Thursdays (The Wait Book 1)

by Harper Bentley

  But all I could do was sit there, tightly gripping Mase’s hand and nodding as I tried hiding from him the tears streaming down my face.

  The neurosurgeon had done a biopsy a month before and ever since, we’d been hustling from doctor to doctor praying that one would give us a better diagnosis.

  But now it again felt like the room was closing in on us as she repeated what the others had said before her:

  Malignant.

  Cancer.

  Rapid growth.

  Early detection would’ve been ideal.

  Third-leading cause of cancer deaths among adults aged 20 to 39.

  Growing for years.

  Aggressive.

  Surgery would be…tricky.

  The best we could do is to remove part of the tumor to relieve pressure on the brain.

  But…it’ll keep growing back.

  Radiation therapy.

  Chemotherapy.

  Loss of writing ability.

  Lack of recognition.

  Consider getting your affairs in order.

  One, maybe two, months.

  If we’re lucky.

  Death.

  This had to be a dream or actually a nightmare. How could this be happening?

  I suddenly stood and looked down at Mason, not bothering to hide my crying, then turning to her I yelled, “What is the freaking problem? Has no one figured out how to do this yet? Is this not the twenty-first century? I mean, it’s a fucking tumor! Go in and take the bastard out! Jesus! How hard can it be?”

  I stormed out of her office crying hard, gasping for air, ignoring all the looks I was getting as I ran through the waiting room. When I made it to the lobby there was nowhere else to go so I headed for the stairwell. Yanking the door open, I started down the ten flights until finally collapsing on one of the landings.

  “Why?” I sobbed, dropping my head into my hands. “Why?”

  I’d been strong.

  No. I’d played at being strong. I had to for Mase.

  But inside it felt as if I was dying right along with him.

  “He can’t leave me!” I cried. “He can’t…I need him too much… Please! Please don’t let him die!”

  I don’t know who I was talking to.

  I don’t know how long I sat there.

  I do know I sobbed like I never had before.

  I also knew I needed to get back to Mase. Knew I needed to show strong for him. Be there for him instead of running out like a big baby.

  Just as I was catching my breath and trying to pull myself together, I felt a hand on my shoulder which made me jump with a squeal. Turning I saw through blurry eyes a man squatting down beside me.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I—” I began but couldn’t finish because the look he was giving me was so understanding. So sympathetic. Which made me erupt into a new round of sobbing as I buried my face in my hands once again.

  I felt his hand slide across my upper back to cup my other shoulder then sensed the warmth of his body against mine as he sat next to me on the landing just holding me.

  And I cried even harder than I had before.

  I knew it was a selfish thought, but when cancer happens to someone you love, everyone’s concerned about that person—as they should be—but no one asks how the people around them are doing. So just having this stranger hold me as I cried was something I’d been needing since Mason had received his diagnosis.

  And I let everything out.

  I could’ve sat there for five minutes or an hour. Again, time had become a blur. But the man stayed, every now and then rubbing his hand up and down my arm, I guess letting me know he was still there. And even though I had no idea who he was, I’d immediately felt safe with him.

  Was he an angel?

  Would I look up only to see he was gone when I finished my pity cry?

  Keeping my head in my hands I took several deep breaths, afraid to look to see if he was a hallucination because then I’d know I’d really lost it.

  But when I finally got the courage, I slowly raised my head and turning, looked into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

  Chapter 6—Beck

  A week after Sonya had come home and been clean, I got a call from one of her friends from work, one of the girls she’d been with at the club the night I’d seen her snorting coke in the bathroom.

  “Beck? This is Kathleen Amherst. I work with Sonya. I met you at the club?”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice steely as I stood at my desk, my chest tightening. Kathleen knew I didn’t like her, and for her to be calling me, I grasped that what she had to tell me was going to be bad.

  “Sonya’s on her way to the ER. I think she took something. I don’t know wha—”

  I hung up and ran out of my office and was in a cab on my way to the hospital in no time.

  Fuck!

  A week. She’d been good for a week and now this.

  In the ER, it had taken forever to get any information but a doctor finally came out to talk to me.

  “Mr. Griffin? Lon Schmidt,” he said, holding out his hand. He was probably in his mid-50s which I guessed from his all-white hair. Even his trimmed goatee was white. He was around my height and size with just a small paunch showing at his midsection. He wore wire-rimmed reading glasses that sat just on the bridge of his nose, and as he talked, he looked over them at me. “Your wife ingested a high amount of Oxycontin,” he explained tilting his head and watching my reaction, probably looking for signs that I knew she’d done it on purpose or some shit, which I knew she probably had but he didn’t need to know that.

  With a straight face and my concern clearly showing, I cocked my head and asked, “Could she have accidentally taken that much?”

  “I’m assuming it was prescribed to her?”

  I nodded innocently. “Yes. She hurt her back a couple days ago. But she didn’t sleep well last night because of the pain so she was tired today. Maybe she forgot she’d already taken her first pill?”

  I was lying for my wife and that didn’t sit well with me. Jesus. I’d become a fucking enabler.

  I saw him narrow his eyes before he went on. “The thing I’m most concerned about is her heart.”

