by S. Bennett
It’s not even eight yet, so I have no qualms walking right into Oley’s back kitchen door. He usually stays awake until the eleven o’clock news and keeps the door unlocked until then in case I want to come visit. It’s so funny I just walk in and out of Oley’s house like I own it, but anytime I go to visit my mom or Liz, I still knock at the door.
Oley calls from the living room, “That you, Hazel?”
“No. It’s a gang of violent trolls coming to steal your virtue,” I call back. Atticus goes trotting in there to say hello, and I pull out the container of vanilla ice cream from the fridge. “Want some ice cream?”
“No, thanks,” Oley returns.
I frown. Oley never passes up ice cream, which is why he always has several containers in his freezer. I scoop out a small bowl for Atticus and call him. He comes running back in with his toenails clicking on the tile floor. It reminds me they need a trim.
I set his bowl on the floor. He doesn’t get this treat often and he only gets a tiny bit, which is why he has it completely wolfed down before I can even turn to scoop my own bowl. Thereafter, he sits at my feet and begs me with imploring eyes for more.
Ignoring him, I take my bowl into the living room where Oley turns the volume down as soon as I sit on the couch. I sit Indian-style and rest the bowl on my lap. I’d worn jeans and a loose blouse tonight as it was mild outside for a mid-April evening but the chill from the bowl of ice cream makes me shiver.
“How was your date?” Oley asks.
I try to imagine having this conversation with my dad when he was alive, and I can’t for the life of me. He was a good dad, but he wasn’t the type I could have sat around after a date and chatted about it with. I always got the impression my dad wanted to shoot any boy who came sniffing around me.
I know he most definitely wanted to shoot Chris for luring me away from high school. My parents never knew I’d gotten pregnant and because I miscarried so soon, it was a blessing I never told them. Had my dad known, he would have for sure killed Chris for getting me pregnant and then leaving me.
But with Oley, it’s completely natural talking about these things, as long as they don’t get too overly personal.
“Let’s just say there won’t be a second date.” I dip my spoon down into the ice cream. Atticus jumps up on the couch and lays his head on his paws, right by my thigh. He stares up at me from under those brown eyebrows, silently begging for a taste. If I were to turn my head away for a moment, his face would be all in it.
“A jerk?” Oley guesses.
I grimace. “Worse. A really bad kisser.”
Oley snorts and looks back to the muted TV.
“What are you watching?” I ask. It’s on a commercial right now.
“Some movie,” he says vaguely.
“Some movie?” I ask with a laugh. “That’s original.”
He doesn’t reply, and the silence seems ominous. The hair rises on the back of my neck, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the chilliness from the bowl on my lap.
“Oley… is something wrong?” I ask him tentatively.
His neck twists so he can look at me on the couch. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”
My stomach clenches tight. Oley never complains about anything. Not even his damn hip, which I know hurts like hell sometimes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m tired, Hazel,” he says quietly. “Like really tired lately. It’s a real effort some days to get out of bed. I’ve never felt anything like this before, and at first… I thought it was just a part of getting old. But I don’t think that’s it.”
“What do you think it is?” I ask him hesitantly.
“I don’t know,” he replies, his voice feather soft and fatigued. “But I think I need to get a checkup.”
I lean forward and put the bowl on the coffee table, uncrossing my legs. Atticus starts to make a move for it, and I say, “Don’t you even think about it.”
My tone is cold and cutting, and for the first time I can ever remember, Atticus sort of shrinks down into himself and lays his head back on his paws. He actually obeys me where food is involved, and he doesn’t move a muscle.
This doesn’t surprise me as it’s obvious he can feel the tension in the room right now.
To Oley, I say, “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call and get you an appointment.”
Oley nods, and there’s no mistaking the relief in his eyes. He gives a tiny laugh. “I don’t even have a primary care doctor.”
“I’ll find someone good,” I assure him. “And I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Maybe just need some vitamins or something.”
“Or something,” Oley mutters, and his gaze goes back to the TV. He lets his head fall back to the recliner with a sigh, turning the volume back up.
I silently eat my ice cream, although it feels like it’s curdling in my belly. The fact Oley is asking to go see a doctor makes me want to vomit. He’s a tough, old country man, and I sort of convinced myself he was invincible because of how hard he works day in and day out at his age.
My nose stings as tears prick at my eyes. I blink them back and offer my bowl to my dog, not hungry anymore. Atticus gently licks my bowl clean.
CHAPTER 46
Hazel
“This isn’t up for discussion,” Oley tells me as his hands curve around the cup of coffee before him. My own coffee sits untouched and unloved. I don’t feel like drinking it. Or anything for that matter.
I want to rail at Oley. Everything should be up for discussion. Opinions matter, particularly mine.
He’s being shortsighted.
He’s not in the right frame of mind to be making such decisions without truly considering all angles.
Too much has fucking happened the last few weeks, and he’s reeling. I’m reeling. We need to take a step back, take a deep breath, and we need to make good decisions.
Except Oley isn’t willing to accept that there’s a “we” in all this.
There’s only him, and his opinion.
“Oley,” I say placatingly, hoping to gently poke around his defenses.
