doesn’t speak a word about it. Silence falls between us, before Paul moves to the fridge and squints as he bends down, looking at the pictures Neena has taped to the doors. I stand beside him and when he points to the photo of Neena and Marcus dressed up as Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween, I laugh.
“I bet she had to beg him to do this.” Paul snorts.
“Actually, she didn’t. To the rest of the world, he’s still a grumpy little asshole, but he’s different with her. They’re like two peas in a pod.”
Paul gives a small half nod, his gaze falling for a moment, before rising again. This time, he points to a photo of Neena and me. It’s a selfie Neena took one night when we were lying in bed together watching The Vampire Diaries. Personally, I think the show is okay, and she loves it, so that’s all that really matters to me. “She really is beautiful, Clara,” he notes. Then, moving his dark gaze to me, he adds, “Just like you.”
My cheeks heat with his praise . . . or maybe it’s the sexy gaze, and I have to turn away to hide a smile. Get your shit together, Clara. He left you. “Did you guys eat dinner?” I ask, trying desperately to change the subject.
“We stopped and had a sub on the way.”
“Good.” I nod and turn, closing the dishwasher.
“Got the laptop!” Neena announces as she rushes back in. “Can we make popcorn, Mom?”
I struggle to hide my lack of enthusiasm. It’s not that I don’t want to make popcorn with my child. It’s just . . . The more I’m around Paul, the more I lose my grip on reality. I cannot fall for Paul James again. I simply can’t. I don’t think I can survive losing him again. My fear of losing Neena, if I lose Neena, will kill me. I’m not ready to endure being left by Paul yet again. You can do this, Clara. You can do this for Neena. She wants me to get along with Paul, and that’s what I plan to do . . . for her.
“You two get the videos going and I’ll get it ready,” I manage after a moment, plastering a forced smile on my face.
If she notices, it doesn’t show. “Come on, Paul,” Neena calls. Paul turns to me with a soft and grateful smile. Before he follows her, he mouths, thank you.
Nodding once, I watch them exit and inhale deeply. You can do this, Clara.
I’ve been back in town for a little over two weeks now and I’ve spent as much time as Clara will allow with Neena. Clara seems to be particularly wound up tight, but I think it’s because we’re waiting on the results to find out if I’m a match or not. Not being a match would knock me to my knees. She’s an amazing little girl.
“Right here,” Neena points to a page in a magazine. I’ve just stopped at a red light, so I look over to see what she’s pointing at.
“Corcovado?” I question, surprised. Corcovado is a mountain in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, topped with a Christ the Redeemer statue.
“Brazil would be number one on my list, well, there and China,” she mentions excitedly, pulling the magazine back in her lap and staring down at the page.
“I love Brazil,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “Marcus told me. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always wanted to go.” She’s breaking my heart here.
I clear my throat and hit the gas when the light turns green. I hate that she’s grown up hearing about me from other people. That she’s grown up wondering about me. Before I can respond, she adds, “I would look at pictures from amazing places and imagine you there. I guess . . .” She pauses. “I guess it made me feel like I knew you. Or maybe, kind of like I was there with you in some way.” When I glance over at her, she twists her mouth and darts her eyes back at the magazine. “That sounded so stupid,” she says, embarrassment washing across her face.
Gently, I grab her tiny wrist and give it a little squeeze. “No, it doesn’t, Neena.”
“What’s it like there?”
“It’s beautiful,” I communicate. “You can see jungles on one end and beautiful beaches with blue water on the other. The food is amazing; papayas, tropical bananas, mangos . . .”
“Is that why you like it? The food?”
“That’s part of it.” I shrug. “I went there for the first time when I was nineteen bec
ause a buddy of mine told me that’s where the most beautiful women in the world are.”
Neena grins. “Is that true?”
I chuckle lightly. “They do have some good-looking women there. No doubt about that.”
“More beautiful than Mom?”
I inhale and can’t help but smile at her question, but I answer her honestly. “There is no woman in this world like your mother. Believe me, I’ve looked.”
Neena looks down at the magazine again. “Is that where you’ve been all this time?”
“No. I’ve . . . kind of been all over.”
