by JC Szot
“So?” He cocked a brow.
“When are you holding your next card game?” Meg smiled up at him, feeling the heat rush back into her cheeks.
* * * *
“How’s Zane doing?” Nora glanced over her shoulder as she set up the new display.
“I’m not sure. I know he did the cleanse because I saw the bottles in the recycling bin.” The conversation rested between them. Meg hoped he was okay. She hadn’t seen him since their ravenous night of sex, which only happened because she’d lost the bet. She needed to keep reminding herself of that. Since that night, her feminine emotions needed to be beaten down on a daily basis.
He’d forced his way into her heart and seemed to camp out there. Zane was hard to forget. She could still feel the aftershocks of their night together, but Meg didn’t want to hover over him. She knew that he was preoccupied with getting well. Why wouldn’t he be? The guy has cancer. He shouldn’t be concerning himself with her. She wanted to see him, refresh him in her mind. Meg just didn’t want him to think she was loitering around like a stray cat, demanding to have her needs fed.
The last several weeks had been a struggle. She was battling with her temptation. It took all the self-control she had to not knock on his door. Was she doing the right thing? Was he thinking that, now she had gotten laid, she was done with him? He seemed too self-assured for that, or wasn’t he? Since Zane’s illness and his recovery was the primary focus, she could certainly help him with that. She could conceal her feelings behind the mission. It was a safe place to hide her heart while hoping that things would be different once he got healthy. The fact still remained, Zane had left his mark. It wasn’t a tattoo either. It was a mark Meg couldn’t see but felt deeply. Aside from his sexual skills, she liked him. He had a hardened exterior but was capable of being open, in a no-nonsense kind of way. There was more to him. It was buried beneath his many layers, ones she was ready to dig through. No, it wasn’t just his illness. It was all about him as a whole.
“Is there something else? You’ve been fairly quiet lately.” Nora brushed her hands off and closed the display window. A light snow fell outside. It swirled around on the sidewalk, coating the small industrial town in a glaze of white.
“I think I made a poor judgment call,” Meg admitted, her admission sounding weary. Nora locked the front door and turned the “Open” sign over to “Closed.” She waved Meg into the backroom.
“What happened?”
“Well, I went over to Zane’s a few weeks ago, the night before he started his treatments. His friend, Sean, had asked me to check in on him.” Meg sat down on the stool in the corner of the storage area, watching Nora open the mail at her desk. She explained that Sean couldn’t get Zane to go out with him and was concerned.
“It began with a few drinks and pleasant conversation but then led to a few hands of cards. The conversation took a turn, and well…I slept with him.” Meg tossed up her hands. “Now I can’t stop thinking about him.” Her throat closed, her eyes lining with tears.
Nora’s eyes sprang open.
“Oh, Meg, honey.” Nora tossed the order form on her desk and knelt down in front of her. “I’m sorry.”
“It was stupid. I had had a few shots, and…” She rubbed her eyes, trying to erase the memory. “He is gorgeous.” She laughed. Meg filled Nora in on the details of the bet and how she’d confided in Zane, answering his question honestly.
“Some women don’t do well with one-night gigs, at least I never did.” Nora’s comment was sincere.
“Don’t I know it.” Meg leaned on her knees, burying her head in her hands. “He probably thinks I’m pathetic,” she said with a moan.
“I wouldn’t go that far. I think he’s probably feeling pretty good about it, the fact that you allowed him the opportunity—if it was successful, that is.” She laughed. “The guy’s feeling pretty damn inadequate right now. He’s fighting a terminal illness. You were his mission, if only for a short time. Look at it as a healthy ego boost that he needed.” Her eyes lifted. “You see what it is that I’m trying to say?”
“I suppose, but now I sort of want more.” Meg’s body slumped, feeling defeated.
“You care for him. You want to see him get well. Plus I guess there’s an emotional connection, as well as a physical one.” Nora’s hand covered hers. Nora had become a close friend, and in a short time. She was older, giving Meg that parental coddling she needed every once in a while.
