by Jo Michaels
“There’s not enough of you to change history. You get to save how many?” he asked.
“Enough. Even if it’s just one kid that goes on to do something incredible, it’ll be worth it.”
Finally, what she was doing seemed to sink in, and his shoulders fell.
“I can see now that you’re getting it.”
He lifted his head, grinning. “Those are my words.”
“I made them mine.” She winked.
“Touché, my love.”
They plotted and planned a long time, and then Tristan headed to the local pharmacy for black hair dye. Simone needed to change her appearance as far from the blonde wig as possible, and brown wasn’t doing it.
By the time he returned, she was changed into a tank top and had a towel draped around her shoulders. She followed the instructions on the box, leaving the color on an extra five minutes—just in case—and jumped in the shower for the second time. Murky water sluiced down her body as the excess dye ran off. It caused her to shiver when she thought how it must look similar as years flowed out of her when she read. Putting the thought out of her mind, she used the shampoo and special conditioner, washed the rest of her body, and stepped out to towel off.
He was waiting, leaning against the vanity, arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. “Wow. That’s super dark.”
“Is it?” She moved to the mirror, and her mouth dropped open. Because her hair was coarse and curly, it was also very porous, and the color had sunk in more deeply than she anticipated. Grabbing the hairdryer, she blew the hot air over the locks, using a round brush to curl the ends only. By the time she was done, she’d decided she liked the look. It made her blue eyes stand out in a flattering way.
“Wow.” Tristan was behind her, looking at her reflection over her shoulder. “I love it.”
“I agree, and it makes me look so different. If I have to change it again, I say we cut it into a bob next time.”
“Great idea.”
She turned and put her arms around his neck, snuggling into his warmth and security.
Eventually, they made it back into bed, Simone both eager and nervous about putting the plan into action the next day. Several hours passed before she was able to fall asleep.
At six am, the phone rang, and she fumbled around a minute before finding the receiver and lifting it to her ear. “Mmmm?”
Someone who was way too chipper at that hour said, “Good morning! This is your six am wakeup call! Press pound to receive another call in five minutes.”
She groaned and dropped the receiver back in the cradle, certain she didn’t want to be startled from sleep again in five minutes by a ringer that could’ve woken the dead.
“Was that our wakeup call?” Tristan asked as he rolled toward her.
“Yeah. What the hell? We don’t even have anywhere to be for three freaking hours! Who decided that?”
His body weight shifted, and he was on top of her a moment later. “I did.”
His kiss lit her on fire, and every molecule of her body awakened, calling out to his. They made love a long time, her brain washed of everything but his scent, touch, and the feel of their flesh on one another’s. It was a wonderful distraction, and by the time they were done, she was no longer jittery about what the day might hold.
“You’re pretty brilliant, you know that?” she asked.
“So I’ve been told.” He was off the bed and heading toward the bathroom in a flash, the sound of the shower floating back out not long after.
“You insolent tart! I wanted first shower!” she yelled.
“Early bird gets the worm!”
Huffing, she flipped back the covers and rose, deciding she’d shower later that night, hunting for clothes instead.
Tristan had certainly done a good job of packing her stuff. Everything was in her bag from makeup to panties. She smiled and plucked out her favorite jeans and an old t-shirt.
By the time he emerged, she was dressed, had makeup on, and was tying her shoes.
“No shower?”
“Nah. I’ll do it later.”
He shrugged and got dressed.
Because she was already done, she propped up on the bed and watched as he moved around the room, every muscle of his body moving in rhythm with one another. He was truly a beautiful specimen of male.
Her face was a thousand degrees by the time they walked out the door, and he was chuckling again.
“Shush.” She smacked his shoulder lightly.
They got in the car and drove to the local diner for breakfast. Simone’s stomach tried to quit on her, but she forced down eggs, grits, and toast, along with two cups of strong, black coffee. There was no way she could do milk that morning. Even though she was feeling more relaxed from her early-morning romp, her nerves were still tingly and dancing.
They paid the check and left, their next stop the children’s hospital nearby.
There was a lovely, older woman at the desk in the lobby when they came in, and Tristan put on his most winning smile.
“Hello,” she said, her wrinkled face turning a few tints pinker.
Simone was dumbfounded. His freaking charm was even working on Grandma Moses. There seemed to be no end to his flirtations.
“We were wondering if you had a children’s ward, or if all the kids are in private rooms.” Clasping his hands, he leaned forward on the desk, probably trying not to look threatening.
“Why were you wanting that information, exactly?” Instantly, Grandma’s disposition changed, and her eyes roved over the newcomers.
“Well, we have a book full of fairy tales we’d like to read them.”
That took the air out of her, and her shoulders relaxed. “Oh. In that case.” She clicked the keys of her computer and squinted at the screen. “I can schedule you for an event in three days.”
