Fragile Bonds

by Sloan Johnson

  Fragile Bonds by Sloan Johnson

  Text copyright © 2014 by Sloan Johnson

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

  All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1

  “Daddy! There’s a woman at the door, but she’s not saying anything!” My cheeks flood with embarrassment as a little boy’s voice slices the early morning air.

  I can’t help but wonder how long I’ve been standing on the front porch, lost in another time. It’s been six years since I walked out this very door, but the pain in my heart is as raw today as it was then.

  “Melanie?” My eyes shift from the little boy at my feet to the only man I’ve ever loved. His sapphire eyes are steely, cold and rimmed with fine lines at the corners. The subtle tick in his square jaw gives away the fact that he’s biting back his displeasure at seeing me here.

  “Hello, Xavier,” I bite out, hoping I sound professional. To my own ears, my voice is breathy and too high. My throat feels scratchy, as if I haven’t had anything to drink in days. “I’m here to help with Alyssa.”

  I take a tentative step over the threshold, sucking in a sharp breath. When I started working as an end-of life-companion four years ago, I thought it was a brilliant way to combine my nursing degree and my desire to help the terminally ill die with dignity. It’s never easy, but this is going to be my most difficult assignment to date. Most days, I go home to my one bedroom apartment wondering why I continue to put myself through the emotional drain of watching patients slip away before my eyes.

  With every new family, I promise myself I won’t get attached, but it’s hard when I’m the one they rely on to ease more than just the physical pain. It doesn’t matter that my job is to care for the person who is dying, I become a shoulder for family members to cry on as time slips away. I’m the one pushing the family to eat when their grief and need to be close to the person whose days are numbered consumes them. Inevitably, the patient passes away and I move on to the next family. My problem is, I can’t deny the fact that I’m already emotionally invested in this family.

  I kick off my tennis shoes, lining them along the foyer wall by force of habit. Looking around, I feel a moment of peace created by the taupe, ivory and blue color scheme carried throughout the foyer and living room. Flames dance in the gas fireplace, taking the chill out of the mid-November air.

  The little boy with shaggy brown hair looks up at me with sad blue eyes. “Daddy sometimes lets guests keep their shoes on when they visit,” he informs me.

  I crouch down, ignoring the clenching pain in my chest. “I just figured your Daddy wouldn’t want my dirty shoes on his white carpet,” I respond quickly, ruffling the boy’s hair. He’s a miniature version of his father, right down to his eagle eye for details. I’m going to have to be mindful that I don’t get too comfortable here.

  “That’s smart,” he says with a quick nod. When I go to stand, I feel the boy tug at my pants leg. I look down and see him worrying his lip. “My name’s Jacob and I’m four. My daddy told me someone was gonna come to our house today and help make mommy better. Is that why you’re here?”

  Closing my eyes, I bite my lip while figuring out how to dance around the truth with Jacob. Even though I understand why his father said what he did to the boy, I have a hard time lying to anyone, even the youngest family members. The truth is, there’s nothing that will make his mother well again, my job is to simply help her face the end of her life surrounded by those closest to her instead of in a hospital.

  I lead Jacob to the couch, pulling him onto my lap. More than anything, I want to hold him to my chest, smoothing his hair as I tell him that I have magical powers that will keep him mom alive. Beyond that, I wish it were true. Even I can’t bring myself to admit the reality that Alyssa Ross is dying and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. Less than three minutes in, and I’m already too attached. I silently vow to do everything I can to protect this little boy and his father, even if it kills me in the process.

  “Your mommy is very sick, Jacob,” I confirm. Not like he needs me to tell him this, he sees it every day. Then again, according to her chart, she’s been ill long enough that he might not remember a time when she wasn’t this way. Her cancer ravaged body might be completely normal in his eyes. “I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure your mommy isn’t hurting, okay?”

  Jacob studies me, looking deep into my eyes for a sign that I’m lying to him. “Daddy says you might have to spend the night sometimes if mommy needs you to. I told him you can sleep in my room. You have to sleep on top because daddy says I’m too little for the top bed. Do you like rocket ships?”

  “Jacob, Miss Melanie will not be spending the night.” We both startle at the angry voice echoing off the high ceilings. “Didn’t I ask you to clean up this mess before the nurse got here?” Jacob slides off my lap without a word and begins picking up his toys, leaving me alone on the couch.

  I close my eyes, my hand floating to rest at the base of my neck. Time may have healed the wounds, but I’m not sure I will ever get used to hearing Xavier’s voice. A tear threatens to fall as I remember the last time I was in this room.

  Xavier leans forward, gently kissing my forehead. We stay connected this way, his hands resting on my shoulders. “Without trust, we have nothing,” he whispers, sliding his hands around to the back of my neck.

  My body quakes as I’m overcome with sobs. I don’t want to believe that my one decision is leading him to such a drastic measure. The moment he releases the clasp of my necklace, I feel as emotionally bare as I am physically.