“Will you go back? To Brazil, I mean?”
“Maybe, one day. But right now, I’d rather hang out with you.”
She looks back up at me and gives a halfhearted smile. “Maybe you can take me there, some day.” The statement would sound hopeful if it was coming out of a healthy child’s mouth. But hearing her say it, it sounds like she knows it’ll never happen. But that doesn’t stop me from promising it anyway.
“I’d like that,” I reply.
When we pull into the office lot, I notice several vans in the parking lot, including the one the news reporter kids from the local high school were in the other day. Several people lollygag around outside on the sidewalk as we park.
“Who are they?” Neena asks. I’m not sure, but I’m sure as hell going to find out. We climb out and all eyes dart to us.
“Paul James?” a woman calls, and then they all swarm us. I take Neena’s hand and pull her to me as I push through the barrage of people throwing questions at me. When we finally reach the front door to the office, Ashley, the high school reporter, opens the door and rushes in behind us.
“I told you to leave,” Clara spats at her.
“Neena,” Ashley continues, ignoring Clara, “I want to tell your story. All of you.” She looks around. “The world just wants to meet her,” she says to Clara. “Her ad touched so many people. They just want to know who she is. And I want to be the one to tell this story.”
Clara inhales deeply as she struggles to keep her cool. “Ashley,” she states simply. “Leave.”
Ashley frowns, seemingly hurt, before she looks at Neena. Handing Neena a little card, she says, “Maybe they’ll change their minds.” Neena takes the card and looks at it as Ashley walks out. We all watch her climb in the van, which has the same kid from the other day, Zane, driving, and they pull away.
“She’s relentless,” I snort.
“Well, they found us,” Clara mumbles as she looks at the five people standing outside the office.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Neena murmurs as she drops her head.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I assure her. “The important thing is, you guys found me. This . . .” I motion behind me to the people outside, “Will pass.”
“Neena, why don’t you go rest for a bit,” Clara suggests.
“I’m not tired.”
“Just for a little bit. Please.”
“Fine.” Neena turns to me, giving me an eye-roll. I have to fight not to laugh at her. “Bye, Paul.”
“Bye, kid.” I smile and kiss the top of her scarf-covered head. “See you tomorrow?”
“Will you tell me more about the places you’ve been to?”
“I think I can handle that.”
She waves and scurries off down the hall. When the office door shuts, Clara turns to me. “I’ll be meeting with the doctor in the morning for the results.”
“Oh?”
Taking a deep breath, she exhales slowly. “I’ll call you afterward.”
I stare dumbfoundingly at her for a moment. Shouldn’t I get to be there, too? Neena is my daughter, as well. I want to question her, demand to know why I wasn’t invited, but I decide now’s not the time. She’s already frustrated with the reporters outside. “Okay,” I answer instead. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Clara,” Dr. Jones says. “Would you like to tell her or would you rather I told her?” I know I need to answer him, respond somehow to this devastating news, but my throat is so tight with emotion right now that if I open my mouth I’m afraid I’ll melt into a puddle of despair. Standing, he calmly gaits over to the watercooler and fills a small, plastic cup, then sets it on the desk in front of me. I’m sure he’s been taught not to show fear or panic, since the patient or the family member he’s delivering the bad news to is taking care of that all on their own. I bow my head and nod a thank you before taking the cup and swallowing down a small sip.
Paul is not a match.
Neena is going to leave me.
Oh, God.
My lungs burn, and I’m finding it hard to breathe. “Would you like a few moments, or would you like me to tell you where we go from here?” Dr. Jones asks as he returns to his cushy office chair. I bob my head yes in response. My body is starting to feel numb, preventing me from speaking. “You’d like me to go on?” he confirms. The pressure increases, and with my chest tightening, I nod yes again.
My baby is leaving. No parent should ever have to endure their child passing. I could be run over at this very moment by a speeding semitruck a hundred times and still not feel this level of pain. Staring blankly, I listen as he continues. After he tells me he’ll give her meds for any pain or nausea, he gives me a list of local hospice places, reiterating I should get everything in order now, before things get really bad. On the outside, I’m stoic. But inside, I’m a raging mess, screaming at the top of my blazing lungs. When he finishes, he escorts me to the door and squeezes my hand. I can’t help thinking what a shitty job he has, having to tell a parent their child is going to die.
