by J. L. Berg
“Did you want me to find out at all? Or were you both planning on telling me at the funeral?”
“Elle!” my mother gasped.
“This is just—no,” I said, shaking my head. “I can’t deal with either of you right now. I’m going for a walk.”
“Please don’t leave. You just got here.”
Rising from my spot at the kitchen island, I turned. “I just need some air.”
“Okay,” she answered, and I took that moment to study her face. To remember it.
Please, God. Not again.
My chest ached as I stepped out onto the deck. The smell of the ocean was stronger here, and I could almost reach the waves with an outstretched hand. That was how close my brother lived to the beach.
Maybe this was what she’d wanted—to smell the ocean every day before she lived her last.
Why hadn’t she told me?
Shedding my shoes, I sank my feet into the sand and tried to make sense of everything.
I came here, seeking answers, and sure enough, I’d found them. They just weren’t the answers I’d expected.
My mom was dying.
It was a sentence I never wanted to acknowledge. After my divorce and the funeral, I’d thought I’d been through it all. I was a survivor, and there was no way anything could possibly be as bad as that.
But I was wrong.
This was so much worse.
I wasn’t sure if I could survive in a world where my mother didn’t exist. My father’s death had been hard. This, however, would end me.
I heard footsteps. Turning, I saw my mom wrapped in a shawl, standing behind me.
“I told you I needed some air.”
She took a step forward. “And so did I,” she said. “This just happens to be my favorite spot.”
I huffed, frustrated beyond belief.
“Can I sit with you?”
“Sure,” I answered. Even though I was frustrated, I couldn’t say no to her.
She was my mom.
We both sank to the sand, not bothering with blankets or chairs. It was chilly on the beach as the sun began to set, but I didn’t mind.
I always preferred the cold.
“Are you really dying?” I asked, my gaze set on the calming waves in the distance.
“That’s what the fancy doctor your brother sent me to seems to think.” She appeared oddly calm about the whole thing.
“So, that’s it?” I asked, turning toward her.
“I don’t know what else to do.”
Angered, I answered for her, “You fight, Mom. It’s what you should have done when you found out. What were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t,” she admitted. “When the doctor called and told me the abnormal results of my mammogram, I was too stressed to take it seriously. I didn’t schedule the biopsy. I didn’t go back to the doctor. I just let it go. And now, it’s too late.”
“No,” I answered. “I refuse to believe that. It’s never too late.”
“The doctor your brother sent me to is very good, Elle. He said I missed my window.”
“So, we find a different doctor. And if that doesn’t work, we go see someone else after that. I will not sit around, waiting for another parent to die. I can’t do it.”
“This isn’t a problem that you’re going to be able to fix, sweetheart. It is what it is.”
“I refuse to believe that,” I said, my voice going hoarse. “I refuse to give up on you.”
“This is why I didn’t tell you.”
“Why? Because you preferred Jack’s method—to just sit around and wait for the inevitable?”
She breathed out, her eyes wet with moisture. “Because I knew this would become your obsession. I knew you wouldn’t be able to accept what is, and I wanted more for you.”
“So, the part about wanting me to move on with my life? Was that another lie?”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. It’s all I want—to know you’re happy and your life is full of joy.”
“So, you can die happy?”
I knew I was being harsh, but I felt justified.
She’d lied to me. She’d lied to all of us, and it had quite literally cost us her life.
But maybe it doesn’t have to, I suddenly realized. I knew from my time taking care of my dad that there were miracle cases all over the world. We’d hoped for one back then.
Who said it couldn’t happen now?
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I began, feeling calmer than I had since the cancer bomb dropped. “We’re going to get you back into that doctor and demand he tell us every possible option—even if it doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of working. Then, we do it.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” she asked.
“Then, we’ll know we tried.”
“I can’t ask you to do this. The store, your life—”
“Can all be put on hold.”
She didn’t look hopeful, but she didn’t argue either. She knew I’d made up my mind.
Feeling like I’d been given a purpose, I pulled out my phone to make a list.
Lists grounded me. They gave me a clear path in a world where it felt impossible to navigate from one day to the next.
Lists were my safe place.
When I’d left Pine Hurst, I’d shut my phone off, knowing Sawyer would read my note and immediately try to contact me. I wasn’t prepared to give him any answers then.
I wasn’t sure I’d ever be.
As the phone powered up, I was not disappointed. Several voice mails and a dozen or so texts were awaiting my response.
Knowing I’d regret it, knowing I might be walking away from one of the best things in my life, I proceeded anyway.
I deleted all of them—every text, every voice mail—and turned to my mom. “Okay, let’s get to work.”
Chapter Twelve
“You’re looking at your phone again,” my mother said.
Glancing up, I took notice of her sly smile. “Am not.”
