Chapter 27
JONAH
Winnie is singing in the shower. Loudly, and with perfect pitch.
She started doing this a few days after the night we sang together, and every time it puts a smile on my face, not just because she sounds good but because she’s clearly healing.
She’s gotten louder and bolder each day, and has worked her way through several more Judy Garland songs, as well as a few country ballads.
She even threw in a Christmas song today because somehow, it’s already December first.
I can’t quite get into the Christmas spirit with her though, because my mom’s checkup and scan is in a few hours.
Ice fills my veins as I think about what it could mean.
The cancer might have come back. It might be infecting her body once more, stealing her away from us.
She might be sicker than ever. It doesn’t feel like a checkup appointment. It feels like a death sentence.
The bathroom door swings open and a wet, pink faced Winnie, wrapped in one of my navy blue towels, interrupts my train of thought before it can get any darker.
“Hi,” she chirps.
“Hey.” I keep my eyes fixed firmly on her face and refuse to notice the way water droplets dot her collarbone, or that the towel is precariously tucked on one side.
“What time should I be ready to go?” she asks.
“Are you sure you still want to come?” I can’t keep the apprehension out of my voice.
“Of course I do. As far as your parents are concerned, I’m your wife.”
“Sure, but my mom was pretty tough on you the first time you met her, so I don’t mind if you’d rather not go.”
“You don’t need to give me an out,” Winnie says. “I said I’d go and I’m going. Your mom might have been tough on me, but we’re getting along just fine now.”
“Right, sorry. It’s just that…” I don’t finish the sentence, unsure of if she really needs to hear about Jessica.
“What?” Winnie’s blue eyes are focused on my face, and I can tell that she wants me to continue—to open up to her.
“My ex-girlfriend couldn’t deal with my mom’s cancer stuff. She broke it off right when things started to get difficult. I don’t hold it against her, because not everyone can handle watching someone be sick.”
“Well I do,” Winnie says, putting one hand on her hip. The movement causes the towel to shift downwards, revealing more of her skin. “She should have been there for you.”
“It’s fine. We weren’t that serious,” I protest, unsure of why I’m defending Jessica at all. She did hurt me, but my chest burns at the thought of admitting that. Of admitting I deserved more.
“Would you have been there for her?” Winnie levels at me.
I nod. “I’d be there for anyone close to me going through something like that.”
“Exactly. You know Jonah, you’re really good at taking care of others, but you should let someone take care of you for a change.”
Winnie says the words softly but resolutely, like I won’t get anywhere if I argue with her.
Before I can muster up the courage to ask her if she’s trying to be that person, the towel finally gives way to gravity and falls to the floor.
For a moment, we both just stand there. My eyes have a mind of their own, and I look her up and down quickly, and then force myself to stop.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and rub a hand over my eyes.
“It’s fine!” Her voice comes out high pitched. “Nothing worse than what you heard the other night!” And then she scampers around the corner and into the bedroom, leaving her towel behind.
I hesitate in front of the bedroom door, unsure what to say but knowing I need to make this right.
“The appointment is at twelve,” I call out. “We need to get on the road by eleven to make it there on time, and we’ll be picking my parents up along the way. And I’m happy to have you there, Winnie.”
She doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I hear the rustle of clothing.
“I’ll be ready to go before eleven,” she finally says. “Now leave me alone so I can recover from my humiliation!”
Her tone is light and joking though, and I know she’s not serious. I can’t help but smile.
When we pick my parents up, they struggle to hide their surprise that Winnie is with me. My dad gives her a smile, though, and my mom doesn’t object to her being around.
On the way to the hospital, my dad tries to keep the mood light and regales Winnie with stories of his time working on a ranch. Winnie asks him endless questions, and I sense that she’s aware he needs the distraction.
“Did you have a favorite horse?” she asks as we come to a stop at an intersection near the hospital.
My dad starts telling her about the Quarter horse he used to ride named Snickers, and Winnie listens and then tells him about all her favorites at the rescue. Rosie is obviously at the top of that list.
“Jonah, you didn’t tell me your wife was a horsewoman!” my dad says in a jovial tone.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I’m exactly a horsewoman,” Winnie says. “Maybe a horsewoman in training. Candice and Rosie are teaching me a lot.”
I make a left, and we pull into the hospital parking lot.