Tristan pretended to be downcast. “That won’t work then.” He turned to Simone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. This nice lady says we can’t get in right now. We’ll have to skip it.”
She let tears fill her eyes—their plan was working perfectly—and gripped his forearms. “But I don’t even have three days. Isn’t there anything she can do?”
“No. I’m afraid not. There are rules, and we have to abide by them like everyone else.”
“I und… understand.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
In a flash—faster than should’ve been possible given the woman’s age—she was around the desk, patting Simone, and asking what was going on.
“My fiancé only has a few days to live, ma’am. It was her dying wish to come and read a story to these poor kids.”
How true his statement is… If they let me in… Simone thought.
“Oh!” Grandma’s hand went to her ample bosom. “I didn’t realize. Let me see what I can do.”
Sniffling, Simone turned and smiled. “That would be lovely. Thank you, ma’am.”
“Now, you’re not contagious, are you?” the lady asked.
“No. What I have can’t be contracted. It’s inherited.” Truth.
“And will it just be today?”
“Is there any way I can have the rest of the week?” Simone asked, batting her eyelashes. “It’s a rather long book.”
“Of course, dear.” Key clicks filled the air. “Okay. You’re all set. Our ward is right down that hall to the left. I simply need to see some ID.”
Simone and Tristan passed over their licenses, and she held her breath to see if there was a hint of recognition as they were perused.
Nothing but more clicks as the information was entered.
A moment later, the IDs were passed back, and they got a toothy smile. “Those kids will be so happy to see you. I bumped the silly clown scheduled for today and the balloon animal guy scheduled for tomorrow.” Grandma lowered her voice. “They don’t really go over very well anyway.” She winked.
“Thank you so much.” Tristan went around the desk and gave her a p
eck on the cheek.
Her face turned a much darker shade, and she waved him away.
As he and Simone made their way down the hall, she glanced over her shoulder.
Grandma’s fingertips were pressed to the place Tristan’s lips had been, and she had a sad smile on her face—probably thinking of a son or grandson who kissed her just like that.
Simone wondered at the lady’s story. She was pretty old, so it was probably full of sentiment and hurts.
Nearing the ward, Simone focused, rubbing the spine of the book as she walked.
Tristan swept the door open and ushered her through.
She inhaled and tried not to vomit at the smell of chemotherapy in the air.
Cancer burning off someone’s body is unique—an odor like burning flesh and alcohol. And the air in the children’s ward was saturated with it.
Memories flooded her, but when she looked around at all the tiny faces, her heart nearly burst.
Children from age four to about twelve gazed at her from their beds. A couple sat up and bounced, shouting questions at the newcomers about why they were there.
Tristan was congenial and announced that Simone was there to read a wonderful story he was sure would delight and thrill them all.
A little boy wriggled out of bed and hugged her around the knees, thanking her, and she stroked his hair and patted him before excusing herself to find a chair. There were several in the room, and the kids pointed and cheered as Tristan moved two recliners to the end of the space.
“You think you’ll be loud enough?”
She glanced around. “I think so. There are only ten beds in here. Room’s not too big.”
He took her hands and held them near his lips. “Are you sure about this?”
Her nerves were twanging in every direction, but she was resolute. “Absolutely.”
After giving her a tight grin, he helped her get comfortable and left to find water while she got started.
Without asking the usual questions about story preferences, she sat back, closed her eyes, and flipped open the cover. A hard pull at her belly took her breath away for a moment, but the words appeared, and she cleared her throat to begin.
For the next four hours, she told the tale of a talking cat that was plotting to take over the world with his army of critters—mice, dogs, birds, squirrels—and only stopped when a nurse came in and announced it was time to distribute medication.
Simone closed the book, put it in her bag, and promised to come back after lunch to read again. She took Tristan’s hand, and they went in search of the cafeteria.
Hot food had her back at one hundred percent shortly, and she was returning to the ward by the time the nurse was leaving.
“Thank you for this. They love to be read to. It’s really making their day,” the woman said on her way out.
“You’re very welcome.” Simone smiled and headed for her chair, Tristan close behind.
He’d been quiet during lunch, and his face betrayed his feelings about what she was doing, though he neither made a move nor presented an argument to stop her. For that, she was eternally grateful, and she swore to come back in the afterlife and keep an eye on him.
They settled into their chairs, the hissing sound of the pumps on the machines filling the air.
Again, she read, on and on, until the book stopped producing words for the day.
Cheers erupted when she stood, and all around her, smiling faces beamed back.
Tristan laughed. “I think you need to take a bow and promise you’ll be back tomorrow.”
She did just that, and more cheering filled the air.
Every single child said thank you as she left. Inside, her body was at war. Exhaustion threatened to overtake her with every step, and nausea rolled over her belly again and again. But she walked out the doors with her head up and her shoulders squared.
When she and Tristan were about five feet from the car, she collapsed.
