by Leddy Harper
I’d never heard her talk like this before. Over the past four and a half weeks, she’d been quiet and kept to herself; I had no idea her emotional state was this bad. Not once did she ever let on, ever lead anyone to believe she was anything other than confident, that her thoughts were anything other than positive.
“I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to have faith and fight. I’m not supposed to be scared. But all I can think about are the things I might not ever get to do. All the things I might not ever get to see or experience.”
I pulled away just enough to look her in her eyes. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s normal. But you need to talk about it. Come to me when you’re feeling like this instead of bottling it up inside. When you’re weak, I’ll be strong enough for both of us. I can handle it, Layne. I can be your rock.” I relaxed back onto the mattress and folded my arm over her, keeping my face next to her ear. “Tell me what you want to see and do. And when you beat this—because I know you will—we will do them all together.”
“And what if I tell you I want to fly around the world?” There was her humor. It wasn’t forced or fake. It came out effortlessly, because beneath the pain, worry, and her fears, she was still the same person. The same funny, happy, easygoing person I fell in love with.
“Then I’d ask you to wait until I graduate and make good money so I can afford two first-class tickets around the world. I’m serious, Yen…there isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for you.”
“I love you.” It was a breath, a faint whisper, but it was real and honest. She meant it, believed it with her whole heart. I never had to doubt how blindly she loved me, because it was clear as day in the way she looked at me, the way she touched me, and the way she said those three amazing words.
We talked about all the things she longed to do—dancing in the rain being on the top of her list—before we fell asleep. I hadn’t lied when I said there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. If she dreamed of riding a trolley down the streets of San Francisco, I’d save up money and take her there. Some of the things she mentioned were a little extravagant, such as sailing across the Atlantic Ocean. We agreed those would be best to wait until retirement to do. But then there were others I couldn’t wait to give her, like going skinny dipping in the ocean, or having sex in the back seat of a car.
The one thing we did agree on, though, was it was not a bucket list.
Because those were for dying people.
And she was living.
So it was our to-do list.
I walked out of my shower the following morning to Layne eating a bowl of fruit on the bed. I was happy to see her so refreshed, almost energized. However, my excitement didn’t last long. As soon as I made my way out to the kitchen for coffee so I could start on the paper I’d promised Layne I’d work on, Drea took me by surprise.
“Layne tells me you shaved her head last night. Why? She still had hair.”
I glanced across the bar at her and noticed the slight tension in her brow. She clearly wasn’t happy with me, but I didn’t care. Layne wasn’t hers anymore, and she had to learn to deal with someone else caring for her sister while she was sick. “It was falling out. Why prolong the inevitable?”
I turned away from her to pour myself coffee, but when she spoke again, I couldn’t control the glare I gave her.
“You know how insecure she is about her hair…yet you go and shave it all off before she needed to?” Anger and disbelief filled her every word as she clutched her mug tightly in her grasp and leaned farther over the bar between us. She didn’t need to explain where it was coming from—I was smart enough to know the truth. The last time Layne had to go through this, Drea had been by her side. And now, Layne had someone else. Her rejection—and maybe a tinge of jealousy—had morphed into resentment.
“Exactly, Drea,” I gritted out, not caring for this to escalate and possibly garner Layne’s attention from the other room. “She is insecure about her hair. So what do you think it does to her when it’s falling out? When she wakes up every morning to more on her pillow…when it falls out in chunks in the shower? Huh? Why continuously put her through that when we can eliminate it now?”
She licked her bottom lip and sat back, seething at me with hostility in her eyes. “Yet you didn’t shave your head. Isn’t that what a boyfriend should do to show support? If she has to be bald, one would think you wouldn’t hesitate to shave yours.”
I had an urge to ask why she hadn’t shaved hers, but I kept it to myself.
Sadness invaded me, conquering the animosity I’d had toward her. She could glower and hiss ‘til her hearts content, but her true emotions were clear as day. She was in pain. It caused her anguish to watch her sister suffer like this, and her natural reaction to the injustice of life was to lash out at anyone, for anything. I just happened to be in the room. Seeing Layne this morning without hair must’ve struck a nerve, and I was the one left to deal with the fallout.
I pressed my palms firmly on the counter and leaned in as close as I could. “No, I didn’t shave my head. If it would’ve helped her, then I would’ve done it before cutting hers. But it would only show her sympathy. She doesn’t need any more sympathy, Dre. Shaving my head won’t help her, it won’t make things easier for her. It won’t take away the cancer or make her hair grow back.”
“No…but it would show her your support.”
“Me being here for her every day shows her my support. My love, my devotion, my strength—shows her how supportive I am. If we all walked around looking like cancer patients, what do you think that’ll do to her?”
“It’ll make her feel less alone.”
