Chapter 15
Now
I walk in with two coffees as the nurse hooks Tammy up to the chemo pump.
Her port had already been surgically implanted—another secret she kept from me.
“Here you go, Ryan,”
I say, handing him one cup.
“Thanks, Jill.”
Setting my coffee on a nearby table, I grab my bag of goodies and sit next to Tammy on the bed.
“What is it? Christmas in that bag?”
Tammy jokes, still taking all of this with a grain of salt.
“I put together some items to help you get through this.
And Ryan, I got a few things for you too,”
I say, pulling out car magazines, Hot Rod and Car Craft.
Ryan has restored a few cars, and I thought it might also help him.
“Thanks again, Jill.
And thank you for coming today,”
he says, taking the magazine.
“Ryan, I will be here each time,”
I tell him, pulling a sack of ginger candy from the bag and handing it to Tammy.
“This is to help with nausea.
And here are some iTunes cards.
Guess what we’re going to do?”
“Buy music?”
“Close,”
I say and pull out two sets of earbuds.
“We’re finally going to listen to “Fifty Shades of Grey”—together.”
She laughs.
“Oh my God.
You’re serious.”
“You know I am.
Everyone in the book club wants to read it, too.
They won’t admit it.
Well, we will listen in private.”
“Ryan, you want a set of earbuds?”
“Ah, no thanks.
Go right ahead.
If I listen, it will be Fifty Shades of Puke.”
“Whatever,”
I say and reach back into the bag.
“Here’s a BPA-free water bottle to keep ice water in.
They say your mouth can get dry during chemo.
Also, I ordered some already prepared meals to be delivered for my work days.
I was going to hire someone to come and clean, but I don’t want you to be exposed to anyone who might be sick. So, I will do my best to help the girls out. And here is some moisturizer for your hands and feet. They dry out as well.”
“Wow, Jill.
You’re amazing.
I love you,”
Tammy says, and I brush her hair back.
I can’t help but think about when her hair will begin to fall out.
Ryan sets in with his coffee and magazine, and I download “Fifty Shades of Grey”
to my iPad.
As the book is loading, I pair both wireless earbuds to the iPad.
Tammy’s chemo IV begins to drip, and I distract her by handing her the earbuds and telling her to put them on.
“You ready? The book has been downloaded.”
“Let’s go for it.”
She smiles bravely at me, and I start the audible, snuggling up beside her.
I take her hand when the audible begins.
“This is Audible.
“Fifty Shades of Grey”, by E.L.
James. Read for you by Becca Battoe—chapter one. I scowl at myself with frustration in the mirror. Damn my hair—it just won’t behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for final exams, yet here I am, trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet,”
says the narrator, and I burst with laughter.
“Oh, my God.
This book is awful,”
I say as we both begin laughing.
“Yes, but awfully good.”
Ryan looks up from his magazine, and I see the sigh in his smile.
He needs me here just as much as I need to be here.
Ryan has always been an excellent husband to Tammy and has never let our close friendship be a problem in their marriage.
Even when Tammy spent countless nights with me, talking me off the emotional wall, I was about to jump off.
At times, I felt death would be better—for me. How selfish of me to think that while she’s here hanging onto hers.
Though he’s a good husband, Ryan is quieter and more reserved about his feelings, and Tammy has always accepted that.
He’s complacent with what they have, and over time, I find that maybe satisfaction is better than passion.
Passion has two meanings.
Once you have it, you can’t live with anything else.
And two, passion can kill. Life and death are the two things that drive it, so being stuck in between can feel safe. And safe is comforting. But not passion.
Chapter One finishes, and Tammy pauses the book.
“How many hours is this?”
“I think fourteen.”
“I think they might find a cure for cancer by then.
I don’t remember even talking or thinking like that in college,”
Tammy says.
“Me either.”
But I was married and raising Monica at the same time.
Maybe I could have been an Anastasia Steel, and in some ways, I was.
I tried desperately to get Michael to love me on some level.
But to him, we were in a situation, as he called it.
Not a real marriage and my ideal of marriage has been fractured ever since. It scares me that I may never find out or reach a level of complacency.
“I’m going to get more coffee.
