Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) (16 page)

“Not long, relax. Anyway what’s new with you? Anything new to report? Brie and Casey haven’t done anything newsworthy I need to know about?” I'm changing the subject and by the look she’s shooting me, she knows exactly what I’m doing but she lets me anyway. She’s kind of awesome like that.

October 1
st
, 2013

(*2 Months)

Dear Diary

It’s been two weeks since Lucas and I did the Dr. Aron love questions. I'm not entirely sure they’ve worked. I don’t know if I’m in love with him just yet, but I
am
loving how hard he’s trying. I’ve picked up a chest infection, so I’m pretty much housebound at the moment. His texts are the only thing keeping me sane between Blair and Nurse Carla’s ever-increasing visits. I think she kind of blew us all away when she visited yesterday. She asked that my parents and I sit in the family room, because she had some questions for us. We got comfy on the sofa—I was sitting between Mom and Dad—and then, BAM!

She hit us with the ‘Where do you want to die, Emily?’ question. I’m pretty sure a little piece of all of us died right there and then. I like Carla, she’s truly a lovely woman, but as she launched into her speech about how many people choose to die at home, where they feel safe and comfortable, she dropped a few notches on my favorite persons list, and I kind of wanted to punch her in the throat. I’m not normally a person who has violent thoughts, but I could have used a little more warning before springing that particular question on me. If I listened hard enough, I bet I’d have heard my parents’ hearts shatter.

“Your surroundings would be familiar and you can be in the presence of friends and family,” Carla continued and I think I just shut down. “The hospice doctors and nurses will work with other professionals in the community to care for you at home if that is what you want.”

I nodded and then retreated back to my room. I’m not sure there was any way the day could have been rescued from the depths of how much it sucked to have to discuss that type of thing. It took a long time to fall asleep last night. I’m becoming more and more restless and this stupid chest infection has me wheezing like I smoke sixty a day.

I read the leaflets that Carla left with Mom this morning. They were more reassuring than I thought they’d be. One went into detail about how my care team can ensure my parents will not be alone in caring for me—they’ll have help and support. It put my mind at rest. It’s something that’s been nagging at me, and I didn’t know how to broach the subject. I know caring for someone at home can be emotionally and physically draining. I’ve seen the effects first-hand with some of the parents from the hospital. I don’t want to put
that
on my parents, but I want to be here in our home with them when it’s time.

I’ve written them a letter for when I pass. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt, knowing that I'm going to leave them. I hate this feeling.

I don’t want to end this entry on a bad note, so I’m going to share the highlight of my day so far. It was a text message from Lucas, and it made me laugh when I thought I had nothing else to laugh about.

From: Lucas

Hey, good looking. I bought a chick magazine today at the grocery store. This is what YOU’VE reduced me to. The front cover said this month’s issue features an article on how to fall in love. So I bought it, along with a car magazine to balance out the fact that I seem to have misplaced my nuts. I’ve saved it for you, btw ;) I read it as soon as I got home. Basically it was an article on how you should love yourself before you can expect anyone to love you in return. So that’s what I did. I spent an hour ‘loving myself’ (with the help of the magazine you bought for me on our first date). Also, chick magazines are pretty filthy. Girls talk about some weird shit. Anyway, just thought you should know that I do love myself, quite frequently. Feel free to fall in love with me too anytime soon :D X

What’s not to love, right?

Blair visits every day without fail now. I haven’t made it to school in a while and since I’ve been cooped up at home, I’ve discovered something I thought was lost.

Hope.

When I first found out that I was dying, I was caught up in the huge amount of averages and statistics that doctors offered me about how quickly my cancer was likely to progress and how long I had left to live. I thought I wanted to know, but as soon as the figures were given to me, I wanted to hand them back and reclaim my blissful ignorance. Yes, thinking about it now, it’s helpful to know those things, but they didn’t exactly provide me with any type of comfort. In fact, it was the opposite. Once I knew my averages, I was scared to death. Certain that there was no hope for me, the doctors had done all they could do, science had failed, and that was that.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve begun to find hope in the future. I'm not talking months or even weeks into the future, but days … tomorrows. Little things that I’ve unknowingly taken for granted. Visits from Blair, Casey and Brie, phone calls, texts and dates with Lucas. I look forward to them, so they’re a kind of hope, right? Bottom line: they’re a reason to live, and I should look for those reasons, that hope, despite having only one month, one year or one decade left to live.

I’m writing Blair’s letter. I keep reading it back and wondering if I should try and make it sound happier. I don’t want it to upset her.

Blair,

If you’re reading this then I've obviously croaked it. Lol! I know it’s not funny but I kinda have to make a joke of it so that what I'm writing doesn't feel so real, you know? I’m writing this letter to you after just finishing the one I’ve written for my parents. I need to lighten the mood, so I'm gonna confess something. I can say it now because I'm not here anymore and there’ll be no retaliation. It’s a cheap trick, but you know you love me.