I feel my stomach knot as soon as I see the building, and I immediately hate how familiar it all is.
I park by the entrance to the cancer ward like I have a hundred times before, and when I get out of the Jeep, I’m faced with the same grey and blue facade.
My dad gently helps my mom out of the car, because she’s about a foot shorter than he is and it’s a big step down from the Jeep.
It makes my heart ache to see them like this: older, grayer, and less healthy than they were a few years ago, but still as in love as ever.
I’m not sure my dad would survive without her—I’m not sure he’d want to.
I clench and unclench my fists at my side, and try to get my feet to move. My parents are already walking towards the entrance and I know I should be following them, but I just can’t seem to.
“Hey,” Winnie says softly. “Are you alright?”
I’m not sure how to answer her because fuck no, I’m not alright. I guess she was right about what she said earlier—I’m not very good at letting someone take care of me. I don’t even know how to ask for help.
“If you’re not, that’s okay. I’ll still be here. I’ll wait outside in this parking lot all day if you need me to. We can go in when you’re ready.” She places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently, just once, letting me know that she’s there.
“What if—what if she’s sick again?” I manage to get out.
Winnie doesn’t say anything for a moment. And when she does speak, her words aren’t full of empty platitudes. She doesn’t say that my mom won’t get sick again. She doesn’t try to get me to believe a lie. She just says, “Then we’ll get through that, too. I promise.”
“Okay.”
Winnie’s words get my feet and legs to start working again, and we walk towards the entrance to the hospital.
My parents have already disappeared behind the sliding glass doors, and I’m sure they’re wondering where the hell I am.
I walk the path to the cancer ward on autopilot, not needing to follow the red lines on the floor for direction.
Winnie slips her hand into mine along the way, and the feel of her soft, warm skin keeps me grounded.
Shame floods me as we walk through the doors to the waiting room. If Winnie wasn’t here, would I have found the courage on my own? I’m supposed to be strong for my mother, but today I’ve been anything but. I grip Winnie’s hand harder and follow her wordlessly to where my parents are seated.
The waiting room is exactly like I remember it: cold, uninviting hell. We sit in a line of four, all staring at the front desk wordlessly.
After a minute my mom mutters, “You’d think I was dead already, with the way you three are acting.” When no one responds to her joke, she continues, “Look, I feel fine. I am fine. This is a routine checkup and there’s no reason to worry until the doctors say there is.”
“You’re right,” my dad says.
“Great, now let’s talk about something else.”
We’re silent again until Winnie pipes up with, “What are you knitting at the moment?”
My mom grabs her yarn and needles from her bag and shows Winnie the beginnings of a sweater. Winnie compliments my mom on her fine stitches and the intricate pattern, and I can tell my mom is eating it up. Winnie’s charm is starting to work on her.
Same, Mom. Same.
Eventually, the receptionist calls my mom over, and she and my dad disappear behind closed doors.
“My dad goes in to every appointment with her,” I explain. “He waits outside the room while they do the mammogram because of the radiation, but I know that if he could he’d be with her then, too.”
“That’s sweet,” Winnie says. “And exactly the type of relationship I want to have. I don’t think I ever saw either of my parents do something like that. My dad can’t even make his own doctor’s appointments, let alone go with my mom when she has one.”
“How’d you come out so kind with parents like that?” I wonder aloud.
Winnie’s cheeks go pink. “Thanks, Jonah. I think they’re just unusually selfish assholes and I’m the normal one.”
“Nah, nothing normal about you.”
“Oh, stop,” Winnie protests. “You know, you’re a lot like your parents. You’re kind like they are and um…devoted to the things you care about.”
My chest fills with warmth. Because Winnie Grant sees parts of me that I thought most people didn’t. She notices how hard I work to protect the things and the people I care about.
“Thanks, Win,” I say.
Winnie and I continue to banter (okay, fine, to flirt) back and forth, and though the dread I’ve been feeling all day never fully leaves me, talking to her keeps me distracted.
It makes the hour that passes before my mom and dad return go quickly, and it keeps my thoughts from spiraling.
She squeezes my hand when my mom tells us that everything looks good but that the scan results will come in next week, and I actually feel like everything might be okay.
I didn’t get the chance earlier to ask her if she was trying to be the person I would let take care of me. But I think I’ve got my answer.