Feels like Home (Lake Fisher Book 2)

by Tammy Falkner

  “Hey!” Aaron cries. “That hurt.”

  But the incessant laughter slows down to a choked sobbing sound, at least. “You girls were so scared,” he said. “I never saw you pedal so fast!” He makes a choking sound. “You were terrified.”

  “I thought it was real, you ass!” I hiss at him. But his absolute joy at revealing the ruse to me now makes a grin tug at my lips. “I hate you,” I say.

  “It was worth it,” he retorts, now that he can catch his breath. “We didn’t tell Little Robbie to call out as we all left. That was genius on his part. Freaking genius, I tell you! I’m pretty sure that Eli gave him an extra quarter the next day when we paid him.”

  “I hate you,” I say again. “I can’t believe you of all people tricked me! You were supposed to be my best friend!”

  “I’m still your best friend, Bess,” he says, suddenly sobering. “I always will be, no matter what happens.”

  “Did Lynda know?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and letting out a huff.

  “Not until years later. We took the kids to a haunted house at a local church one night, and I spilled my guts.” He finally sobers completely. “She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the night.”

  “Did anybody ever tell Katie?”

  He shrugs and reaches for his drink. He can’t reach it, so I pass it to him, and he takes a slow sip. “No idea. I’m not going to tell her. That’s on Jake.”

  I start to shake my foot. “I can’t believe Eli never confessed.”

  “I’m sure if it had ever come up he would have told you.”

  “So you guys went all the way out there, set up the tape recorder, and arranged for Little Robbie to knock on the door, all without us knowing.”

  “Yep.” He sits back with a satisfied grin on his face. “Jake turned on the tape player when he got the candle from the cabinet.”

  “I still hate you,” I toss at him with a scowl.

  He grins even bigger. “You love my ass and you know it.”

  I stare at him for a moment too long, I know. “I do love you. You asshole.”

  He sits quietly, only letting out little snarfles of laugher every once in a while like he’s still in the memory. “So, Eli kissed you that night, huh?” he finally asks.

  “How did you know that? Did Eli tell you?”

  “You told Lynda. She told me.”

  I shake my head and throw up my hands. “Is nothing sacred?”

  “Then I had to go and have a talk with him. I do remember that.”

  “Wait…what?” I sit up straighter.

  He shrugs like it’s nothing, but it’s not nothing. “I had to find out what his intentions were. That’s all.”

  “How did that conversation go?”

  He scratches his head. “I vaguely remember charging up to him like a bull, bumping into him from behind, and asking point blank what his intentions were.”

  “What did he say?”

  He grins. “He said his intentions were to kiss you every chance he got for the rest of his life.”

  I smile despite myself. “He said that to me many times in the past.” It used to be one of my favorite lines of his. But it was just a line. Eventually, he stopped wanting to kiss me at all.

  Aaron narrows his eyes at me. “How long has it been since he kissed you, Bess?”

  I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A really, really long time.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  I shrug. “Mine, I guess. Probably.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  He sits up and leans toward me. “It does matter, Bess. It matters so much.”

  “The fault was mine. I put up these barriers that he couldn’t get through.” I let out a huff. “Is that what you want to hear? That my marriage failing was all my own fault?”

  “No, Bess,” he says slowly. “I want to hear you come up with ideas about how to fix it.”

  Another huff. “I don’t want to fix it!” I say so loudly that the people around us look over, so I lower my voice. “It’s too late to fix it.”

  “It’s not too late.”

  “It is.” I glare at him. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  He glares at me and then he gives up. I can see his capitulation when his body relaxes. “So, what do you want to talk about, then?”

  “Well…” I pick the thing I think will bug him the most. “The first time you and Lynda had sex, she said it was terrible. God-awful. A horrible experience.”

  He picks up some paper from next to him, balls it up, and throws it at my head. “Those are fighting words, Bess.” But he’s grinning too.

  “Just telling you like it was, bestie.” I pick up the wadded paper and throw it in the nearby trashcan.

  He finally says, “It was…quick.” He snaps his fingers. “Like that.”

  “Wait,” I say, not sure what he’s talking about. “What was quick?”

  He chuckles. “Our first time. I didn’t last for shit.” He starts to guffaw. “I came in about two seconds.”

  I grin. “She was pretty let down. Not going to lie. She called me at school to tell me all about it.” I think about it for a minute. “That was freshman year of college, right?”

  “Yep. Our first taste of freedom.”

  “She called me and said, ‘It wasn’t at all like the romance novels make you think it’ll be!’ And then she started to cry.” As heartbreaking as it was when it happened years ago, I can’t keep from laughing about it now.

  Aaron shakes his head as if dislodging an unpleasant memory. “She just laid there, her big eyes blinking at me, looking so let down. I ran off to the bathroom to lick my wounds and figure out how to make her forget what just happened. I heard her on the phone with you. I was terrified to come out of the bathroom, so I huddled there on the floor next to the door and listened as you talked her through it.”

  “I told her that you were probably just nervous.” I snort out a laugh. “First time jitters and all that.”

  “I got better at it.” He smirks at me, pure male ego.

  “I know. She told me that too.”