“You think she feels alone because she has no hair?” My voice erupted louder than I intended, and I had to peer around the corner to make sure Layne hadn’t heard me. When I didn’t see her come out of the bedroom, I faced Drea once again. Then I continued in a more controlled tone. “No. She feels isolated because everyone is constantly walking on eggshells around her. Everyone has been treating her like she’s dying—watching what is said in front of her, how we act around her. She’s scared, Dre. And the more everyone tiptoes around her, the more she’ll keep her thoughts to herself. And she can’t do that. Fear will only hinder her fight. And we need her to fight.”
The tension in her expression fell away, and her gaze dropped to the mug in her hands. “You’re really good for her, Creed.”
“Well, she’s really good for me, too.”
Chapter Fifteen
Now
I made it through Texas and finally crossed the border into New Mexico. I had another day of driving ahead of me before reaching California, and the anticipation almost became too much. Until now, the drive had been fine. I’d pass each mile marker, enter and exit each state, and it seemed like the time went by at a normal pace. But now, the closer I came to Layne, knowing I’d see her in a day, it was as if seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. It started to seem like I’d never get to her.
It reminded me of family vacations when we were younger. My dad always wanted to get there, always in a hurry to make it to our destination without wasting time on the way. My mom, on the other hand, enjoyed making stops and seeing new things. It more than likely pissed my dad off, although he never said anything. He’d always given in and let her “smell the roses” as she said. I finally understood why she did it. Why she broke up long trips and took her time. The longer you sat in a car, watching the miles and calculating how much longer you had left, the more it made the time drag by. It may have prolonged the drive, but at least it’d offered her a semblance of sanity.
When I pulled off the interstate, I had no idea where I was headed. I didn’t care. The important thing was I needed to get out of the car and breathe in some fresh air. I needed to see something other than break lights and highway signs. So I’d taken the next exit I came to and drove, keeping track of which direction I had gone.
A few miles later, I came across a stand on the
side of the road. It was desolate and sat in the middle of a dirt lot. The shack had been made of wood with the front completely open. Intriguing and inviting. The dirt kicked up around me as I pulled over and got out.
The inside walls were lined with handmade trinkets—suns, moons, stars, and the like. I glanced at a few things before movement toward the back wall caught my attention. I turned to find a man standing in silence with his hands clasped in front of him. His dark hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck. His skin was dark, reminding me of well-worn leather, and his expression appeared to be stern at first glance. Meeting his gaze, I realized it wasn’t stern at all, but content, peaceful. It offered me a sense of calm I wasn’t aware I needed.
His dark eyes appraised me before speaking. “Are you a believer in the power of opposites?” The deepness of his voice didn’t surprise me. He was a large man, overshadowing me. What I hadn’t expected was the ease in which he spoke. The power in his baritone voice. From the looks of him, I’d expected something more intimidating, not inviting.
“Excuse me?” The muscles in my face contracted as I regarded him, slightly confused by his question.
He glanced down at my hand and nodded. “Your wrist…are you a believer?”
I held my arm up, taking in the ink embedded in my skin. The circle. The black on one side and white on the other. My arm fell back to my side as I shrugged, curious as to what he meant. I thought about explaining it to him, but somehow wondered if sharing our story would be a violation of Layne’s privacy.
“Opposites are essentially extensions of the same thing. Two arms belonging to the same body. And as such, they are often part of the same truth. The greatest lesson one can learn from this is choice.” He turned around and pulled something from the wall. When he held it out to me, I noticed two feathers—one white, one black—clasped in his hands.
“These are the feathers of an eagle, which we hold to be very sacred. They soar high near the heavens, close to the dwellings of the Great Spirit. White and black. Two opposites.” He held both out in front of me. “Tell me, which one holds more value, holds more beauty in your eyes?”
I pointed to the stark-white one and glanced back up at him. “This one.”
“As is your choice. You are not wrong in your opinion. And neither would the man who came here before you who said the black held more beauty. However, regardless of choice, there is one truth.” He turned around again, placing the feathers down before picking up something else. Holding it out to me, it seemed to be another feather.
Upon closer examination, I found it to be two, twined together vertically down the stem. One side white. One side black. I took it from his offered hand and admired the intricate work it’d taken to make it appear to be one whole piece.
“And the truth is…it takes both to soar. Both equally valuable, equally graceful. They may be opposites, but they are of the same. Without both, the eagle wouldn’t fly. You can’t have one without the other.”
Understanding covered me like the rolling waves of a tide, taking me under and drowning me in truth. I’d always seen the symbol of the love Layne and I shared as meaning strength. Yet now, I realized how one-dimensional my belief had been. I hadn’t been wrong, although holding this feather in my hand, I was able to see the picture in its entirety.
We were two parts of the same.
Incomplete without the other.
“Is this for sale?” I held out the feather to him.
He shook his head and pushed my hand toward my chest. “It’s yours. Find your opposite, and then twine yourself to her.”
I nodded and fought back emotion I hadn’t known existed until that one moment. I thanked him and went back to my car, ready to get to Layne. More so now than ever before. Because now, I had absolute faith. No doubt whatsoever.
The truth was infallible—she was as incomplete without me as I was without her.