It had been two weeks since I left Pine Hurst.
Two weeks since the store had been closed with a sad apology letter taped to the front.
Closed Until Further Notice.
I’d asked Candace to put it up, too scared to call Sawyer.
It had also been two weeks since I’d spoken to him as well.
Two weeks of unreturned phone calls.
Two weeks of deleted texts until, finally, nothing.
I hadn’t heard from him for two days.
Had he given up on me?
Smiling, my mom leaned back in her recliner. It was an old, well-used chair that had probably done its fair share of comforting people in need. It was also her favorite in the facility. We’d been here enough now that she’d sat in almost every chair and dubbed this one her favorite.
It had been a long two weeks.
She’d started chemo and radiation as soon as we could get her in. The doctor warned us that it was a long shot, that we might be doing more harm than good at this point. He said we would be better off just enjoying the time we were given. But I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing, and as much as Mom seemed resigned to her fate, she’d perked up at the idea of giving the whole surviving thing a try.
I knew it might be just an act. That she could be, in fact, just holding up pretenses for me, but at this point, I didn’t care.
As long as she was alive.
“Are you going to call him back today?” she asked, closing her eyes for a brief moment.
“No,” I answered stiffly.
“You can’t ignore him forever.”
“I’m not,” I replied. “He stopped calling, and besides, I need to focus on you today.”
“That’s what you said yesterday. And the day before that.”
“Yeah, well…” I stumbled, hating that she was right. “It’s the truth.”
“You could just tell him what’s going on. I’m sure he would understand. I’m sure he would wait—t
hat is, if you want him to.”
Maybe two weeks ago, but now? Now that I’d given him no answers, no source of hope? No promise I’d come back?
I swallowed hard. Did I want to go back?
“Things aren’t that simple between us, Mom.”
“Because he’s Reed’s brother?” She ventured a guess.
“Yes,” I answered. It was an obvious obstacle. “But other reasons too.”
“Like what?” I gave her an exasperated stare, which only prompted her to look around and motion to her body hooked up to the machines. “I’ve got nothing but time, dear.”
But that was the thing. She didn’t have time. Not if this didn’t work.
It was why I was here.
“It’s nothing, Mom. Really.”
She didn’t seem convinced and pressed on, “You can talk to me, you know.”
“I know.”
“We used to talk all the time. Remember that first night home after you moved back in?”
I nodded. “You held me in your arms like I was a child as I wept on your shoulder, baring my soul.”
“Exactly. So, what is so different now? Are you still mad at me?”
“What?” I balked. “Of course not. How could I be?”
“Well,” she began, “I did this. I am the reason we’re here, in this hospital. I’m the reason you’re here instead of home, where you should be.”
“Okay,” I caved, “fine. Yes, I’m still mad at you. For neglecting yourself. For running away to Jack instead of confiding in me.”
“I didn’t run. I just needed a change.”
“You did.” I gave her a sour look. “And believe me, I know the difference. I do the same damn things when life gets out of control.”
“Is that what happened to bring you here? You felt out of control?”
“Yes,” I answered before quickly retracting it, “No. Maybe. I guess I’m just having problems with moving forward with Sawyer, and coming here seemed like a better option than staying there to figure it out.”
She smiled warmly. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”
“What?”
“Admitting why you’re still here.”
My mouth hung open. “That’s not why I’m still here. I’m here because—”
“Of me. Yes, I know you think that, but you’re not. You’re hiding behind me to avoid everything going on at home.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came.
She shrugged, knowing she was right. “Like mother, like daughter. I might deny it, but you’re right. I’m a runner; always have been. When things get tough, I flee.”
“Oh, stop,” I said. “You’re not that bad.”
“Why do you think I went to the store late at night so often when you were growing up?”
“Because you loved it there,” I answered firmly. “Because you were committed to your business.”
“I might have loved it but not enough to practically live there at times. I went because it was a sanctuary away from my real life. When things got hard—between me and Daddy or with you kids—I’d go there to escape… even for just a little while.”
“I just assumed—”
“That I was perfect? That I had everything together all the time?”
“Well, yeah. Kind of.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She laughed. “Parents are rarely, if ever, perfect. I’m the same person I am now that I was back then. I can just admit it now. I might not have gotten in the car and driven out of town back then, but you’re right; I am a runner.”
“So, you’re a train wreck like the rest of us?” I joked.
“I think we’re all a little wrecked; some just hide it better than others.”
And that was the real reason I’d been so mad—because she wasn’t perfect. I’d put her on a pedestal my entire life, and when she’d stumbled—ignoring her mother’s things in the guest bedroom for so long and finally leaving town after Dad died—that perfect image I’d conjured up in my mind was shattered.
Who was I supposed to aspire to be like now?