  I lowered my brow. “Her heart?”

  “She went into cardiac arrest.”

  What the fuck?

  “We got her back but I need to know what’s going on in there,” he explained. “Do you know if she’s had prior heart problems?”

  “I don’t know but I’ll find out,” I answered, stunned.

  “We’ve done some x-rays and I’ll get an EKG scheduled here pretty soon. If you can get her medical records sent, that would help a lot.”

  After I thanked him and he left, I went outside, pulling my phone out. “Gina? Has Sonya had heart trouble in the past?”

  “Well, yes. When she was born, it wasn’t functioning right. They said it was AVS. Aortic valve something or other they called it. They checked her the first couple months but by the third month, they said she was fine. Why? Is she okay?”

  I told her what had happened and where Sonya was.

  “Lord God. That girl. I’m leaving now.”

  Two hours later, Sonya was admitted into the hospital.

  I must’ve stood outside her room for twenty minutes trying to get myself in check, so angry that she’d done this again. When I finally felt I was ready, I took a deep breath and went in.

  “Hey, honey,” she whispered when she saw me.

  Situated underneath her hospital gown were several pads attached to her chest, wires from which led to some kind of monitor that beeped with each heartbeat.

  God.

  I walked to her bedside and pulled up a chair then sitting, took her hand in mine having no idea what to say. Yeah, I was clueless because while I was thankful she wasn’t dead, I wanted to kill her for using again. How’s that for irony.

  She let out a breath. “Beck, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what made me do this.”r />
  “You have heart problems?” I asked, ignoring her apology.

  She nodded. “But only when I was born. I haven’t had any trouble until now.” She squeezed my hand, looking at me with tears in her eyes. “They said I d-died in the ER?”

  I let her hand go and stood quickly sending the chair shooting back to collide with the wall behind me, the loud crash making her yelp. Then turning away from her, I ran my fingers through my hair, wanting to pull it out.

  Jesus. My wife died. She fucking died in the emergency room.

  She let out a sob at which I whipped around angrily and rumbled, “You don’t fucking get to cry, Sonya!” I was so goddamned pissed. So hurt that she’d do this again. That she’d do this to me.

  I heard her breath hitch before she whispered, “I-I know. I’m so sorry. I’ve told you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  As she continued crying, my emotions were all over the place. I wanted to scoop her up and hold her, tell her everything would be fine, that she could beat this, she’d get better. But I also wanted to yell at her. Tell her she was selfish. That she was killing herself. She was killing me. I’d never dealt with anything like this before and didn’t know how to fix it. I mean, I knew that addiction was tough to control but at that point, I was at a total loss.

  I let out a deep breath then went back to her, grabbing the chair again and sitting, placing my elbows on her bed and clasping my hands in front of me. As she cried, all I could do was stare at my beautiful, gorgeous wife who loved her drugs more than she loved me. A woman who’d rather experience a high and risk her life than be with me.

  “Knock-knock,” Gina said from the doorway.

  Thank God for small miracles. I hadn’t known what to say to Sonya, and Gina’s coming in was the respite I needed.

  I stood and went to her, returning the hug she gave me. “I need to get something to drink. I’ll be back,” I said and left the room.

  I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I needed a fucking break.

  As I walked to the end of the hall and was turning, I heard something coming from the stairwell. Looking through the window of the door, I saw a woman sitting on the top step of the landing, her shoulders shaking with her crying. So opening the door, I went in then immediately wanted to punch the wall because when I squatted next to her, touching her shoulder and asking if she was okay, I scared her. Damn it.

  She turned to me and just as she started to talk, she dissolved once again into sobs.

  I felt horrible for scaring her, so knowing she needed comfort and wanting to make her feel better, I sat down next to her on the step. Her long, wavy brown hair felt like silk to my fingertips as they brushed over it when I draped my arm across her shoulders to hold her as she continued crying.

  We must’ve sat there for thirty minutes, but I didn’t mind. It felt as if I was doing something good for a change. Something helpful for someone who actually might’ve wanted help. I let her cry as I rubbed my hand up and down her arm, hopefully giving her a little support, while I thought of everything in my own life that was going to shit.

  What I came up with was my wife wanted to die. She didn’t give a damn about herself or me or our future. All she cared about was her next high.

  And this realization gutted me. Ripped a huge hole right through me leaving me feeling helpless.

  But sitting with this woman and hopefully giving her some peace with my presence somehow was helping me too—the part of me that had closed off unexpectedly felt not so tight.

  The crying woman suddenly took a few deep breaths and I pulled back a little to give her some space. But when she turned and looked at me, I almost did a double take.

  Fuck, she was beautiful.

  Chapter 7—Birdie

  “I’m so sorry,” I said standing, feeling ridiculous for allowing a stranger to see me this way much less letting him comfort me. I looked at him as little as possible, embarrassed as could be. Ugh.

  He stood and ran his hands down the front of his jeans. “It’s okay. I think I kinda needed that too.”

  I glanced behind him seeing the “Floor 7” sign on the wall. Huh. I’d made it down three flights before stopping to feel sorry for myself.

  “I, uh, need to get back to my husband. But thank you again. That was really, um, very sweet of you,” I stated, now mortified about everything.

