Wish Me Tomorrow

by Karen Rock

  His words struck her like a slap against the cheek. He knew why she needed to hang tight to her optimism with both hands. She whirled to face the window. How dare he bring up her past? Use her secrets against her? The facade she’d constructed over a lifetime started to crack. Fall away. “I should have known this wasn’t possible.”

  “What wasn’t possible?”

  “Happiness.”

  “Christie.” His voice was softer now, pleading. It reminded her of the old Eli. The one she’d loved. At least she’d waited to say those words, and he’d never know how she felt. There was some dignity in that. “You’ll find happiness. Just with someone else. Someone who can make you happy for the rest of your life.”

  Like you could have, she thought and then shook her head. It was over. Truly over.

  “Can’t we part as friends?” His voice rose. Urgent. “Say goodbye on good terms?”

  “That doesn’t sound like something a realist would do.” She was being childish but didn’t care. Her head began to pound and she rubbed her temples. “Besides, friends don’t treat each other this way. And we were more than that,” she whispered. “So much more.” Suddenly she couldn’t stand him being there, sharing space with her, when he wasn’t with her. “Please go.”

  A rush of stale hospital air signaled he’d eased open the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Goodbye.” The door clicked shut, the soft sound reminding her of her brother’s wake, the coffin closing. The End. An eternity of pain for those left behind.

  She stumbled to her desk chair and collapsed into it. Her fingers dug in her pocket for the penny then hurled it at the door. It pinged off the surface and bounced to the carpet. So much for good luck. So much for anything she’d believed in.

  Her head dropped to her hands and she bent at the waist, rocking, her grief too deep for tears. A deep trembling overtook her instead.

  Where had she gone wrong? Had she misplaced a foot a moment before leaping from the tightrope into Eli’s arms? Another shuddering heave overtook her. Instead she’d fallen in a broken heap. Pieces of her everywhere. Too scattered to pick up and move on.

  So she didn’t move. She ignored Joan’s knock at the door, the janitor’s request to vacuum and her ringing cell. Her eyes drifted to her bookcase. It was crammed with knowledge to help her patients. Ironic that none seemed to apply to her.

  She wrapped her arms around herself and watched the city sky turn from gold to rose, lavender to indigo and finally, to an inky, starless black that matched her mood. Something inside her had vanished over the horizon, as well, the light in her disappearing, replaced by a rolling emptiness she hadn’t felt since her brother died.

  She’d always known that hurting Bill and her parents would come back to haunt her. She’d tried to outrun her own wickedness, atone for it every way she could. But in the end, she’d been caught. Punished. She was losing the best thing she’d ever had, the love of a wonderful man and two kids she adored as her own.

  And right now the only thing that surprised her was that she had never seen it coming.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHRISTIE ROLLED OVER and groped for the ringing cell phone on her bedside table. After working back-to-back double shifts—an epic fail in distracting her from thoughts of Eli—she could have been asleep for hours or days. Her bleary eyes focused on her phone, noting the time—11:00 a.m.—and the caller. She bolted upright with her heart going like a trip-hammer, the covers pooling in her lap.

  “Hi, Becca.” She strove to keep her voice steady. How had Eli explained her absence these past three days? It broke her heart that she’d lost the children along with Eli. She pulled a crumpled tissue from beneath her pillow and swiped at her nose.

  A hiccuping sob came through the speaker followed by “Christie, I’m scared.”

  “What’s going on?” Fear unfurled in her chest. Eli might not want her in his life, but it didn’t mean she’d ever stop caring about the kids. “Where’s your father?”

  “At his lawyer’s office and I’m watching Tommy until he gets back. But he was in a hurry and forgot his iPhone and there’s a text message from his doctor. Something about an experimental treatment for his cancer—” Her words dissolved in a watery gulp. “He’s sick again. I know it.”

