Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
JADEN
A sleepless night lies behind me, the morning light slowly turning the sky gray. My eyelids are heavy, yet I force myself to look at the half-derelict house. Because every time I let my eyes close, there are images that frighten me.
Camee’s pale face. Her arms, as thin as a child’s.
Nyla’s tear-soaked eyes. The shrill sound of her voice, her blind stubbornness, the madness in her expression.
What if she’s right after all?
What if yesterday I only wanted to see the bright side?
What if it’s like it was back then with Camee?
With Camee and all the lies we told each other.
When I enter her room, she beams at me. I can see that she’s in pain, I can see that she doesn’t feel like laughing, and I can also see that she’s afraid. Still, I beam back at her.
‘Hey, Camee, you look good today.’ I step up to her bed.
‘Don’t I?’ She adjusts the colorful scarf on her head. ‘Can you take a few pictures of me? I want to apply for Canada’s Next Topmodel.’
Smiling, I kiss her forehead. She smells of medical soap; I block out the smell. ‘Sure, strike a pose.’
‘Maybe I should lose a bit of weight first,’ she says, her gaze fixed on her bony arms. ‘They’re pretty strict there, you know.’
‘So I’ve heard.’ Pretending to think it over, I tap my chin. ‘All right, diet first, then the photos.’
Giggling, she holds out her little finger to me. ‘Deal.’
‘Deal.’ I entwine my little finger with hers, afraid I might break it, it’s so thin, yet I’m still grinning.
Because I can’t help it. Because I don’t know what else to do, how I would cope with her illness if I allowed myself to admit how bad things really are for her.
And I’m not alone in that, because Camee, who is winking at me now, doesn’t know either.
Back then, it was easier to lie than to tell the truth. For months we didn’t talk about where she was and what was ahead of her, how she was really doing and what her illness meant for us.
We spent the time she had left pretending she wasn’t dying. Months slipped past us, unused and irretrievably lost.
I breathe heavily against the tightness in my chest, look up at the sky, see the first rays of sun appear over the horizon, the clouds turning purple.
I didn’t want to lie to myself anymore—but would knowing the truth change anything?
Camee could have experienced every single item on her bucket list herself if she hadn’t gotten treatment.
Maybe she wouldn’t have seen the garden in its full glory, but she would have worked there with a smile on her lips until she couldn’t anymore.
Getting treatment was Lilly’s biggest mistake, and I’m not going to repeat it. Whether I’m sick or not makes no difference, just as knowing it wouldn’t make any difference.
No more lies.
But no false hope either.
Even if that means losing Nyla?
Lost in thought, I stroll into the still overgrown garden. The shears we used yesterday to start getting the rampant growth under control lie carelessly discarded in the tall grass.
This garden was Lilly’s dream, not mine, and it wasn’t my project alone. There’s no point in continuing here. Without Nyla I don’t want to.
Has she thought about our fight by now? Would she be willing to come back to this garden, even if I don’t get examined?
‘Keep dreaming,’ I tell myself.
The whole bucket list thing was a stupid idea anyway, it wouldn’t have led anywhere.
I quickly stash the shears in the house. Then I grab one of the wobbly wooden chairs and carry it out to the street. I dig the makeshift cardboard sign, a nail, and the hammer out of my backpack and get to work.
Ten minutes later I have to swallow a painkiller, but at least I’ve done what I came here to do.
I look around one last time. ‘I’m sorry, Lilly,’ I say, as if she were standing beside me.
It’s okay, don’t worry about it, she answers in my thoughts. If I could turn back time, I’d do the same thing.
So she thinks I’m sick too. ‘Love you, Camee,’ I say softly.
Love you more, Jayjay.
Lilly’s last words echo inside me as I start walking. Always toward the rising sun. As I put one foot in front of the other, I have no idea at all how things are supposed to go on. I’m on sick leave, I probably ought to rest, but having that much time to think would just drive me crazy.
I need a distraction, even if it’s only for a moment. Maybe I’ll see things a little more clearly afterwards.
An hour later, I pull the rental motorcycle helmet over my head and swing myself onto the Yamaha YZF-R1. Two hundred horsepower, six-speed transmission, zero to a hundred in under three seconds.
‘And you’re sure that’s okay with your injury?’ the guy from the rental place asks me for what must be the fifth time.
I glance briefly at my bandaged shoulder, then at the bike. What I’m about to do feels strangely wrong, but I don’t know what else to do, so I force a smile onto my face.
‘The injury isn’t a problem.’ After all, I’ve got enough painkillers in my system.
‘All right, then, see you this evening.’ He doesn’t look very convinced, but at least he hands me the keys. ‘Have fun.’
Hopefully I will. ‘Thanks.’ I flip the visor down and start the engine.
The bike vibrates, the engine hums.
I should be enjoying the moment; instead I’m thinking about her. Nyla, who should be sitting behind me with her arms wrapped around me. The moment my thoughts turn to her, my chest feels as if a hole is opening up in it.
This has to stop, so I hit the gas, pull out of the rental lot, and take the road toward Route 333.
My shoulder hurts in every bend, but I keep going as I reach the coastal road. The machine roars like a wild animal finally let loose. The wind slaps my face, tugs at my jacket as if it wants to rip me out of the saddle, and that is exactly right.
So why the hell does it feel like anything but right?
The road clings to the cliffs like a narrow scar in the landscape, winding, unpredictable. On the right, the coast drops away abruptly. There’s no guardrail, no protective wall, no salvation.
My head should be empty by now, but Nyla is still begging me to have those tests done.
I hear her whisper desperately, ‘The tests are just a formality anyway,’ and I feel again what I don’t want to feel: that these tests could change my life forever.
Damn it. What I’m doing out here makes absolutely no sense.
I take the next curve more slowly. There’s no rush, my knee isn’t even close to the ground. There’s no adrenaline in my chest, no forced freedom; instead there are unmistakable shadows and a truth I can no longer ignore.
My attempt to run from what happened yesterday has failed.
I know that without Nyla I can never be whole again, that I will always miss her, will long for her with every breath I take, but I don’t know how this could possibly end well for us.
I know there’s more than just this moment, but not what that ‘more’ could look like.
And I also know that the thought that I might actually be sick scares the shit out of me, but not how I’m supposed to deal with it.