She turned in her chair, making the seat creak.
“How would you like to cover a story for Maggie? There’s a new band around town; I want you to interview them. One Night Young is their name.”
Her heart skipped a beat and her stomach lurched.
Amanda continued, “They’ve got a show tonight down at The Local on Church Street. I want you to go. Call Jessica to meet you there to get some photos. Just get some general info on them. You know what to do, what with your journalism background.”
Kylie stared into the bathroom mirror at her apartment, makeup brush in one hand at the hollow of her cheek. One finger traced the dark circles beneath her eyes. A tape recorder, her small notebook with a list of written questions, and an array of pens were already tucked away in her purse. Her stomach churned with dread. What if she just…didn’t go? Feigned illness? How could she bring herself to face Adam? No, she had to go. If she wanted to get ahead at work, she needed to do this assignment for Amanda.
A twenty-minute drive later, five of it spent driving in circles in search of a free parking meter, Kylie stood outside The Local, one hand clutching the strap of her purse. Soft light from a streetlamp illuminated the sidewalk below the steps leading up to the door. Live music—rock—already sounded faintly from inside, muffled by the heavy wooden door. She inhaled deeply, steeling herself before pulling open the door and stepping inside.
The room was packed. Most of the people crowded around the stage, some holding drinks or fists in the air, waving to the beat of the music. One Night Young had already begun their show; Adam’s guitar strap already hooked over his shoulder as he strummed the song’s chords. Kylie bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him for a few moments, hiding behind a crowd of men. Beads of sweat were rolling down Adam’s temples, his damp hair plastered to his skull. Steeling herself once more, Kylie squeezed her way through the crowd in search of Jessica the photographer, whom she found standing at the edge of the stage. Her camera was already poised at her eye, the lens aimed at the band.
“Hey, Jess,” she said, one hand blindly rifling for the notebook and tape recorder in her purse.
“Kylie.”
Just when Kylie glanced back up at the stage, Adam noticed her standing there as he leaned away from the microphone between verses, still strumming. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, and Kylie froze in panic. Adam’s eyes widened for one more second, but he returned to the microphone to continue the next verse. Kylie swallowed hard. Wild excuses and lies, any reason to turn and run, ran rampant through her mind, and she wished dearly that she hadn’t agreed to this assignment, to interviewing Adam.
“I’m going to get a drink. Would you like anything?” she asked Jessica.
“No.”
“All right, then.” She nodded, mostly to herself, and squeezed her way back through the crowd to the bar. Heaving a breath, she flagged down the stout, plump woman behind the resin bar and ordered her drink.
As she sipped on it, leaning against the red-flecked bar, she listened to the music from afar. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the stage. Instead, she stared down at the crushed mint leaves floating amongst the ice cubes in the clear liquid of her drink. Losing herself in thought, she continued to sip the minty, citrusy drink, allowing the bubbles to fizz on her tongue. The minutes passed, and she ordered a second drink. But as her watch ticked away the time and Kylie had successfully dodged the advances and propositions of two drunk men, she failed to notice that the music had gone quiet and had been so for several minutes.
“Kylie.”
She jumped, one hand still clutching her drink, and turned to see Adam. A tentative, reserved, and almost calculating expression clouded his usual cheerful one.
“Adam,” she murmured, setting her glass down.
“What are you doing here?”
She swallowed. “Work.” A pause. She picked up her notebook and pen. “Amanda wants me to, um, interview you for a content feature.”
“A feature?” His brows knitted together.
“Yes.” She fumbled for the digital recorder, holding it up delicately. “Do you mind?”
“Look, Kylie…”
Ignoring him, she mashed the button on the recorder and held it at chest-level. Her hand remained steady. “So, how long has One Night Young been together?”
Adam seemed taken aback. He mumbled a few incoherent stammers, his brow creased together even tighter, and he shook his head. “So, you’re just going to pretend like nothing ever happened?”
With a sigh, she tapped the off button and set the recorder down. “I’m sorry about what happened. I just…I can’t explain it. I can’t articulate what I’m feeling.”
