10. Jensen #2
“My mom.” Suddenly, my heart is aching worse than my feet.
I’ve spent a lot of time in cancer units over the years.
At Vanderbilt mostly, but also if I got a break while on tour.
It’s easy for my manager to set up volunteer shifts in various cities or at cancer fundraisers, and relatively low on the commitment scale.
Singing a few songs and strumming my guitar is nothing like watching someone you care about be ravaged by the disease.
Nothing at all. But it makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile.
Even if it’s a temporary distraction for those going through things far tougher than I am these days.
“It hit a little too close to home, you know?”
“Yeah.” I understand with every fiber of my being, even if I don’t like it.
I can imagine how she felt learning her pre-treatment hall pass hookup had been volunteering in the same department where she was about to become a patient.
Knowing I’d lost my mother the same way Sloane was terrified of losing herself.
“The treatment worked?” I need Sloane to tell me she’s okay more than I need my next breath.
She nods. “There were complications along the way, and I spent longer in the hospital than planned. But I’m on a maintenance protocol now.
A trial of monoclonal antibody therapy and monthly labs.
My counts are stable, and my platelets are up.
My doctor cleared me for this trip, in case you’re wondering. ”
I was. “That’s good.”
“The team is optimistic about long-term remission.”
“Doctor speak for we’re hopeful but hedging our bets,” I supply.
The smile she flashes doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m going to be fine. I already am.”
Her gentle tone carries a hint of steel, confirming what I suspected: Sloane is a fighter. And I can’t deny the ball of emotion now lodged in the center of my throat.
“So this…” I gesture at the wilderness stretching out in every direction. “Is about proving something to yourself?”
“Among other things.” She pops the final bite of granola bar into her mouth. “I read a book last summer about facing your fears and want to meet the author. She’s staying at a cabin in this wilderness, so the hike is about finding her.”
“You own a bookstore,” I point out, hoping she’ll give me more intel than her friends did. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to schedule a signing?”
“One would think.” She sighs. “But apparently not.”
I think back to what her friend Molly told me and wonder if Sloane will open up about what’s really behind this trek. When she continues, I hope it’s a sign my luck is taking a turn for the better.
“There’s more to it. Following in the spirit of the book I chose, each of the members in my book club is doing a bucket list challenge. I’m the only one who hasn’t gone.”
“Like swimming with sharks or skydiving?”
“Or backpacking through the Montana wilderness.” She mimics my gesture toward the nature surrounding us. “Every one of them chose to face something scary, or to change their life in some meaningful way. They planned to give me a pass, like beating cancer was challenge enough.”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t want it to be about the disease. I want to figure out who I am when I’m not defined by being sick or brave or the sunshine friend who makes things okay for everyone else.”
When she glances over, her eyes are wide like she can’t believe she’s just revealed so much. I can’t either, but I’m grateful as hell she let down her defenses.
She clears her throat and stands, brushing invisible crumbs from her shirt. “I want to prove that I can do hard things without my friends hovering or my brother waiting in the wings to bail me out if I screw up.”
“You won’t screw up.”
“You don’t know that.” She grabs her pack and slings it over one shoulder. “I’ve screwed up plenty of times.”
“Which makes you human.” I stretch my legs, and either the painkillers have kicked in, or I’ve lost all feeling in my lower extremities, because my feet aren’t killing me anymore. “That’s not a bad thing, Sloane. But you’re here now, doing the thing.”
A long breath slips out of her as she absorbs those words. “With you tagging along,” she says, but she doesn’t sound quite as mad about it.
“Tagging right along,” I agree.
“We’ve got another four miles before camp.” She buckles her waist harness again. “And I’d rather set up the tent while there’s still decent light. Are you going to be okay?”
“Right as rain, sweetheart.” I lever myself to my feet, and maybe I spoke too soon about the painkillers, because everything below my knees screams in protest. I try not to let it show on my face, but she notices.
“What if you lose a toenail?”
“A small price to pay.”
She laughs. “For what?”
For this. For her.
I spent a year trying to forget this woman, but I couldn’t.
The song I wrote for her hit number one, and all I could think about was wanting her to hear it.
I’ve been stuck since the morning she walked out of that hotel room.
Sloane Winslow has been living rent-free in my head since the moment I saw her, and I’d give up way more than a few toenails for another chance with her.
“For the view,” I answer, pointing at a hawk circling the lake below us.
She knows I’m not talking about the view, but she doesn’t call me on the lie, just starts up the trail again, with me following a few steps behind.
My feet are screaming, and my shoulders are on fire, but I’d hike twice as far with blisters the size of Texas if it meant she’d keep letting me stay. I’ve never been more certain that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.