Chapter 16 #2
Alice and Doris stopped too, both of their faces changing from joy to concern in an instant.
“Marge, are you… crying?” Doris whispered.
I reached up and touched my cheeks, my fingers wet as I looked down at them. At… tears?
I didn’t even realize they’d come—unwelcome, uninvited, startling.
“I... I think the dust is getting to me,” I choked out, pushing past them. “Allergies. I need air.”
I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and bolted out of the saloon, my spurs jangling a frantic, messy rhythm against the floorboards.
I didn’t stop until I found the dim, hay-scented quiet of the livery stable.
I ducked into an empty stall, slid down the wall, leaned my head against the rough wood, and let out a sob that felt like it had been clawing at my throat since that day in Sylvie’s living room.
The thing I’d been holding back since the word cancer, since every road mile and every laugh and every moment I’d spent doing the furious, noisy, busy work of not feeling this—
It came up anyway.
My eyes burned. My jaw tightened against it. My whole body resisted it with everything I had.
And then the tears came, and they were so foreign on my face, so wrong, so completely at odds with everything I was made of.
I wiped them with the back of my hand with a viciousness that hurt me the way I wanted to hurt them. To punish them for arriving uninvited. For displaying what I was feeling on the inside on the outside for the world to see.
To see my weakness.
My pain.
My private, personal emotions that were ripping apart my insides.
I heard the stable door open.
I straightened up immediately, one final swipe at my soaked cheeks.
Alice came around the corner of the stall and looked down at me.
“I have allergies,” I said quickly.
She didn’t say anything, just stepped into the straw and moved toward me.
“This isn’t me crying, just so you know. That’s not what’s happening here.”
She leaned against the stall door and looked at me.
“Actually, this is Buck. That damned method acting is just stuck on right now. Can’t turn it off, and it turns out Buckshot is emotional.
Kind of a pansy. I’m disappointed in her right now.
Thought Buck was tough as nails, and it turns out she’s as wimpy as a wet noodle.
So just ignore Buck. Buck the big pansy. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a second.”
Alice slid down in the hay and settled beside me, her skirts spreading out like a navy-colored pool.
She didn’t say a word.
She didn’t ask me anything or put an arm around me or offer me any of the careful, kind, well-intentioned things the others would have reached for.
Which was so much worse than anything she could have said.
The tears came back, and this time I didn’t manage to get my hand up fast enough.
“Well, hell,” I grumbled, wiping them as quickly as I could, but they were coming too fast.
We sat for a moment in the quiet with the horses shifting and breathing on the other side of the wall.
“I don’t do this, you know.” I gestured at my face with a short, irritated wave.
“I know.”
“I haven’t done this since”—I tried to remember—“I don’t know when. I don’t do this.”
“I know.”
“I’m a fighter, Alice,” I whispered, the tears still leaking out.
“I fix things. I destroy threats. I eradicate danger. And here you are, facing the biggest fight of your life, and I’m just standing in the background like a goddamned extra.
” I looked at the wall. “I do things. I am a person who does things.”
I turned to her, and I hated that when she looked at me, I knew she could see everything I’d been trying to hide.
“And this cancer... there’s nothing I can do.
I can’t get between you and this one. I can’t body-shield it.
I can’t shoot it with the Colts or chase it off or—” The breath came out jagged.
“I feel like I did back in ’Nam. I wanted to be out there fighting with the boys, and they wouldn’t let me.
Best I could do was be a nurse, but I wanted to be with them.
Maybe if I had been there that day, I could have saved my boys.
Protected them. But just like I was back then, now I’m here standing around, completely helpless, while something tries to take you away from me, and I can’t do a single thing about it.
And it’s killing me, Alice. There’s nothing I can do. I’m useless.”
Alice was quiet for a moment. Then she reached over and took my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “That’s not true, Marge. You do something every day that is going to save my life.”
I looked at her, blinking through the salty tears. “I do? What? I haven’t even found a way to chainsaw a tumor yet.”
“You remind me to fight,” she said firmly.
“You remind me to be brave. When things get hard—and we both know they’re about to get very hard—it’s going to be you barking in my ear.
You’re the one who’s going to tell me to get up when I’m ready to quit.
You’re going to push me toward that finish line whether I want to go or not. ”
I gave a wet, shaky laugh. “I do make an excellent drill sergeant.”