  Christie’s pulse sped, beating against her eardrums. Had his osteosarcoma returned? Suddenly she found it hard to breathe as she recalled his hurt knee. Hadn’t it struck her, the night they’d broken up, that his limp seemed worse? She should have questioned him, seen a connection between the ailment and his decision to end things. Distracted by his words and her hurt feelings, she’d focused on the piece instead of the puzzle.

  She swung her legs over the side of her bed, eyes scanning the gloom for clean clothes. “Becca, I’m on my way. Don’t say anything to Tommy until I get there.”

  “Too late,” she cried. “You’re on speaker.”

  “I want to talk to Christie,” Tommy snuffled in the background. Her heart squeezed at the way he said her name—Krithee. Adrenaline rushed through her. She had to get there.

  Now.

  She punched on her cell’s speaker and grabbed a pair of sweats and a tee from her laundry pile.

  “Tommy. I’m here. Listen, I’ll be there very soon.”

  “I want Daddy. I want Sweet Pea,” he wailed. “And why have you been gone? Don’t you like us anymore? ’Cause I miss you.”

  Her eyes burned and she blinked back a rush of tears. How could she have been so blind and selfish when Becca and Tommy needed her? “I miss you and Becca very much. I promise I’m on my way. Okay?”

  “Yes,” Becca gasped. “But don’t hang up.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” At least not until Eli told her to. Right now the kids needed her and that was all that mattered—that and the possibility that Eli was dying and had been too stubborn and proud to tell her. The room seemed to tilt and whirl, and she grabbed her bedpost to steady herself. It’d been impossible imagining her life without Eli. Now...to imagine life without Eli...Becca and Tommy without their father...it was too much to take in.

  She would not make the same mistakes she had with Bill. No way. Not happening.

  With a swift yank, she pulled on her clothes, beads of perspiration rising on her forehead. “Becca, can you make Tommy something to eat? Maybe some Frosted Flakes?”

  “Can I have Honey Nut Cheerios instead?” Tommy’s voice steadied a bit and she breathed a sigh of relief. A little normalcy went a long way for kids.

  “We’ve only got the regular kind left. Dad hasn’t gone shopping in a while.”

  Christie strode into the living area and whistled for Sweet Pea, tripping over Laura’s shoes on the way. “I’m sure he’s had a lot on his mind.”

  “Yeah. Nothing he bothered sharing with us. Typical.” Becca’s anguished voice now sounded angry. Seesawing emotions were normal. Expected. But it pained her to hear the children struggle to make sense of such complicated issues on their own.

  With a scratching of canine nails on wood, Sweet Pea scampered to the door, her ears flapping. Christie grabbed the fabric pet carrier and settled it across her chest.

  “Is Christie here yet?” she heard Tommy ask as she attached the dog leash, her pup’s brown eyes darting to the door.

  “On my way, Tommy.” She wrestled her dog into the carrier, snatched her keys and slipped outside, the smell of garlic from her foodie neighbors permeating their shared landing.

  “We’re out of milk,” muttered Becca. “Figures.”

  “Fix yourself something—sweet tea, maybe—and put peanut butter on a spoon for Tommy. He can dip it in the bowl and lick off the Cheerios.” It had been her brother’s favorite snack, she recalled with a pang.

  Yet for the first time in a long time, a memory of Bill made her smile
, too. Somehow, she thought he would approve of her sharing the peanut-butter-and-Cheerios trick.

  She zipped down the stairs, her feet skimming the treads, Sweet Pea snuggled in the holder against her chest.

  Out in the early-morning heat, she flagged down a cab and jumped inside, inhaling the familiar taxi scent of hair spray and exhaust.

  “Broome Street. And quickly,” she ordered, and the vehicle swerved into traffic, earning them a few sharp honks. Please let Eli get home soon. She scooted back against the leather and buckled her pouch-encased dog beside her. Hopefully he wouldn’t be upset to see her. But his children needed answers, and so did she.

  “Why is Dad lying to us again? I hate him,” Becca hissed, but it was Christie’s own voice she heard. Her resentment toward her brother pouring from this young girl’s mouth.