  “What are you doing here, Melanie?” Xavier asks, scowling down at me from behind the couch. It’s a straight-forward question, and yet I can’t seem to find the words. Instead, I stare at Xavier, wishing I had asked for another companion to be assigned to Alyssa’s case.

  “Melanie,” he snaps, this time his voice low and forceful. “I asked you a question.”

  I lower my gaze reflexively. After so much time apart, you would think my body would have forgotten that admonishing tone. It’s another reminder that my wounds are deeper than the flesh or even the heart, and the ones that remain might never fully heal. “I’m sorry, Xavier. I thought about asking to be reassigned to a different case, but I would have had to explain my reasons. If you would prefer I not be here, you’re more than welcome to call the office and request someone else be sent to help.”

  “Take a breath,” he says softly. He moves around the furniture, settling onto the other end of the couch. The fact that he’s released his anger is disarming. The man I remember was many things, but rarely could he have been described as nurturing. When his hand reaches for my knee, he jerks it away as if he suddenly realized that he shouldn’t touch me. “I’m sorry, I just… To say I wasn’t expecting to see you would be an understatement. Are you competent at what you do?”

  I nod, working hard to swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not only competent, I’m one of the best nurses with the agency. Xavier is well aware of my academic achievements and credentials. Realizing this, I am under the impression it’s not my medical aptitude he questions. It’s my emotional stability.

  I still haven’t worked up the courage to look into his blue eyes, scared of what I will see. Instead, I trace the subtle lines in the light upholstery, reme
mbering how quickly I fell in love with the buttery soft leather the day Xavier handed me a key to our home. Looking around, I’m alarmed by how much hasn’t changed in the time since I left and wonder how many times I will be hit with memories of the life that used to be mine.

  This time, Xavier doesn’t falter when he reaches for my hand, stilling it against the fabric. I swallow hard, refusing to look down at our joined hands, not allowing myself to enjoy the comfort his touch can still bring me. He’s not here for me. He has moved on and is now questioning my ability to do my job.

  “Will you be able to put aside any personal misgivings and focus all of your attention on my wife?” Hearing him come right out and question my ability to compartmentalize our past upsets me more than anything. I’m sure there will be nights I have to drown my sorrows in more than a single bottle of merlot, but I have never and will never allow my personal feelings to interfere with the care a patient receives. Even when that patient has the life that could have been mine.

  “Xavier,” I begin, taking three deep breaths to keep from sticking my foot in my mouth so soon after arriving. Like it or not, I didn’t so much as try to get out of this assignment, so now I have to treat the Ross family like every other family I’ve met. “Alyssa is my only concern. I am here to do whatever I can to make her comfortable until…” I stop myself, remembering that there is a child in the room with us.

  Jacob seems to have lost interest in his chores and has turned his full attention on our conversation. Xavier snaps his fingers and the boy is quickly back on task. I purse my lips, knowing all too well how much Xavier can demand of a person with the slightest non-verbal command.

  “I’m glad to hear that. She’s sleeping right now, but I will show you to her room.” I follow Xavier through the kitchen. I don’t want to think about how his body has changed since the last time we saw one another. He was always fit, but now, his gray t-shirt is pulled tight across broad shoulders, tucked into and defining his narrow waist. I would give anything to ignore the way he glides across the cool hardwood floors. There’s something incredibly sexy about the look of a man wearing jeans with bare feet.

  Not wanting to spend any more time cataloging the ways his physique has improved with time, I cast my eyes downward. It’s the only direction I can look to have any chance of avoiding the clenching in my chest. Looking around the house, I can’t help but notice how much is still the same. If I had moved into a house my husband bought for another woman, I would have insisted on a complete overhaul before the first box was unpacked. So few things have changed here that I could easily forget that this is no longer home to me.

  I wish Alyssa had done more to make this place her own when she moved in. Seeing the colors I chose brightening each room, the table and chairs I picked out in the dining room and the paintings I selected hanging on the walls, makes it feel like this could still be my home. There’s no way I will ever open the door to the master bedroom because if my mission style furniture is still set against sage green walls with a chocolate brown comforter on top, my head might explode.

  “Since they had to bring in a hospital bed for Alyssa, she’s been staying in my old office,” he informs me coolly, pointing to the last door on the left. “Jacob’s room is on the right and you know where the bathroom is.” I watch Xavier’s broad back as he walks away from me. He seems to have recovered from the shock of my arrival much quicker than I have.

  My hand reaches for the doorknob, bracing myself for what I will find inside, reminding myself that this is just another assignment. There is nothing about the woman napping in the bed that immediately gives away her condition. If I didn’t know that a second bout with leukemia is claiming her life, it would be easy to ignore the subtle signs such as her pale skin tone and sunken cheeks. In a perverse way, I am overcome with a need to know what she looked like before the illness. Was her chestnut hair cut in the chic, short style it is now or was it longer the way I know Xavier prefers? What color are her eyes that are currently hidden behind closed eyelids? Was her frame more athletic or was she slender even before the chemotherapy began eating away at her body?

  “Are you going to stand there staring or introduce yourself? A weak voice asks, pulling me out of my twisted thoughts. I need to get my head in the game before every member of the Ross family thinks of me as an incompetent flake.

