by Pandora Snow
"Thank you, Dr. Pritchett," I say as I shake his hand, standing to exit the room.
"How's your mother?" he asks thoughtfully, having given Jake his entry physical before he shipped off to Iraq six years ago.
"She's doing well since I returned home. Thanks for asking."
"We'll talk soon," he says and waves me towards the appointment desk.
Sarah isn't behind her station. I'm guessing that since the office is closed for the day, she's pacing in the lobby. I don't have time to strategize my words and delivery; she's going to jump me the instant I walk out. She's probably worried sick to find out my results.
Her shaky arms are wrapped tightly around my neck in seconds as I exit the door. She wouldn't be this emotional if she weren't aware of the diagnosis.
"Sarah James, did you spy on my medical records?" My strong protective arms hold her in safety, offering emotional support as we navigate this unforeseen challenge.
"Yes. I'm sorry," she says quietly, looking at me as though I'll disappear any moment.
"Then you understand there's no need to overreact about the findings. Dr. Pritchett put me on a prescription that should knock this out in four to six weeks. Other than giving up alcohol and fast food, this won't make any difference in our lifestyle. See, no need to worry."
I doubt the words, even as I say them. I know two former soldiers who came home with stage two prostate cancer. Saying that insidious word gives me the chills. Sarah is scared right now. She was scared for the entire four years I was gone.
I can't let on I'm more than a little concerned. Heaven forbid my mom finds out. She'll probably move herself in so she can feed me and monitor my symptoms twenty-four seven.
"Let's go home, baby, and relax. Everything will be alright, I promise." I offer a silent prayer to the man upstairs that I'm right.
CHAPTER FOUR
Sarah was extraordinarily attentive to my needs last night. She fed me, she coddled me, and she loved me. I'll never get enough of her. Memories of the proposal light up my eyes as I drive to work.
We talked on the phone a week prior to my return from duty. She always shared how much she missed me and loved me, but this call was different.
My mom had been through an extremely rough weekend, sitting in sadness as she marked Jake's five-year loss. Sarah talked about seemingly meaningless everyday details that make a love eternal.
She and my mom cooked together, they watched a couple of movies, and Sarah accompanied my mom to the cemetery. Sarah stood in for me during this somber occasion and paid honor and respect to my family. That's the moment my soul knew she was my family.
I called in a massive favor from my high school friend Ben. He sent me dozens of engagement ring pictures and had the ring I chose beautifully boxed. When the squad found out, they wrangled the Commander into arranging a small fanfare when we arrived at the airport.
Hundreds of friends and family were gathered on the tarmac, watching as we began to deplane. When I reached the bottom of the staircase, Ben discreetly handed me the box, offering me a wink and a handshake in congratulations. As Sarah came into view, tears sprung to my eyes. She was surrounded by a saluting line of soldiers and congratulatory balloons. She had no idea this display was all for her.
Sarah's beautiful blue eyes were already misty as I approached, a sudden hush coming over the crowd. I took her hands in mine, dropped to my knee, and asked her to be my eternal loving bride. She collapsed on top of me with a barely audible yes, ovations breaking around us.
Sarah deserved that priceless moment, one we'll both forever cherish. I'll take the prescription and follow doctor's orders to ensure I can create a lifetime of magical, endearing moments for the two of us.
***
I've forgotten all about yesterday's stress as I walk into the employee lounge. My boss calls me into his office before I've even set my coffee down.
"Good Morning Spence," I greet, taking a seat on the hard metal chair next to his desk.
"Morning, Ian. I want to review your inventory numbers. There appear to be a few unresolved discrepancies and shortages in your department."
"Of course," I reply, nothing unusual about one or two missing components.
"We have a one percent difference in small detail products, looks like open box screws and nails. We'll account for these items in the overall shrink account. The larger concern is with medium to large-sized brackets. Your count is coming up 10% short of expected numbers according to sales. Any idea about this discrepancy?"
"Nothing immediately comes to mind," I reply, racking my brain over which employee was assigned to inventory those units. I spent hours checking and double-checking the data yesterday morning. I'm shocked at myself for missing this.
"Get me a hand count, and we'll compare the numbers in an hour. Also, let me know which employee completed the original scan."
"Yes, sir," I reply, recalling the switch I made between Pete and Benny. Pete only scanned the aisle for about twenty minutes before I swapped assignments. That leaves Benny accountable for the information submitted on the spreadsheet.
"Good Morning, Benny," I say anxiously, not wanting to alert him to a potential job ending problem that's been uncovered.
"Morning, Ian," he says quietly, shifting his eyes quickly back to his scanner. Given his reaction, this a conversation for my office.
"Let's talk in my office; I have a few questions about inventory."
"Sure thing, Boss," he replies, following me to the back room.
"Is there a problem?" he asks as soon as I shut the door.
