Suddenly Eric sits up straight in his chair, petty argument forgotten. “It’s Wednesday,” he says excitedly.
Willa doesn’t get it.
“The gift shop has fudgesicles for half price every Wednesday.” He’s quickly up and out of the room, but at least has the decency to ask Willa if she wants one too. She declines, and the atmosphere of the room calms by ten degrees once he’s gone.
“I have a little gift for you,” Willa says.
“Is it more soup?”
“No.”
I pout. “When I get out of here I’m going to eat a shit-ton of your soup, just to feel full again. You’ve been warned.”
Willa smirks. “A whole shit-ton?”
“Yes, one shit-ton, equal to two assloads or half a metric fuck-ton.”
She laughs and reaches into her backpack. A thermal lunch bag comes out, and to say that I’m excited is a gross understatement. She said it wasn’t soup, but it could be something equally delicious.
I tear open the bag and find…a freezer-sized Ziploc with a towel inside.
“What the?”
“The insulated bag should have kept it warm.” She cracks the top of the Ziploc and the warm scent of Gain detergent wafts out. My Willa is a genius. I pull the towel out of the bag and wrap it around my neck and face, enjoying the warmth and the comforting scent of fresh laundry. After so many days of hospital smells, this is heaven.
“God, I love you.”
Willa kisses my cheek through the towel. “Love you too.” It’s an older hand towel, well-loved and soft with use. She rubs the corner of it against my cheek. “I missed that smile.”
I am utterly content, even though everything aches and it’s hard to breathe. She knows how to make me feel better, what little gestures will bring me comfort.
“Never change,” I murmur.
Eric returns with a frozen brick of fudge hanging out of his mouth and snaps a picture. “Aw, aren’t you two cute,” he coos.
“Shut up.”
“Seriously,” he slurps his fudgesickle, “I’m happy for you. Now that you’re getting laid you’re less of a whiney maggot, most days.”
“Will you shut up?” It’s one thing to be a jackass, but it’s entirely another to be rude about private matters in front of Willa. How could he just assume we’re having sex? It’s a miracle she even wants to call herself my girlfriend and I don’t need his help to scare her away.
“Oh, please,” Eric says. “Look at you two. It’s obvious you’ve had your fingers in each other’s fruit bowls.”
Willa tries not to laugh and ends up snorting loudly. Eric takes this as a sign of vindication. “See? She thinks I’m funny.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Thursday
I get sent for another chest x-ray. There’s a crying kid in the waiting room outside Radiology, and his wailing is doing my head in. When I get back to my room all I want to do is nap, but Nurse Kim is waiting to take a sputum sample.
“You again?”
“Maggie’s on her break. Now hack it up.”
“Can’t it wait?” Dumb question; it never can.
“Jem,” she warns me.
“Satan,” I reply in the same tone.
“I’ll get the suction catheter.”
“Fine, I’ll cough; Jesus, woman.” I swear, she gets some kind of sadistic satisfaction out of this. That’s why she magically appears every time this needs to be done. There’s no half-assing the job with this nurse, either. She keeps me coughing until my diaphragm hurts, and when I finally get to lay back and rest she wants to have a conversation.
“Where’s your girl today?”
“School.”
“She’ll be coming by later?”
“Yes.” She’d better, damn it.
“I like her,” Nurse Kim declares as I rinse my mouth. “She looks like she can handle your attitude.”
“Because I need your approval.”
Kim pats me on the head like I’m five years old. “Good coughing today, smartass.” Now that’s good bedside manner.
*
The sun is past my window when I wake up from my nap, tangled in my blanket and over-warm. Mom is working on her laptop near the window and Willa is curled up in the recliner. And they totally let me sleep with my hand down my pants.
I slip my hand out and hope neither of them noticed. Willa appears to be dozing, but Mom looks up when I shift positions.
“Hey sweetie,” she says, and gets up to offer me water. “It’s almost five. I have to go home and feed the heathens soon.”
