“But for the record, I’m so glad you came back.”
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Even if you never forgive me, even if you can’t get past it all...seeing you again has been...I don’t know. I can’t explain it. Just good for my soul, I guess.”
There’s a long, awkward pause as my insides fight over how to respond. My brain is trying to formulate the right words, the words that won’t hurt Ryder but also won’t betray the memory of my dead brother.
But like he always did, he knows I need him to keep talking.
“I totally get it if you need some space. But just know that whenever you want, for as long as you want, you’re always welcome here.”
His eyes are fixed on mine, like they’re drilling holes straight into me. Then he smiles a sad smile and turns to walk off the deck.
“Ryder,” I call out to him. He stops and turns back. “I just need to grab my bag.”
I turn on my heel and head in through the back door. And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a hint of a smile on his face.
16
We’re riding down Lakeside Highway toward Timberland, the next town over, where Ryder’s oncologist has an office. It’s been a relatively quiet ride; Ryder has the windows down and the radio turned up, but we haven’t really spoken. I have my hand out the window, letting the wind blow through my fingers.
“I didn’t think you were gonna come,” he finally says. I turn to him and tuck my feet up on the seat.
“I told you I wanted to,” I say.
“I know. But that was before you ran into Trout. And I just––”
“Hey,” I say, cutting him off and placing my hand on top of his for the briefest of moments. “I want to go with you.”
He smiles and nods. After a few more minutes of silence, he lets out a soft chuckle as he reaches a hand out his own window.
“What?” I ask him.
“Nothin’,” he says with a smile.
“Hey, that’s not fair. Tell me,” I say, and I can’t help but smile back at him.
“I said your name when I came to,” he says. My eyes widen, and I turn my whole body to face him.
“What? When?” I ask. “When you came to when?”
“When I had the seizure, the first time––when I had cancer,” he says, clearing his throat. I cringe at the words “first time.” Because it means he’s thinking that there could be a second time.
“You...you said my name? But weren’t you with––”
“My wife, yeah,” he says with a chuckle, but I’m failing to see what’s funny about it. “When I opened my eyes, and the black specks finally faded away, my head was in her lap. I was staring up at the sky, and she said I just kept repeating your name. She didn’t tell me till I was in remission.”
I nod slowly, so, so confused.
“Was she...mad?”
He shakes his head and leans his head back against the headrest.
“Nope. Not my Maura,” he smiles. “It took a lot to get her mad. I apologized profusely, but she told me not to be sorry. She said she believed that when we were in our most vulnerable states, we thought about unfinished business. And she always said you were mine.”
His eyes are trained on the road ahead of him, and his lips break out into a smile again.
“What? What are you smiling about?”
“I don’t know. I guess just the fact that you’re here...I don’t know,” he says. I turn back to face the road and pull my feet up onto the seat underneath me.
After a few more minutes, we finally pull into the picturesque mountain town of Timberland, tucked away on the Pennsylvania border. It looks like one of the towns you see on Christmas cards: churches with big steeples and tiny, old houses peeking out of the mountainside. We pull off the highway, make a few turns, and park in front of a big brick building.
A big black sign reads “R.H. Oncology Associates” in gold letters ahead of us. Before I unbuckle my seatbelt, he’s at my door, opening it for me just like he used to do. I swallow as we get out.
“You ready?” he asks me. I can’t help but smile.
“Are you?” I ask him. He shrugs and smiles back.
I follow him inside and take a seat on one of the bright-yellow waiting room chairs while he checks in.
“Mr. Casey, it’s been a long while since we’ve seen your smilin’ face up here!” a plump woman with bleach-blonde hair calls out from behind the desk.
“Hey, Claudia,” he says with that killer smile. “You weren’t here the other day when I was in. Before that, it’s been a few years. How have you been?”
She comes around the desk and wraps her arms around him.
“We’ve been real good,” she says. “How’s that sweet baby of yours?”
“She’s great,” he says. “Growing more every day, I swear.”
I get that warm feeling in my belly again, anytime he talks about her. There’s this look in his eye, and I know he never, will never, look at anyone or anything the way he must look at her.
“They do that,” Claudia says with a wink. Then her eyes catch me, and I clear my throat awkwardly.
“This is my...this is Mila. We’ve known each other for years,” he says. “She’s here today for moral support. Even though I know we’re in the clear, right?”
Claudia smiles and cocks her head, giving him a look that says don’t get ahead of yourself.
“Good mojo, ladies!” Ryder says.
“Good mojo,” Claudia repeats in unison with another woman from behind the desk.
“Come on back, y’all,” Claudia says, waving us back down a long hall. We pass a few exam rooms then stop in front of a door. She taps on it and pushes it open.
“Mr. Casey’s ready for you,” Claudia tells the man behind the door. A tall, slender man in a white coat stands up to greet us. He’s older, maybe mid-sixties, and is at least two inches taller than Ryder.
“Mr. Casey, come on in,” he says, holding a hand out. Claudia closes the door behind us, and the doctor points to the two chairs on the other side of his desk.