“No,” he says sharply, holding a hand up. “My decision is final.”
“But—”
“Hazel,” he says. He slams his hand down on the table, making my coffee cup rattle and me jump a few inches out of my chair. His angry expression only holds for a moment, before it relaxes into contrition. “I’m sorry, Hazel. I know this is hard. But I need you to respect my wishes.”
I burst into tears.
He’s so very fucking right about all of it, and I hate him for it. I bury my face in my hands, ignoring Atticus as he ducks his head under and tries to push into my neck.
“Get away,” I mumble as I shoulder him away. He starts to whine with the need to try to make me feel better, and I’m such a bitch because I won’t let him.
I want to feel bad.
I need to feel this pain, so I can possibly shoulder some of it for Oley.
You see, we found out last week that he’s going to die.
I just found out moments ago from Oley that he’s choosing to die sooner rather than later.
The last few weeks have been a blur for me, and I can’t even begin to imagine how Oley’s been feeling about all of this. When he’d told me he wasn’t feeling well, yeah… I was apprehensive, but I never imagined I’d be sitting here at his kitchen table having this discussion.
I was able to get him in fairly quickly to a doctor, and it was easy enough with some bloodwork to figure out his fatigue was from an iron deficiency. But that led to a colonoscopy, and I was not prepared for the gastroenterologist to call Oley one night while we were having dinner to give him the results.
Colon cancer, which was also in his lymph nodes.
It only went downhill from there. Within days, he was having a CT scan, which showed the cancer had metastasized to his liver. Several spots there, in fact.
It’s a fatal diagnosis, but with the advancements in medicine Oley had options. Surgery to
remove the mass, and then aggressive chemotherapy and immunotherapy to shrink the disease. If the stars and moon were aligned, it could potentially even buy him a few years.
It was a small ray of hope that could actually drive away the darkness for a bit.
But Oley snuffed the golden light out when he told me a bit ago, “I’m not going to have treatment.”
I went on a ten-minute rant and when I wound down, Oley asked me for a cup of coffee. I seethed while I made it, and when I set it down on the table in front of him, he’d told me. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
I let my eyes roam over Oley’s face as I wipe away my tears. He looks exhausted from our discussion, and it makes me feel terrible. I don’t want to sap what little bit of life he has left on stupid arguments.
But it’s not stupid.
It’s about one of the most important lives I’ve ever known.
“Hazel,” Oley says again, interrupting my thoughts. I blink at him… blink away more tears. “I need you to be strong for me. I know it’s not fair to ask you, but you’re the one I’m going to lean on. I know you can do it. You’re one of the strongest women I know. But I need you to let go of the idea that I can be saved, because I can’t be, nor do I want to try.”
My chest burns with the need to argue. It’s like I’m filled with the Holy Spirit, and I want to preach a fiery sermon on the preciousness of life and how he should respect it.
How he should respect me and what I want.
But I swallow it down until it’s a low flame deep in the pit of my stomach.
It takes great effort and force of will, but finally I nod at him. “Okay. It’s whatever you want, and I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”
Oley extends a hand and covers mine. His grasp is warm and strong, and it’s hard to believe he’s going to die. The doctor said six months or less without treatment.
“I need to make a plan,” he says softly.
I twist my hand, turn it palm up, and spread my fingers. Wrapping mine around his, I clasp it hard. It’s my turn to squeeze. “We need to make a plan. It’s a “we” thing, Oley.”
His blue eyes look positively ancient as they well with tears. He nods back at me. “Okay. We need to make a plan.”
♦
That night, I sit out on Bernard’s trailer steps. We huddle close, our shoulders pressed to each other.
Bernard and I sip on expensive micro brews I’d picked up on the way over here.
Part of the plan was for me to come tell Bernard Oley’s decision. I left Oley back at the farm, so he could call Tara and Cameron to tell them. They had no clue any of this was going on, as Oley wanted to wait to tell them until he knew everything about his condition.
Bernard was a little different. Oley had told him as soon as the pathology results came in from the colonoscopy. It was my job to tell him that Oley was choosing not to fight it.
Tipping my head back, I take in the velvety night sky thick with twinkling stars. I wish Atticus was here with me, so I could bury a hand in his fur and ponder life’s mysteries as I stare upward. But I left him with Oley because I don’t want Oley ever left alone again.
“You know this is all going to fall on you,” Bernard says thoughtfully.
“I know.” Oley seems to think my shoulders can handle it. There’s no way Tara and Cameron will uproot their lives to come watch their father die. I bet they come to visit soon, though. They’ll want to assess the situation. They’ll pull me aside for a frank talk about what’s needed from them. They’ll act concerned—and I’m sure they will be—but they’ll expect me to deal with it all, just as I’ve always done where their father is concerned.
“What kind of help do you need from me?” Bernard asks.
I give a bark of a laugh. “You know what that crazy old coot wants to do?”
“What’s that?”
“He wants to build a chicken coop.” It comes out with a maniacal kind of laugh. I thought coming up with a plan would be about funerals and such, but Oley apparently has a bucket list. “Says he’s been wanting to build one for years, but he just never got around to it.”
