“Cash!” I hear a voice.
I turn my head to see Casey.
“It looks like you’ve seen a ghost. You okay?” Casey jumps off his horse and takes the shovel from my hands.
I blink several times, willing myself back to the present moment.
“Cash?” Casey says again, louder and clearer.
I stand and dust my pants off.
“Why were you kneeling down next to a dead heifer?”
He starts to dig the hole.
Finally, I say, “I-I don’t know.” My body is numb, and my head is stuck in the past, trying to pick up the pieces.
“I got the hole, Cash. Just … just sit there and get your shit together. Are you … are you taking those damn pain pills again?”
This snaps me out of it. “What? No.”
But nobody knows what happened in the field that night. I tried to chase away the memories with alcohol and anything I could get my hands on to escape, but it was never any use. They’d always return. They’d always return in my dreams, sometimes during the day, like now, and somehow, I have the same reaction—I get lost.
He digs the hole, and I grab the other shovel and start to dig alongside him.
Trying to push that night from my mind, I dig harder.
“Dude, what’s your problem?” Casey sets the tip of the shovel in the dirt, tearing off his mask. Looks at me like I’m crazy.
I don’t dare tell my little brother what I witnessed that night. Nobody needs to hear that story. The story of how I couldn’t save our brother. The story about how he lay helplessly in the field, and all I could do was cry and watch him die.
I pull off my mask in fury, throw the shovel, and yell at the top of my lungs instead. Breathing heavily, I rest my hands on my knees and gasp for air. My ribs are on fire. Cowboys don’t have time to heal.
“Hey, you all right, man?” I hear Casey ask more gently.
“No. Shut up.”
He takes off his gloves.
I stand up, trying to breathe. A drink would help me chase these memories. I know the memories sit in the back of my mind and wait for the right time to eat me alive. Wait for the moment when my mind is vulnerable, like when I see shit like the dead heifer.
My stomach grows queasy, and I turn and throw up everything in my stomach.
After a moment, Casey hands me a handkerchief.
I take it, wipe my face, and say, “Let’s get back to work.”
“You don’t want to talk about what just happ—”
“Nope. Grab your shovel.”
It’s been a while since I’ve had an episode like this. Now, I just have to keep the aftermath at bay.
30
Scarlet: Age 14
Chicago, Illinois
“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll be here when you get home,” Marmie said, kissed me on the forehead, and turned me to face the mirror.
“What about Mom?” I asked.
“I’ll look after her.” She smiled in the mirror. “Remember, Scarlet, you’re just as beautiful on the inside. Your hair is a by-product of a well-fought battle.”
I tried to convince my heart of this. I tried to convince myself that Cash would still think of me as the same old Scarlet. While Grandma and Granddad had made many visits out to Chicago this year to visit and helped take care of me, everything would be different in Dillon Creek.
Will they treat me like I’m sick?
Will they give me pity?
I just want to live my life. Period. Without stares. Without oh, you poor, poor girl.
I just want to live.
I had made a promise to Marmie and to Grandma and to myself that I would keep fighting, no matter what.
But the cancer was a bit more advanced than they’d originally thought. And many days, I was tired and weak, and all I wanted to do was sleep.
I stared back at the dark circles under my eyes.
“Cucumbers for your eyes before you go?” Marmie asked.
“Yes, please.”
I wasn’t quite sure if the cucumbers ever worked for the dark circles, but they sure did help my face feel better.
I reached up and ran a hand over my bald white head while uneasiness settled in my belly.
Marmie took me by the hand and led me to the kitchen. “Come now. We’re going to be late.”
I stood just outside the terminal while other passengers made their way in to collect their baggage. When I had a hat on, people didn’t stare as much, and older people who’d had cancer didn’t feel as inclined to tell me their own cancer survival story.
My heart pounded, and my knees knocked. I pulled open the door and went to find my grandparents.
My heart leaped into my throat when I saw Cash standing with my grandparents. He’d come every time to pick me up at the airport before, and I didn’t see why this time in particular would be any different.
He’d gotten taller. A lot taller. And he was handsomer than I remembered. His chest was fuller, and his tanned body reflected long days out at the ranch, bucking hay for his family.
He’d written me dozens of letters and e-mails over the past year, and I’d tried to respond to each of them in between throwing up and fevers and aches.
He’d written me notes full of fifteen-year-old boy adventures and life experiences and firsts.
But we were a year older now.
Our bodies had changed.
We had changed.
Grown harder to the world and its troubles. Maybe more cynical. More vulnerable.
It was when Cash spotted me first that I saw it. As if my eyes had hung the moon and the stars and I was the only one who could ease his troubles.
I haven’t taken off the hat yet.
But I lavished in this moment. The moment where, in his eyes, I didn’t look sick, where I didn’t have dark circles under my eyes. Where I didn’t look tired.
At my checkup that my mother had insisted on before I left for Dillon Creek, remission wasn’t a word Dr. Carter had used. He’d said break.
“We’re taking a break from the chemotherapy for the summer,” Dr. Carter, my oncologist, had said. “While you’re gone though, I have a friend in Eureka who will keep an eye on you. You’ll have a visit with her every three weeks, just to make sure everything is going as planned.”