He snorted a laugh. “You can’t articulate it, or you just can’t articulate it to me?”
“I…”
“That’s what I thought.”
Kylie glared. “You’re not being very fair.”
“No, what’s not fair is that you won’t even give me a chance. What’s so bad that you can’t be open with me? If there’s anyone who understands what you’re going through right now, it’s me, but you don’t seem to get that.”
Words failed her. She closed her eyes. Suddenly, she wished she were home, in the safety of her own bed; here, where she had nowhere to hide, where several sets of eyes watched her, vulnerability prevailed.
“Like I said, either you want to be with me or you don’t. If you do, I need you to be open with me and stop pushing me away. If you don’t, then just tell me now and get it over with.”
“Do we have to do this here?” begged Kylie. Her gaze darted to the people around them, even more now, who were beginning to watch.
“Then where else?”
She paused. “I’m going to the beach Saturday morning at seven. Meet me there? We can discuss it then.”
“Fine.”
“Now, I’m here for work,” she said, businesslike. She picked up the recorder again and mashed the button. “Tell me, how long has One Night Young been together?”
With a sigh, Adam relented.
Don't let her break down when I'm gone.
Adam already lay awake when the alarm sounded on Saturday morning. Thoughts of Kylie swirled in his mind; she probably just wanted to explain that she wanted nothing more to do with him; surely, that was it. Or, maybe there was something more behind that. She had continued to linger in the back of his mind, even after the last voicemail he had left. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite shake.
Only a few vehicles were parked along the sand-lined road when he arrived at Folly Beach. The air warmed his arms and his face through the open window of his truck, and the sun was shining. He spotted Kylie’s car and pulled up behind it. Two surfboards, one a bit longer than the other, remained hooked to the roof rack. Just as Adam hopped down from the cab, Kylie stepped out of her own car. She had dressed in board shorts and a bright blue rash guard, the knot of her swimsuit straps poking out at the nape of her neck.
“Hi,” he greeted. His posture stiffened; his expression stony.
“Hey.” She smiled, although it appeared hesitant. “So, I thought we could go surfing. I brought an extra board.”
His tone went flat. “I’ve never even touched a surfboard.”
“I thought—only if you want, of course—I could give you a lesson.”
He leaned against the bumper of his truck, his eyes studying the two boards. How could Kylie act like nothing had happened?
She seemingly sensed his mood and looked down at her feet. “Look. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done. I freaked out at your place, and I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”
Adam closed his eyes. His lips parted, closed again, and he folded his arms over his chest. “What is it you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I want to try.” Holding her chin high, she met his gaze and held it. “I can’t promise I’ll immediately start spilling my feelings all the time. But I’ll try to sta
rt being more open if you’ll give me another chance.”
Quiet, the only sound coming from the crashing and cresting waves along the shore, Adam studied her. His gaze considered her, his brown eyes locked onto hers. “You’re sure?” His hands dropped to his sides.
She nodded.
“All right,” he said. It sounded lame, but nothing else came to mind. Instead, he wanted to kiss her but refrained.
Kylie’s entire frame seemed to release the tension it had been holding, her shoulders relaxing from her ears. “So…do you want to try to surf?”
He grimaced, his eyes turning to the longer of the two boards atop her car. “Can we just sit or walk or something?”
Her face fell, only slightly, but she nodded.
The wind began to pick up as they strolled along the hard, damp sand, and gooseflesh prickled down Adam’s arms. The water receding down the beach reflected the blue hues of the sky and the few fluffy clouds floating by.
“Why do you have two boards? You didn’t buy the second one, did you?” he asked, a bit awkward, and shoved his hands into the pouch of his sweatshirt.
“No, it belonged to my dad.”
“I forgot your dad was a surfer.”
She nodded, swiping away the strands of hair captured by the breeze. “Yeah, he brought me down to the beach all the time when I was growing up, and he taught me. I’ve always been a fish.” She laughed. “Surfing was always our thing that we did together. There’s just something about being in the water, riding the waves…I guess I’ve just always found it comforting, like I still have a piece of my dad with me. And going out in the water…it’s like coming home after a long day. I’m guessing music is like that for you.”