Bernard chuckles. “No kidding?”
“You can help build the coop,” I say as I turn my head to look at him.
Bernard smiles, tapping the neck of his beer bottle against mine in a silent toast. We take sips as we stare out into the darkness.
“Be there for him as much as you can,” I finally answer his original question in a serious way. “We need to make the most of his time left.”
Voice thick with emotion, Bernard says, “I’ll spend all my time with him, Hazel. Move into the damn farmhouse if I have to. We’ll make the most of it.”
“He’ll get sick of you and bark at you to leave,” I say with a grin on my face. We’ll definitely see some of Oley’s crankiness, I’m sure.
“He’s got cancer,” Bernard teases. “He won’t be strong enough to make me leave.”
My laughter is genuine. I imagine Bernard and I will do a lot of double teaming on Oley over the next several weeks.
“What can we expect?” Bernard asks hesitantly, and my laughter dies flat.
Not even trying to stop the tears that flood my eyes, I just blink and let them roll down my face, sniffing hard at the snot that starts to form in my nose. Bernard gives me a comforting nudge with his shoulder.
“It’s called failure to thrive,” I say in a flat voice. “The cancer will just eat away the good cells. His liver will start to fail. He’ll get weak. Won’t want to eat. And just little by little, his body will just give up.”
“Will he be in pain?” Bernard asks. His voice is husky and quavers with emotion. I risk a glance at him to see shiny paths of wetness coating his own scruffy cheeks.
“No,” I assure him. “There will be plenty of medicine to make him comfortable in the end.”
“A blessing,” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I agree.
CHAPTER 47
Atticus
Oley has smelled funny for a while now. He’s always smelled different from Hazel. A little dusty in the bones is the best way to describe it, but it’s a smell I love because I associate it with Oley, and I love Oley.
But now, there’s an underlying scent. Of something rotten deep inside of him. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s making Oley sad.
It’s also making Hazel sad, and I feel helpless. I don’t think giving me rubbins is going to chase away this type of sorrow.
She left me a bit ago to go see Bernard. Normally, I want to go everywhere with Hazel but when she told me to stay with Oley, that seemed right.
He’s sleeping in his recliner while I lay on the floor beside him, keeping watch. I had listened earlier while he called Tara and Cameron. They’re nice enough people the few times they’ve visited and they like dogs, so I get lots of attention. But those phone calls took a toll on him, and he fell fast asleep after settling in his chair.
Its good Hazel left me behind. I can keep watch over Oley, and I’ll be certain to offer my head for scratches as soon as he wakes up.
CHAPTER 48
Atticus
We park at the end of the block and after Hazel has me hooked up to my leash, we take a leisurely walk to the hardware store.
Normally I don’t go on store runs with Hazel, but she said this one allowed dogs inside, so it’s a special day indeed. I’m high stepping with my chest puffed out. People pass us and smile. A few ask to pet me, and I let them as I sense no danger to Hazel.
We’ve never been to this area of town before. Hazel said it was the “original” downtown, and that they are trying to refurbish it with small businesses. There are quite a few that sell food because I can smell all sorts of delicious things that make my belly rumble.
And wait… that smell is familiar.
Not food—and it’s weird I’d even pay much attention to something that wasn’t food, but yes… I know that smell.
It’s of man and fun and ki
ndness.
It’s a smell that made Hazel very happy once, and I must inspect this further. Hazel’s had a very heavy heart of late because of Oley.
I can’t very well tell Hazel we have to go on an adventure to root out what’s piqued my interest, so I do what any bad dog with a strong head and stubborn mind would do.
I bolt.
Poor Hazel, who is so trusting of me being obedient on my leash, lets it slip easily through her fingertips. Her cry of surprise causes me a tiny pang of guilt.
But I’m on a mission. I stretch out into a flat-out run, my leash bouncing along beside me as I traverse the concrete sidewalk. I almost get sidetracked by the smell of hot dogs from a cart I pass by, but for once, something is more important than food to me.
Right there.
Up ahead.
In that building that has a few tables with chairs outside of it. The door is propped open, and I come to a skidding halt as a woman walks out of it holding a cup of coffee. I give a deep inhale at her legs, and she shrieks in surprise.
No, that’s not what I’m looking for.
“Atticus,” Hazel calls at me sharply. I see her running my way, and I make a command decision.
I jet into the building, immediately getting overwhelmed by the smell of coffee. It’s everywhere, and I lose the scent that drew me here.
People are sitting around at tables with cups of fragrant coffee in front of them. I’m immediately noticed, and people point and laugh as I look wildly around.
Hazel comes bursting into the shop behind me. I take another deep breath, lifting my nose as high into the air as I can possibly extend it.
I capture the scent just as Hazel makes a lunge for my leash, and I dash away from her once more. Weaving my way through tables, I hear someone yell out, “Hey… get that damn dog out of here.”
“Atticus,” Hazel yells sharply, and I know I’m in big trouble.
But what’s done is done. I must press forward.
Right to a table where a man sits, grin wide and laughing as I approach. Another man wearing a uniform and smelling strongly of coffee stomps up with a very angry expression on his face just as Hazel catches up to me.