"The bracket Inventory came up 10% short. Are you sure you counted correctly?"
He doesn't immediately answer, raising my concern I may need to involve human resources. I hate this part of the job with a passion.
"I promise every effort was made to be accurate. I haven't been feeling great lately, but I did my best."
"Something serious?" I ask, people before data popping into my head.
"The doc said I have prostate cancer, stage two. I've been taking medications, but they aren't helping. I didn't want to unload this on you, Boss. We're soldiers. We carry on and get the job done."
"I'm sorry to hear about your poor health, Benny. I recently had a scare myself. The doctor said lifestyle and attitude have a tremendous impact on recovery. If you need help, ask."
This personal conversation is hitting way too close to home. If I fire Benny, he'll lose his health insurance and have no way to pay for life-saving treatment. If we don't resolve the discrepancy, my job is on the line. Fuck.
"Let's get a hand count and double-check the inventory numbers. Hopefully this is a simple oversight or unaccounted for backstock."
We return to the department floor, both of us feeling the weight cancer stacks on the body and mind. What if I don't get better? What if I can't give Sarah children? It's imperative I keep my negative thoughts in check and not succumb to the guilt of letting her down. I'm not sure I can live with myself if I can't give her everything she deserves.
CHAPTER FIVE
The inventory count is accurate. I'm at a loss as Spence double-checks the department and store totals. "This doesn't look good, Ian. The regional director will be on the phone within minutes when he sees the report. We have a few days to reconcile the discrepancy. Otherwise, someone's job is on the line."
"I understand. I'll let you know if any new information surfaces to shed light on the missing product."
Even though Sarah packed me a healthy lunch, I need a few greasy fries and a cheeseburger to calm my nerves. I see Benny walking to his car and decide to ask him to join me. He's had months to deal with his diagnosis. I briefly wonder if it's a good idea, given one of us may no longer be employed at the end of the week, but decide I need to understand just how bad this can get.
"Thanks for lunch, Boss, you didn't have to pay."
"You're welcome, Benny. If you don't mind, I wanted to talk to you about your cancer diagnosis. My doctor sai
d I have precancerous cells in my prostate. He's giving me a prescription to kill them off, hopefully. I was curious about your experience, you know, symptoms and what to watch out for."
"I'm sorry, boss, that's rough. Unfortunately, it's all too common lately in the veteran community. So, your tests only showed as precancerous?"
"Yes."
"That's good news. What drug did they put you on?"
"Docetaxel, the dosage is five milligrams daily."
"I've been on that for weeks through an IV treatment. It sounds like your doctor is optimistic your cancer won't spread. I take a combination of steroids and appetite suppressants. They kill my energy and strength. How do you feel?"
"Normal, just a backache here and there. I appreciate your honesty, Benny. Thanks for sharing these personal details."
"No problem. Now your turn. Will I lose my job if we don't figure out where the missing inventory is?"
"It's possible, Benny, but I believe there's a logical explanation.
Let's both continue racking our brains. No one's getting fired on my watch."
"Will do, Boss."
The stressful afternoon passes quickly. Sarah texts me we're having dinner with my mom at six. My greatest feat may be masking my worry and keeping her prying eyes out of my personal business. Mothers have an intuitive sense when something's wrong with their child. Dealing with her overprotection isn't a burden I can manage right now.
"There's the happy couple," mom smiles, as we walk into my childhood home. I love coming here for my mom's comfort and cooking. Her personal intruding questions, not so much.
"How's work, dear? Did your inventory go well?" she asks, the irresistible aroma of homemade lasagna filling my nostrils. Her timing is uncanny.
"Good. We're still evaluating the spreadsheets and data. I'm hopeful we've earned a generous bonus this year." Sarah gives me a curious look, feeling the hesitation in my voice.
"I'm excited about tasting wedding cakes this Saturday. I cut out a bunch of articles from Bride magazine for us to look through. The popular trending cake flavor is Pink Champagne."
We look at each other and scrunch our noses. I like champagne in a glass, not a cake. "Why don't you show me some of your high school football trophies, Ian," Sarah requests, my mom waving us out of the kitchen.
I close the bedroom door behind me, my intuitive better half immediately calling me out. "What's wrong at work, Ian?" she says, her voice laced with concern.
"Nothing to worry about, babe. Just a few numbers that still need to be reconciled."
"Babe? You may be able to fool your mother tonight and keep your medication news a secret, but you can't fool me. Don't even try."
I capitalize on the consternation in her eyes, taking her hips and pushing her gently onto the bed. My full weight presses her into the mattress, determined to take control of the situation.
"I love the feel of your curvy sexy body underneath my hard muscle, babe. We've got time for a quick introduction to Honeymoon 101."
My fingers quickly find her wanton nipples through her thin clothing, my thumbs rolling circles with light pressure. "Does this feel good, babe?" I ask, pushing my luck with each maniacal tease.