Adam smiled as he listened.
“Thank you,” Kylie said, placing a hand on his arm, “for meeting me here. I’m sorry I didn’t call for so long. I was just…well, I felt silly and embarrassed for freaking out like I did. Too embarrassed to call. I almost didn’t even go to the show last night.”
“I’m glad you came.”
Kylie turned to watch the cresting and crashing waves, and Adam watched a certain tranquility take over her features; her teeth released her lip, which she had been gently chewing, her hands relaxed at her sides, and her brow softened. Adam reached for her hand, tenderly interlacing their fingers. An easy silence fell between them, and he wondered if he should ask about her mother. Maybe, he considered, Kylie simply wanted to escape the reality of her situation for a short while.
“What do you want in life?” she asked suddenly, quietly.
His thumb, which had been slowly circling her knuckle, paused mid-circle. “What do you mean?”
“What are your goals in life? Your dreams?”
“To make it. In the music business, I mean. That’s my dream. I feel like I owe it to my brother—he always said he wanted to see me play at some huge venue, on some big stage somewhere like L.A. or New York. It’ll probably never happen, but it’s fun to dream. I’m happy just getting to play around town.”
“But you’re stuck working as a waiter too.”
He shrugged. “As long as I can play music, I’m happy. What about you?”
“To write for a major paper. Investigate mysteries, report on major crimes, like Christine Pelisek or John MacCormack.” She paused, her throat bobbing as she swallowed, and looked down. “So, I have a favor to ask, if you’ll hear me out. This might sound, well—weird or awkward is probably putting it lightly. See, my mother wants to meet you before she…you know. We’re not sure how much more time she has, and I guess…” She trailed off. “Do you want to come over for dinner with me and my mama?”
“No, I get it,” he replied quietly. “It’s okay. I’ll come over.”
The days passed quickly, routine already settling in with the nurse and Kylie; half her day was spent at work, the other half at her mother’s. She spoke to Adam every day since their morning at the beach, even if only for a few minutes, and their phone calls gave her a small reprieve from life and responsibility.
On a particularly warm, sunny day, she found herself sitting beside her mother before Dr. Gordon. The shining rays seemed so wrong, so deceitful, a stark antithesis to what was happening in front of her. To wear all black on a dreary, rainy day would have felt more appropriate.
Her foot bounced incessantly as she choked down her urge to vomit. How did they get to this point so quickly? She stared blankly at the smudges dotting the windowpane, swallowing the bitter bile that rose in the back of her throat.
This couldn’t be happening. Not yet. It was too soon.
The previous day’s conversation played like a film in her mind:
The late afternoon sun just began to touch the horizon. Kylie had returned home from work when her mother requested she come over despite the nurse’s presence. Her voice had sounded timid and tremulous on the phone, and Kylie wasted no time in heading over. No sooner had she crossed the threshold when her mother pulled her into a hug and led her to the living room.
“Sweet pea, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
Kylie frowned at the slight tremble that still lingered in her tone. “Yeah?”
“Well, when I had my checkup with Dr. Gordon yesterday, there were a few things we discussed.” Sarah inhaled sharply, her voice beginning to shake even harder. “The chemo doesn’t seem to be shrinking the cancer at all. I’m not responding to it. They ran some bloodwork as well, and…” Tears began to splash down her cheeks. “I don’t know how much longer I have, pea, but it’s not much.”
Kylie’s lips parted. Her tongue ran dry. A lump choked her throat, and she fought to swallow it down. Hot tears stung in her eyes, and a choking sob escaped. “Mama.”
Sarah reached for her, pulling Kylie’s head onto her chest as she wept. “I know, I know. Shh,” she whispered. Her shoulders shook as she cried silently. Collecting herself enough, she continued, “I’m going to sign DNR orders and meet with my lawyer tomorrow. And I know this is a lot to ask of you, but I want you to be my proxy. When, or if, I get too sick, I’ll need someone to make decisions for me. I should have asked as soon as I was diagnosed, but…”
Her cheeks burned, red and blotchy. “Mama, you have to keep fighting it. You can’t give up, not yet. Please, Mama,” begged Kylie, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.
