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Chapter Thirty-Five


Despite two more bouts of sick, I was apparently reacting very well to the radiation therapy according to Dr. Stanley the next morning and he started working on preparing my release papers even before Jaymie had arrived back to the hospital. I was nursing a cup of ginger ale, a freshly cleaned pink tub resting on my lap (just in case), staring up at The Fresh Prince of Bel Air on TV when Jaymie arrived. She looked tired, too, her ponytail slightly off center and her eyes a little droopy. Her shirt was wrinkled, too, like she’d pulled it from a still-packed suitcase just moments before.

She looked beautiful.

Oh man, I really am head over heels. I thought.

“Morning,” I said. My voice sounded funny, kinda raw and scratchy from all the throwing up I’d done.

“Morning,” Jaymie replied. She settled into the chair by the bed and rested her head against my knee, looking up at me. “Has Dr. Stanley come by yet?” she asked.

I nodded. “Says I’m doing good. I can go home.” I liked the weight of her head against my body. I felt important, like I still served a purpose, even if it was just to be her pillow for a second. Even in my broken state, I could still do something for her.

She smiled, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“It’ll be good to have you home,” she said. “Nacho misses you, and you can meet Rusty. Some fresh air will be good for you. Add some pink to your cheeks again.” She ran her hand along the blanket and took my hand.

My stomach twisted a little bit at her touch. Excitement, not sick, but my instinct was still to grab the bucket and wince. She sat up and gently ran her palm over my forehead, careful not to touch the bandages, like she’d been thinking she was gonna smooth my hair but - whoops, it’s not there - as I leaned over the tub.

When Dr. Stanley finally came up stairs with my paperwork, he smiled warmly at Jaymie and handed her a thick folder. “Here’s some information. I know it’s daunting, but, as Nick’s primary caretaker, there’s a lot you need to know.” She took the folder and I looked down at my knees, guilty feeling that Dr. Stanley was just assuming it would be Jaymie who would be stuck taking care of me for the next up-to-eighteen months.

But then again, who else would?

“Thanks,” Jaymie said. She bent the corner of the folder down and shifted for a second around in the papers, then looked back up at Dr. Stanley, smiling in a wobbly kinda way.

The collective effort of nurse and doctor and Jaymie assisted me from the bed to the waiting wheelchair that was offered. Dr. Stanley walked with us through the hallways and rode the elevator down. We stood on the curb while Jaymie went to fetch her car from the middle of the parking lot outside, squinting against the sun. He looked down at me for a moment. “You take care of her, too,” he said.

I looked up at him.

“She might be your caretaker but it’s a two way street. She’s going to be tempted to dote over you and forget herself, but you need to remind her now and then that if she doesn’t take care of herself, she can’t take care of you.” Dr. Stanley’s voice was firm.

I nodded.

“I put my personal mobile number on the paperwork. Call me. Anytime, day or night.” He patted my shoulder as Jaymie pulled her car up in the half moon drive in front of the doors to the hospital. He helped me climb into the front seat and I buckled up. The nurse scooted in and put a clean pink tub on my lap, it was filled with prescriptions and a little planner with a picture of a yellow lab puppy in a basket on it that was filled in with all my appointments for radiation therapies, carefully inked in so I wouldn’t forget them.

“See ya,” I said.

“No offense,” Dr. Stanley said, slight smile playing on his lips, “But for your sake, I hope you don’t.”

Jaymie drove home, both of us nearly silent the entire way. I stared down at the contents of the bucket, at the complicated names of prescriptions I’d be swallowing every day but was completely unable to pronounce. She gripped the wheel, a far-away expression on her face, a worry or something that I couldn’t name buried only just beneath the skin. The radio played quietly, some emo-soft-rock band that reminded me of Dashboard Confessional or Bright Eyes but not quiet. Something local, something probably only Jaymie knew about. She was good at appreciating the underappreciated.

When we pulled up to the house, she parked by the door and got out to come around and help me. We walked up the steps to the front door and Jaymie unlocked it and opened the door. Nacho came bounding from somewhere in the depths of the house, his rolly-polly body shaking with excitement. I bent forward shakily and patted his head as he squirmed around, tail wagging, tongue lolling out. Jaymie put my duffle bag on the back of the couch and watched as Nacho put on a whole song and dance greeting for me.

I looked up from my crouched position by Nacho, balancing myself with one arm stretched out to the wall, and my eyes met Jaymie’s as she stood in the doorway of the living room. My breath caught in my throat a little because as tired and overall messy as she looked - probably from a week of pure stress caused by my sorry ass - she was ...well, breath-taking. Literally, apparently. I stood up slowly, careful not to break the eye contact.

There was a million things I wanted to say but my mouth felt like sandpaper and I just stood there like a big bald baboon instead, all the words caught somewhere in the back of my throat.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Jaymie said, and just like that she broke the spell and looked away as Nacho raced through the house to the back door, pressing his wet nose against the sliding glass and waiting for one of us to open it for him so he could run out on the beach and pee. Jaymie obliged, and Nacho’s paws clicked as he ran across the deck and down the steps to the beach below. “I’m going to go get Rusty, he probably has to pee too,” she said, and she ducked out the door that led out to her apartment.