Can I get you girls something?”
Ryan asks.
“I’m fine.
But can you get Tammy a bottle of water? And here,”
I say, handing him the bottle I bought, “find some ice too, and then pour the water in here.”
“Sure,”
he says, kissing Tammy on the cheek before he leaves.
She pulls the earbuds out.
“Thanks for the audiobook, Jill.
But now that Ryan is out, I want to talk about Fifty Shades of You and Michael.”
“What? Why? Didn’t I rob you enough of your life back then? I’d rather not.”
“He came to see me yesterday.”
“He what? Why in the hell would he do that? He has to know how you feel.”
“He came to thank me and apologize.
He brought a small vase of white daisies and told me how sorry he was about my cancer.
He seemed deeply concerned and understanding.
Wanted to know if there was anything he could do or if I needed a good cancer doctor.”
“Wow.
Are you sure it was Michael? Because I’ve had these delusions, too,”
I say with a tease.
“I know.
It was weird.
Yet, it is comforting.
Michal thanked me for being there for you after he left and before.”
Before is right.
Life during Michael was hell.
And if it wasn’t for Tammy and all her love, I don’t think I’d be sitting here in this bed with her.
Michael time-stamped my life.
Everything became pre-Michael, during-Michael, and post-Michael. “So, I take it he has been back since the after-wedding-pancake-breakfast since he knew about the cancer?”
“Yes, he showed up Monday night after I left your house.
I was crying—praying for you, and strangely, he showed up.”
“And…?”
“He held me.
I cried in his arms.”
“Kind of like I held you when you cried in my arms over him.”
“Huh,”
I say under my breath.
“Yeah.
But then my sanity returned, and I lashed out a few things I thought I buried.”
“What did he say? After you unleashed on him?”
“Nothing.
Michael stood there looking at me, and I watched a tear drop from his cheek.
It was the saddest thing I think I’ve ever seen.
The whole time we were together, I wished some emotion would have affected him.
And when it finally did, it hurt.”
“Why do you think that?”
she asks, pulling out my earbuds.
“Maybe because part of me knows how it feels.”
“Know how what feels?”
God, why is she doing this to me? I’m supposed to be here for her.
And here she is, lecturing me about my feelings.
I glance from her to the IV chemo drip, and I now use it as a distraction.
“What does it feel like? When the…poison goes in?”
“Jill, do not deflect from this.
This, too, shall pass. Tell me.”
“What it feels like when someone wants your love.”
She smiles, and I feel I have answered her correctly.
We can then get off the subject.
“Michael wants your love.”
She doesn’t say it as a question.
She just…says it.
It’s quiet, and I need to say something because that has caught me off guard.
“The one thing Michael never wanted was my love.
And why would he want that? After all these years.
You think he just woke up one day and said, “I need Jill to love me.”
“Because he loves you.”
I shake my head.
“Tammy, what are you doing? I think that chemo drip is going straight to your brain.
There are three words Michael could never say—I, love, and you.”
“Are you going to start singing The Avett Brothers now?”
“Do you want me to sing? Because I’ll do anything to drop this subject.”
She laughs.
“Oh, God, no.
Please.
But you answered your question.
You said you know how it feels to want someone’s love.”
“I said, someone.
I didn’t say Michael’s.”
“Stop splitting hairs, Jill.
We both know how you ached for Michael to love you.”
“Ached—past tense.
People change.
I’ve changed.”
“And maybe Michael has changed.”
I think of the pictures he wanted of us all together at the wedding.
Of us alone.
The kiss on my forehead.
The photographer never asked us to pose like that.
Was Michael acting on his impulse? The toast. The Dance. The…
“Well, even if he has, which Michael never would, wouldn’t this be the time where I say, ‘It’s too late.
You missed out.’”
“Is it too late?”
“Of course, it’s too late.”
“Why?”
As she looks at me intently, I can’t come up with a reason.
I’m single after a failed attempt to marry a few years ago.
And though we’ve never discussed the real reason, I default to my fear of failure as an excuse.
And how Monica was my focus.
But now, she’s gone on with her own life.
Ryan walks in with his fresh coffee and the water bottle for Tammy.
I’m so relieved.
