He only smiled wider.
…
On Saturday morning, Lauren picked Andrew up at eight forty-five on the dot. She drove a black Honda Civic, and Andrew thought it fit her personality perfectly. A practical model that never seemed to go out of style.
He grinned at her after he settled in and buckled his seatbelt. “Hi.”
“Hey, you.”
She wore jeans that hugged her slim legs and a black Patagonia fleece. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, but a few pieces had escaped and rested along the creamy skin of her neck. He cleared his throat and looked through the windshield. “Long time, no see.”
She laughed once. “It’s been a week.”
“A week and two days,” he corrected, and immediately felt embarrassed. He didn’t need to be quite so obvious about his infatuation or how much he’d missed seeing her.
“How was your appointment yesterday? And chemo?”
“Good. They said my white count was a little low—”
“What was it?” she interrupted.
“I have no idea.”
“Do you have the cancer center’s app on your phone? Where you can check your test results?”
“Yeah, but it’s not a big deal. They said it was still okay for me to get chemo.”
“With Hodgkin’s we’ll treat with incredibly low white blood cell counts.” She stopped at a red light and looked over at him. “I’m not taking you to the hospital where you could be exposed to all sorts of weird infections until I know what your number was. Look it up or I’ll call Emma and find out myself.”
Andrew shifted in his seat, partially because her demanding tone was a little arousing, but also because he didn’t want Lauren to call Dr. Patel’s physician assistant and tell her they were together right now. Yesterday at his pre-chemo appointment, he let it slip that Lauren had spent Thanksgiving with his family. He hadn’t meant to, but Emma asked how his holiday was and it just kind of came out. The look of shock on Emma’s face, followed by one of suspicion, had concerned him. Worried he was going to get Lauren in trouble, he’d quickly tried to clean up his mess by explaining that Lauren and his sister had become friends, and Jeni had invited her. Then he asked some stupid question about chemo to move the conversation in another direction.
“Okay, woman,” he said in a teasing voice. “Calm down, I’ll look.”
The light turned green and she drove forward as he pulled out his phone. He logged into the system and pulled up the lab results from yesterday.
“Which one do you want to know?”
“What’s the white blood cell count?”
“One thousand eight hundred.”
“What about the absolute neutrophil count?”
“I like it when you talk science to me.”
She shook her head, appearing amused. “Just tell me the value, man.”
“Man?”
“You called me ‘woman.’”
Yes, he supposed he had.
“Okay…absolute neuro-whatever is one thousand and twenty.”
Lauren pursed her pink lips together, and Andrew fisted his free hand. Damn, he wanted to kiss her.
“It would be best if your neutrophils were above fifteen hundred, but I’m okay with above one thousand.”
“Great.” He locked his phone and lifted his hips to slide it back into his pocket. He glanced over to see Lauren’s eyes on him, but she quickly looked away, pink staining her cheeks.
He grinned.
Soon Lauren pulled into the parking garage connected to Children’s Hospital. They rode the elevator to the eleventh floor, which housed walls painted floor-to-ceiling with clouds and bright flowers. Lauren greeted several people wearing scrubs as they passed.
Finally, they reached a large, open space that reminded Andrew of the youth room at the church he’d attended as a teenager. Each wall was painted a different color, and there was a television at each end of the room, flanked by overstuffed chairs and sofas. A foosball table sat against the wall, and in the middle were several stations with varying activities just as Lauren had described.
The second they entered the room, a little boy jumped up and yelled Lauren’s name. He was thin, looked to be seven or eight years old, and completely bald. Based on how excited the boy was, Andrew wondered why he stood there looking at Lauren expectantly—Alva would have run and jumped into her arms by now.
That’s when he noticed the IV line taped to the boy’s arm, and the tall, metal pole parked next to him, a large bag of fluid swaying slightly with his movement. Lauren made a beeline for the boy and knelt down to wrap him in a hug.
Andrew’s eyes scanned the room, and his chest tightened. Several children were present, ranging in age from toddler to teenager. About half were in the same situation as the boy Lauren was talking to, rolling an IV pole around wherever they went. Others had nothing visibly attached to them, but most rocked the hairless style like Andrew.
Emotion rose up inside him unbidden, and he suddenly regretted his decision to do this. These were kids…and they were going through something so horrible…it was almost too much to bear.
A hand touched his arm, and he found Lauren back at his side.
“Look at their faces,” she murmured, looking up at him with worried eyes.
“What?”
“Their faces. They’re smiling.” She squeezed his bicep gently. Another time he would have been embarrassed that the muscle she touched was smaller than usual, because he hadn’t been able to keep up his usual regimen at the gym, but right now he didn’t care. She continued in a near whisper. “Yes, they have cancer. But they’re happy. They’re playing. Focus on their smiles, okay?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“We can leave if you want to.”
“No.” He swallowed again, forcing down the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.”
