I’m standing on the edge of an emotional abyss. As long as I can convince myself that whatever is wrong with Sam can be fixed, I can keep my balance, but …
I don’t want to think about the alternative. I try to pretend there isn’t one because that’s how I need it to be.
My legs walk me back toward the trailer. The wind is blowing now. It snaps at my sweatshirt and whips strands of hair into my face. It’s not raining, but I can smell it coming. From across the field, the trailer, shed, and firepit look exactly like they always do. There’s not so much as a blade of black grass to indicate anything has changed.
Except Tom Barnes’s truck is gone now, and Lizzie isn’t there, which — of course — means Sam isn’t there either.
I’m relieved. There are things I need to ask him, but I’m not ready yet to hear the answers.
Chapter Twenty
I let myself into the trailer and wander to the kitchen. There’s a note on the counter.
Gone for lunch with Tom. Get reading.
— Sam
I look at the clock on the stove. It’s just about noon, and for no reason that I can think of, I find myself wondering what time it is in Europe. Ping. That’s all it takes. Like a tiny vibration that sets off an avalanche of snow, that single insignificant thought sets off an avalanche of emotions inside me, and I suddenly need to call my mother. I need to hear her voice and have her talk my worries away as she used to when I was a little girl. I need her to make everything like it was before I read the label on that pill bottle.
But before that can happen, I need to figure out where she is, so I run to my room and dig through the suitcase for her honeymoon itinerary. Where is it? When several minutes of heaving clothes from side to side don’t uncover the paper, I start tossing things out. That doesn’t get any results either. Frustrated — and on the edge of panic — I stare at the empty suitcase. Where is it? As I wrack my brain for an answer, I look around the room, and in the corner, under a pair of jeans and a sock, I spy my backpack. I jump on it and begin my search again. Finally, I find the itinerary.
As quickly as my shaking fingers can manage, I unfold it and lay it on the carpet. Then I run down the date column until I get to August 5th. Please don’t let it be a travel day, I pray.
It isn’t. According to the itinerary, Mom is in Switzerland. Lucerne. She and Reed are staying at the Hotel Schweizerhof Luzern — not that that matters. I’ll call her on her cell. The number is right there on the page, complete with all the appropriate long distance codes.
The rest is the cell number. I don’t even have to think about that. My fingers hit the buttons on their own.
The phone rings once, twice, three times.
“Pick up,” I mutter. “Come on, Mom. Pick up.”
“Hello.”
“Mom?”
I guess she can hear the urgency in my voice, because her own turns into concern as she says, “Dani, what’s the matter?”
“It’s Sam,” I blurt.
“What’s the matter with him? Was he in an accident?”
“No. There was no accident. He’s sick.”
There’s a pause before Mom asks, “What kind of sick?”
My throat seizes up. “Cancer.” I can barely choke the word out. Then I add, “I think.”
I expect my mother to be shocked and upset too, but all she says is, “You think?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know?”
“Not for certain,” I admit, “but I found a prescription bottle for morphine and then —”
My mother doesn’t let me finish. “You were snooping?”
“No!” I yell into the phone. “Why would you say that? What’s the matter with you? I’m trying to tell you something important! Why won’t you listen? Don’t you understand? Sam is sick — really sick! He’s in pain! He’s popping morphine pills like they were candy! Don’t you get it?” Now I’m crying. Why isn’t my mother comforting me? Why isn’t she telling me things will be okay? Why isn’t she upset?
For what feels like forever, neither of us says anything. There’s not even any breathing sounds or background noise. The telephone line might as well be dead.
It’s Mom who finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry, Dani.” To my surprise, she’s crying too. She takes a ragged breath before continuing. “Dear God, I wish I was there with you.”
“What are you talking about?” I wail. “I’m fine. It’s Sam who’s sick.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes, I know,” she says quietly. “There is no easy way to put this, so I’m just going to say it.” She clears her throat. “Sam has lung cancer.” Then in a strangled voice she adds, “He’s dying, Dani.”
And that’s when I leave the safe world I’ve always known and sink like a stone into oblivion. I hear what my mother has said, but my brain refuses to process it. It’s my body that reacts. My stomach clenches, and then every muscle I possess collapses and I become weak all over. I can barely hold the phone. I fall back against the futon. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. I’m too consumed with the hurt in my heart. It is literally aching.
Someone is sobbing. I’m not sure if it’s me or Mom. Maybe it’s both of us. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. My head is too full of Sam. He can’t be dying. I know he’s sick, but he can’t be dying. He can’t be! He has a great doctor. She’ll make him better. My mother is wrong.
For several minutes I let the pain consume me. It’s like a tsunami trying to drown me — or rip me apart. I don’t even try to fight it. I don’t care if I survive it.
Eventually, though I become aware of someone calling my name, and I push my way out of the blackness.
“Dani, honey, talk to me.” Mom’s voice is shaky and thick.
I shake my head, but of course, she can’t see that. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and try to force back my grief so that I can talk.
