“Yes, Son.” John’s voice was stronger now and his color was getting better. Opening his eyes, he looked directly into Mac’s. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, but later.” John’s voice trailed off as the siren grew closer.
“Tell me what?” Mac felt the grip of abject fear settle into his soul. As much as he needed answers, he was also afraid of what John would tell him.
“Sick.” John sighed, then spit out the dreaded word. “Cancer.”
Stunned, Mac sat back on his heels, barely registering the EMT’s racing up the stairs. The next few minutes passed by in a fog as the medics examined John, then loaded him onto the gurney.
“Ride with them, Mac. I’ll follow you to the hospital.” Chelsea’s words broke through the fog; Mac nodded and followed the gurney down the stairs.
Chelsea took a moment to gather her wits. The pill she’d given John had seemed familiar, but then so many pills looked the same that she didn’t think twice about it. It was John’s declaration that threw her right back to her mother’s diagnosis, nearly two years before. Cancer.
Oh God, no, she thought, running her hands through her hair. Not John. Not again. Taking a deep breath, she started moving towards the stairs when she felt a light touch on her arm.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Preston asked quietly, seeing the pain etched across her face and knowing the correlations that her mind must be making.
Startled, Chelsea looked up at him. She’d forgotten that he was there.
“No, thanks. I’ll call you later, when we know something.”
“Fine. I’ll stay here, keep an eye on things,” he offered. Never one to miss an opportunity, Preston struggled to maintain a look of concern.
“Thanks,” Chelsea shook off the beginnings of her own melancholy and headed down the stairs.
~~~
“Have you heard anything?” Mac was standing in the emergency room waiting area, looking like a lost little boy. Chelsea placed her hand on his arm as she spoke.
The look in Mac’s eyes nearly broke her heart. She remembered that look, had seen it a hundred times in the mirror. Shock, disbelief, confusion, fear and pain, all rolled into one all-consuming emotion.
“No, nothing official. He was talking more in the ambulance. Told me he has a tumor on his spine. Inoperable.” Mac’s voice caught on the last word and he stopped.
“Let’s sit,” Chelsea guided him to a pair of empty chairs near the entrance. “Take a breath.”
Mac covered his face with both hands, almost as if he was trying to block out the world. Chelsea waited. After a time, Mac dropped his hands.
“Why didn’t he tell me? Why keep something like that a secret? I’m his only child, for chrissakes.”
“Maybe he didn’t want to worry you.” Chelsea answered softly, knowing that nothing she said would make any difference.
“Like this is so much better? Finding out that my father is dying as we’re rushing him to the hospital? What in the hell was he thinking?” Mac’s fear was coming out as anger. Chelsea recognized it well.
“You can ask him, when you see him, but I’m sure that he wanted to protect you from this, for as long as he could.”
“Mac Mills?” A man wearing dark blue scrubs, carrying a patient’s chart spoke to the room.
“Yes,” Mac jumped up.
“Your father is resting comfortably for now. We’re taking him down for x-rays shortly, but I suspect that the tumor has grown, placing more pressure on his spine. His oncologist is on the way. Do you have any questions?” The doctor was succinct to the point of being abrupt. Mac took a few seconds to process.
“I have about a million questions, but I suspect you’re not the one to ask. Can I see my father?”
Mac’s comment didn’t faze the emergency room physician.
“You can sit with him until it’s time for the x-ray. Follow me.”
Mac started to follow him, then remembered Chelsea.
“Will you wait?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be here.” She nodded, giving him an encouraging smile.
“Thanks.” He followed the doctor through the double doors.
~~~
The sight of his father lying so still in the hospital bed took the wind out of Mac’s anger. Walking quietly to the side of the bed, he dropped into the chair.
Sensing Mac’s presence, John opened his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” John told him once again. He’d repeated the same phrase over and over again on the ride to the hospital. Mac did not want to hear it.
“For what, Dad? For having cancer or for not telling me about it?” His anger sparked briefly, then faded below the surface. “Don’t worry about it now. Just rest.”
“Rest? Hell no, I will not just rest. There’s too much to do and precious little time to get it done.” Mac wasn’t the only angry man in the room. John was furious that his body was betraying him this way, livid at the circumstances that brought him to the hospital bed, but most of all, he was enraged that he was responsible for the look of devastation in his son’s eyes.
“You will rest, at least until the doctor says you can leave. What the hell were you thinking, Dad? Why didn’t you tell me?” Mac placed his hand on John’s arm.
“I was planning on it, but not until we finished the job. Damn cancer, couldn’t even let me have that, could you?” John cursed the invisible killer.
“Finished the job? You shouldn’t even be working on the job. Is this why you’ve been pushing like a madman to get it done? Is this why you called me in to help?”
“Yes, partially.” John leveled his eyes at his son. “I called you to help because I wanted to work with you, one more time. I missed you, Son, but I didn’t want you coming home out of some sense of responsibility. I knew if I told you I was sick, you’d never agree to us taking on the project. I wanted us to share something special that we both could be proud of; I won’t apologize for that, or for keeping you in the dark about this damn tumor.” John held Mac’s gaze, even though he saw fire spark in the younger man’s eyes. “A man’s got a right to go out on his own terms, no matter who disagrees.”