“I know this is hard. It was a hard decision. But I’m not getting any better. The cancer is still spreading fast. And I’m tired. I want to enjoy the time I have left with you.” Sarah stroked Kylie’s hair and kissed her head.
Kylie couldn’t deny that her mother was tired; she spent more hours asleep than awake. Her once sturdy frame was diminishing, seemingly disappearing more every day. And more days were spent sick instead of doing much, and it had been over a week since she had had the energy to leave the house for anything other than appointments.
Still sobbing, Kylie finally nodded.
She shook her head, shaking away the tears threatening to build as Dr. Gordon leaned forward, marking a few spots on the paper with Xs and offering the pen. It felt heavy in more than just Kylie’s hand as she scribbled her signature.
“Dr. Gordon, do you think…with the aggressiveness of my cancer…would I be able to get in touch with hospice?” asked Sarah, her voice low while her hands fidgeted in her lap.
Kylie shrank into her seat and stared down at her empty hands, still fighting down the acidic bile rising in her throat. A mere ten weeks had passed since her diagnosis, yet it only felt like yesterday. Time slipped away far too quickly.
Dr. Gordon studied Sarah momentarily. “A palliative nurse can help alleviate any pain you might have at home, yes. I will have our hospice team contact you.”
The smudged window gained Kylie’s unfocused gaze again. It was time, now, for what had been nagging at her from the back of her mind. She reached for her mother’s hand, and her voice softened, “I can move in with you, Mama. I can help out around the house when the nurse isn’t th
ere. I’ll take a leave of absence from work.”
Sarah squeezed her hand, and Kylie managed a small, quivering smile.
How much longer did they have together? How many more dinners together? How many more cups of coffee? How many more hugs? The inevitability of it all was more than Kylie could bear, yet she held it all in, barricading herself from showing any more emotion.
“Hey, pea,” said Sarah later in the day as Kylie put on the kettle for tea. The gold chain of her necklace glinted under the ceiling light as she toyed with the pendant.
“Yeah?” Kylie wiped her hands on a dishrag before reaching into the cupboard for their mugs.
Sarah cleared her throat, her lips stretching into a sad smile. “I want you to have this.” Her fingers shook as she unclasped the chain and reached around Kylie’s shoulders, then smoothed her hair down her shoulders. “I wore it the day I married your father.”
Kylie froze, biting the inside of her lip to hold her composure. “Mama,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
As planned, after a quick shower and change of clothes after work, Adam parked his truck outside the blue colonial with red shutters. Within minutes of cutting off the engine and climbing down from the cab, the front door swung open, and Kylie bounded down the front steps and along the sidewalk.
“Hi,” she greeted. Her cheeks flushed, and she flicked her hair from her eyes. She held out her hand for his and kissed him swiftly. “Come in. Dinner’s already ready.”
He fought back a smile at her excitement as she led him up the sidewalk. Between the wilting pansies, the grass in need of desperate trimming, and the day’s on-and-off rain, the exterior had a bleak atmosphere, something that made him uneasy. Perhaps it was only his memories.
In the entryway stood a woman in her early fifties. Thin, mousy hair poked out from beneath a brightly patterned scarf. Everything about her appeared withered; her limbs were spindly, her cheeks hollow, and the dark circles under her eyes completed the image. She had a face similar to Kylie’s—heart-shaped but less rounded, and her thin lips also bore a cupid’s bow. Her blue eyes were bright, however, as she smiled at Adam. Behind their brightness hid a certain exhaustion. A definite fatigue. Beyond tired. Elliott came to mind, and he had to strain a smile in return. Elliott, with his last wisps of red hair, with permanent circles under his eyes, with tubes poking out everywhere and heaps of thin, ragged hospital blankets piled on top of him. Exactly the way he wished not to remember his brother.
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 10