  “In fact I got better at it that same night. A couple of times.”

  “I know that too. She called me the next morning and told me everything.”

  He fakes a gasp and lays his hand on his chest. “Is nothing sacred?”

  “Between friends? Not a fucking thing,” I reply.

  21

  Eli

  When Bess and Aaron get back from chemo, it’s all Aaron can do to get out of the car. “Do you need a hand?” I call out, as I see Bess slip under his arm as he wraps it around her shoulders. He leans heavily on her as she helps him take a step, and she props him up against the side of the car so she can close the car door.

  I walk over toward them, and Aaron gives me a sad grin. “Her driving doesn’t get any better, does it?” he asks. He looks a little green, his eyes watering, and then I realize he got sick on the way home, because it’s all over his shirt.

  “I’m afraid not,” I reply to the driving question.

  “I told you that you’re just a sucky rider,” Bess tosses back. “One who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

  “Where are my kids?” Aaron asks.

  “Sam went for a walk in the woods with Alex and Jake, Trixie invited Kerry-Anne over for a craft party–not sure what that means, but there was glitter involved--and Miles is taking a nap up at the big house.”

  “So nobody’s here?” he asks. I nod. “Good. I want to get cleaned up before they see me.” He looks at Bess. “Sorry about the puke, Bess.”

  Bess doesn’t do well with puke. She never did. If she even sees someone heave, she starts to heave too. And the fact that she smelled it all the way home…that part is even more amazing. “No worries,” Bess says. “But I totally get to pick on you about it at a later date.”

  “Like I could stop you.” He burps loudly.

>   “Does chemo always make you this sick?” I ask as I slide under his arm, and Bess steps back. She lifts the tail of her shirt to wipe her watery eyes.

  He shakes his head. “This round is particularly grueling for some reason.”

  “Is it helping?” Bess asks.

  Bess still doesn’t know that his cancer diagnosis is terminal. I think she should know or she’s going to feel like we have all betrayed her, but he didn’t want to tell her yet. It’s his story to tell, not mine. So I feel like I should respect his wishes. But she’s my wife. I don’t want to keep secrets from her. Keeping secrets, especially one this monumental, will feel like a betrayal on my part.

  “Won’t know if it’s helping until I get scans at the end of next week.” He glances toward me really quickly. I know that this round of chemo is solely to buy him more time. The goal is not to fix him or put him in remission, because that’s not possible.

  “The doctor prescribed some anti-nausea medicines, and we stopped on the way back to get them filled at the drug store,” Bess says to me. Then to Aaron, “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, and you can take a little rest before dinner. Your meds should help.”

  “Those meds make me so tired,” he says. “I can’t take care of my kids and take them.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you have a lot of capable adults around, isn’t it?” Bess replies.

  “Maybe a short nap would help,” he says.

  “Shower first,” Bess dictates. “Then a nap.”

  “No shower. My legs feel like gelatin.”

  “I’ll prop you up,” Bess replies. She opens the door, and I slide out from under his arm. He wobbles on his feet for a second, but he squares himself up in the doorway.

  “No way I’m letting you see my junk, Bess. You’d never want to look at Eli’s again if you saw the perfection I got between my legs.”

  Bess snorts out a laugh. “I’ve seen your junk, you doofus,” she replies. “Remember the summer we were fifteen? Little Robbie pulled your pants down in front of everybody.”

  “My dick has grown considerably since then, Bess,” he tosses back. “Considerably, I tell you.” He holds his hands about a foot apart, like he might if he was showing the size of a fish he caught.

  “Girls talk, Aaron,” Bess says with a laugh. “That’s all I have to say about that.”

  He jerks his gaze toward Bess. “Lynda talked about the size of my dick?”

  “Only once. And after she cleaned up my puke, she never brought it up again.”

  He chuckles, but it looks like it pains him so he stops. “Shower,” he says.

  “I’ll help you.” Bess starts in that direction. But before she can get to the bedroom, he slams the door. To her credit, she doesn’t throw the door open. She knocks on it.

  “Boundaries, Bess!” he calls back. “I do have some!”

  She reaches to turn the knob, but I stop her. “Let him be, Bess,” I caution. She needs to leave the man his dignity.

  “But what if he falls?” She looks at me. She really looks at me. She looks at me directly in the eye, which she hasn’t done in so long that I am almost immediately mesmerized.

  I shake the thought away. “I’ll go help him.”

  “You’ll help him get undressed?” she asks.

  “If he needs me to.”

  “You’ll help him get washed up?”

  I stand a little taller. “If he needs me to.”

  “Well, go on then.” She motions like she wants to shoo me forward. I turn the knob and step into the bedroom. I find Aaron in the bathroom, leaning heavily on the porcelain sink.

  “Dude,” I say, “you need a hand?”

  He shakes his head, still staring into the bowl of the sink. Then he straightens up. “Thought I was going to puke again. It passed.” He picks up a hand towel, wets it under the sink, pumps some soap onto it, and washes his face. Then he pulls his soiled shirt over his head and starts to scrub his chest. “You should have seen Bess’s face when I puked in the car. I thought she was going to heave her guts out. It was great.” He laughs weakly.