Mac opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. He couldn’t say that he would do any single thing differently, if he were in his father’s shoes. As much as it hurt to know that his dad had kept the truth from him for so long, he understood his reasons for doing so. And John was right; it was his body, his last few months, he should dictate how he chose to spend them.
“I don’t disagree with you, Dad. I only wish I’d known sooner, that’s all. Tell me what I can do to help you now.” Mac saw the defiance flee from his father’s eyes.
“You can get me out of this hospital, for one thing. I’ve got no intention of dying before I have a meal in that restaurant we’re building or spend at least one night in that B&B.” John tried to sit up, but Mac stopped him.
“I will, I promise, after your doctor tells me that it’s okay. He should be here soon, so just be patient for a little while, please. They want to take an x-ray, see if the tumor has grown.”
“Of course it’s grown, it’s what tumors do. I don’t need a machine to tell me what I already know. As for the doctor, he’ll tell you to keep me in bed, preferably here, and watch me fade away. Horse feathers. I will not spend the night in this or any hospital. I’ve got pain pills, they even work sometimes.”
“They’d work better if you’d take them like you’re supposed to.” A tall, grey haired man dressed in a golf shirt and slacks came into the room. “I’ve told you that, more than once. You must be Mac.” Holding out his hand, he greeted Mac, but kept talking to John. “I cancelled the x-ray, knew what you’d say, but you’ll listen to me about the pain pills if you don’t want to end up in here again. Take two, every four hours, no exceptions.”
“What, that’s it, just take pain pills?” Mac’s anger returned. “Is there nothing else that you can do? Why not take the x-ray, maybe the tumor has moved so you can get to it, get
it out. You can’t just give up.” Mac looked from the doctor to his father.
“Believe me, Son, I’m not just giving up. Tell him, Doc, we’ve already been down this road.”
“Your father’s right, Mac. The only thing we could do is chemo, but there’s such a slim chance of it working, given the size and placement of the tumor, that it would do your dad more harm than good. He’s already had several radiation treatments, in the beginning, but they were useless as well. The only thing we can do for him now is to keep him comfortable. The oxy will help for a while, if he takes them correctly. Towards the end, we’ll likely move on to morphine.” The doctor looked at Mac kindly as he delivered his father’s death sentence.
“So that’s it, take pills and go on with his life, until he can’t? There’s got to be something else, anything else we can try. What about a clinical trial, new medication? Surely there are more options than this. Find one.” Mac pleaded.
“Son,” John reached for Mac. “We have tried. I swear to you that I would never just give up without a fight. Don’t you see, working with you, creating something nice for our town is my fight? It’s the only way I know to make the end bearable.”
Mac studied his father for a long time before finally nodding.
“I get it, Dad. All of it. And I’ll help you, of course I will. But you have to listen to the doctor; take the damn pain pills the way you’re supposed to and take it easier than you have been.” Mac squeezed his father’s hand.
“Agreed.” John squeezed back. “I’ll take it easier, but I won’t stop working altogether. You may as well understand that here and now.”
“I told you, I get it.” Mac switched his gaze to the doctor. “What else can we do?”
“Nothing, just keep him comfortable. As long as he feels like working, let him work. You’ll both know it when it gets to the point that he needs to stop. In the meantime, call me if you have any questions, or need anything.” The doctor walked over to John, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a stubborn old coot, you know that, don’t you? But I can’t say as I’d do things any differently.” He glanced up at Mac, then back at John. “Listen to your body, and your son. Don’t be a fool and you could have several more weeks.”
Weeks? Mac reeled at the word. Weeks? His father had only weeks to live. How did a person come to terms with that? His mind whirled, searching for ways to get a grip on the news, but none of it made any sense.
“I’ll get the paperwork started, get you out of here,” John’s doctor told them as he left.
“I’ll help you get dressed,” Mac felt as if he were having an out-of-body experience. He moved automatically, taking John’s clothes out of a clear plastic bag boasting the hospital logo.
“I can dress myself, thank you.” John said, more roughly than he intended. “Go and light a fire under Doc; I don’t want to spend one more minute in here than I have to.”
Without a word, Mac turned and left the room. He needed time to collect his thoughts, time to assemble all of the information he’d been given in the past hour and try to make sense of it. Walking into the waiting room, he dropped into the first chair he came to. He didn’t see Chelsea, or anyone else, just a collage of snapshots flashing through his mind.
He saw himself as the boy he’d once been, standing on the banks of a crystal clear lake, fishing pole in hand as his father showed him how to cast. Next he saw a Christmas tree, bright with colorful lights, presents piled beneath it, and him at the age of twelve whooping with joy at the sight of a ten-speed bike while his parents stood in the background, their arms around each other. Then came the image of his first car, his hands tight on the wheel, perfectly positioned at ten and two, his father sitting calmly next to him on the front seat. The feeling of scary excitement that always accompanied the driving lessons flooded over him as he recalled how his dad had never once lost his cool, no matter how many mistakes the boy made during that particular rite of passage.