I also hadn’t asked for clarification about remission. But the truth was, I was scared to ask. I hadn’t wanted to know. I just wanted everything to go back to normal—before the cancer. Before I had become a sick pincushion zombie with no hair.
Before I knew it, Cash’s arms were around me.
His heart pounded against mine, and I felt his hello in his tight arms around me.
“Hey.”
“I missed you, Scar,” he whispered in my ear.
Immediately, my body went rigid. That used to be the place he’d push my hair back behind my ear.
“I missed you too.” But secretly, I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t feel as though I measured up to Cash Atwood anymore. I didn’t deserve him.
My grandparents came up behind him.
“There she is!” my grandma said as Cash released me.
My grandparents both hugged me.
Granddad, of course, had tears in his eyes, just like every time they’d picked me up, and for a short second, I didn’t feel sick. It felt so normal and so like the old me.
Cash took my hand. “Come on. Let’s go get your luggage.”
When we pulled into Dillon Creek, I took a big deep breath in.
Nobody had asked if I was all right, and I liked that.
Nobody had asked to take my temperature or for my white blood cell count. Nobody had shoved a needle in my arm or a pill down my throat.
“I have a surprise for you when we get home,” Cash said.
“First, dinner,” Grandma said.
“Yes, Mrs. Brockmeyer,” Cash said.
When we walked inside, I took in the familiar scent of leather and spice in my grandparents’ house, settl
ed my bags in my room, and took a seat on the bed as I smiled at the voices in the living room. Three of my favorite people in the whole entire world—Granddad, Grandma, and Cash.
My grandma appeared at the door. “What would you like to do this summer, my sweet granddaughter?”
I looked up at my grandma and removed my hat, revealing a sight she’d seen before, time after time. The only one who’d held my hair back—when I had hair—as I threw up while my mother worked, avoiding the aftermath of the chemotherapy, only serving her motherly duties by dropping me off and picking me up from chemo.
Between my grandparents and Marmie, they’d had it handled.
“I want to be treated like I’m not sick, Grandma.”
Grandma moved from the doorway and sat down next to me on the bed. “Well, my dear, you’ve come to the right place because, here, we don’t poke and prod with needles, nor do we take temperatures unless absolutely necessary. We don’t take your blood cell counts either. However, we do serve ice cream for breakfast and let you stay up late, only if you’ll allow us to hug and kiss you every time we want.”
I smiled. “Agreed.”
“I left October, November, and December in the closet this time. I didn’t see September when we were there at your house three weeks ago.”
“I hide her and only pull her out at night when …”
“When what?”
“When I’m alone.”
I saw the lump that formed in Grandma’s throat. She took my bald head into her chest and kissed it.
“Well, you’re not going to be alone here, Scarlet Brockmeyer. Not on my watch.”
I took in her scent of Red by Giorgio and felt comfort in her touch. I allowed my body to settle into her words, to trust them.
“Come on. Let’s go eat some dinner, and then Cash can show you his surprise.”
I put my hat back on and followed her out to the dining room, where we ate dinner.
“What’s this surprise all about?” I whispered to Cash.
He shrugged and slurped up a noodle. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see. Great dinner, Mrs. Brockmeyer.”
“Thank you, Cash. It’s actually your grandmother’s recipe.”
“I knew it tasted familiar.”
I pushed my noodles around my plate—an attempt to look as though I’d eaten some—and willed my appetite to come back.
Granddad reached across the table and put his hand over mine. “Don’t worry, Scarlet. Remember, Dr. Carter said your appetite should come back soon.”
I smiled.
“You’re not hungry?” Cash asked.
“Side effect of the chemo,” I said.
Cash was deep in thought, staring down at his plate, and I wished Granddad hadn’t said anything now.
“What about ice cream?” he asked.
“I haven’t had ice cream in a year.”
“Why?”
“My mom read somewhere that dairy is a contributor to cancer.”
My grandma stood and walked into the kitchen.
While she clanged around in there, Cash asked, “What do you eat?”
I laughed almost. “A lot of oatmeal.”
Cash’s mouth fell open. “You hate oatmeal.”
“I know. But my mom won’t take that for an answer. Eggs and avocado too.”
Grandma walked back into the dining room with a big bowl of ice cream and set it down in front of me.
“I don’t know if I can eat all of this, Grandma.”
“That’s okay. Eat what you want. I’m certain your grandfather will finish it.”
I took a small bite and relished in the creamy sweetness.
I took another bite and then another as Cash began to tell me about his recommendations for our summer plans.
And I realized how good it was to be home.
“I’ll have her back after dark, Mr. and Mrs. Brockmeyer!” Cash called back.
“Where are we going?”
There was a waiting four-wheeler by our dugout.
“You’ll see.”
I got onto the four-wheeler, and Cash slipped in front of me. His scent, like fresh timber and Irish Spring, didn’t make me nauseous; it made me want to hang on for my life.
The machine between our legs came to life, and Cash took off toward Russ Park. Though we weren’t supposed to take motorized vehicles up the trails, Cash threw in forty bucks to the donation box for road maintenance.