He settled his gaze on her eyes, allowing himself to find calm in their green depths.
She smiled and tugged at his elbow. “Okay, then. Let’s go color.”
They joined four other children at a large circular table covered in paper, markers, colored pencils, and crayons. Lauren took charge of the conversation, introducing Andrew and herself and asking all of their names. He thought he was good with kids—he’d never had a problem with Alva or Charlie—but something about this setting and the appearance of these children threw him off-balance. Lauren was right, though—if he focused on their smiles, it was easier to see them as any other kid. Which is probably what they wanted. He knew he didn’t want to be defined by his disease.
The children were talkative, and once he settled in and relaxed, Andrew found himself laughing and taking part in the silly conversations going on around him. Eventually he sat back and surveyed the room. He noticed a girl sitting near the window and paused.
She appeared to be the oldest in the room, maybe twelve or thirteen.
She wasn’t smiling.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Lauren. He rose and walked to where the girl sat, stopping a few feet away.
“Hi, I’m Andrew.” He held out his hand.
She looked at his hand for a second before reaching out to shake it.
She said nothing.
“May I sit?”
She shrugged and resumed looking out the window.
Andrew pulled up a chair and took in the view. “Wow. You can see a lot from up here.”
No response.
He leaned past her and pressed his index finger against the glass. “See that small pink building with the bright sign? That place makes the best ice cream. And the older-looking brown one with the guitar painted on the side? I’ve been to like, fifty concerts there. They book the best bands…but it’s standing room only, which is annoying. My feet start to hurt, but it’s worth it.” The girl’s face hadn’
t changed even a millimeter, so he decided to make something up. Thinking about the woman sitting behind him, he came up with an idea. “Oh man, and the weird-shaped gray one over there? I had a job interview there once, and you know what I did? I’m in my suit, all professional and put-together with my briefcase and a latte, and I walked straight into the glass door. Spilled coffee all over myself and I looked like a complete idiot when I walked into the reception area. Didn’t get the job, either.”
The tiniest smile in the history of smiles formed on her face, and he counted it a success. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Jasmine.”
“You don’t talk much, Jasmine.”
“You talk too much, Andrew.”
Andrew quirked an eyebrow. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Really? I’d have guessed twelve.”
That was the wrong thing to say. She scowled at him.
He tried again. “Fourteen is a good age. I learned to drive on my dad’s farm when I was fourteen. Grew an entire foot. Got really into skateboarding. Ever do that?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of dangerous,” Andrew said. He’d hit the pavement more times than he could count.
“I already have cancer,” she said flatly.
“Me too.”
That got her attention. Her mouth dropped open. “You do?”
He pulled the beanie off his head and rubbed a hand across his skull. “You couldn’t tell?”
She shrugged. “Some guys are bald by choice.” She looked down at her hands. “When you’re a hairless girl, people know something’s wrong with you.”
Andrew frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with you. If there was, that would mean there’s something wrong with me, and that can’t be true.”
Jasmine rolled her eyes, and Andrew laughed.
She stiffened. “What’s funny?”
“You just remind me of my twin sister, Jeni.”
“You have a twin?”
“Yep. Do you?”
“No.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Two younger brothers. They’re annoying.”
“Sisters are annoying, too. I have three.”
Jasmine’s expression lightened a tiny bit, as if she was accepting that she and Andrew might have things in common.
“What kind of cancer do you have?” she asked, her voice quiet.
“Lymphoma. You?”
“Neuroblastoma.”
“I’ll be honest, I don’t know what that is.” He jerked a thumb toward Lauren. “But I’ll ask her about it later. She’ll know.”
“I’ve seen her here before. Is she your girlfriend?”
“No but I wish she was.”
That got him a smile. “She doesn’t want to be your girlfriend?” Jasmine seemed to enjoy the prospect, and Andrew was a little offended.
“Don’t worry, I’m working at changing her mind.”
“Good luck with that,” Jasmine said dryly. “She’s nice. She comes here a lot, but I don’t really talk to her.”
“Why not?”
Jasmine shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Andrew twisted in his chair. Lauren had moved on to the Lego table, joining the little boy who had called out to her when they first arrived.
“I’m going back to my room.”
Andrew turned back to face Jasmine. “It was nice to meet you, Jasmine. Maybe I’ll see you next time I’m here.”
“Okay,” was all she said.
She walked away and Andrew stayed put for several minutes, looking through the window.
When it was time to leave, Lauren and Andrew walked back the same way they came. They got into the elevator, and as the doors slid together a young woman in scrubs ran up and stuck her hand through the opening. They popped back open and she jumped into the enclosed space.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to wai—hey Lauren!”
“Hi Grace,” Lauren said with a smile. “How’s it going?”
Grace pressed the number eight and the doors slid shut. “It’s going good,” she started, but then her cheerful demeanor faded. “Well, except for what happened with Kiki.”