I started out to follow Nacho onto the beach and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the foyer. My cue-ball shaped head, the stitches covered by bandages in what looked like a headband around my skull, my tired, sunken in eyes. I shook my head and turned away from the image.

I stepped into the salty air of the deck, blinking at the brightness of the sun. Nacho was down on the beach barking at the seagulls as usual. Suddenly, a big German Shepherd came darting from around the side of the house, a red leather collar around his neck, tags jingling as he ran to help Nacho with the rounding up of the seagulls. The two of them stood yapping and running in circles, playing together, chasing gulls. Jaymie came walking around the house behind Rusty, carrying a leash, a smile on her face as the wind caught her hair and she walked along the beach, laughing at the dogs. She walked a little ways towards them, paused, and waved to me.

I waved back.

I wanted to yell I love you to her. But I bit the words back. I couldn’t say them. Not outloud. Not again. It wasn’t fair to tell her I loved her and then die.

She turned back to the dogs.

When I die, I thought, I hope this is what it’ll be like. Watching over her.




Jaymie

Nick had this perpetual look of there being something he wanted to say. Every time I met his eyes, this uncomfortable feeling came over me, like he was telepathically telling me things. I imagined his mind working out the tangled knot his mouth had made, trying to figure out how to undo what he’d said to me. He needed me, this much we both knew, so he didn’t want to upset me too much, didn’t want me to leave… but you don’t need to love someone to need them. So I was doing my best to try to show him he didn’t need to say the words that were making him so uncomfortable, I was okay, I understood. I was the Cool Girl, the one that didn’t need to be told he’d said something he didn’t mean, the one who would be there for him without him ever having to be there for me. The one that knew there was nothing personal between us.

I watched Rusty and Nacho, carefully keeping my back to Nick. Despite my Cool Girl attitude, I was fighting back tears of frustration. Mostly at myself. I’d let myself want more. I should’ve known better, should’ve stayed detached. We’d had it all, so simply for so long.

After I’d regained myself, I whistled and the dogs heads both spun around. Rusty came bounding toward me, trailed by Nacho, who had taken to doing whatever Rusty did, like he was a cool older brother to imitate. I patted both dogs and led them back to the deck and up the stairs into the house. Rusty paused when he saw Nick, but took to him pretty quick once Nick lowered his hand, palm out, for Rusty to smell.

“He’s a nice lookin’ dog,” Nick commented.

I smiled. Rusty really was a beautiful dog, with shiny fur that melted from deep rusted brown to dark black. He wasn’t one of those tan German Shepherds, not like the K-9 unit dogs. He was a black beauty with teddy-bear soft fur behind his ears that smelled warm and safe when you hugged him tight.

Rusty raised his thick foot up and stuck it into Nick’s hand - shaking paws was one of Rusty’s best tricks. Nick smiled and shook his paw and Rusty spun around after his tail like he was dancing. “He likes you,” I said.

Nick’s smile widened.

Nacho was staring at us from the door like he was annoyed we were taking so long, so I pushed it open and he rushed inside, a tan blur of clicking nails and snorts. Rusty followed, then Nick. He was still carrying his in-case-of-emergency pink tub and the prescriptions in one hand, and he put them up on the counter and sat heavily in one of the bar stools in the kitchen. He groaned as he sat and slowly lowered his head on his arm and stared at the world in horizontal.

“God damn,” he muttered. “I’m tired.”

“Tired?” I said, my tone lightly sarcastic, “Why are you tired? It’s not like you just had brain surgery or something.” I pulled open the fridge and stared into it for a long time. I took out a bottle of water and put it on the counter. “I need to go grocery shopping at some point,” I said, “I noticed Dr. Stanley gave us a list of things you should be eating in that folder he gave me.”

Nick just kept staring at the wall.

“Basically there’s beer and ketchup in there right now,” I said. I nudged the water at him so the cold touched his arm. “You need to drink some water, your lips are dry.”

His eyes swiveled to look at me. He licked his lips, like he was testing to see if I was telling the truth. Then he sat up and took the water and cracked it open. When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, “Thanks,” he said.

I nodded.

His eyes were burning with something, with unsaid words.

“Nick,” I said, “You don’t have to say anything.”

“I don’t?” he asked.

“No,” I said, “You don’t. It’s okay. I know.”

“You do?”

I nodded. “I know.” I took his hand. “And I’m not going anywhere. It’s okay.”

A smile slowly cracked across his face.

“I just… I know I shouldn’t feel like this,” he said, “That it isn’t right. It isn’t fair to you. But I don’t care. I need you… you know? And… and I don’t feel right saying it outloud. I’m just glad you already know.”

I nodded. Inside, I was breaking in a thousand pieces. So I was right, then. He didn’t love me. But at least he didn’t want me to leave. I don’t think I could’ve left him knowing eighteen months later I’d never be able to see him again. He twisted his hand under mine and squeezed my fingers.

That night, I cried myself to sleep.