Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2)

by Lowe, T. I.

  Julia takes the hint and picks up her plate and pops a broccoli spear in her mouth. “Sure. Thanks.”

  I come back out of the RV and hand it over to her. Then I grab her bags. “You can have the bedroom,” I call out over my shoulder. I thought this would make her happy, but she surprises me again.

  “No. You’re legs are too long for my bed. Besides, I’ve gotten attached to it.” I don’t know why, but it makes me happy that she referred to the bed as hers.

  I look back over to her. “If you’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. And Greyson... Thank you. I really need this.” Julia’s eyes glisten with emotion and I can see how much she really does need this.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and carry Julia’s luggage into the RV. As I stow her belongings in the bathroom and some in the bedroom drawers I emptied out for her, all I can think about is those big blue eyes rimmed with tears. She’s a beautifully fragile woman and she’s so lost. I want nothing more than to find her.

  Julia surprises me again later in the night. When I retire for the evening around ten, she does as well. It’s the first time we both go to bed at the same time. I notice through the night her staring at me as though she was trying to work through talking to me about something. I guess she will in her time.

  ~~~~

  I’m awakened with something… No… Someone pressing her fingers to my chest. I pretend to sleep because I know those touches are searching for answers that I have no desire to address. Julia continues to run her fingers along the pucker of the scar on my chest, and then she moves to the smaller scar on the side of my neck. Goose bumps rise along my skin from her touch. Her silky hair falls near my nose and I inhale deeply to capture the sweet subtle scent she always carries with her. It’s a very faint floral smell and I know I could pick her out of a crowd by that fragrant scent alone. My hand weaves into those locks before I can stop myself and I start threading my fingers through—from her scalp on towards her waist. My breath catches when she presses her warm lips to the scar. I’m about to push her away when I hear faint sniffles. Great. So she’s already figured it out.

  “What’s with you and sleep stalking me?” I grumble out, trying to defuse her.

  She ignores my comment and gets right to it. “You’re sick,” she whispers.

  “Nah. I’m good,” I say, hoping to brush her off. I still haven’t opened my eyes, but a rustling of papers do the trick. I pop them open and see her studying my latest bloodwork.

  “You’re sick,” she repeats.

  I grab the papers from her and sit up. “If you knew how to read this, you’d know it states that I have a clean bill of health.” I rub my hand over my face.

  Julia bats at her escaped tears. “But you’re not… These past two years.” She’s shaking her head in disbelief.

  I can’t handle a crying Julia. I let out a frustrating sigh. “Can you give me a few minutes?” I ask as I scoot out of the bed. I’m almost out the door when I hear Julia gasp dramatically so I turn around to see what’s wrong.

  “Greyson Stone, you… You look… Honey… You look delicious. You’re filling back out in all the right spots.” I know she’s just stating her observations because she’s still sniffling in all seriousness. I see no mocking in her face.

  “Knock it off, Thorton,” I grumble and quickly head to the bathroom to hide the grin on my face. Even though I’m a model, I’m not a vain guy. But man did these last two years really give my self-confidence a beating. It feels good to not look like death any longer.

  I take my time in the bathroom, not wanting to address the elephant trapped in this RV. I pull on some shorts and a T-shirt after a long hot shower and shave. I drag out the flossing and teeth brushing for as long as I can before exiting. I find Julia making coffee. She’s still wearing a flimsy hot pink tank top and tiny night shorts. Her hair is wild with waves and falls nearly to her waist. I’m not comfortable with the comfort I find with her back in my life. I know that thought makes little sense, but it’s how I feel. Oddly, it seems like she should always be right here in my space. When she turns around to look at me, I see she’s still upset. And that does something terrible to my heart.

  “Please tell me.”

  I have a seat in one of the large leather chairs, feeling tired just thinking about the whole ordeal. “Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.”

  “What… What’s that?” Julia stutters as she grabs hold of the counter for support, and so I know she already has it.

  “Cancer,” I answer with a shrug.

  She stumbles over and throws herself in my lap. Sobs are immediate and fierce as she buries her head in my neck. I wrap my arms around her and try to comfort her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have been there for you,” she says after she eventually cries out.

  Rubbing her back, I try to explain, “I got through it. I’m okay.”

  “You didn’t have to go through this alone. Why did you completely leave me in the dark?”

  “I wasn’t alone. My parents and church family barely left my side. Julia... Look at you. Sweetheart, you can hardly handle it now even though I’m in remission. It would have been too much on you.”

  “You’re my closest friend, and I had no clue that you were sick.” She sits up, her eyebrows are pinched, and those blue eyes are filled with so much hurt. I know how much she means to me, but I just never thought I could mean as much to her.

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t put you through it. It wasn’t pretty. You just don’t understand.”

  She looks at me sternly. “Then explain to me exactly what happened and how, please. I need to understand.”