“You knew.” I hiccup. It sounds like an accusation. But then why shouldn’t it? It is. “You knew Sam had cancer. You knew! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry, baby,” she whimpers. “You weren’t supposed to find out like this. Sam didn’t want you to know he was sick. He thought he could hide it while you were there. He —”
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I demand. Anger temporarily dulls the pain.
Mom doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she says, “Sam was diagnosed about a year ago. At first, the cancer was relatively slow-moving, and the doctors were optimistic he could beat it. They operated — got what they could. But his body couldn’t tolerate the chemotherapy that was supposed to follow, and radiation on its own wasn’t enough. The doctors tried everything there is — Sam even went to a clinic in the States for a new treatment, but that didn’t work either. After that, the cancer started to move faster. And now they say it’s just a matter of time.”
“How much time?” I ask, though I don’t really want to hear the answer.
“I don’t know exactly.” Mom answers cautiously, almost reluctantly. “Not long. A few months.”
New tears spring to my eyes, and I jam my fist into my mouth to keep from screaming.
“Oh, Dani, I am so, so sorry. I should have seen this coming, but I was hoping Sam would get better. When he asked for you to visit, I couldn’t refuse him. I thought it would be okay. I thought he would be okay — at least while you were there. I didn’t think you would have to know the truth until … ” Her voice trails off, but we both know what she isn’t saying.
“Is that supposed to make it all right?” I snap. “You meant well, so that gets you off the hook?” I know I’m being unfair, but I don’t care. I want my mother to feel as awful as I do.
“No, of course, it doesn’t, baby. I know you’re hurting right now, and I am so, so sorry. I would do anything to make the hurt go away.”
“Then make Sam better!”
“Oh, Dani, I wish I could.
Do you want me to come there? Because I will. It might take me a couple of days, but if you need me, I’ll come.”
That’s what I had wanted my mother to say when I’d first called her, but when I finally hear the words, I change my mind.
I feel my back stiffen. “No,” I say. “There’s no point in cutting your honeymoon short. You can’t do anything here, and it’s not fair to Reed.”
“Reed will understand. He is —”
“No, Mom!” I shout into the phone.
The line goes quiet for a few seconds, before my mother says, “I love Sam too, Dani.”
And because I know that’s true, I’m suddenly not angry anymore. Just sad.
“I know,” I say. “I’m sorry. It’s not you’re fault. I guess I’m just in shock. I haven’t got my head around this yet. I need some time to think. Finish your honeymoon, Mom. Then come and see Sam.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” I say, momentarily holding my emotions at bay. I know my mother can’t take away the hurt. Only time will do that. In the meantime, I have to come to grips with the situation and find a way to hide my feelings. Sam didn’t want me to know he was sick, so I’ll pretend I don’t.
“Okay,” Mom says, but she sounds unsure. Then she adds in a rush, “If you’re certain that’s what you want. If you change your mind, just pick up the phone. Understand? If you need me for anything — anytime night or day, just call. I’ll phone you tomorrow. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you, Dani.”
“I know,” I tell her. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Twenty-One
When I get off the phone, my emotions attack again with full force, and I am dragged down into a sea of despair. Wave after relentless wave washes over me until my head aches, my eyes sting, and my body hurts from sobbing.
I slam my hand on the futon. I have to stop crying! What if Sam comes home and finds me like this?
But my body doesn’t listen. I bite the inside of my lip — hard, until I can taste blood. The tears stop. I force myself to take deep breaths until the sobbing stops too. Then I drag my hands down my wet cheeks and head for the bathroom.
I don’t even recognize myself in the mirror. My face is blotchy, and my eyes are puffy and bloodshot. I run the water until it’s really cold. Then I splash it on my face and put a wet cloth over my eyes. I check the mirror again. I look a little better, but not much.
My head is pounding. There’s some Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, so I down a couple of tablets with a tall glass of water. The iciness makes my teeth ache.
I pull out my makeup bag and try to repair my ravaged face, but halfway through the mascara, I think of Sam, and the Hoover Dam opens up again. I stomp my foot and pinch my arm this time, letting my nails dig into my flesh. “Stop it!” I tell myself as I dab at the swollen, black smudges that are my eyes. “Think of something else.”
But there is nothing else. I am on the verge of losing it again, when my cell rings. I pull it from my jeans and look at the display screen.
It’s Sam. My tears are instantly shocked away. Still, I’m afraid to pick up. But Sam knows I always carry my phone. I have no choice.
After the fourth ring, I finally answer. “Hello.”
“Hey,” he says. Even over the phone, there’s mischief in his voice. “I thought I better let you know I haven’t fallen off the earth. Tom and I got to talking, and I lost track of the time.”
“That’s okay,” I say.
“Are you getting a cold?” he asks.
Great! I say three crummy words, and already he knows something’s wrong. I clear my throat. “No, I’m just stuffed up. Must have run into something on my walk that I’m allergic to.”
“Do you have allergies?”
“I don’t think so, but you never know.” I try to sound cheerful. “I’m fine. Whatever it is, it’ll pass. So, what’s up?”