  “I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly, making my way to the side of her bed. I swallow hard before speaking, giving myself a moment to make sure I sound proficient at what I do. “I’m Melanie, I was sent by the home health agency.”

  Alyssa assesses me in much the same way I was just doing to her. Even dark circles can’t take away from the brilliance of her jade green eyes. When she sits up, I notice a small diamond stud in the side of her nose. I push back the curiosity of what Xavier thinks of such a piercing. Back when we were together, he was adamantly against anything which would mar my face.

  Stop it! You cannot afford to make comparisons between the man you used to love and this woman’s husband. You’re a professional, starting acting like it.

  “Ah, yes. Xavier’s way of not having to deal with me day in and day out,” she says, unable to hide the bitterness in her voice. My chest tightens as I pray Alyssa isn’t hoping I will become her new best friend and confidant. Seeing the look on my face, she quickly adds, “Oh, don’t get me wrong, my husband is a good man, but he’s not the most caring person in the world. Don’t let him push you around or he’ll have you helping out with Jacob before you know it.”

  “Mrs. Ross, I’m sure your husband is doing everything he can to make sure you’re comfortable. And I look forward to getting to know everyone in your family, but I promise you, my primary job is to take care of you.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to voice this sentiment, but I do. Desperately needing to find something to distract me, I reach for the copy of her medical chart sitting on the dresser. I don’t need to pay attention to the words on the pages because I’ve memorized them in anticipation of the challenge taking her case was going to pose for me.

  “Well, that’s good to hear. Now, why don’t you pull up a chair and tell me something about yourself. I might not be in any shape to run a marathon, but I promise, we’re going to have plenty of time to get to know one another.” She smiles faintly and I get the impression she’s more trying to convince herself than me.

  As I reach for the door, I hear Alyssa asking Melanie to sit with her so they can get to know one another. I’m not certain how I feel about this because I’ve spent six years avoiding talking about anything to do with my time with Melanie. Having her in the house again is fucking with my head, but if I call the agency and request a different companion, Alyssa will ask questions. I only hope that Melanie was sincere when she guaranteed me she can be professional at all times when she’s on the job.

  No matter how much I tell myself to turn and walk away, I can’t take a single step. I lean against the door jamb, trying to hear Melanie’s melodic voice as she rattles off her credentials. I don’t need to hear them because the only accomplishment I was not around for was the day she received her Master’s degree.

  “Look, Melanie, I’m not sure if you got the memo, but I’m dying.” My heart clenches at my wife’s words. As unconventional as the beginning of our marriage might have been, I can’t bear the thought of the day I wake up and she’s no longer here. “I’ve had some of the best doctors in the world treating me and they told me there’s nothing more they can do at this point, so truthfully, I’m not sure how much good any fancy degrees or anything like that are going to do me. I want to know about you. You’re going to be my sidekick from now until the end, so I think we should know something about one another.”

  My ears perk up, waiting to hear what Melanie will say next. I can almost see her picking her nails, trying to think of something safe to share. “There really isn’t all that much,” she responds. “I spend so much of my time with my clients, I usually go home, have a glass of wine and curl u
p with my dog for the night. Sometimes, my friend Stacey manages to drag me out of the house to a concert, but that’s rare.”

  Fingernails dig into my palms as I clench my fists at the sound of that woman’s name crossing Melanie’s lips. I shouldn’t care, but it bothers me that she and Stacey are still friends. The selfish part of me likes to think that Melanie was upset enough by what happened with us that she realized her best friend is a bad influence. Hopefully, Stacey has matured over the years, but I’m not holding my breath.

  “No boyfriend waiting for you to come home?” My stomach roils at the very thought of Melanie being with another man. I lean in closer, needing this answer more than any other.

  “No, I don’t date,” she says flatly. I release the breath I had been holding as I waited for her answer, relieved in a twisted way that there isn’t anyone in her life. It’s not that I don’t want her to be happy, but I’d rather not have to admit that someone else can give her everything when I failed her.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re freaking beautiful, I can’t believe the guys aren’t pounding down your door for a chance to win your heart.” Lovely, now Alyssa is going to start digging to get to the root of why Melanie doesn’t date. I just have to hope those roots are shallow and have to do with a recent heartbreak.

  “Oh, there have been guys who have tried, but I don’t really see myself as the type of girl who is going to find her Prince Charming any time soon.” Her words hang low in the air as neither woman speaks. Knowing that Alyssa is awake and Melanie is with her, I turn back to the kitchen, needing a minute before facing the only two women I’ve ever loved sitting next to one another.

  Chapter 2

  “So, how was the first day?” Stacey asks as soon as I answer the phone. I pour my first glass of wine for the evening while I wait for my dinner to finish heating in the microwave. I know the freezer meals I’m addicted to are filled with crap that will probably kill me someday, but after spending up to twelve hours a day with my clients, the last thing I want to do is come home and cook. Not to mention the fact that cooking for one is depressing and pointless, like a daily reminder that I’m alone.