“There was, or is, for me anyway.”
“Let him get well, and don’t stop helping him. Be there for him and see if you can build off of that.”
“He doesn’t seem like the steady-girl type of guy.”
“If anyone can turn his attitude around, it’s you.” Nora tilted her head, nodding at her. “You have more determination than any person I’ve ever met, and I’ve been around awhile.” She laughed.
“I just want someone to know me. I want to know them, enjoy sharing the same space and time, you know?” She caught Nora’s eyes through her vented fingers.
“When was the last time you’ve seen your mother?” Nora leaned into her.
“I haven’t seen her since I made the move here.”
Meg’s mother was living in the Glenside Nursing Home. She had Alzheimer’s disease and didn’t know who she was anymore. Choosing to leave her behind wasn’t easy, but she had to go where the work was. Taking care of her had become impossible due to the progression of her illness.
“You should take a day and go. I can cover here. I know you’re aware that your mother can never be replaced, but this is really about her and how her disease has affected your life. You know she’s just a shell now. Now that she’s in good hands, it leaves your life open to explore new opportunities and relationships. That’s not a bad thing, Meg.” Nora’s voice lowered, soothing her pained insides.
The silence loomed between them. Nora squeezed her hand.
“It was a hard decision that you had to make. You’ve got a lot of space to fill, and you’re ready, but it’s going to take time. Don’t rule Zane out. Give him a chance to get well and consider the idea of you and him. In the meantime, go see your mother, hold her hand, and tell her you’re there.”
Chapter Eight
All the medication was doing was making him sick. Before the treatments began, Zane didn’t even feel like he had cancer, with the exception of the nagging pain in his gut, a few swollen lymph nodes in his groin, and a bad blood test. The doctor wasn’t pleased with his latest lab results, so now he had to go to the hospital for his treatments. For hours he’d sit in a room with five other people, watching the liquid chemo drip into his veins.
Zane’s eyes would wander from one patient to the other, questioning where the cancer was eating away at their bodies and how much longer their clock would tick. The most depressing thing was that he was the youngest of the group.
“I know I’m a dead man.” Joe slowly shook his head. “I’m only doing this for my wife.” Joe had a stage-four liver cancer. Zane just sat and listened. He didn’t know what to say. Words swarmed around in his brain like locusts. What did you say to a man who was dying? When Zane told him he had Hodgkin’s, Joe made it his calling to breathe new life into him. His optimism reminded him of Meg. She’d been scarce lately, but then so had he.
“You’ve got it in the bag.” Joe reached over, nudging his leg. Their IV lines crossed, tangling together. “You’re a young man, got your whole life ahead of you.”
“If I’ve got my whole life ahead of me, then why do I feel like total shit?” Zane huffed.
“You gotta trudge through the muck to get to the good stuff. I wish I had what you do. I’d be looking ahead. Now all I’m doing is trying to decide if I want my coffin open or closed.”
Zane’s stomach curdled. Jesus Christ, I gotta get out of here. I can’t take it. He swallowed. He snuck a quick glance over at Joe as the nurse disconnected his line. Joe’s head was tilted back, his body at rest in the recliner. His
seasoned face gazed up at the ceiling, his sagging eyes staring into nothing, because there was nothing left. How could these nurses deal with this doom and gloom all day?
* * * *
Though she only lived a few doors down, Zane hadn’t seen Meg. He knew he wasn’t looking on the up-and-up. He’d lost weight, and his skin tone looked washed out, diluted, like adding water to paint. Was he being arrogant?
She had shoved a few newsletters under his door. Was she afraid of him now? Maybe their evening together had her traumatized? He recalled the sleepy, sated look in her eyes, thinking he’d rocked her world. Had he? The fact that he was the first guy to please her seemed to add to the allure. He had the urge to do it again. He’d like to keep her happy in that respect, at least until she found someone else. That was really all he could do. It could never be more. He wasn’t a relationship man, never had been. When he looked at monogamy, all he saw was a cold, steel snare trap. Meg was a bit of a free spirit, though, very positive and considerate. Did he have his signals crossed with her? All these drugs were polluting his brain. He couldn’t think.
