Chapter 20
Price
I’ve unintentionally madea new friend. Ed’s back on track, and we figured out the best way to keep him in his house. In return, he’s insisted on fixing my fence. I had no idea the fence needed fixing.
“Got any coffee?” he asks, pulling a hanky from his pocket to wipe his brow when I offer him a glass of water.
“I don’t. I have juice.”
“Orange?”
I shake my head.
“Apple?”
Again, I shake my head. “Carrot, beet, and ginger.”
His nose wrinkles. “You one of them health nuts?”
“Guilty.”
He grumbles, nodding to the door, inviting himself inside after working for only thirty minutes. “I suppose your concoction won’t kill me.” He starts to follow me then stops. “Grab that bag.”
I glance to my right at the worn brown briefcase on the deck beside his toolbox. “This?”
He nods.
I carry it inside, and he takes it from me while I get his juice.
“I noticed you didn’t have anything from The Righteous Brothers.” Ed pulls his vinyl record from its cover, blows on it, and plays it on my turntable.
It’s impossible not to grin as Ed snaps his fingers and sways his bony hips in the middle of my living room.
“You think I’ve lost that lovin’ feeling?” I ask, handing him a bottle of juice.
He takes the juice and sits on the sofa while I inspect his small stack of records in his briefcase.
“You’re living by yourself, young man. Either you’ve lost it, or you haven’t found it. Which is it?”
“Maybe both,” I mumble.
The Four Seasons.
The Coasters.
Brenda Lee.
He’s an oldies guy.
“Divorced?”
I shake my head.
“Widowed?”
Another headshake.
“Gay?”
I grin. “No.”
“What’s your problem?”
His directness is refreshing.
“Haven’t you heard of a straight male being single by choice?”
“No.”
I laugh, and it feels so good.
“But I don’t understand your generation, so forget I asked.” Ed has a beet-red mustache, and from the look on his face, I’d say he’s not a fan of my juice, but he slowly sips it anyway.
“How did your wife die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Cancer.” Ed slowly shakes his head. “Just between us, I think it might have been the chemo that killed her. That stuff’s poison.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It was quick. She didn’t even make it through one round. Diagnosed and gone in less than six weeks.” He gives me a sad smile. “Took me a long time for everything to register. Sometimes, I still forget she’s gone. I’ll be watching TV and yell for her to bring me something.” He stares at his juice. “I bet she’s up there laughing her ass off.”
I sit in the armchair adjacent to the sofa. “I bet she is too.”
Ed tosses me a wry grin, but it quickly fades when he sighs. “Cancer’s gonna take all of us. Or a heart attack. Strokes are up there, too.”
“Accidents. Chronic respiratory disease. Covid. Alzheimer’s. Diabetes,” I add.
Ed eyes me like I’m the morbid one, but in the next breath, he takes another swig of his juice. “Suicide, homicide.”
I nod, fighting my grin. “Lightning strike. Shark attack.”
“You need to get laid, young man.”
I chuckle. He’s not wrong.
I’ve movedmy bedtime to nine instead of ten. Sleep is my friend. Just as I fall into a peaceful slumber, there’s a knock at my door.
Opening my eyes, I wait. Maybe there wasn’t a knock. Maybe it was a dream.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
With a sigh, I sit up and pull on a T-shirt. The wood floor creaks as I approach the door, turning on the entry light.
Scottie’s nose wrinkles. “Shit. You were asleep. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”
I nod at the big bag in her hands. “Whatcha got?”
“Things to make you better.”
“Better than what?”
Her crestfallen face doesn’t appreciate my humor.
“Come in.” I step aside.
“I really need to find another employee.” She slips out of her Birks and carries the bag to the kitchen.
I flip on the light over the sink. “Are you firing me?”
“No. I need someone to work so I can check on you before your bedtime.”
“Scottie,” I scratch my head, “I don’t want you checking in on me.”
“Someone needs to.” She pulls smaller bags and bottles of supplements out of her big bag.
“Why?”
“Because you live alone.”
“Did it ever occur to you that I live alone for a reason?”
She looks up at me. “You don’t want me here.” Her lips twist. “That’s rude.”
“No. That’s not it. I want you here. I want you here in ways you can’t understand. But I don’t want to be your pet project, patient, or burden.” I shake my head. “A job. A distraction.”
“You’re not.”
“Can we just go back to you knowing about my cancer but not telling me that you know, and I’ll pretend that you don’t know even though I know you know? Ya know?”
That line forms at the bridge of her nose, but it falls victim to her giggles.
I don’t care what she has in that bag; it can’t begin to heal me like the beautiful sound coming from her right now.
“Price. It’s not a coincidence that you came into Drummond’s when you did. It was fate. You needed me.”
More than you know.
But it wasn’t fate.
“And I have to believe that I need to do this, not only for you but also for me. I need something to keep me from losing myself in Koen.”
“Losing yourself?” I fill my water glass.
“He asked me to move in with him. And I didn’t think. I just said yes.”
“If his house is bigger than your trailer, I can see how you might get lost.”
“Har har.”
I pull out a chair, straddling it backward, and inspect the contents of the bags. “What do you mean by getting lost?”