It was a sobering thought. To see your parent as a real person—with flaws and misgivings rather than the edited version you’d imagined as a kid.
Now that I could see her for who she truly was—a simple woman like me, with doubts and fears—I finally found myself able to forgive her. For everything.
“I’m sorry I was angry with you, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t say good-bye when you left.”
“No need to apologize. I know I put you through a lot.”
“What?” I joked. “It was nothing.”
That earned me another smile, but I could see this one was harder to muster.
“Why don’t you sleep, Mom?” I suggested. “I’m going to go call Jack at work and give him an update.”
“Okay, dear. And please consider calling Sawyer. The poor man deserves it.”
“I will,” I answered, rising from my chair next to her.
As I walked out into the lobby, I held out my phone, prepared to do just that.
Talk to him, I told myself.
Tell him you’re sorry.
But as I held my phone out in front of me, I felt my nerves and doubts rising to the surface once again.
Would he understand?
Would he wait?
And how would I ever explain my fear that was keeping us apart?
Another week had gone by.
It was another seven days of intense treatment, and although my mom had been taking it like a champ, I could see it was wearing on her.
“Is she resting?” my brother asked, having just arrived home from work.
“Yes,” I answered. “It was a rough day.”
“The nurse will be here in the morning to check on her,” he said, pretending to be interested in the stack of mail that had come earlier.
But I knew better.
He was holding his tongue.
“You don’t approve?” It wasn’t a question, merely an observation.
“It doesn’t seem to matter what I think. You’re just going to keep doing what you see fit.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I responded, “Like you did when Mom moved here? I don’t seem to recall having any say in that.”
Placing the envelopes down on the counter, he gave me a stern look. “It was her choice. I simply had the means to facilitate it.”
It was meant as a hard jab to my financial situation, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Why is everything about money with you?”
He shrugged, and I hated how much he looked like Dad when he did that. “I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. It’s nice to help out where I can. The real question is, why are you so obsessed with my money?”
“I’m not,” I argued. “I just don’t like how you throw it around like it’s the solution to every single problem in the world.”
My words were like ice, freezing him instantly. I’d gone too far, and I regretted it.
“I’m going to go check on the kids,” he announced, stepping away from the counter and exiting the kitchen.
It was the first time I’d lashed out at him since we were kids.
Back then, I used to question his every move.
Why are you reading when you could be outside?
Why are you hiding in your room?
Why aren’t you a normal brother?
Apparently, I hadn’t changed much since then. The only difference was, my words cut a bit deeper as an adult.
Feeling defeated, I sat in the great big kitchen, alone and exhausted. It seemed I had a knack for isolating myself, even in a house filled with people.
“You feel like having a cup of coffee with me?” Bethany asked. Her voice was timid as she stepped into the empty room.
“Um, sure,” I managed to say, surprised by her appearance. We hadn’t exactly been ignoring each other since I arrived, but it was safe to say we kept our distance. “I can make it though,” I offered. “Why don’t you sit do
wn?”
She took me up on the suggestion, carefully placing herself atop one of the heavy wooden stools at the center island. “This never gets easier,” she admitted, placing a hand on her swollen belly.
Her round stomach was an odd juxtaposition to the rest of her small frame, and I wondered how she’d managed to do this two times before.
“Are you feeling okay?”
She nodded. “Mostly. Although food is sometimes touch and go. I get nauseous a lot.”
“But I thought that all went away after the first trimester? Or am I wrong?”
“It usually does, but this little one seems to be hell-bent on giving me morning sickness for the entire nine months.”
“Wow,” I said, not knowing how to respond. “That sucks.”
The words made my heart flutter, reminding me of a similar conversation I’d had with Sawyer. It felt like a lifetime ago, but I couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes, it really was the only appropriate thing to say.
“Decaf?” I followed up with, having learned my way around my brother’s kitchen over the last few weeks.
“Yes, that would be great.”
I began the process of measuring out the coffee grounds. No K-cups for my brother. This was the real thing, and the behemoth of a machine practically required a barista from Starbucks to operate it. Luckily, I’d been here a while and figured it out.
“I heard you talking with Jack just now.”
“Oh,” I faltered, suddenly feeling like a bigger ass than I had before. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” she replied. “I know he can be a bit much.”
Her words surprised me. Honestly, any words out of her mouth directed at me shocked me a little. For as long as I’d known Bethany, this was the most we’d ever spoken.
“And you’re right,” she added. “He does throw his money around as a solution for most things.”
“He’s just trying to help,” I said, wishing I’d told my brother the same thing.
“Sometimes, I think it’s the only way he thinks he can help.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Jack is different,” she said. “I’m sure that isn’t a shock.”
“You mean, my brother Jack, who used to prefer documentaries over cartoons—at age four?”
She laughed a little, something I was wholly unprepared for. Were we bonding?