The inevitable exploded in his head as he drifted into sleep. He’d love to have her again, but did he have the physical strength? He’d read that the chemo could cause a guy to lose the wood. Going limp just after proving to her that he was king of his domain would suck.
* * * *
There’d been no sliver of light under Zane’s door tonight. Meg reclined in bed. It was only 8:30, but it appeared that he had already gone to bed. Meg worked on next month’s newsletter until her eyes grew heavy. She was writing about the importance of avoiding carcinogens in food while treating cancer. If she couldn’t talk to Zane, she’d reach him through her words. She dosed off, paper and pen on her lap.
Zane’s long, lean body bled through the darkness behind her lids, a series of dark, angular lines. His back was an exceptional span of golden, artful flesh. The knitted bones of his spine made the vibrant ink move and come to life. His tree of life was a symbol that he’d inked on his body, but couldn’t gain ownership of, something that was meant to be permanent, but couldn’t be grasped. The branches reached across his skin like arthritic fingers. Mossy green and earthy browns filled every pore. A ray of amber light splashed on his skin, glinting through the dark lines of the tattooed branches.
The tree broke off, traveling over his skin like tributaries. The roots zigzagged deep in a dazzling, burnt orange. His cock was fully extended, reaching for her. Meg touched it. It flexed back in her palm, the tip wet. Every move had his limbs tight and corded, defining all of his delicious lines.
His hands glided over her body, his touch a mix of soft fingers and raised callouses. He rested his cheek on her belly, scraping his wiry growth across her skin. His blue eyes changed like a shape-shifter, a midnight blue, lightened into a dreamy tropical sea filled with warmth. His mouth moved over her thighs, slowly spreading her legs open. Meg’s hands held his head, his hair clipped into an abrasive stubble over his ears. She grabbed the longer strands on top, arching into him. His tongue lashed out at her pussy, pushing through her slick folds. His narrowed eyes moved over her body, fixating on hers.
“I know you want it,” he growled. “I can do this good, too.” His voice was rich and slurred. Zane leaned over her, his stare hard, wanting to know all. Two blue fish swam on the flesh of his upper arm, moving with his muscles like a ripple on water.
Meg sat straight up in bed. Her heart raced wildly, her forehead soaked with sweat. For fuck’s sake! I am pathetic.
* * * *
“If you could just ship these back, I’d appreciate it. The seals are broken. I can’t sell them.” Nora handed Meg a box of omega-3 fish oil. “No rush, it’s a beautiful day.” Nora held the door as Meg stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was gorgeous out. It was a freak warm-up for February, but she’d take it. The sun hit her face with a rejuvenating heat that had her lids squinting. A clear dome of cobalt blue hurt the eyes if one were to hold the sky in their gaze for too long.
After having shipped off Nora’s box, Meg wandered down South Street. She knew The Ink Well was down on the corner. It was a bold move, going to see Sean. How would Zane react to that? When she rounded the corner, she discovered she wouldn’t have to worry, because Sean and Zane were standing outside in front of the shop. Sean looked angry, the cigarette smoke barreling out of his nose like a dragon. Meg hung back. When Zane’s face came into view, her insides fell. His face was pale and hollowed. Charcoal moons lined his eyes. He’d lost weight. His jeans hung low on his hips, his body looking shapeless. Had he lost some hair? The baseball cap that sat backward on his head didn’t fit his persona.
Was he eating enough protein? Meg knew he was fighting a war, his immunity at stake, but he couldn’t be exercising. His body had deflated like a balloon. She had suggested yoga and walking.
Tomorrow she was going to see her mother. After that, she had no plans. It was time to make Zane Miller her plan. She’d been staying away but for what reason? Was it embarrassment? She’d felt fairly comfortable with him that night, though the liquor had come to her aid. Was she feeling this way because he’d avoided her afterward, feeling rejected? It wasn’t all about her. This was now about Zane’s remission and hopefully gaining access to his heart
A crisp wind blew down the sidewalk, rustling tiny pieces of discarded trash and dead leaves. The trees were still bare, but she vowed things would be different by the time she saw those tiny, green buds ready to pop.