“Call me if you have any questions or if you’d like me to tell Neena.” I bob my head once and exit his office. I refuse to break down in the hospital. I won’t. I just need to make it to my car. By the time I exit the hospital, I’m sprint-walking, trying to get to my car before the dam of sobs and emotion break loose. When I’m twenty feet away from where I parked, I see Paul sitting on the hood of my car, his arms crossed, his eyes closed. I freeze and watch him for a moment. I know it’s wrong, but a part of me hates him right now. He was our last hope. I needed one thing from him. I needed him to be a match.
Neena is going to die. And there’s nothing I can do about it.
My breaths come out in fiery gasps and my knees buckle. I fall to the cracked concrete as a wail escapes me. And I bow down, letting my head rest on the cold ground as I cry.
She didn’t ask me to come today, but I wanted to. I wanted to barge in the office and sit beside her to find out what the results were. But she’d probably have ripped me a new one, so I decided not to push. Instead, I found her car and decided to wait outside for her. I’m not a praying man. Not in the least. But I decided it couldn’t hurt. So as I waited, seated on Clara’s hood, I closed my eyes and prayed for the first time in a long time.
God. I know I’m a piece of shit. I’m not asking for me. I’m asking for the girl, my little girl. Please. Just please, God.
That’s when I hear Clara cry out and open my eyes to find her crumpled on the dirty parking lot ground in a mess of tears.
Guess God is giving me my answer.
Standing, I take a moment to swallow back the ache climbing up my throat trying to choke me before going to her. She needs me to be strong. When I reach her, I don’t speak. Nothing I say will make a lick of difference. People passing by are staring, their gazes judgmental, and I want to kick their teeth out. Scooping her up in my arms, I carry her to her car and set her on the back, then I hold her.
My fingers dig into his back as I cling to him. His shirt is drenched with my tears where my head rests on his shoulder. His hand cups the back of my head, holding me as I unleash my greatest fear realized. I’m not sure how long he holds me, but eventually my sobs ebb and I manage to pull away from him, and when my gaze meets his, it almost sucks the breath right out of me.
Paul James is crying, too.
I fling myself back into his arms, sque
ezing him as his body convulses, fighting the anguish he wants to let out. When he pulls away, he wipes at his eyes with his palms and clears his throat.
“I’m sorry, Clara,” he rasps. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to be a match. I wanted to save her. I mean . . . it’s the least I could do after not being here for her for so long.”
Taking one of his hands in mine, I squeeze it. As I’d wandered to my car earlier, a part of me wanted to blame him. The pettiest, smallest part of me. Aside from whatever flaws or shortcomings I see in him, I know he would cut the heart right out of his chest to save her. “It’s not your fault,” I manage through my own hoarse voice.
“How long do we have?”
“A few months, maybe half a year, if we’re lucky.”
He bites his lip and nods a few times, then surprises me by cupping my face in his hands. With his thumbs, he wipes at my cheeks. “Will you let me stay? Will you let me have this time with her, too?”
Nodding, I slide off the hood and straighten my shirt. There are so many conflicted feelings when it comes to Paul. But I know Neena wants to know him. I know, deep down in my heart, she would want him close. So no matter my reservations, I have to give this to her. And the only way to trust Paul won’t disappear is to keep him right under my nose. “Why don’t you move in with us? You can have the guest room.”
“Are you sure?”
Giving him a sad smile, I say, “Honestly, no. But she’ll need us both.” I don’t tell him that maybe Neena isn’t the only one that might need him.
After we tell the news to Marcus, who takes it pretty rough, we decide the three of us should sit down and tell Neena altogether. I couldn’t let them do it alone. Picking Neena up from Marcus’s house where she’s spent the afternoon hanging with Mei-ling, I take her home while Marcus closes up and Clara heads out determined to buy all of Neena’s favorite foods for dinner. I think they both want some time to themselves to process and calm down before Neena sees them.
We pull in the driveway when Neena asks, “What’s wrong?”