  “No problem,” he replied with a small chuckle.

  I glanced at him again, those alarming blue eyes of his watching me, then disconcertedly thanking him again, I took off up the stairs.

  On the tenth floor, I collected myself before stepping out of the stairwell then walked toward the oncologist’s office. When I saw Mason sitting in a chair in the waiting area, his head bent as he texted on his phone, it all seemed so normal. I imagined he was just waiting on me to get back from somewhere. Maybe we were going to go into Bed Bath and Beyond to buy new sheets. Or maybe we were going to grab a cup of coffee at Starbucks. Something boring and commonplace.

  But when he looked up and saw me, smiling in understanding as he got up, turning to grab his coat from the back of his chair, I saw the place in his hair they’d shaved to get his biopsy and it all came crashing back down on me again.

  My husband had a brain tumor.

  And he was going to die.

  “Hey,” I said when I got to him. “Can you hang on a moment?”

  He frowned but nodded before sitting down again.

  I knocked on the oncologist’s door which was open. She looked up and she, too, gave me a knowing smile.

  “Come in, Mrs. Chapman.”

  I closed the door then walked to the chair I’d earlier stormed off from and sat.

  “I’m sorry for my outburst, Dr. Isaac,” I offered.

  She shook her head. “No need to apologize. I totally understand.”

  I let out a breath wishing all this would go away, but knowing it wasn’t going to, I asked, “Is there any kind of counseling available for spouses? Or loved ones of…of dying patients?” My voice caught on the last part.

  Please, God, please make this all just be a bad dream, I prayed in my head.

  She turned in her chair and grabbed a couple pamphlets off the shelf behind her before turning back to me.

  “We’ve got a couple I think would be good for you.” She placed a pamphlet on the desk in front of me. “This one meets at St. Patrick’s on Mondays.”

  Since my prayer had gone unanswered, I pushed the paper back toward her. “Um, I’m pretty mad at God right now. And it being at a church, well, I don’t think that’d work,” I disclosed.

  She nodded as she set the other one down, her pointer finger on top of it. “This one meets in the conference room on the second floor of the hospital every Thursday at seven. It’s run by a man named Charles Denton who lost his wife in a car wreck about nine years ago. I think it would help if you went.”

  I picked it up and saw it was just a card, not really a pamphlet. On the front, it had a heart and under it, the caption, “Grieving Sucks. Let Us Help.” I liked the guy already.

  “Thank you. I’ll look into it.” I put the card into my purse and stood giving her a small smile before leaving her office. Mason was still in the chair texting and catching a glimpse of his phone, I saw he’d sent, “I miss you too” with a heart beside it. “Who’re you talking to?”

  He clicked a button blackening his screen and stood. “Mom. She wanted to know how things were going.”

  I nodded then took his outstretched hand.

  Waiting for the elevator, I asked, “What did you think of her?”

  “Dr. Isaac?” I nodded when he looked at me. “I like her. Actually, I went ahead and let her schedule my surgery.”

  I frowned. “You did?”

  He shrugged. “Might as well get started, right?”

  Turning to him, I put my free hand on the side of his face and looked into his sad eyes, as I teared up yet again. “Yeah.”

  The doors to the
elevator opened and we stepped on, moving to the back behind the few people who were already inside.

  When he squeezed my hand, I looked up to see him smiling down at me. “It’ll be okay, Birdie.”

  I swallowed roughly knowing things would never be okay again, but trying to be strong for him I whispered, “Yeah.”

  Chapter 8—Beck

  After watching the mystery woman ascend the stairs and waiting until I heard a door open then close, I exited also and headed back to Sonya’s room where I found Gina sitting in a chair reading a magazine as Sonya slept.

  “She doing okay?” I asked keeping my voice low and now feeling guilty at how I’d left things earlier.

  And that was the thing. I felt like shit all the time now. Guilty because I was mad at her. Angry because I hadn’t seen this coming. Pissed because she’d possibly cheated on me and I couldn’t say a fucking word about it. Bitter because we shouldn’t be going through any of this.

  “Yes. She just fell asleep about ten minutes ago.”

  At hearing our voices, Sonya stirred and turning, gave me a reluctant smile when she saw me. “Hey, baby.”

  I stepped to the bed and taking her hand, bent to kiss her forehead. “Hey. I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling even worse when she teared up. God, I needed help. But I soldiered through and squeezed her hand. “How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m okay. The doctor said they’re gonna do an EKG in a bit to see what’s going on,” she answered with a sniff.

  As I handed her a tissue, she caught my eyes and I hoped she didn’t see all the emotions stirring behind mine. Of course, I’d been beating myself up over how this was all my fault, but just from sitting on the steps comforting the woman and thinking about things, whatever had opened up inside me was now allowing me to see this was Sonya’s fault too. I averted my eyes quickly so she wouldn’t see the accusation in them. Jesus.

  I turned to Gina who was saying, “I’m sure it’s nothing, Beck. Roger called. He got hold of the hospital and they’re sending her records over. I remember now what the doctors thought she had when she was born. They called it aortic valve stenosis, but they cleared her.”