She sits next to me. “The way I got lost in you.”
Glancing up from the bottle of nattokinase, I narrow my eyes. “You felt lost in me?”
She nods. “I spent entirely too much time thinking about you when we weren’t together. And when we were together, I resented the passing of time.”
I try not to react, but it’s a terrible feeling to think of how oblivious I was to her emotional state. “I was a terrible boyfriend. And don’t try to convince me otherwise. Just let me own this.”
“You were the worst.”
“Thanks.”
She laughs.
“Scottie. This stuff had to cost a lot. I’ll get you some cash.”
“Don’t. I’m not your level of wealthy, but I’ve lived a frugal life and saved almost everything.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What is my level of wealth?”
“Filthy.”
With an easy nod, I hum. “Filthy, huh? Sounds exorbitant.”
Her grin slides off her face, replaced with a tiny frown. “Why didn’t you do chemo?”
“Because what I have is a death sentence, and palliative chemotherapy can do more harm than good. I fell into a rabbit hole of stories from people who beat the odds by lifestyle and diet changes. And by beating the odds, I mean they lived longer than expected, and some are still alive. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. It’s not death. I’m not afraid of dying, but I’m really fucking terrified of suffering. If staring death in the face isn’t life-changing, then I don’t know what is. So here I am … changing my life. And if I don’t live, I want to go out on my terms.”
Tears fill her eyes, but she manages to keep them from escaping. “Your parents have to be beside themselves.”
“They are. But there’s nothing they can do.”
“Well,” she says, putting on a brave face and blotting her eyes, “you’re going to live.”
“I am.”
“But let’s continue to tip the scale in your favor.” She goes through the supplements, healing stones, essential oils, flower essences, non-toxic deodorant, and other safe body products.
When she pulls out the enema bag, my eyes widen, but she ignores me. Scottie knows her stuff. She’s lived this life, and maybe that’s why she’s single. But I’d rather she honor her true self than bend to anyone.
“Dry brush before you shower. Make sure your strokes go in the direction of your heart. And you really should look into a sauna and red light therapy.”
I stand, jerking my head for her to follow me.
She grins when I show her my red light and sauna in the spare bedroom, along with my rebounder and meditation pillow. After scanning the room multiple times, she faces me. “You don’t have internet.”
I shake my head.
“No cell phone.”
She already knows this, but I affirm her statement anyway.
“Who are you?” she whispers through her grin. “An outcast?”
Scottie’s proud of me. And while I don’t need that from her, it’s still nice not to feel judged.
“I love you, Price. In a purely non-sexual way.”
I twist my lips for a few seconds. “I think outcasts rarely get laid anyway, so I’d expect you to love me in a purely non-sexual way.”
She rolls her eyes before pivoting and returning to the kitchen. “If you need to get laid, I can find you a nice girl.”
“You marry nice girls. You get laid by dirty girls.”
Her face flushes. “Fine. I’ll find you a dirty girl.”
“As dirty as you used to be?”
She curls her hair behind her ear and averts her gaze. “I was a virgin. You were the dirty older man who made me unclean.”
I finish my water and set the glass by the sink. “It would have been nice to know about your virginity before I was in the process of unknowingly taking it.”
Scottie fiddles with the empty sacks, folding them and sliding them into the larger one. “In other news … I couldn’t control my emotions when Koen came home. And when I told him I couldn’t share why I was so upset, it didn’t go over well.”
“Yet, you’re moving in with him even though you’re scared of getting lost in him.”
She eyes me, teeth trapping her lower lip. “Bad idea?”
“Scottie,” I cross my arms and lean against the counter, “if you find someone who loves you for you, and you love them for who they are, then you’ve found what everyone else is looking for.”
“Are you looking for that?”
“Okay, maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. Outcasts battling life-threatening illnesses are exempt.”
“Exempt from happiness?”
“Exempt from caring about the needs of others.”
Her head juts backward. “That’s harsh.”
“But true.”
She doesn’t argue. “What kind of cancer?”
“The kind you don’t need to know. The kind that you don’t need to research. The kind you don’t need to obsess over.”
Scottie returns a pouty face. It’s irresistible, but I manage to resist.
“How can I help you?—”
“Stop. I don’t need your help. I just need you.”
“Price, you can’t have me.”
“I already do.” I push off the counter. “Go home. Drive safely. I need sleep.”
She follows me to the door and slips on her shoes. She doesn”t hesitate for a second when she glances up at me. Her arms encircle my neck, and she hugs me with all she has to give.
“Red blood cells,” she murmurs. “Hugging builds red blood cells. Make sure you hug everyone you see.” Her lips press to my cheek, and it’s more than a friendly gesture, but it’s not romantic either.
I don’t know what we are, but it’s all I have, so I don’t try to define it because the easiest way to lose things is by labeling them—devaluing them with the simplicity of a word.
She steps outside.
“Scottie?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t lose Koen because of me. Keeping him is more important than keeping my secret.”
I can’t read her expression, but it softens after a few seconds. “I really do love you.”
I’ve heard people say that cancer is a gift. I never understood it until now.
“And I you.”