“Sorry, it took forever.
I couldn’t find any ice maker.”
“Thanks, Honey,”
Tammy tells him and pops the top to take a drink.
“Ah, you’re right.
My mouth is parched.”
Twenty more minutes go by, and her drip is empty.
After a few light beeps, the nurse comes and unhooks her IV.
She tells her not to exert herself and that the chemo will begin to make her tired and drained.
Knowledge, we both as nurses know.
Ryan sweetly walks with his arm around her waist, and I open the car door.
I climb into the back seat, and he drives us back to their house.
“The food in the crockpot should be done.
Just set it to warm, and it should be fine until the girls get home,” I say.
“Thanks, Jill,”
Ryan tells me, and Tammy thanks me too.
“Call me.
I’ll be home all night,”
I say and head to my car in the driveway.
I watch Ryan guide her through the door and think of my parents.
After Dad had his first heart attack and the way Mom fussed over him.
For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.
It does exist for some, and I know in my heart for me…it never will.
. . . . .
A black 4Runner is parked out front of the street when I pull into the drive and hit the garage door opener.
Michael.
I can’t tell if he’s sitting inside due to the dark tint, and I decide to ignore him and close the garage door once inside.
That should make it clear.
Walking into the kitchen from the garage, I find him standing at the table.
The lights are low, candles softly flicker, soft music plays, and something smells terrific.
“What are you doing here? And how did you get in?”
He’s in nice jeans and a white button-up shirt with rolled-up cuffs.
A key hangs from a leather band around his wrist when he lifts his hand.
“You never changed the locks.”
“That’s because I knew you’d never be back.”
“I’m here now, Jill.”
I throw my purse on the counter.
“Yep.
That you are, so answer the next question. Why?”
“You took care of Tammy, and now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
Did Tammy put him up to this? Is that what all her Michael talk was about?”
“How is she?”
“She’s okay…for now.
The chemo will eventually take its toll.”
“It’s nasty stuff,”
he says.
“Why don’t you go take a bath, and I’ll set the table for us when you return.”
“Us?”
“Yes.
Us.
Me and you.
You and me.
Michael and Jill,”
he says, walking toward me.
“This is unbelievable—first you, and then Tammy’s cancer.
I don’t know how much more I can take.
Not counting Monica clear across the world.
And why did you have to send her to Paris?”
He steps in front of me, and I can smell his manly cologne scent as he reaches out and gently brushes my cheek with the back of his fingers.
My eyes catch the key dangling from his wrist.
“Because that’s where she wanted to go, and I wanted to make her happy.”
“No, I think you wanted to make me miserable.”
“You’re tired and stressed.
I have your bath waiting.
It should still be warm.”
“What? How’d…Never mind.
I am tired, and I do want to soak.
And by the time I get out, this apparition of you will be gone.
You’re just a ghost who has decided to come back and haunt me.”
“Do you believe in ghosts? Because they say, all ghosts are wanted and are the imagination of the one being haunted.”
“And for that reason, I don’t believe in ghosts.
And who said that anyway?”
He smiles and gives a small laugh.
“You’re still so cute.
Take your bath.
I’ll keep dinner warm.”
“Unbelievable,”
I say, walking past him and to my bedroom.
“Maybe I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe in demons,”
I holler back.
“Or maybe I’m an angel.”
“Far from it,”
I yell, shut and lock the bathroom door.
Turning around, I find that Michael has indeed filled the tub.
But what’s more shocking are the rose petals floating on top of the water, the candles on the side, and a glass of wine set along the edge.
“What the hell,”
I whisper.
I strip off my clothes, step inside the tub, and sink shoulders deep, closing my eyes.
When I open, I reach for the glass of wine and see a card under the glass.
Setting the glass back down, I take the card and read what Michael has written on the other side.
Dear Jill,
You are a genuine and wonderful friend for being there for Tammy.
She will need you; in return, you will need someone to care for you as you do.
Let me be that someone.
I wish I could turn back time and make it undone.
I swear that I will make it up to you. If you give me a slight chance, I will prove that it will be one of the best decisions you’ll ever make. I was once your rain. Let me now be your umbrella.
Love, Michael
“Oh…God.”