  I take a deep breath and for the next hour or so I explain life, or more close to the truth hell, with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I start from the beginning—how I started not feeling like getting out of bed most days, crazy night sweats, and then finding the knot on the side of my neck. I was already at stage four when I finally agreed to get checked out. Those days are blurry, almost like an out-of-body experience. I was there surrounded by doctors looking at me gravely, being admitted one day, and having my first chemo round the next morning. A port was put in my chest to administer the poisons to the cancer as well as the rest of my body that took a brutal beating. I had the lymph node in my neck removed as well as one in my armpit.

  Over a year into the treatments, I found myself feeling like death had already won. With my immune system completely wiped out, I almost died several times from infections. I withered away and had to have a feeding tube after I went close to two weeks of eating nothing. Really, each day I was surprised to actually wake up. Blood transfusions became a part of my life and I wasn’t joking when I told Julia I was portraying a vampire. On top of that I got my days and nights mixed up and found myself losing any exposure to the sun and roaming the hospital halls at night when I had the energy. And when I didn’t, my mom would push me around in a wheelchair. She retired from the school she had taught at all of my life and refused to leave my side. We prayed a lot and cried a lot in those dark days. Our go-to Bible verse was Psalm 6:2 - Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am faint; Oh Lord, heal me, for my bones are in agony. We called out that verse daily and God heard us because just as I have explained to Julia, my body is healed. I’m cancer free.

  Julia eventually cries herself out and falls asleep cuddled in my lap. I’m exhausted too so I recline in the chair and let sleep claim me while I hold her tight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julia

  A few days have passed since Greyson came clean about what was going on. We’ve spent a lot of time with me impatiently asking questions and him patiently answering them. I just can’t get over how close he had come to death and survived it. And I thought I had problems. This revelation has really put things in perspective. I’ve tried to not stress him out, so I’ve stuck to a protein shake in the mornings or some of his oatmeal and then forcing myself to eat a little supper with him. He knows that’s a big step for me so he’s not
pushed for more. The exercise or the nonexistence of it is even harder. I get so antsy and I just have to get rid of the pent up energy. Running from things or drinking them away are my two ways of dealing and now I have to figure out another way. Greyson says talking to him is an option, but I can’t bring myself to do that. I mean, really; the poor guy doesn’t need my issues piled on top of his own.

  I want him to be able to focus on getting his strength back and not trying to fix me. I’m pretty sure that’s not possible anyway. So when he says we are painting in the park today, it’s all I can do not to start whining. Painting in the park? Really? I’ve chewed small sores inside my lip, trying not to fuss. I say nothing, just climb on my moped and follow behind him. I let out all sorts of nasty words of frustration on the road though, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the roar of the mopeds.

  Okay. So it’s not some lame kiddy park. Nope. Greyson has led us to a tranquil park that is smack dab in the middle of a mountain valley with a thick brook splitting the grounds. An old wood-covered bridge joins the two sides together and we cross over it to meet the art class. There are chairs and easels set up on the bank, positioned to face different scenes. Some are of the mountain views and some are angled towards the weathered bridge. The group members are already picking their spots, but I choose neither. This is not my cup of tea. At all.

  I pick a spot beside my fisherman. Yes, he is still sporting his fishing hat along with well-worn jeans and a deep blue shirt that is doing something wonderful to those big green eyes of his. He chooses the mountain scene and sets into the project with gusto as I sit and check my phone. I scan through my emails and then do an estimation with my caloric intake on my calorie count app. I’m keeping it under one thousand calories a day—I think—I hope. I answer a text from my agent, Leeza. She wants permission to sell some of my stock shots I’ve posed for before I left. I give her permission because this will keep my face out there without me doing any more added work. I look up from my phone screen and find Greyson glaring at me, so I pocket the phone and pick up a brush to appease him.

  Instead of painting, I choose to sit and watch my companion get lost in his work.

  “Why aren’t you painting?” Greyson asks without looking up from his canvas.

  “I don’t paint. I didn’t know you did either,” I remark as I run my fingers through the soft bristles of the brush I’m holding.

  “I don’t. I just always thought it would be fun to try.” He glances over to me and nods towards the unused paints on my palette. “Why don’t you just give it a try too?”

  I think about pointing out that my hands won’t steady enough to paint the delicate smooth strokes he seems to have already mastered, but he is back to getting lost in his painting and ignoring me. I dab the brush through the light blue paint blob and move it towards my blank canvas. My hand has a never-ending tremble that I can’t shake so my sweeping stroke looks more like a jagged blue lightning bolt. Ugh! I let out a groan of frustration and set the brush down.

  “I don’t get this,” I fuss while I try unsuccessfully to rub the tremors out of my hands. I really could use a drink to help steady me. Just one…

  “Just chill out, Thorton. It’s not a contest,” Greyson mumbles as he concentrates on his work. Easy for him to say, because it looks like he has mastered the art of painting within twenty minutes of picking up the stupid brush. The mountain scene on his canvas is already taking shape.

  I let out another sigh and pick the brush back up to try again. I only get the same results, though. Messy squiggly lines. It’s frustrating so I sort of accidently throw my brush and helplessly watch on as it plops in Greyson’s lap.