Lauren straightened, and her face paled.
Andrew immediately went on high alert.
“What about Kiki?”
Grace’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I’m sorry, I thought someone would have told you. He passed away. On Wednesday. I’ve never seen the floor so somber, not in my seven years working here.”
Lauren’s sharp intake of breath was so intense, Andrew felt it in his own lungs. Her hand flew to her mouth, and he heard her whisper, “No…” behind her palm. On its own accord, his hand went to her shoulder.
The speaker dinged and the elevator doors slid open. Grace didn’t move right away. Instead, she stood there with this horrified, mournful look on her face. “I’m so sorry, Lauren. It came as a shock to all of us.” The doors began to close again, and Grace darted for the opening. “I have to go, but call me later and we’ll talk more, okay? I’m so sorry.”
Then Grace was gone and the doors closed again, leaving Andrew and Lauren alone.
“Lauren…” he began. He had no clue what had just happened or who Kiki was, and he didn’t know what to say. What he knew was Lauren had cared about Kiki, and she was falling apart beside him.
Without conscious thought, he pulled her into his arms. She melted in to him, gripping his shirt in her fists as her body shook with sobs. She was several inches shorter, and he rested his chin on top of her head. He rubbed circles on her back and murmured words like, “I’m so sorry” and “It’s okay,” though none of it would fix a damn thing.
A light, floral scent rose from her hair, and Andrew inhaled deeply. Was it wrong of him to feel a sense of satisfaction that she was in his arms? That he was the one bringing her comfort? He hated seeing her cry with an acute fierceness, but that emotion was offset by the pleasure of finally being able to hold her.
The elevator stopped on the third floor, and the doors opened to reveal a guy wearing a maintenance uniform, tapping at his phone. He looked up and took one step forward but paused when he saw Andrew and the crying woman in his embrace.
Andrew shot him a look that said, Don’t even think about it.
They reached the lower level where the parking garage was located. Andrew tightened his arms around her back and dipped his head to her ear to murmur, “This is us.”
She sniffed and pulled back, swiping her forearm across her eyes. Andrew felt the loss of her immediately, and he nearly pulled her back against his chest. He settled for putting his arm around her waist for support, and they walked in the direction of her car.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice shook, and she occasionally hiccupped as she inhaled. “I’m not usually like this… I’m so embarrassed.”
They came to a stop by her car, and Andrew turned her to face him. He ducked low to meet her gaze directly, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He held out his hand. “But I’m driving.”
She didn’t argue and dug around in her purse for her keys. She placed them in his palm, but before she could get in on the passenger side, he pulled her in for another hug.
“I’m sorry,” he said for the tenth time, but it was true. He was sorry she was hurting, and that she had a job where this probably happened often. He was sorry that in the back of his mind, he wondered if someday he would be the one she was crying over.
This time her arms wound around his waist, causing a tightening deep in his abdomen. His heart squeezed inside his chest and he closed his eyes, memorizing the feel of her like this.
“Thank you.” Too soon, she pulled back and opened the car door.
He went around to the driver’s side an
d got in. She sat quietly beside him as he started the car and maneuvered out of the parking garage.
They didn’t speak for several blocks, the soft melody of the radio the only sound.
He drove right past the entrance to his apartment complex.
She noticed. “Where are you going?”
“We need ice cream.” He thought she might point out that it was only eleven-thirty in the morning or that they hadn’t had lunch yet.
Instead, she nodded. “Good call.”
And just like that, he fell for her a little more.
Chapter Eleven
When Andrew pulled into Betty Rae’s parking lot, Lauren offered him a small smile. “My favorite.”
“Mine too.”
“Though you should have told me this outing would be BYOI.”
“BYOI?” he repeated.
“Bring Your Own Insulin.” Good Lord, could I sound more like a science nerd?
But the look Andrew gave her wasn’t one of forbearance. Rather, it was almost affectionate. “Is that pharmacy humor?”
She grinned. “Yeah.”
When they reached the counter, he turned to her. She’d tried to wipe away her smeared eye makeup in the car, but she bet a few smudges remained. She hoped she didn’t look too awful.
“Split a S’mores sundae?” he asked.
“You read my mind.” She said it in a light tone, but she couldn’t ignore the flutter within her ribcage. The connections forming between them today were adding up, and it was like they both knew they were nearing a tipping point.
The employee said the total and Lauren put a hand on Andrew’s sternum. His heart pounded underneath her palm. “You. Go wash your hands. I’ve got this.”
“What? No way.” He pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
She gave his chest a light shove. “I insist. You just touched all sorts of things that had grubby little hands on them, and with your white count where it is, you have to go wash your hands right this second. I’m ashamed I didn’t mention it on the way out.”
Andrew didn’t budge.
“Andrew Nathan Bishop, so help me God, I’ll make a scene if I have to.”
Perfect Distraction Page 12
