Chapter 20
chapter twenty
Reid
I barely hear the knock over the sound of the rain.
Setting my cup of tea and crossword on the coffee table, I pat Sydney’s head where it’s resting on my thigh before I push up off the couch and head to the front door. It’s not a huge stretch for me to guess who might be there when I open it, but I’m shocked to find a completely drenched Busy when I do.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping back and letting her inside just as a flash of light streaks through the sky. A few seconds later the boom of thunder echoes around us, shaking the walls of my cabin.
“This was just from my sprint from my car to your door,” she tells me. “I have never seen rain like that before.”
“Global warming,” I say, heading for the bathroom to grab a towel then returning to the living room to hand it to her.
She quickly dabs at her hair and dries off her face and arms.
I glance at my watch. “Are you just getting off work? It’s almost ten.”
Busy shakes her head. “No, I…finished work at six. I’ve just been driving around, thinking.”
“Where’s Junie?”
“At my mom’s. She’s spending the night.”
My shoulders droop in relief, and I’m surprised by the slice of fear I felt, wondering where she was.
“Are you… I mean, you don’t seem okay.”
“Because I’m not,” she replies.
The tension in my neck and back returns, worry coursing through me.
“Your mom came to the bookstore today.” Her eyes, normally bright and filled with life, seem sad in a way I haven’t seen before.
And that’s when I know. My mother overstepped, finally shared information that wasn’t hers to share.
“She told you.”
“About your plan to be alone for the rest of your life because you’re sick? Yes, she told me.”
Whatever sadness was there a second ago is gone, and in its place is a woman filled with fire.
“And I have to say, I agree with her.”
I scoff. “Well it doesn’t really matter who agrees with who when the decision is up to me.”
“It might be up to you, but that doesn’t mean the people who love you can’t weigh in.”
It’s hard to miss the fact that she used the word love, but I brush it aside. I know she just means it in the ‘I care for you’ kind of way, and it would be good for me not to confuse the two.
“Trust me, the people who love me have weighed in plenty.”
“Can you at least explain it to me?” she asks, her hands tightly gripping the towel she’s still holding. “Please? I feel like I just got hit with this wrecking ball of information that I don’t completely understand.”
Sighing, I run my hands through my hair, tugging on the messy strands before letting them go.
“I thought you said my mom talked to you.”
“She did, but she was vague. Said I needed to get the rest of it from you.”
I grit my teeth, irritation rolling through me.
Thanks mom. Drop a bomb then leave me to clean up the mess.
I take a deep breath and let it out slow, then lean against the wall behind me, crossing my arms.
“I have something called Kennedy’s disease,” I tell her, hating the way the words sound as they come out of my mouth. I try to avoid saying them as much as possible, not because I can’t admit the truth but because I just don’t want a constant reminder that I have a disease that’s slowly robbing me of my future. “It’s a neuromuscular disease, kind of like MS.” I pause. “It basically means at some point in the future, I’m going to struggle to take care of myself.”
Busy slowly drops down until she’s sitting on my couch, her eyes carrying that same sadness that was there when she first arrived. “Struggle to take care of yourself how?”
I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling, pulling up the list from my memory. “Muscle twitching and weakness, issues with my reflexes, shaky muscles, tremors.” I sigh. “I’ll struggle to swallow and speak at some point, too, though hopefully that’s further down the line.”
“Do they…do they have a timeline? For what that looks like?”
I grit my teeth, hating how broken she looks.
This. This is why I don’t tell people. Why only my mother knows. And Sarah, but she’s a different story.
“It varies by person. For me, I’m dealing with some hand tremors. That’s what my pills are for.”
“But online it said it was for seizures.”
I shrug. “Doctors use the same drugs to treat a variety of different things.”
We sit in silence for a while, and I can tell she’s processing everything I’ve told her.
It’s a lot. I get it.
It’s just another reason why I wish nobody knew.
“Your mom said that your disease…Kennedy’s…is why you and Sarah got divorced?”
God, she is just sharing everything today isn’t she.
I guess at this point, there isn’t much point in keeping things to myself. If she’s going to know some of it, she might as well know all of it, so I tell her.
I tell her how I watched my grandfather get diagnosed and then re-diagnosed and mis-diagnosed until they finally got it right. How I watched him decline, watched my grandmother and my mother do everything they could to take care of him. The amount of work and energy and care that went into it once he got to the point where he couldn’t control his movements anymore.
I explain how most men don’t get diagnosed until they’re in their late 30s and into their 50s, but I was one of the lucky few who found out early because we knew what we were looking for when I started to notice some of the early warning signs—fatigue and light muscle cramping.
And then I tell her about Sarah.