Sean’s hand gripped Zane’s shoulder. Zane was nodding, his eyes lowered to the ground. Sean’s body language had softened. Meg felt her lip tremble. Her needy body and empty heart awakened at the sight of him. What was it about him that had birthed these feelings? He was the first man who had thrilled her with his touch, and his words, his candidness regarding their pleasure. It was as if he’d studied her body. Their night of cards haunted her. Right then and there, on this bright, sunny day, Meg couldn’t deny it any longer. Nora was right. She wanted him, not only physically, but she had chosen him to fill the space, the emptiness in her life that, by the laws of human nature, should be joined with the heart of another.
Chapter Nine
“It’s becoming harder and harder to get her to eat.” The charge nurse handed Meg her mother’s menu, hoping her selections would make her mother more amenable. Meg sat down on the edge of the bed. Her mother was sleeping, her chin to her chest. Labored breaths puffed out of her tired lungs. Her frail frame was buried beneath a baggy housecoat. Her legs lay splayed apart like the exhausted waitress that she once was.
“She’s on the slippery slope, isn’t she?” Meg gripped the thin, polyester bedspread in her hand.
“I’m sorry, Meg,” Cheryl whispered, her lips a thin line. “It’s just the way the disease progresses. In a way, they forget how to eat. They can’t taste the food, it feels foreign in their mouths. And she’s so tactile sensitive.” Cheryl’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Your mom’s got the living will, so that should be a comfort to you—no tubes, no suffering. I’ll be out at the desk if you need me.” Cheryl turned on her heel, her white, institutional shoes squeaking on the shiny floor.
Muted bars of sunlight spilled across the tiles through the cracks of the curtains. The air was heavy and stale, smelling like spoiled milk. Meg spread the menus across the bedside table and began circling all the mechanically soft foods, knowing deep down that most of her mother’s tray would wind up in the garbage. Her fragile body shifted in the chair. The weighted hazel eyes that they shared opened. Her mother stared at her, her brows wrinkling, struggling to process her presence.
“Hi, Mom.” Meg took her tiny, cold hand in hers, smoothing over the raised veins. Her salt-and-pepper hair was combed back away from her face, tucked behind her ears. She used to have it set every week. It had gotten to the point where her visits to the hairdresser were causing disruptions down in the beauty parlor. She had accused the stylist of putting crabs in her hair. After ranti
ng and raving and tearing the rollers out, Cheryl thought it was best that they just shampoo her hair up in the nursing unit when she took her baths.
Her roommate in the next bed began to snore. Meg pulled the blue-and-gold striped curtain around her mother’s bed and then sat back down.
“You’re a sweet girl to come.” Her mother’s meek voice chirped like a dying bird, sounding childlike.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, Mom. I got a new job.” Her tone struggled, searching for her usual, pleasant tune of optimism. Meg couldn’t find it. It was hiding behind a funhouse mirror. Everything was distorted, slanted, and unrecognizable.
Her mother’s eyes drooped and then closed. Her meds were probably kicking in. There were times when she became aggressive, so the doctor had put her on a low dose of Ativan. Meg’s chest grew tight. She blinked back the sting of her tears. This was no way to live. Caring for her at home had been rough. During those times when her mother had become hostile, it’d been difficult to provide her with even standard care. It was now a relief that she was safe and well cared for. Her mother deserved to die with dignity. She’d given Meg everything she could in an attempt to make up for what was lost.
According to her mother, her father had become a phantom by the time Meg was three, only to leave for good when she was five. She remembered very little of him. Her mother worked as a secretary by day and waited tables at night. There were many nights she’d hang out at the counter in the diner, doing her homework, sharing in the local gossip. Meg knew things about the other adults in her neighborhood that children shouldn’t.