Last year when Corey Spencer asked you out, and then cancelled at the last minute, I may or may not have accidentally told him that you used to write Mrs. Blair Spencer and practice your signature at the back of your journal.

And I may have also told him that you had your kids’ names picked out already. I know, I know, I totally freaked him out! I thought he'd laugh and tease you about it on your date, but I guess he kinda thought you were a bunny boiler and bailed. Sorry!!!

Okay, so now that I have that off my chest, I need you to do something for me and you can’t say no because it's a dying girl’s wish! Yeah, I know, I played the dying BFF card. But please, just think about it.

I want to ask her to finish doing all of the things on my list. But how would I even word something like that? And honestly, why would anyone do it? It’s not like I’ll ever know. I can’t help thinking that I’m not going to finish the list in my current state of health, but I don’t want to fail. If I can’t complete it, she’s the only person on the entire planet I would want to do it for me. Maybe I should ask her about this in person? It seemed like a good idea, doing it via letter, but now, not so much. I need to put more thought into it.

I need more time.

The doorbell chimes and I assume it’s going to be Blair who walks into the kitchen, but it’s not. Instead, Lucas is standing in a pair of faded gray jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Damn, he looks hot.

“Hey, beautiful, how are you?” he asks, placing a quick kiss on my cheek and sitting across the breakfast bar from me.

“I’m good. What are you doing here?” I don’t mean for it to come out like he’s not welcome, but I see a flash of hurt pass over his face and it makes my chest ache. “That came out wrong. I’m glad you’re here,” I add.

“Thanks. I called your cell and there was no answer. I just wanted to check in on my favorite girl.” He stares at me, holding my gaze, and there’s something off about it.

“Um, what’s with the staring?”

His head doesn’t move and his eyes never stray from mine as he answers. “My dad said that to fall in love, a woman has really got to see you, so I figured I’d come and stare at you until you gave in and admitted your affections for me. Why, am I creeping you out?” he asks playfully.

Instantly, the heavy mood I was in lightens. “You’re one strange boy, Lucas Wade.”

“Sweetheart, I'm no boy, I can assure you of that,” he says with a cocky grin that has me laughing my ass off.

“You know, I thought you’d have given up on me by now.”

“Yeah, well, I thought we’d be on our honeymoon after our shotgun Vegas wedding by now. Guess we both thought wrong.” He’s sporting one of his wide gorgeous smiles. I pull my cream sweater tightly around me as a shiver runs down my back. I’m wearing it over a vest and yoga pants, but despite the unseasonably warm weather, I'm still cold.

“Here,” he says, walking around the counter, “let me warm you up.” He encloses me in a circle, pulling me into his chest, and I sigh with the comfort his arms bring. He should sell hugs. He’d be a billionaire in no time. His chin rests on my head and then his arm reaches out to the counter, moving my draft of Blair’s letter and my list sitting under it. I stiffen and so does he. The thought of him reading things I’ve written about another guy feels wrong now that I’ve spent so much time with him. I feel a weird sense of guilt, even though I’ve already told him about Ethan.

“You still hung up on this Ethan guy?” he says in a voice so quiet it’s barely audible. For a moment, I don’t know what to answer. I’ve been borderline infatuated with the guy for so long now that it’s almost become second nature to be interested in anything about him. Something’s shifted in me these past few weeks, though. I’m not so interested in Ethan anymore.

I’ve spaced out in my moment of enlightenment and have not replied to Lucas’s question. I can feel his body sag as he moves back to look at me.

“I can’t compete, can I? You’ve already given your heart away.”

Silence stretches between us and my mind is running through a million responses of how to explain that he’s wrong, but the signals just don’t seem to be filtering down to my mouth so I can actually speak them.

“Silence…not a good sign.” His head drops and when he lifts it to look at me seconds later, there's so much hurt in his eyes. Knowing I’ve caused it feels like a sucker punch.

“I know that this Ethan guy has your heart, Emily, but I want you to know that you have mine. You’ve had it from the second you walked into the hospital that day in your blue dress.” His lips find mine for the lightest of kisses and before I can reach up to hold him in place, they're gone.

“I love you, Em. I want you to know that. And I don’t mean like a friend. I’m
in
love with you, and this aching inside my chest … I want you to know that I wouldn’t change it, not for a second.”

I blink away my tears in time to see him make his way to the door and my throat closes up. I want to shout for him to wait but I can’t. He disappears out of sight and it takes a few seconds before my paralysis lets go and I realize what’s just happened. This conversation got way out of hand, far too fast. I make it out to the driveway as he’s opening his truck door. I'm completely out of breath, and it feels like a bus is sitting across my chest as I heave in a huge gulp of air and shout his name.