Even my mother doesn’t know the full truth about Sarah, doesn’t know what that conversation looked like. How I sat her down and told her about my diagnosis. How she cried. And then, when I offered her the choice, how she left. How she couldn’t leave fast enough. How she fled away from me and the idea of being stuck with me and this disease.
If only I could run away, too.
“I’m not telling you this so you pity me,” I say, once I’ve shared the worst of it. “I’m telling you because Sarah saw the end, with my grandfather. We were dating at the time, and she came with me to visit him often. Saw all the things my grandmother and mother had to do for him. Get him out of bed, take him to the bathroom, help him eat.”
I clear my throat, becoming emotional at both the memory of that time for my grandparents, but also at the idea that it could be my future.
“She saw the end, and she knew she couldn’t handle it. And she shouldn’t have to. Nobody should have to. So when she left, I promised myself I would never put anyone else in that position. I knew it would be better for me to be on my own.”
Busy’s eyes are filled with tears, and as I finish talking, they finally break free, tracking down her face and dripping onto her still damp shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” she tells me.
“You don’t have to be sorry. But hopefully now you understand why something happening between us is just…a mistake. A horrible option for anyone, but especially for you and Junie.” I shake my head. “You deserve better than a man who is just going to be a burden.”
She swipes at her face, clearing away the streaks left behind. “Well I don’t understand,” she finally says, her tone shifting, that sadness from before beginning to fade.
I blink, surprised by the firmness in her voice as she pushes off the couch and begins to pace my living room.
“Let me just parrot back the information you’ve given me. See if I have everything right, okay?”
Before I can even say anything, she launches in.
“So you were married to someone who left you because there is something wrong with her . She signed up for a marriage that was until death do us part, for better or worse, and then she bailed when life became more complicated than just sex and giggles with her incredible husband.”
My eyes widen at her description. “No, that is not—”
“And because of that failing on her part,” she continues, cutting me off, “you’ve decided the best way to move on with your life is to sit in a hole by yourself and be lonely and alone and just…completely alone.”
I sigh, realizing my very detailed story did not , in fact, convince her that I made the best decision for me.
“You’re being a little dramatic, Busy.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” she insists, quitting her pacing and looking at me dead on. “I’m fucking pissed that you’re not even going to give us a chance because you think I’m going to abandon you the way she did.”
Shaking my head, I clench my fists, trying to keep my cool.
“I could never do that, Reid. Ever. I don’t care what horrible thing is in your future. I don’t care if I have to wipe your mouth or help you to the toilet someday. Those are the things you do for someone you love.”
My throat gets tight, tears prickling my eyes.
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, feeling frustrated and angry and wishing she would just leave me in that hole all alone. “Why are you pushing this?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she demands.
“Because it doesn’t concern you!” I shout.
“Of course it does!” she shouts back. “How can I stand by and watch the man I love hide away because he’s afraid?”
I scoff. “I’m not afraid, Busy. I know my fate and I’ve come to terms with it. This is not about fear. I don’t want to be a burden —can’t you see that?”
Busy shakes her head. “Of course it’s about fear. I get that you don’t want to be a burden, nobody wants that. I don’t want to be a burden either, and I feel like that’s all I am to the people in my life, someone who needs help and support and an extra hand constantly .”
It’s not even close to being the same.
“But this isn’t about burdening someone with future complications,” she continues, her voice still firm but losing some of the edge. “This is about you being terrified that you’re going to be abandoned again when shit gets hard.”
Gritting my teeth, I spin around and stare out the window, at the rain that is still falling steadily but is no longer battering the house.
“There are a lot of scary things in this world, Reid, but I feel like living a life completely alone, without love, is the worst of them all.”
“You wouldn’t love me if you really knew what’s coming,” I say, my voice flat and devoid of the emotion roiling in my soul.
Busy sighs, and when I turn to look at her, the sight of her tears again sends nausea coursing through my stomach.
“I would love you until I took my last breath,” she tells me. “And when it was gone, I would fight tooth and nail for just one more.”
I turn back to the window again, but I can still see Busy in the reflection: her arms wrapped around herself, watching me just as intently as I watch her.
I would give anything for this thing between us to have a future, but the only one I can give her is filled with promises I’ll eventually have to break. How am I supposed to promise to protect her and support her when I could end up in a wheelchair? How am I supposed to be there for her in sickness and in health if I’m the one who always needs to be cared for?
No. The best thing I can do for her, the best way I can love her, is to give her a chance to be with someone who can give her those things.
“You should be with someone who can give you everything you want, someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve.”
“And who says you aren’t that man?”
I scoff and spin around to look at her again. “I think we’ve gone over that, in detail.”