I nod. It’ll be dinnertime here soon, too. Mom asks if she should wake Willa to keep me company.
“No, let her sleep.”
Mom packs up her work and gives me a kiss goodbye. She leaves it vague as to whether she’ll be returning tonight, and I hope that Dad will insist she stay home and sleep in a real bed. I can stand a night alone.
Mom leaves with a kiss on the cheek, and I calculate. It’s almost five o’clock now. Dinner is served around five thirty, and someone will be coming around in the after-dinner hours to sample more bodily fluids—preferably blood, so I don’t have to do anything. Either way, I have thirty minutes alone with my Willa.
I swing my legs out of bed and sit up. Willa is curled up in a ball with her feet on the edge of the recliner and her knees slumped to the side. I tow my IV pole over to the side of the chair and ease my hips into the space between her body and the armrest.
Willa stirs. “Mmm, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, love.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders and kiss the back of her head. “Go back to sleep.”
Willa scoots to give me more room and uses her shoulder to recline the back of the chair even more. “Can you still breathe all right?”
I take a few test breaths. “I’m okay.”
She turns the lever to extend the footrest, and I pull her back up against my front. It’s been ages since we spooned and I miss holding her.
“Are you warm enough?”
“I’m perfect. Go to sleep, Willa.” She snuggles right in, careful of the wires and tubes around me. I don’t smell so nice right now, but she doesn’t say anything. I fall asleep with the scent of her hair in my nose and the rise and fall of her breath under my arm. Sweet bliss.
*
“Wandering, are we?”
I crack an eyelid and find Nurse Maggie standing over me with a scolding look on her face. Willa is still asleep with her chin tucked to her chest.
“Uh, I got lost on the way to bed?”
“Good try. You should be in your bed, with blankets. You’re still running a low fever, mister.” I reluctantly leave Willa, careful not to disturb her, and allow the nurse to escort me back to bed.
“Have some dinner before you go back to sleep,” she advises, and pushes the side table with a meal tray up to the bed. God, I hate hospital food. Tonight it’s flavorless broth, Jell-O, and some sort of purée that tastes like baby food.
“Thanks.”
I watch Willa sleep while I work through dinner. At one point she wakes up a little bit and scoots back into the chair, looking for my body behind her. I consider calling out to her, but Willa quickly goes back to sleep. I eat as much as I can, eager to sneak back to the recliner. The nurses can give me hell for it, but it’s better than if we were caught lying in my bed.
Before I return to the recliner I have to use the washroom. As I pass Willa, I almost give in and snuggle up to her right away, but I want to cuddle her indefinitely and that means peeing first. I touch her hair softly, just to feel it, and then carry on my way to the washroom. I’m barely past the recliner when I feel a soft smack on my ass. When I turn to look Willa is still reclined with her eyes closed, looking peaceful. I did not just imagine that.
“I know you’re awake.”
Willa feigns a snore.
“Oh grow up.”
When I turn around she smacks my butt again. I go into the washroom and lock th
e door behind me. Willa seems to be in a playful mood, and I wouldn’t put it past her to prank me in the washroom. I’m wary of her playfulness because it’s changed since we agreed to be a couple. She’s been looking at me strangely, especially when we’re alone. It’s like she’s got naughty things on her mind, secret things, and wants to do them with me. And earlier this week, when she saw me bare to the ribs, she had this look of…lust on her face. Part of me wishes she wouldn’t do that, because I can’t fulfill her expectations. That expression contains propositions for things I can’t do or am not ready for. The other part of me is stupidly stoked that she thinks well of me. I’m wanted, sick as I am.
When I come out of the bathroom Willa stretches and yawns, pretending that she just woke up.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Well, my left ass cheek is a little sore. Maybe you could kiss it better?”
Willa just smirks. She reaches over and cups my left cheek in her hand like there’s nothing to it. “You’ve got a cute bum,” she says. “Round and soft. Like bread dough.”
“Uh, thanks?”