“How are we today?” he asks, smoothing out his coat and sitting down. He folds his long hands on the desk in front of him, looking from me, to Ryder, to me, to Ryder.
“Good, doc, doin’ real good,” Ryder says. “This is an old friend, Mila. She’s here for moral support.” He smiles that smile, and so far, I’ve never met anyone who can’t not smile back.
“Hello, Mila,” the doctor says, nodding in my direction. “I’m Dr. Chandler.”
“Hi,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. Shall we?” he asks, holding up a file folder. Ryder pauses and holds his hands up.
“Hang on there, doc,” he says, leaning back in the chair. He stretches his legs out and shakes out his arms, making himself comfortable. “Okay. I’m ready,” he says.
I can still sense things on another level with Ryder, like I used to.
His lips are smiling, but his eyes aren’t.
He’s scared.
And that makes me scared. I clear my throat and lean forward.
“Well, Ryder,” Dr. Chandler says, pulling some scans from the folder, “as you know, we found a mass on your last scans.”
My eyes move to Ryder. He said “abnormal.” He didn’t mention any mass.
“So the biopsy results are back,” Dr. Chandler continues. Then he pauses and stretches an arm across the desk. He wraps his fingers around Ryder’s arm. “Son, the cancer is back.”
17
We’ve been driving in silence for about twenty minutes. I don’t know what to say, but then, in situations like this, does anyone, really? When someone’s world is flipped on its axis, when you can practically hear the crash of all that they knew coming to a dead stop, does anyone actually know what to say?
Words feel wasted right now. I have no answers. I don’t know what he’s thinking. There was a time when I knew what was going through his mind without even having to look at
him. But too much time has passed. We have some catching up to do, I guess.
Is there still time?
We finally drive over a mountain, and I see Meade Bridge in the distance. We’re almost there. Almost home.
Home.
But when we cross the bridge, he makes a right turn instead of a left toward town and both of our houses. And I know where he’s going. We went there a few times.
His truck rumbles as he drives up the steep mountain road. His eyes stare straight out the windshield, but I know he’s not really seeing anything. We pull off onto the side road once we reach the top, and the pavement turns to dust as he rumbles through. We drive straight down the road, and I take a look around. Back in the day, the whole top of this mountain was untouched, unclaimed, uninhabited. Now, huge houses peek out of all sides, the chair lift sliding down between them, taking the skiers to their destination during the winter months. I can see the huge lodge in the distance, and my heart is almost sad at how much this place has changed.
Now, it looks like the only part of this mountain that hasn’t been touched is this half, with only this dirt road cutting through the unkempt grass. He drives a little bit farther, until we reach a clearing in the trees, and puts the truck in park. He hops out and walks a little ahead of me toward the edge of the mountain. All that’s around now is him, me, the trees, and the view of the lake below. Our lake.
I stand back by the truck, trying to give him some space. I watch as he walks across the open field, his thick arms swaying in fury, his hands balled into fists. His heather-red t-shirt is tight across his back muscles, and even in this state, he’s pretty beautiful.
But seeing him like this is a little unsettling. Ever since I got back to Meade Lake––well, actually, ever since I’ve known him––he’s been gentle. He’s a jokester; he’s mischievous; he’s wild. But he’s also soft, and gentle, and thoughtful. He’s the one that waited for me to be comfortable enough to tell my parents about us.
He’s the one who never brought up going all the way when we were kids until I did.
He’s the one.
He was the one.
He gets as close to the edge of the mountain top as possible, and my stomach does a flip. Then, he lets out a long, pained scream that hits me at my core and steals the breath from my lungs. When it’s over, he crouches down on the ground, letting his head fall in his hands.
And in this moment, I can feel my own world starting to flip on its axis.
Because in this moment, I realize that I can’t hate him. I don’t hate him. And I also realize that I still love him. I’m drowning in a mix of crazy emotions, fear of this revelation, but also pure, unadulterated joy in this revelation. And the truest terror I’ve ever felt about the fact that, in a few months from now, it might not matter anyway.
“I don’t like to put a number on these things, Ryder, you know that,” Dr. Chandler had told him earlier. Ryder gave him a look.
“Doc, please,” he had said. “I have a little girl now. What are my chances if the treatment doesn’t work? How long?”
I had held my breath while Dr. Chandler hesitated.
“I truly don’t know, Ryder. It depends on how aggressive this is. But judging by its size, I guess about six months.”
I had felt like I was going to faint.
I suck in a long, slow breath then make my way toward him. I slowly kneel down in the grass next to him. I see his shoulders trembling, and I can feel a crack in the hardass foundation I’ve been working so hard at keeping up these last few weeks.
I reach a hand out and put it on his shoulder, then the other. I pull him toward me, and he lets his head drop to my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him tight, and I feel him wrap his around my waist. And I don’t even know how much time passes.
But we just sit there, me holding him, him letting out what he can’t let out in front of Annabelle. Or maybe, in front of anyone else.
I’ve only seen him like this one other time. When his mom left.