“Well, if it’s all right with you, Tom invited me to see a horse with him. He says it’s a real beauty. I know you and I were going to talk about that book, but would it be okay if we do it later? I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say. “Go see the horse. I haven’t finished reading the book yet anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Go. Please. I’m fine.”
“All right then. I’ll probably be a couple more hours. And don’t worry about supper. I’ll pick something up for us on my way home. I’ll see you later.”
As I turn off the phone, I sigh with relief. I have a temporary reprieve — a bit more time to get my act together. If I can keep from crying, I just might look human by the time Sam gets back.
I don’t even get the phone in my pocket before it rings again. I’m afraid to see who it is. If it’s Sam, I might accidentally give myself away, and if it’s Mom, I’ll just break down again. I check the display screen.
It’s Micah.
I’m not sure I’m up to talking with him either — I really don’t feel like talking to anyone — but I can’t not answer the phone. He’ll think something is wrong.
“Hi,” I say. It takes all the willpower I can muster to make my voice bubbly.
“Hey, gorgeous. How you doin’?”
“I’m good,” I lie. And then, “What are you doing calling at this time of day? I thought you were working.”
“I am, but only for another hour. I’ve done such a damn fine job today, my dad is letting me off early. Soooo …” He stretches out the word. “I thought I’d spend the rest of the afternoon with you.”
I don’t say anything.
“Unless you’re busy, of course,” he adds.
I’m busy all right — busy having an nervous breakdown. I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell Micah the truth. If Sam doesn’t want me to know he’s sick, it’s a pretty safe bet he doesn’t want Micah to know either.
“Dani?”
I have to give him an answer. I want to see him, but I can’t. I’ll never be able to hold it together. One look at me, and he’ll know there’s something wrong. But how do I tell him that?
“Dani, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t you want to see me?”
“Of course, I do. It’s just that …” I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
“It’s just what?”
“I’m having a really bad day.” That’s true. “I had a fight with my mom.” Sort of true. “I’ve been crying ever since, and I look terrible.” Very true.
To my surprise, Micah laughs. “Whew!” he says. “You had me worried there for a minute. I thought I’d done something wrong.”
“No. It’s not you. You’re fine. In fact, you’re wonderful. It’s me. I’m in a really grumpy mood, and I don’t want to take it out on you.”
“That’s where you have it all wrong,” he says. I know he’s smiling. “What you need is some cheering up, and I am an expert at that. I’ll make you forget all about the fight with your mom. You’ll be smiling and laughing in no time.”
“Oh, Micah,” I sigh. “You are so sweet, but I really need to work this out myself. I’ve got a lot of thinking to do. I’m sorry.” Even as I say the words, I can’t believe I’m turning down a chance to be with him.
When Micah replies, the fun has left his voice. “It’s only a little over a week before you go back to Vancouver,” he says. “I want to spend as much of that time with you as a I can. I thought you felt the same way.”
“I do,” I say. “You know I do. Today is just a bad day.”
“So tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”
“You can’t.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
I can tell I’ve hurt his feelings. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Right.” There’s a chill in his voice. “So how did you mean it?”
I don’t know what to tell him. “Please, Micah. Try to understand. This is something personal.
”
“No problem. I get it.” Now he’s angry. “You’re coming through loud and clear. I thought we were a couple, and I thought couples shared personal stuff, but clearly, you don’t trust me enough to do that.”
I grit my teeth in frustration. I feel like I’m digging myself into a hole. Everything I say is making the situation worse. Why can’t I find the right words to make Micah understand. “I wish I could explain,” I tell him earnestly. “I really do. I just can’t,” I finish lamely. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” he says sarcastically.
I try again. “I just need a little time.”
“You got it,” he barks, and then the line goes dead.
“Micah?” I say, but of course, there’s no answer.
I turn off the phone and stuff it into my pocket. I’m surprisingly calm. I should be upset — and I am, but I am too wrung out to react. I care about Micah a lot, and it’s good to know he cares about me too — at least he did until a few minutes ago — but considering everything else that’s happened, Micah being mad at me is just one more thing on a long list of things that have gone wrong with the day.
I hear a deep rumble and wander to the window in the living room. The clouds in the sky are almost black, making the afternoon ominously dark. And the rain is starting to come down in torrents.
Chapter Twenty-Two
At ten after five, Lizzie splashes across the field with her windshield wipers slapping the rain away in waves. Sam springs from the cab with a bag in one hand and a case of beer in the other and bolts for the trailer. Even though he has his hat and slicker for protection, he’s still soaked when he bursts through the door.
And, of course, he’s coughing.
He sheds his rain gear and hangs it in the bathroom shower to dry.
“It’s wet out there,” he says as he pulls off his boots and swipes at a raindrop dangling from the tip of his nose. Then he picks up the beer and the bag and heads to the kitchen. After shoving the beer into the fridge, he takes a couple of plates from the cupboard and starts filling them with food.
Truths I Learned from Sam Page 11