Willa stands up and gives me a hug. I squeeze her ass for good measure and tell her it feels like ham. “Round and springy.”
Willa rolls her eyes and says I should stick to peaches, since I’m obviously a breast man. That I am. I tell Willa hers are nice, because I really can’t tell her that enough. She gets this smirk on her face and pushes me back into the bathroom.
“What?”
She locks the door behind us and takes off her shirt. Jesus. Willa mutters something about a week being too long to go without touching, and I completely agree. I try to move my oxygen mask to kiss her, but Willa insists I keep it on. She has another method of torture in mind: kissing my neck and ears with her open mouth while her hands move across my back. The stupid heart monitor gives away my accelerated pulse with an annoying beep, and Willa giggles.
I never thought I’d be making out in a hospital bathroom, but since we’re here, I enjoy it. The small of her back rests against the edge of the counter and her chest rests against my open palms. The scars on her back—the ones she showed me in the darkness of the shower—are reflected in the mirror. Seeing them makes me feel a little better; she’s imperfect too, and I’m one of the few people who know about those marks on her body.
“I missed this,” Willa murmurs, and sucks my earlobe between her teeth. Her hands move across my back and shoulders, reminding me how much I missed this too—the holding, the touching, the giving and taking.
Willa licks the shell of my ear and I blurt out, “Touch me.” She doesn’t hesitate. Her hand goes down the front of my pajama pants and cups me. Her other hand goes to my ass, pulling me closer until our fronts are nearly flush. Her hand is gentle while her mouth on my neck is not. She knows what I need, and it feels wonderful.
Willa’s feet bump against mine. “Spread,” she says, and I set my feet wider. Her legs slip in between, and the hand on my butt guides me forward again. She sets a rocking rhythm, brushing her legs against my inner thighs and the underside of my penis against her palm. She teases my balls, tugging softly and rolling them around the pad of her thumb. The heart monitor won’t shut the hell up.
I start to pant, and then I start to cough. Willa stops rocking and moves her hand up to my back, holding me. I have to spit a wad of yellow phlegm into the sink behind her, because if something horribly disgusting didn’t happen to interrupt a sexy tryst, I might forget that this is my life.
“Catch your breath,” Willa says when I’m done hacking. Her hand is still down my pants, holding my bits.
I want her mouth.
You haven’t had a proper shower in days.
My dick doesn’t care.
“You look a little pale,” she says. Now the fun is definitely over, if she’s remarking on that.
“I’m fine.”
Willa makes me turn so that I’m leaning my butt against the counter. “Let’s screw with the heart monitor some more,” she says, and suckles my earlobe. Shit. I grab her hand and put it back on my crotch.
Willa chuckles in my ear. “You’re so impatient.” Her fingers form a tight ring around my privates while she licks my ear, and after a minute I have some semblance of a semi. Her other hand slides down under the head and I buck.
“Too much?” She moves to play with my balls instead.
Just as good.
It didn’t feel this good to play with my balls before cancer. Then again, it didn’t feel so benign to jerk off or hurt like hell to come, either. Willa pays me exquisite attention, like she knows exactly what will feel best. Am I really that obvious?
There’s a knock on the door and Willa whispers, “Shh, shh,” like I’m being noisy. Well, I might have been. I wasn’t exactly paying attention.
“Jem?” God damn it, time for another sample already? I’ve got Nurse Maggie until this evening, the one who never shuts up and always has cats on her scrubs.
“I’m fine.”
Willa removes her hand from my pants with a smirk.
“You don’t sound fine.” Once, just once, I would like to get away with selling bullshit to a nurse.
“I’m fine.”
I guess I was making some pained noises with Willa, because Nurse Maggie offers me stool softeners. Willa has to cover her mouth and nose with her hands to keep from laughing, and I narrow my eyes at her. Rock hard turds are only funny until you’ve had one.
“Not necessary.”
She takes that to mean that I have diarrhea. Christ Almighty, why now? Why? Just why?