On a secret trail I’d never taken, he drove uphill to a clearing among the redwood trees.
Among the trees that surrounded us sat a blanket and a basket.
“What’s this?” I whispered.
He parked next to the blanket just as the sky turned to dusk.
“Come sit,” he said.
We lay down on the blanket, side by side, our heads together, and we stared up at deep, dark blue and then purple, and then the giant full moon took its rightful place in the sky.
We waited—for what, I wasn’t sure, but I’d stopped asking questions. Now, I enjoyed the quiet that surrounded us, the calls of the crickets and the occasional crow.
“The sounds of summer,” I whispered.
The sky became meshed with the stars, like a screen of beauty, of hope. Maybe it was God’s way of showing me that no matter what, I’d be okay.
“I’ve missed you so much, Scar,” Cash said into the darkness.
“I’ve missed you too.”
“I … I can’t imagine what this past year has been like for you, and I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“It’s probably better you weren’t.”
He turned on his side to stare at me. Hesitantly, he reached for my hat, and I flinched.
“Stop,” he said. “You have to know by now that we’re in this life together—forever.”
My heart bled a million different colors.
A single tear slid down my cheek as I stared up at the sky.
Slowly, I turned my head to look at him.
Cash smiled his boy smile and gently kissed me on the cheek. “You’ve been battling something that adults die from. You’re a warrior.”
“I don’t feel like one.”
Cash took my hand. After a moment, he pointed to a star in the sky. “That’s yours.”
“What?” I squinted to see what he was pointing at.
“That one, right there, next to the Little Dipper.”
“What do you mean, it’s mine?”
Cash pulled out my list and another couple pieces of paper.
My heart exploded when I saw the list. “You kept it?”
Cash’s eyes widened. “What? Of course I did. See, number twelve. Name a star in the sky.” He showed me the piece of paper. “The star’s name is Scarlet, The Warrior.”
My eyes fell to Cash. “You adopted a star for me?”
“Yeah,” he said and turned on his side to look down at me, resting his head on his hand.
Emotion gathered in my throat, and I was unable to speak. I nodded, too scared to thank him, for fear of crying.
Our hands were still intact against the blanket as we lay there and watched the night sky build us messages of hope.
31
Cash: Age 15
Dillon Creek, California
I didn’t care that Scarlet had lost her hair in the nine months we’d been apart. I didn’t care that she’d grown thinner and that her bright eyes had been swallowed up by fear.
What mattered was her and that she was still here, fighting.
I’d made a promise to God, to myself, that I’d do everything in my power to be by her side, to help, if she’d have me.
I’d begged my mom to let me fly to Chicago to be with her, but when my mother had spoken to Erla, they’d agreed it wasn’t a good time.
But this summer was our summer.
We were going to get things on her list done.
We lay in the field and stared up at the night sky.
“Thank you for my star,” she said.
&n
bsp; It felt like Scarlet was a million miles away; it was in the way she carried herself, the haunted look behind her eyes, but I was determined to help her find her way back to me, to Dillon Creek, and to the people who loved her most.
“It was nothing. Tell me about chemo.”
“I’d rather not. I’d rather forget about it, to be honest, Cash.”
“Tell me about you then.”
She sighed. “Some days, I feel like I’m in a fog and stuck somewhere between the past and the future.”
“Like Back to the Future?”
She smiled, probably remembering the time we had gone and seen all three movies in one night at the Dillon Creek Movie House—a recommendation from Conroy.
“Something like that. But it’s like … I want to go back to before. Before all … this.”
“The cancer?”
“Yeah.”
I wanted to tell her that I wanted to go back too. But I didn’t because I knew it would break her heart.
So, instead, I said, “One day, Scar, we’ll look back on this time, this night, and it will just be a small molehill on the map of life. A stumbling block. The world will right itself again, just as it always does.”
Scarlet smiled at the moon and took a deep breath. “I’ve missed you, and I’ve missed Dillon Creek.”
“We missed you.” I was quiet for a minute. “Want to hear something funny?”
“Yes.”
“I heard Grandma Clyda and my mom talking about Pearl and Delveen wanting to arrange a parade in your homecoming and a dinner. And my grandma said to Pearl and Delveen, ‘For God’s sake, she has cancer; she’s not returning home from war.’ But I guess, in a sense, you are returning home from a battle. Anyway, my grandma shot the idea down because she didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
I saw the corners of Scarlet’s mouth turn up.
“Boy, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall at Dillon Creek Pizza when that conversation went down.”
“You wouldn’t have wanted that, right? A parade and dinner?”
“Absolutely not.”
Scarlet had never been one for the spotlight. Her private life was her private life, and she’d always been that way.
“I mean, if your mom was making her homemade caramels and Delveen made her famous deviled eggs, I definitely would not turn those down, but I wouldn’t want everyone looking at me. Staring at me. Asking me if I’m okay, giving me the pity look, you know.” But she said that all with a smile, as if she’d accepted it. As if she was used to it. “The pity look is the worst.” Scarlet sat up and pretended to give the look. And she had a somber face, but with a sarcastic smirk.
Leaving Scarlet Page 17