  Christie’s mind raced, her training spinning the dial to unlock the right answer. It landed on honesty, her best shot.

  “I was angry with my brother, too, Becca.”

  “The one who had leukemia?” she asked softly. A spoon clanked against what sounded like glass. She’d made the tea. Good. Mundane tasks helped during stressful times.

  Christie glanced out at the gray morning, the city bathed in sepia shades that matched her mood. “Yes. His name was William but we called him Bill.”

  The cab lurched to a whiplash stop, construction bottlenecking the road ahead. She grabbed Sweet Pea, who slid as her carrier strap broke.

  “Why were you mad at him?”

  Christie rested her forehead against the glass and watched the current of people streaming down Lafayette Street. How many secrets were hidden in that mob? How many hopes and wishes, too?

  “I think I was mostly angry at the cancer...what it did to him. To our family.”

  A noisy gulp sounded, then “You had to give up dance.”

  “Yes. And other things, too. That’s what I despised, really. Not Bill.”

  “Oh,” Becca sighed. “I’ve been mad at Dad for a long time.”

  Christie released her tight grip on the door handle when traffic resumed moving. “It’s okay to feel that way.”

  “But not at him. I’m terrible.” Becca’s low sob cut through Christie’s heart. “He can’t help being sick.”

  Although he could help how he handled it. Why, why, why hadn’t he told her that night in her office? She had to think he’d known. That he’d been making a misguided attempt to spare her some heartbreak. Or worse, that he didn’t think she could handle another cancer battle after the way she’d broken down at John’s funeral.

  “No. He can’t. And you’re human, not terrible.” She craned her neck around a delivery truck. “I’m almost there.”

  She rapped on the plastic divider, read the meter and slid some bills under the opening.

  Heat radiated in waves above the sidewalk in front of the Korean deli. She tugged at a sniffing Sweet Pea, raced up the steps to Eli’s building and hit the buzzer.

  “Christie!” Tommy’s voice shrieked over the intercom.

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  The door unlocked with a long buzz. She jerked it open and stepped inside. Her eyes darted between the elevator and the stairs. One was slower, the other pure terror. A glance at her panting spaniel, however, had her heading to the iron gate. The little dog would never make it up those flights and there was nothing she could do to repair her carrier at the moment. With a shaking finger, she jabbed the up button. Facing her worst fear was child’s play compared to Eli’s cancer returning.

  The doors slid open, and with a hard yank the rattling metal folded in on itself. She stepped inside the confined space and dug in her purse for her rabbit’s foot. Missing. She breathed deep and forced herself to stay calm when the elevator rose.

  The elevator bumped to a halt and the doors slid open. After releasing a deep breath, Christie heaved back the tarnished grate. “I’m here,” she called then slipped her phone into her pocket and rang the bell.

  Minutes later she snuggled the kids on the couch, the cartoons on mute.

  “Is Daddy going to die?” Tommy asked, his sticky fingers twining with hers. Christie’s stomach knotted but she kept her face neutral, her smile reassuring.

  She squeezed his hand. “We can’t know anything until he comes home.”

  “So maybe he won’t be sick!” Tommy’s gap-toothed smile blazed then faded. “But Becca said—”

  Her eyes met Becca’s. She gave the girl a small nod, hoping she’d understand her silent plea to reassure the boy.

  “I was mad, Tommy,” said Becca. “When I read the text, I thought he was hiding stuff from us. Like before. But Christie’s right. Dad needs to tell us if he has cancer again.”

  Tommy wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “That makes me scared.” He glanced up at Christie, his brows, nearly the same color as his pale skin, knotting. “Is that bad? Daddy’s brave but I’m not.”

  She cupped his soft, dimpled chin and said, “No. All feelings are okay. And I think you are very brave.” Her gaze flew to Becca, who gave her a small smile. “When your dad comes home, you should tell him how you feel.”

  “You won’t leave us, will you, Christie?” His warm body curled up on her lap, one hand now tangled in her hair, the other wrapped around a content Sweet Pea.