It was dark in the hotel room when her eyes opened later, and she bolted for the toilet, scrambling on the tile as she slipped and slid across it, trying to find her way in the inky black of night.
Tristan came in and hit the lights right as she reached the rim of the bowl. He was at her side a moment later, gathering her hair and smoothing it down her back.
It felt like ages passed as she cuddled the porcelain and heaved, but he never left her side until she was done. That time, he only went for a glass of water.
“This sucks.” He put the cup into her hands and moved to wet a washcloth for her forehead.
It was cold and felt good when he pressed it to her skin; the water from the glass soothed her aching insides, and everything seemed to find a happy balance.
“Sorry,” she croaked out.
“Me too. I wish there was some way I could do it for you. Help shoulder the burden somehow.”
“No. Then we’d both be sick, and who’d be there to take care of us?”
“I guess you have a point.” He slid to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, his head falling back against the wood of the vanity.
“You don’t have to come in with me tomorrow if you don’t want to.”
“Who said I didn’t want to?”
“I can see it’s upsetting you.” She rested her cheek on the seat and sighed. There was no argument or energy left.
A moment later, she was being lifted from the floor and carried back to the bed. He put her under the covers gently, and tucked her in, being sure to fold everything away from her face.
“Thanks.”
Nothing else was remembered.
When the phone rang for the six am wakeup call, she was feeling much better and was actually able to gather the spunk to get out of bed and shower. Hot water sprayed over her skin, and it relaxed the muscles in her shoulders she hadn’t realized she’d been holding taut.
Suddenly, the shower door opened, and Tristan stepped in.
It was another hour before she could get out and towel off, but she had a smile plastered on her face that rivaled the brilliance of the sun.
He also grinned from ear to ear. “Want breakfast?”
“Ugh. I do. My stomach is so empty from puking last night. Not sure I can keep it down, but I’m putting it in there for sure.”
“Let’s eat at the restaurant here.”
“Perfect.”
They got dressed and went downstairs to the buffet. Several televisions, tuned to the news, were arranged along the walls.
Sure enough, photos of Simone in the blonde wig showed up during the newscast, the anchors hyping things up to make it sound almost like she was a serial killer and must be stopped. No one mentioned the child being cured, but Simone knew it had to be true. The attorney had assured them it was so. She and Tristan had also seen proof with their own eyes.
She glowered at the TVs.
“It’s okay. Look, no one knows it’s you, it seems no one got my license plate number, and they don’t even have your real name. I texted my mom, and she said they haven’t had any unexpected visitors, either.”
Sure enough, not one patron was looking her way. A sigh of relief escaped, and she sagged as she stuffed the last of a biscuit in her mouth.
Once they were done, they drove to the children’s hospital.
Tristan gave her a sideways glance. “Your face hasn’t changed. Last time, it happened on day three, but that was one little girl and not as much book.”
“I’m guessing tonight,” she said, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead, knowing he was right, and hating it.
“I wonder how many years it’ll be this time.”
Not another word was spoken during the drive. Tension was so thick, she cracked her window to let some of it escape.
When they arrived, the same elderly woman from the day before was there, but she came out from behind the desk and hugged them both. “Those kids are in such good moods today. They’re all excited to see the two of you. Thank you for what you’re doing. So
much better than that tawdry clown!” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.
Tristan smiled and told her he and Simone were the lucky ones, that the kids were great, and added a few other compliments in where he could.
Simone grinned and squeezed his hand, grateful he was speaking so she didn’t have to.
He excused them and led the way to the ward, holding more tightly to her than she thought necessary, but understanding what he was feeling.
When her mom neared death, even though it was obvious her body wasn’t up to being pummeled with affection, Simone still held on a little too tightly on more than one occasion.
She and Tristan entered the room, and applause filled the small space. Their chairs remained where they’d left them the day before.
“You guys ready for some more of this story?” she asked.
Several agreements came back her way, so she settled in and let the book do its thing.
Nearly the same routine was repeated—the only difference was the water pitcher and two cups that were already waiting.
When they left that evening, she leaned heavily on Tristan, making it all the way into the car before her legs and mind shut down.
In the middle of the night, she woke to a new feeling. It was as though thin blankets were being layered over her body, each one stealing a little more of her oxygen. She gasped and struggled.
A light flipped on, and Tristan was suddenly staring at her, one hand over his mouth, his eyes open wide and round like the full moon.
Air became harder to take in, and she clawed at her throat, motioning that she was choking. Yellow light spilled into the room from under her pillow, but before Tristan could put his hand there and touch the book, she slapped him away, shaking her head violently. She knew if he touched it, it probably wouldn’t discriminate, and it was her life she’d volunteered to give, not his.
He put his arms around her back and pulled her to his chest, patting her like a baby being burped. Gradually, the ropes binding her, squeezing her lungs so tightly she swore they would burst, loosened, and she pulled in all the air she could in as many deep breaths as possible.