“I’m fine, Maggie.”
“So what was that groaning?”
“Jesus Christ, woman, let a man crap.”
Willa is red in the face and has tears in her eyes from trying not to laugh. I turn on the faucet to make enough noise that she can take a deep breath and calm down without being overheard.
I pull Willa close and whisper in her ear, “I’ll slip out. Wait behind the door, okay?” She nods, and I move my mask to give her a kiss. “Thanks for this.”
Willa gives me a gentle squeeze. “I needed it too.” She steps away to hide her body between the wall and the door. I flush the toilet for the sake of the charade and shut off the faucet. With one last wink in Willa’s direction, I take my IV pole and step out of our unlikely sanctuary, back to my sickbed.
“So,” I smile at Maggie as she snaps on a pair of gloves, “what fresh torture do you have for me now?”
Willa: June 17 to 19
Saturday
Between sleeping and waking there is a simple place that is entirely physical, where all I notice is whether I feel hungry or if I have to pee. Then thoughts of the day ahead filter in. Jem comes foremost in my mind, and with those thoughts comes a twinge of lust, like some primal drive to fuck in the face of disaster. Humans are a truly stupid species, evolution-wise. While every other mammal has the good sense to stop mating when a dire situation arises, humans are hard-wired to propagate, since the current generation is doomed. It’s a dumb instinct, to say the least.
More immediate concerns settle in next, like the need for breakfast before my opening shift at work.
It’s busier at the B&B now that summer is officially here. We’re seeing more tourists and there’s a wedding reception booked for next weekend.
“You seem better today,” Mrs. Elwood says to me. “Chris told me about your boyfriend being sick. Is he feeling better now?”
“Getting there.” It’s a token answer, vague and terse enough not to invite further discussion on this topic. I like my boss, but I don’t want to talk about personal stuff at work.
My shift ends at two, and I go home to prepare for the next one: visiting hours at the hospital. I portion a Tupperware of soup, throw a hand towel in the dryer to warm, and head upstairs for a shower. I’m just about to step into the tub when my phone rings, and I have to rifle through my pile of clothes to find it. Elise is calling.
“Hello?”
“Guess whose fever is gone?” she sings happily, and then switches to her normal fast-paced speech. “And they say his phlegm is looking better. I wouldn’t know, because it’s all phlegm to me, but the staff seem satisfied that he’s getting better. And no fever!” She gives a short squeal.
“That’s great.”
“He was asking when he could go home and Dad thinks that if the fever doesn’t come back and his breathing keeps getting better, he could be home to recover within the week.”
“Jem must be excited.”
“Pretty stoked,” Elise agrees. “He hates hospitals—of course. But even if he’s home he won’t be well enough to do school yet.”
I still have the shower running, so I excuse myself and end the call with promises to come over with soup as soon as I can.
I step under the spray and soak myself from head to toe. For a few moments I breathe steadily, riding the same wave of calm sobriety that I’ve been relying on since Jem first got a cold. Breathe in, breath out; stay calm and collected. And then something in me lets loose, and I snap. I can’t get enough air. I have to sit down in the tub, panting with my head between my knees, and I sob with relief. He’s going to be okay. The fears that I’ve kept locked away in the back of my mind have been addressed, and to calm them I have to actually deal with them. I’m a shaking, sopping mess, crying in the shower because things didn’t go badly wrong. And I’m filled with regret, because I have so often been the instrument of destruction. The memories I kept at bay around him can no longer be swept back into the dusty corners of the attic. My sister’s face, which has haunted my dreams and memories for so long, comes to mind now and I can feel bile rising in my throat. I gag on it, and eventually I vomit on the floor of the tub. The water is running hot, but I feel cold all over. My heart is pounding and my shaking hands are numb from reduced peripheral blood flow. With fumbling fingers I turn the water to cold, and the shock of it brings me firmly back to the moment at hand. The frigid water runs down my neck and back and thighs, making me tremble for a different reason.
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