“Do you even know what I want?” she asks, and her question gives me pause. “Do you know what kind of life I want? The future I picture for myself and my daughter?”
I watch her as she walks over to the bookshelf in the corner, where I have all the pictures of my family. I know them all so well. Each moment. Each memory. There’s one from the Cohen family reunion a few years ago when my Uncle Paul arranged for all of us to go on a harbor cruise in San Francisco and my cousin Ruben jumped into the water. There are a couple from high school—me with Nick, me with Rusty and a few other guys from the swim team, me at graduation with my parents. Several with me and Leo and Nina. And my favorite, a photo of me and my dad, fishing off the dock at the marina.
Busy reaches out and pulls the one she gave to me from our hike off the shelf then holds it up for me.
“This. This is what I want.” She looks at the picture again, one finger stroking gently across the glass. “I have spent years of my life feeling like an outsider, like I don’t belong…anywhere. But when I’m with you, I feel like I finally fit. That’s what I want.”
Her eyes flick to mine, still watery but sure.
“I want to belong, and I want to belong to you .” She smiles as a single tear tracks down her cheek. “It’s really as silly and uncomplicated as that.”
Busy turns then and sets the picture back on the shelf, wiping at her face before looking at me again.
“You think what will happen to you someday should be enough to keep me from loving you now, but that couldn’t be further from the truth,” she tells me, shaking her head. “The downside to forever is the grief that comes when you lose the person you love, but that pain is the price you pay for the life you’re lucky enough to share until that day comes.”
My chest grows tight as I listen to her, emotion pouring from her every word.
“Do you think your mom wouldn’t have married your dad if she knew she’d lose him?” she continues. “Or do you think she would still have loved him with every breath, knowing what was to come?”
I swallow thickly, knowing the truth even though I don’t say it aloud. That she would choose my father over and over, regardless of what the future held.
I want to tell Busy that it’s not the same. That what my future holds is a completely different situation.
But is it?
“In the end, I’m just looking for someone who can hold my hand when things are hard,” she continues. “Can you do that?”
I don’t respond, because I know she doesn’t need me to. She already knows the answer.
“Because everything else is just circumstance.”
We stand there for a long moment, just staring at each other. I don’t know what to say to her, how to process all the things she’s said.
“I don’t know where to go from here,” I finally say, feeling like I’ve lost my balance.
I’ve spent the past several years convincing myself that being alone is my best choice, and in one conversation, Busy has come in and taken a sledgehammer to nearly every argument I’ve had in my pocket.
She surprises me when she steps forward and slips her hand in mine.
“Let’s go…jump in the water.”
My brow furrows and I look back toward the window, where I can very clearly still see rain.
“It’s raining.”
She shrugs, laughing quietly even through her tears. “Sounds fun to me.”
I almost want to laugh at the idea of leaving behind this very serious conversation and running out into the storm. But then again, maybe that’s the point.
I squeeze her hand, and her smile grows, and then we’re sprinting out the door, still fully clothed. Onto the deck, down the grassy path and then out to the end of the dock, almost completely drenched by the time we get there.
Neither of us slow. We just launch ourselves into the water, me with a shout and Busy with a peal of laughter.
And then we’re plunging into the abyss.
Together.
We don’t spend too long in the water, the fear of lightning returning enough to pull us out after only a few minutes. But we do sit at the end of the dock together for quite a while, my arm around Busy’s shoulders, her petite form tucked snugly into my side.
It feels so good to hold her, and even though there are a million unanswered questions, a thousand decisions to be made, I can’t bring myself to ruin this moment by talking. Instead, I just enjoy what it feels like to have her in my arms.
Neither of us mentions the rain. Instead we just sit in it together, the air around us noticeably cooling. Hopefully, this storm will bring some relief to the heat that has been pummeling Cedar Point all summer.
“Doing anything fun this weekend?” Busy asks a while later, snuggling closer to me.
I shake my head, wondering where she’s going with this. “Not particularly. You?”
“We’re hiking Kilroy,” she says. “It’s the big family trip.”
“That’ll be fun. Short route or long route?”
“Everyone else is doing the long route, but I know Junie will be hard to manage on a six-hour hike, so we’re meeting them at the midway point.”
I nod.
“I was wondering…any interest in joining us?”
I blink, surprised at first.
But then I smile, imagining me, Busy, Junie, and Sydney, hiking the trail together, camping at the top, enjoying nature.
“Yeah,” I say, before I can get in my head about it.
Her eyebrows rise and she pulls back, her smile wide. “Really?”
I nod. “Absolutely. Misery loves company.”
Busy laughs, her head flying back, her eyes bright. And then I do the most natural thing in the world.
I lean in and press my lips against hers.