  “Seriously?” he asks in his own frustration as he hands me the brush back. He dabs a cloth over the blue smudge on his pants, but I think he may be stuck with that.

  Oops.

  I feel my control slipping as my frustration escalates and I lash out before I can stop myself. “This is just ridiculous. Shouldn’t an instructor be guiding us through some sort of step by step process? And some beginner’s pointers wouldn’t hurt. We paid enough for this class—”

  Before I can continue with my rant, Greyson stands up and starts gathering his art supplies and canvas. I follow suit but he puts a hand on mine to stop me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “No. I want to enjoy this and you’re ruining it. Stay right here and be miserable.”

  “But… Where are you going?”

  He points to a vacant chair. “Over there so I can paint in peace.” He begins walking away but pauses to add, “Talk about being the fun police.” And he’s not joking around this time. There’s a bite to his words.

  Greyson leaves me all alone with my wreck of a canvas. Well. This makes me downright mad, so I start slapping all sorts of colors on the canvas and swirl them together in my anger. Eventually oranges burst through the hues of blues and mingle with more shades of the rainbow. And I swear I actually lose myself in it after a while. The anger drains away, and I am left with some sort of contentment.

  By the end of class, my canvas is covered in paint—as well as my outfit. Honestly, my artwork is a hot mess of color and design, but somehow I was able to escape into it for a spell and forget about my worries. During the long walk back to the parking area, Greyson keeps looking over at me and my canvas with a smug look on his handsome face. I say not a word and neither does he, but it’s obvious he achieved more than a hand painted mountain scape.

  I head straight to the shower when we return to the RV to scrub the paint off. Afterwards, I slide on a fresh pair of shorts and a tank top and decide to forgo blow-drying my hair and head back outside to see what Greyson is up to.

  I come close to passing out at what I find. Greyson is laid out in the small patch of yard and my heart stops at the sight. I rush over, straddling his lap, and start shaking him. “Greyson!” I shout.

  “What?” He exaggerates his word in annoyance.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” I pull his shades off so I can see his eyes.

  “You yelling at me is what’s wrong.” He looks up at me through squinted eyes.

  But I’m still confused. “Why on earth are you lying on the ground? I thought you passed out or…”

  “I was just trying to enjoy watching the clouds roll by,” he answers, and all I can think of is why on earth a grown man would want to do such a thing. But then I remember.

  I sit up on his stomach and his hands go to rest on my hips on what seems to be their own accord.

  “You scared me,” I whisper as I ease his shades back over his eyes so he doesn’t have to keep squinting from the sun.

  Greyson repositions me on his lap and sits up. “Can I be honest with you?”

  “As if I have a choice in that matter.” I smirk and brush some grass clippings from his shirt.

  “This is why I wanted to do this trip alone, so I could just be a normal guy with no one worrying over me dropping dead on them.” I stiffen at this statement and he starts rubbing my back to rid me of it. “I have no plans on doing that. It’s just… Now you know and now I worry you are going to pity me.”

  I scoff at this. “Like pitying me isn’t what you’ve always done.”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve never pitied you. I’ve always cared about you. It’s a big difference.”

  “I care about you, too. How’s about we just keep caring for one another?”

  “Okay.”

  “And Greyson… I’m sorry I ruined your travel plans.” I know I’ve put such a wrench in his adventure. I’m trying but keep failing.

  “No worries. Just as long as you can knock this stuff off.” He pats my hips for emphasis.

  “How?”

  “Just pretend I’ve never been sick. And pretend you like me for good measure.” He grins at me and I can’t help but do the same.

  I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll try. But you have to admit you would have thought the same, if you found me sprawled out on the ground.�
��

  “Fair enough. Now get off me.” He pats my hips again so I stand up.

  Later tonight as we sit down at the picnic table to record our thoughts in our journals, I find another Bible verse from Greyson. Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another, even as also ye do. – 1 Thessalonians 5:11. He also wrote – Thanks for caring about me. This man is beginning to do crazy things to my heart.

  ~~~~

  The stay in West Virginia was a significant part of this journey. So much so I’m still writing my thoughts down in my journal as Greyson drives us on towards Kentucky. We’ve been on the road for close to an hour now and he is already starting up about being hungry. He’s always hungry, by the way.

  “Would you mind getting us a snack?” he asks.

  “Sure, honey.” I set the journal down and head to the kitchen and grab both of us an apple and bottle of water. For good measure, I snatch him a granola bar and a protein shake. I place his bounty near him and start nibbling the green peel off my apple.

  Greyson glances over at me with his head tilted in that way only he can do before redirecting his attention back to the highway. “Honey?” he asks as he takes a bite of his apple.

  I smile at his question. “You remember Miss May, right?”

  “Yep. You’ve talked enough about her over the years, I feel like I know her personally.”

  “Honey is what she’s always called me and just me. It made me special and set apart. Savannah has always been the closest to Miss May. She practically lived with her off and on during most of her teen years. Even though they have a unique bond, Miss May has a way of never letting me feel any less important to her.” I take another nibble of my apple as I watch Greyson drive.

  “Humph,” he says absently as he focuses on switching lanes. “I’m the only one you’ve ever called honey.” He seems a bit distracted.