  I smile too. I can just imagine how she reacted.

  “You’re going to have to tell Bess about what’s really going on,” I say as I sit down on the closed toilet lid. I’m afraid if I leave he’ll fall and I won’t be close enough to catch him.

  “After I tell Sam. I have to tell my daughter first. Then I’ll tell Bess.”

  “Are you sure?” I’m not convinced it’s a good idea to let Bess think these chemo sessions are going to fix him.

  “I’m not done working on Bess yet. I need a little more time.”

  “Time for what?”

  He turns to face me. He has a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, his lips all foamy, and a drop of toothpaste foam falls from his lips to the floor. I kick a dirty towel over to smear it up. “She’s waking up, Eli,” he replies around the foam. “Can’t you see it?”

  “She wasn’t asleep,” I retort. “She just hates my guts.”

  “She doesn’t.”

  My stomach does a little flip. What does he know that I don’t know? “She has told me enough times that she does. I believe her.”

  He spits into the bowl and raises some water to his mouth in his cupped hand so he can swish. “She’s lying,” he finally says, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

  What’s bad is that I desperately wish that what he’s saying could be the truth.

  “I’m going to lie down for just a little bit,” he says.

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  He pulls back the covers and falls onto the bed like a great big oak tree that has been felled. The bed rattles and the legs knock against the wooden floor.

  “Can I come in now?” Bess jiggles the doorknob.

  He’s only wearing his boxers since he washed, but he’s under the covers. “Do you want her to come in?” I ask him.

  “What he wants doesn’t matter!” Bess yells through the crack in the door. “If I wasn’t worried about being permanently scarred by the sight of his junk, I’d already be in there!” She waits a beat. “And I have his meds! He needs to take them before he falls asleep.”

  Aaron groans long and loud. “Let her in.”

  The door wasn’t locked, but now that he’s given permission, she freely turns the knob. She walks to the bedside carrying a juice pouch and a handful of pills. She places the pills in his palm and stabs the straw into the juice, then hands it to him. He sits up a little to drink, and the covers fall down around his waist.

  She stares at his lap. “Please tell me you’re not naked under there.”

  “I’m not naked under there.”

  “You’re a lying liar,” she says. But she climbs up on the side of the bed he’s not lying on anyway and stretches out beside him. She presses her face against the upper outside part of his arm, and he reaches up to tap her cheek with his other hand. She grabs his obnoxious hand and threads her fingers through his. “But I love you anyway.”

  “I love you, too,” he replies. “But you’re in Lynda’s spot, so get out my bed.”

  “This was my spot before it was Lynda’s,” she says.

  “When we were five!” he tosses back. He gives her a weak but playful shove, and she rolls out of his bed. “I’m just going to sleep for a few minutes,” he murmurs as he rolls over and tucks his folded hands under his face. “Just a few minutes,” he says, and then he doesn’t say any more.

  “Let’s go,” I whisper to her.

  “Wait a minute,” she replies, as she holds up one finger.

  “Why?”

  “I’m counting his breaths,” she says.

  I watch her lips as she counts to herself. “Why are you counting his breaths?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s something Lynda always did.”

  “And you feel the need to do it too?”

  She nods. “Right now I do.” Then when she gets to ten: “We can go now.”

&nbs
p; We step out of the bedroom and I close the door behind us with a gentle click.

  “There’s puke in Aaron’s car,” she says with a little whine to her voice.

  I heave a sigh. “Do you want me to deal with it?”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says, but she looks at me askance as she says it.

  I’ll clean up the puke, but I’m definitely not going to beg her to let me do it. “I’ll do it,” I say.

  “Thank you so much.” She lays her hand on my forearm, which makes me freeze and do a double take. I stand absolutely still, afraid that if I move she’ll take it back. Suddenly, she realizes what she’s done, and she jerks her hand back. “Sorry, forgot where I was there for a second.”

  “You can touch me any time you want, Bess,” I whisper to her, afraid that if I speak too loudly, she’ll bolt.

  She shifts from foot to foot. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “I think it’s the best fucking idea we’ve ever had.” I stare into her eyes, and she doesn’t look away. She stares at me right back, until the front door opens and it breaks the moment.

  Sam walks into the living room, with her kitten in her arms. “Is my dad home?” she asks. She has Alex, Jake and Katie’s twelve-year-old son, with her.

  “Yes, but he’s taking a nap,” Bess whispers. She lifts her index finger to her lips to tell Sam and Alex to be quiet.

  “Chemo makes him really tired,” Sam says.

  Bess and I make eye contact, but neither of us says a word. We couldn’t if we tried, because we don’t know what to say.

  “He thinks I don’t know, but I saw his port, and the doctor left a message on our voicemail. Kerry-Anne doesn’t know though. She’s too little.” She looks like she takes immense pride in being the keeper of this secret.

  “Oh,” Bess says. It’s more breath than word, because there are no words that fit this situation.

  “Did he throw up?” Sam asks. “The last time he did chemo, he puked a lot.”

  “He threw up in the car,” Bess admits sheepishly.

  “Gross,” Sam says with a grimace.

  “We’ll just let him sleep for a little while,” Bess says.