  When she shook her head, her swishing hair reminded her she’d never combed it. “No.” She gave Becca a meaningful look. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The children sighed, their bodies relaxing against her. Yet the sound of the key in the lock had everyone tensing. Eli.

  He strode in, tall and devastatingly handsome. He didn’t look sick.... He looked like the man she’d fallen in love with. His blue eyes blazed at her, shocked.

  “What’s going on?”

  Christie spoke over her pounding heart. “Eli, Becca and Tommy have something they want to ask you.”

  Although Becca’s fists clenched in her lap and her mouth opened, only tears escaped her.

  Eli rushed to her, but Tommy’s words stopped him cold.

  “Daddy. Are you fibbing about cancer? ’Cause that makes me sad. And scared.” He looked her way and she patted his leg. Brave boy.

  “What?” Eli dropped to his knees before them. “Who told you that?” She flinched under his accusing gaze.

  “I did.” Becca spoke up. She paced to the kitchen and held up his iPhone. “You forgot this when you hurried out of here. Dr. Cruz left you a text message about some experimental treatment...for your cancer.”

  “You read my private messages?” Eli stood, his face pale.

  Becca’s lower lip stuck out. “How else could I find out anything? First you stop seeing Christie—without talking to us—and now this.”

  Eli dropped into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was trying to protect all of you.” His gaze flew to Christie, a pleading expression in its blue depths.

  He’d broken up with her rather than tell her he had cancer again. The full impact of the news washed over her, dragging her into a whole new riptide of doubts. Fears. Hadn’t he trusted her to be there for him? She tucked those emotions aside, knowing the kids came first.

  “You can’t protect us from the truth. It comes out anyway.” Becca returned to the living room and crossed her thin arms over her trembling body. “Is it true? Is your cancer back?”

  Eli gestured for the kids to come closer. Tommy handed over Sweet Pea and leaped onto his father’s lap while Becca perched on the arm of the chair, Eli’s arm wrapped around her. A deep longing seized Christie, a wish to join them, no matter what Eli’s news was. She didn’t want to run as she had from Bill or even from John’s funeral. She wanted to give comfort as much as she received it—not to make up for what she’d done, but to be with them, join them on their journey...wher
ever it led.

  “Yes,” Eli sighed. “And it’s worse than before.”

  Tommy buried his head in his father’s shoulder and cried.

  “I’m here, Little Man.” Becca rubbed her brother’s back, her cheeks tributaries of tears. She turned to her father. “But you’re going to get treatment, right? This experimental thing?”

  Eli shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  What? Christie’s stroking hands stilled in Sweet Pea’s fur. She understood why patients chose to pass on with dignity. But he had to keep fighting for the children’s sake. Maybe a small part of her wished he would have fought for her—for them—as well.

  Becca shot to her feet. “Then you’re just going to die? Didn’t you tell me not to be a quitter?”

  “Daddy—” Tommy raised his wet face “—I’m only little. But I love you a lot. Please get better. I need you.”

  Eli glanced from his furious daughter to his pleading son then finally back to Christie. Their eyes met for an anguished moment and she saw everything she needed to know—fear, pain and much more. When had she learned to read him so well? If only she’d used those skills the other night in her office instead of hiding her head in the sand...refusing to see what had been right in front of her. She gave Eli a nod, encouraging him silently. And then, like a light emerging behind storm clouds, she saw his expression clear. A new determination fired through his gaze.

  His shoulders squared and he pulled Becca onto his lap so the squealing children collapsed into a tangled ball of limbs. Sweet Pea barked in delight at the chaos.

  “Fine. I’ll try. But no promises.”

  “No,” Tommy said. “But I’m still going to wish.”

  “Me, too.” Becca kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Dad.”

  Christie swallowed back the fierce desire to be there with them, wrapped in the warmth of this family. But she scooped up her dog and stood. She’d done her job and gotten the family back on track. Now she needed to go home and grieve on her own. It’d been tough holding it together this long.