She fights against my heavy arms, unable to move my muscular biceps.
"Would you like more, babe?" I breathe hotly against her lips, lowering the thin straps of her sundress.
My wet tongue slides down her neck and inside the silky bra, lingering on the hardening right peak. Her arms relax slightly as I trace a figure eight between her luscious breasts. The tight pulling of my hair signals it's time for the next lesson.
She's wearing matching panties, the silky fabric beckoning me inside.
Her eyes squeeze shut as she attempts to deny me with every failing move. My fingers slide easily inside her damp folds. I'll have to make this quick.
"I want you to come for me, babe. I want you to trust me. I want you to know there's nothing on earth I value more than you and your love. You will not worry about me anymore."
Our lips crash together as her hips rock into my hand, relenting to the approaching orgasm. My tongue spears deep inside her mouth, taking full possession of my wanton woman.
She's tightly clenching my soaking fingers, on the brink of release."
"Come. Babe," I order against her lips, the breathtaking euphoria of her climax painting intoxicating hues of pink and red across her cheeks.
She's panting quietly, her loving eyes giving me the surrender I asked for. "I love you, Sarah. Promise me you won't worry so much about me. I rely on your authentic, heartfelt emotions to bring me peace. You're the reason I breathe."
I kiss her tears away as mom hollers out dinner's ready. "I love you too, Ian. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never need to find out. Let's have dinner. Your beautiful, flushing face will give my mother something to wonder about while we eat."
"Ok, babe," she murmurs, embracing me in her warmth, before opening the door. I cross my fingers we'll get through this meal without any further revelations.
My mom gives us a suspicious look as we sit down at the dinner table. The lasagna is fantastic as always, but my appetite is down. I'm eating more slowly and taking smaller bites, giving the food time to settle my stomach.
"Did you have a large lunch, dear, you aren't nearly as hungry as usual." I can circumvent this potential land mine by blaming a large lunch.
"Sorry, mom. I took a few of the guys at work out to lunch, a Chinese buffet. We all ate more than we should've."
"You know that food isn't good for you, son. Maybe Sarah can make you some lunches to take to work. You'll save money and get a higher quality of nutrition."
I look over at Sarah, who's piercing my eyes with an irritated expression. She bites her sexy lip, understanding my mom's concern. I've unintentionally insulted her, yet she's letting this go. My hand moves under the table, gently squeezing her knee to offer a gesture of appreciation.
"Great idea, Beverly. We can plan a few menus on Saturday."
Her acknowledgment of my mom's advice brings a smile to both of their faces. Miss Sarah has earned round two, possibly even round three, later this evening.
I manage to finish the majority of my meal, and the dinner conversation turns to everyday chatter. The dishes are cleared, and we're walking to the front door. It's time to get home. I've dodged a bullet.
We both give mom a hug, my arm wrapped around Sarah's waist to hurry the goodbye's along.
"Oh, I almost forgot, Dr. Pritchett said to tell you hello." Sarah's eyes widen as I instantly catch my fatal mistake.
"Why were you at the doctor, Ian. Is something wrong?"
Shit. I can't lie to my mother.
"I had some routine testing, nothing out of the ordinary. Almost all of the veterans I know follow up with their doctor every year or two."
Sarah valiantly attempts to interrupt the line of questioning. "We'll pick you up at nine Saturday morning, Beverly. We'll find an outdoor café for lunch to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather."
"Stop right there, Ian. If there's something wrong with your health, I expect you to be honest and upfront with me. You know how much I treasure you."
Tears form in her eyes, my chest instantly heavy with guilt. I wrap her in a reassuring embrace and begin to leave. "Mom, I'm fine. I promise to let you know if there's ever anything concerning. We'll see you Saturday."
I walk out the door before Pandora's box is unleashed. Dr. Pritchett is fully expecting the medication to resolve my disease in the next few weeks. Even though Benny's having a tough time, my body is younger and more resilient. We caught this early, thanks to my beautiful, attentive fiancé. Everything's fine.
CHAPTER SIX
Sarah's nerves were more than soothed last night as I pleasured her repeatedly, doing my best to release the lingering fear from her mind. She packed me another generous, healthy lunch, threatening to call one of my coworkers to make sure I actually
consumed the contents this time.
I walk by Spence's office on my way to the floor to check on the team this morning. "Ian, any update on the missing inventory?" he asks, knee-deep in corporate reports.
"Not yet, but the entire department is keeping their eyes open. Jackson is going to double-check backstock again today. We haven't given up; there must be a rational explanation."
"Sounds good, keep me posted," he says and dives back into paperwork. The truth is, we've all racked our brains and are coming up short.
"How's therapy going, Pete?" I ask, concerned at the lack of progress he's making on the job. After spending four torturous years serving our country, I can't begin to know what it feels like to be suddenly wheelchair-bound.