Then
I must’ve checked my watch a millions times since waking up. I had something special planned for Layne, and I couldn’t wait to surprise her. I’d left the house before dinner to set everything up, and came back in time to eat and take Layne out.
It was the summer after my first year at Duke. Layne had finished her treatments, and every test they ran had come back clean. She was officially cancer free once more—and forever, if I had my way. We decided to spend a week at my parents’ house, considering we hadn’t been there much other than for Christmas and they absolutely adored Layne. She loved them, too.
After dinner, I dragged Layne upstairs to get ready. I’d kept everything a surprise. She had no idea I’d even planned anything. So as I handed her a skirt and told her to put it on, she had a thousand questions—all of which went unanswered. Finally, she relented and got dressed, taking the billowing skirt I offered and a black tank top to match.
She came out of the bathroom with her wig in place. At home, she didn’t often wear it, but for some reason, coming down here ignited her insecurities over her hair again. I hadn’t argued with her about it until now. I fingered the blond strands and said, “This has to go.”
Her eyes widened as she shook her head rigidly at me. “No, Creed. Please don’t make me go out without it. I don’t know anyone here, and I don’t want to be seen as the chick with the butch haircut.”
I grazed my knuckles down her cheek and gazed steadily in her eyes, hoping she could see the truth behind my words. “That won’t happen. I promise you. I need you to trust me, please.” When she still didn’t relent, I went into the bathroom and grabbed her backup off the vanity. “Fine. If you’re wearing one, I will, too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Creed.”
“I’m not. I’m asking you to trust me.”
With a full roll of her eyes, she reached up and pulled it off, leaving her short, dark hair in its place. I’d expected it to grow back the same color as before, but instead, it came in a deep, cocoa brown, almost black if she wasn’t out in the sun. When I asked why, she explained how sometimes, when your hair grows back in after chemo, it’s different than before. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me, but I didn’t question it. It didn’t matter to me what color her hair was.
“I hate my hair,” she mumbled as she put her wigs away.
I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the frame with my arms crossed over my chest. “I happen to love it. I know I say this about your hair no matter what color it is, but I honestly believe this color is my favorite. It makes your eyes really stand out. Makes them brighter. I can’t stop staring into them, and when you look at me, I can’t think straight.”
Her cheeks reddened with the onset of her dimple-inducing grin. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Wallace.”
“I’m merely speaking the truth, Miss Cooper.” I grabbed my keys and started to make my way out of the room, but she stopped me before I could open the door.
“Aren’t you going to change?” She eyed me up and down, her brow knitting as she examined my attire. “You asked me to put on a skirt, but you’re going in basketball shorts and a T-shirt? Where are you taking me?”
“The clothes aren’t the important part.”
“Then why make me get dressed up?”
My mouth opened and closed as I tried to come up with something to pacify her. But I had nothing. So instead, I held up a finger and said, “The skirt is imperative, much like my shorts. They are key to what I have planned.”
She shook her head and rapidly blinked her eyes. I worried she’d put up more of a fight; thankfully, she didn’t. She sighed heavily and then followed me downstairs. It wasn’t until we got into my car before she started the arguments all over again.
I extended my hand in front of her once we were both buckled in. “I’m going to need your underwear, please.”
“My what? No. I’m not going out without panties on.”
I found her shock humorous, and let her know by the deep laughter rumbling th
rough me. “We’ve talked about this already. Please trust me. I would never do anything to harm, embarrass, or frighten you. You know this. So please, hand over your underwear.”
“Tell me why.”
“Because I want them. And the thought of you sitting next to me without them on…I don’t even think I need to explain what that does to me.”
Her eyes lit up as she gave in, lifting her hips to pull them off. When she handed them to me, I stuffed them into the side pocket of my door and then backed out of the driveway. The park I had picked out wasn’t too far from my parents’ house, but the way she anxiously watched my every turn made it seem like I’d driven her to another town, rather than three miles away.
When I pulled into the park entrance, she started to unbuckle her seatbelt, but then she quickly stilled her movements when I didn’t stop in the parking lot. Her voice rose a few octaves as she asked where we were going, but I didn’t answer her. I continued to pull into the grassy area until we were beneath the large oak tree. It was far enough away from the main part, leaving us with only the light from the car—until I turned it off, cloaking us in the dimly lit moonlight.
“What are we doing?” she asked again.
And again, I ignored her. I hooked up my iPod to the stereo and set it to her favorite playlist. I cracked the windows and then got out. She asked me once more as I helped her out of her seat, but all I could do was smile at her and lead her a few feet away from the car.
“Just wait, Layne. Any minute now…you’ll see.”
She craned her neck around, looking for something to give her answers, but there was nothing here. Not a soul. It was just the two of us and my surprise for her. After waiting another couple of minutes with her nervousness peaking, the timers activated the wall of sprinklers I’d set up earlier. They aimed high on the tree, all four of them going off at the same time, and as they soaked the leaves and branches above us, the water slowly began to trickle down in drops. Slow at first. Then faster.