Next he saw the looks of pride beaming from both his parents’ faces as he walked up to them after college graduation. With tears in their eyes, they embraced him on the university lawn, not needing words to tell him how much he was loved.
It had always been that way, Mac realized. Their love had always been there, no matter how far apart they were or how difficult he had been. It was something he’d taken for granted, something that he assumed would always be there. Until his mom died.
Flashes of his father’s face as they stood side-by-side next to her grave crashed over Mac. He’d never seen his father look so lost. He’d never felt such sorrow or emptiness as he became the strong one and led his dad away. He remembered how the emptiness grew as they sat together in the cheerful kitchen, every nook and cranny reminding them both of the woman that set their worlds to rights. Mac couldn’t wait to leave, and he’d never come back. Until now.
Oh God, he thought as he ran both hands through his hair. How could this be happening so soon after losing Mom? Two years, it had only been two years and he’d barely come to terms with losing her, now he had to face losing his dad.
Nothing could bring a grown man to his knees, bring the hidden little boy to the surface, like the loss of a parent. Not caring who saw or what they thought, he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Chelsea’s heart snapped in two as she sat silently beside Mac. She doubted if he even knew that she was there. She felt his heartache acutely and when he cried, she felt her own tears slide quickly over her face. Putting her arms around him, she drew his head to her shoulder and held him.
Mac felt the comforting arms and did not resist. Gradually, he became aware of the soft scent of jasmine surrounding him and the softness of a cotton shirt beneath his cheek.
Slowly, strength began to seep into him, enough to stop the tears and straighten, pulling away from the comfort of the woman’s arms. Dropping his hands, he met Chelsea’s eyes, still moist from shared compassion.
“Sorry about that,” Mac whispered. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Is it John, is he...” Chelsea feared the worst.
“No, no, he’s better. He’s getting dressed. We’re going home. I just, I mean…I just needed a minute.” Mac wiped his face with his hands, trying to clear the remnants of his pain.
“Good, I’m happy that he’s better.” Chelsea sat back, relieved. “Of course you needed a minute. Your whole world has shifted in the space of an hour.”
“Yes, it has. Thanks.” Mac stood and offered a hand to help her up. She took it. “I should go back to him. Thanks for being here, and for, well, everything.” His cheeks reddened, but he held her gaze.
Chelsea reached up and cupped his cheek. “Anytime. Believe me, I get it. Is there anything else I can do? Can I see him?”
“No, there’s nothing anyone can do. He’s as stubborn as the day is long and determined to die in his boots, so to speak. But yes, of course you can see him. He’ll be glad that you’re here.” Mac wasn’t sure that was totally true, John may not have wanted Chelsea to know about his prognosis. Well that’s just too bad, Mac thought as he led her to John’s room. If he didn’t want anyone to know, he should have followed the doctor’s orders.
“Dad, are you decent?” Poking his head in the door, he saw John sitting straight as an arrow on the bed, a look of impatience covering his face.
“’Bout time you came back. We’re burning daylight, Son. Let’s get out of here.” John hopped off the bed without showing one smidge of the pain he felt.
“Okay, but there’s someone here who wants to see you,” Opening the door fully, Mac led Chelsea inside.
“You’re sure looking better.” Smiling, Chelsea walked over to her friend and took his hand. “No wonder they’re kicking you out of here.”
“Huh, more like they’d want to keep me, rack up the bill. You know how hospitals are; charge five hundred dollars for an aspirin.” John winked at her, more grateful than he cared to admit that she was there. “Sorry if I gave you a
scare, Missy. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“I’m just glad that you’re feeling better.” Linking her arms through his, she walked him towards the door. “Are you ready to blow this pop stand?”
“Absolutely. If we hurry, we can outrun that nurse with the infernal wheelchair.” Patting her hand, John grinned like a man without a care as Mac held the door, then followed them down the hall.
Chapter Nineteen
Preston glanced out of the living room window, noting that the man they called Rick was still planting roses. He couldn’t believe how many rose bushes Chelsea had bought. Like everything else he had seen in the house, they must have cost a fortune.
The reconstruction was flawless and first rate. Anyone would be hard pressed to imagine the house in its previous dilapidated state. He’d seen pictures at the courthouse, knew what all she had done to bring it back to life. Everywhere he looked, he saw dollar signs, lots of them, more than she could possibly have inherited from her mother. Cursing silently, he made a mental note to search for a mortgage or some other type of loan that would allow her to spend this kind of cash. He could only hope that the improvements would be worth it; that he could sell the place and make significantly more than the outstanding loan.
I could always take out a life insurance policy, he mused as he wandered into Chelsea’s private sunroom. Nothing too large, nothing that would raise any red flags, just enough to make all of this worth my time. A half a million should do it, he decided. No one would question that amount, not with his family background. As long as he appeared to not need the money, it would be easier to collect it once Chelsea was dead.
He knew for a fact that she hadn’t created a will, at least she hadn’t filed one with any court in the state. His forged document was still valid, would still hold up under scrutiny, not that there was anyone to challenge it. Even if she had created her own will, it would be easy enough to get rid of it, once he had access to her files.
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