Finally, he takes in a long breath and pulls back gently. He plops down on the ground and looks out over the sprawling landscape ahead of us. The sky is streaked with pinks and oranges, a sure sign that the sun is on its way out for the night. The trees on the mountains in the distance are turning black as the sunlight slowly fades away into the thick clouds above us.
“I didn’t see this coming,” he finally says.
I drop back next to him, and my eyes find his. I let him go on.
“I have no idea…” he starts to say, but his voice trails off. He grabs a pebble from the ground next to him and chucks it off the mountain. I reach back and let my arm cross over his, scooting closer to him.
“Hey,” I say, imploring him to look at me. He does. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”
He scoffs.
“I don’t have any answers right now,” he says.
“That’s not true,” I tell him. “You know you’re starting treatment next week. You know you have six months of chemo, and you know that Dr. Chandler thinks you have a good prognosis.”
Positive. Keep with the positive.
He snorts.
“I don’t even know what I’m going to do with Annabelle for all that,” he says hopelessly. “Alma is already watching her four days a week. I don’t know how I can fit treatment in the midst of two jobs and trying to keep up with the shop and everything. I didn’t have Annabelle last time. And I did have Maura.”
I swallow.
“I know,” I say, squeezing his hand. “But you do have Annabelle. And you have me.”
He lifts his eyes to me, his brows raised high. I interlace my fingers with his.
“I’m not leaving until your last treatment. I’ll work extra hours at the shop, and Derrick can show me how to do inventory. And I’ll work it out with him so that I can be with Annabelle when Alma can’t. We got this,” I tell him. He squeezes my hand back. Slowly, he pulls himself up and reaches down to me to pull me to my feet. He wraps his hands around my waist, and my pulse quickens. He pulls me in close to him and bends his head down to rest his on mine.
“This isn’t why you came,” he says. “This isn’t fair to you. You came here so you could move on with your life. Not stop everything in its tracks for me.”
I take a step closer and let my fingers link around his back.
“Maybe stopping here is moving on with my life,” I say. I open my eyes and see a little smile tug on the corner of his lips. It does my heart good that, in a moment as bleak as this, I can still bring some brightness to him.
He sighs and tightens his grip. Then we come apart, and he turns back to the mountains.
“How am I supposed to leave her?” he whispers. His words hit me like a wave, rattling me around until I find earth again beneath me.
I know he’s not asking me. And it’s a good thing, because I don’t have the answer.
18
Then, Junior Year
“Mila, come on!” Chase calls up the stairs. “We’re waiting for you. You’re gonna make us late!”
I’m sitting in front of the mirror at my vanity, just staring. I’m in the gorgeous dress my mom bought for me. It’s a swirl of purples and blues and has this elegant open back. It makes me feel sexy without feeling like I have to show too much skin. I’m not comfortable with it like some of the other girls in our class—like Chase’s date will be tonight.
It’s the Winter Wonderland dance at school, but I’m not looking forward to it. Chase is going with Marley Shepard, who is fine, I guess. She’s on the pom squad, and she’s also the student council secretary. She’s nice to me, but we just run in different crowds.
Well, sort of. I don’t really have a crowd. Chase is my crowd.
Chase and the kids from Meade Lake. But that’s just it. They’re in Meade Lake.
I look over at the only framed photo on my vanity. It’s Ryder and me wrapped around each other at the edge of the lake. Luna took it at the last bonfire we had
before we left this past summer.
I was looking forward to the dance this year because I actually had a date. My date. My Ryder.
But now, he can’t come. My parents are disappointed. Chase asked if he broke up with me, and when I told him no, he seemed to drop it. He’s quick to be on the defensive, if necessary. But since it was a non-brother emergency, he quickly turned his attention back to gelling his hair and spraying on copious amounts of cologne.
I sigh and then start the trek down the stairs. Chase is waiting at the bottom, jiggling his keys in his hand. I’ll have to squeeze in the back of his truck in my dress and sit in the back like a child while he picks up his date. I’ll stand at the edge of the group photos awkwardly. I’ll probably end up alone most of the night, anyway—which is normally how I prefer it.
Until I met Ryder. He makes me not want to be alone.
I get to the bottom, and I look around. I look from Mom, to Dad, to Chase.
“I don’t think I’m gonna go,” I tell them. Chase cocks an eyebrow at me.
“What do you mean?” Dad asks. “What...just because that boy can’t go?”
I roll my eyes. “That boy” has been Dad’s name for Ryder since he officially introduced himself toward the end of the summer.
Dad seemed less than pleased that my summer fling proved to be a little bit more than that. Particularly because he’s not from Kelford, he’s not the son of a doctor in town, and he’s not into politics.
Mom doesn’t really have an opinion. She doesn’t bring him up a lot; it’s almost like she doesn’t want to discuss men at all.
“I think I want to go visit Ryder,” I say.
Chase’s eyes are wide as he looks to my parents then back to me, waiting for a response.
“I think you should. That’s where you wanna be anyway,” he finally says. I smile at him.
“That’s silly. You’re all dressed up already. What’ll people think if you don’t show up now?”
As badly as my dad wants me to be somebody, moments like these kill him, I know.
Back to Shore (Meade Lake Series Book 1) Page 9