Foolish Notions (12 page)

“Shelly didn’t give you a
message because I didn’t call you.” Raising her hand in a
calming manner, she rested it against his chest. “Everything’s
all right. The treatment went fine. She’s just a little queasy
right now.”

At that moment, James heard his mom
retch in her bathroom. The repulsive sound instinctively propelled
him forward. He clutched the soft, feminine hand that pressed against
his chest, trying in vain to stop him. The bouquet of roses in his
free hand fell to the floor, unnoticed, as he reached for the door.
“Queasy? You call that queasy? What in the hell do you call
sick?” He bit back a few foul words. “Goddamn it,
Samantha, you should have called me.”

“James—”

“Shouldn’t someone be in
there with her?” His eyes searched hers as another gagging
sound reached them. “Why are you just standing here?”

Samantha took hold of the fingers that
wrapped through hers and leaned her weight into the door with her
shoulder. “This is a normal side effect from the chemotherapy.
I’ve been with her the entire time.” She shifted her
weight. “Stop pushing on the door.”

“I want in.”

“No.”

“How long has she been like this?
How long is it going to last?” he asked as he tried to look
around her into the room. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see
anything. A wall at the far end of the room conveniently blocked the
bathroom. He had reservations about going in anyway. The sounds of
his mom retching were ghastly.

“Not long.” Samantha’s
tone remained calming.

His head dropped and worry saturated
his voice, making it sound strange and distant. “Oh, God, I
didn’t know it was going to be like this. I didn’t know
she’d be going through this.”

“No one knows how they are going
to react to a drug until it’s given to them.”

He nodded.

“Why don’t you go
downstairs,” she suggested.

“Downstairs?” The words
flew from his mouth in an all-but crazed voice. “Are you asking
me to leave? It sounds like my mom is dying in there and you want me
to leave? There’s no way in hell I’m leaving.”

“What are you going to do for her
that I can’t?” she said reasonably. “Think about
it, James. If you go in there right now, how are you going to be able
to help her?”

He knew she was right but he still
didn’t want to leave. He covered his face with his hand while
he tried to think logically.

Logic was worlds away from him right
now. His gaze lifted and found Samantha’s eyes. “I can’t
leave. Please don’t ask me to leave.”

“I’ve made her as
comfortable as possible. There’s really nothing you can do for
her right now.”

He nodded methodically. “What
kind of son would I be if I just left?”

“You’d be the kind of son
who’s taking care of himself so he’ll be able to take
care of his mom when she does need him.”

She paused. “Besides, you’re
only going downstairs. Staying here in the hall isn’t going to
help her.”

There was the logic he was searching
for. There was the reasoning that he so desperately needed right now.
Possibilities and crazy feelings swirled through his head
erratically, making him feel helpless. Samantha steadied all the
turmoil in him.

“Go, have some dinner,” she
suggested.

“I can’t eat.”

She nodded in understanding. “Then
try your best to relax. I’ll let you know if we need you.”

“You’ll call me.”

Samantha nodded. “You know I
will.” She looked over her shoulder. “I need to be with
her.” She softly closed the door.

As James leaned against the door he
listened to the muffled sounds on the other side. A feeling of nausea
overcame him. He moved his hand to his stomach and unconsciously
began to rub it. Samantha didn’t need two sick people to take
care of. Shit, this had to be the worst day of his life.

He moved the few feet down the hall
into his room. Several buttons flew from his suit and shirt as he
tore them off and tossed them to the floor. The dresser drawer
abruptly slid off its tracks when he yanked it open to get a pair of
sweat pants. He struggled with the drawer for only a moment before he
became too irritated to realign it. He left it hanging awkwardly and
moved to the closet to retrieve his jogging shoes.

Ten minutes later he was running full
speed down the beach. His feet dug into the sand with fierce rage,
and his arms pumped with all their might at his sides. He ran hard
and fast, so his thoughts wouldn’t have time to form. His head
was filled with the pounding of blood, and the crashing of waves, and
nothing else. Just how he wanted it.

The miles ticked by and he still didn’t
stop. He couldn’t. He was running from something he could never
escape—yet he still tried. It wasn’t until his muscles
ached with fatigue and his lungs burned like an inferno that he
slowed the cruel pace. It was a few more miles until he completely
stopped.

He leaned forward, his hands resting on
his knees, and he gasped for air as he tried to catch his breath.
Finally, he raised his head and took notice of his surroundings. The
moon struggled to be seen through the thin layer of clouds that had
blown in. He looked at the houses neatly aligned and all-aglow. He
realized he didn’t recognize any of them.

It was then he dropped down to his
knees in the sand and allowed himself to think of his mom and what
she was going through. As his labored breathing returned to normal,
he contemplated her condition. He grasped how sick she really was.
He’d understood the seriousness of it, but he had never
permitted himself to let the reality of it sink in. The reality of
what the end result could be. A voice shot through his head like a
colossal, unexpected wave: She could die. He shook his head abruptly
to ward off the voice. Beads of sweat scattered like raindrops,
causing the sand to form little clumps all around him. He had vowed
he would never speak those words, yet they had popped into his head
anyway. He picked up a handful of sand in anger and tossed it as far
as he could. The curse words he yelled were pure anguish—the
crashing of the waves drowned them out and the wind flung them back
in his face.

The tirade wasn’t like him but it
felt good. So good in fact, that he roared into the wind again and
didn’t stop until his voice was hoarse and he was exhausted.
The painful swell of sorrow that raged deep within him fed the
sadness, which relentlessly flowed from him. Closing his eyes he
wallowed even more as it consumed him.

Slowly, he began to realize that
amongst the torment and fear something began to rise. Empty holes
were filling, and as he surrendered to the feeling, awareness took
over—he was healing. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he felt himself
begin to calm.

He struggled to his feet and squared
his shoulders. He pulled himself together by taking a few calming
breaths. He would get through this. They would get through this.
Between the three of them they would be there for each other and they
would support each other. There was a time when all he needed was his
mom and Samantha. They were all he needed now.

Slowly, he started back home. He felt
better. Maybe all he needed was a good breakdown. If his coworkers
could see him, they wouldn’t believe their eyes. He had been
dubbed “the man of steel” in the industry, not only
because he was very successful at what he did but also because he
rarely allowed his emotions to run loose. When things didn’t go
his way he wasn’t one to yell until he got what he wanted. He
knew it wasn’t effective. He waited patiently, quietly, for
things to change his way, because he knew they almost always did.

That’s precisely how he needed to
handle his mom’s cancer and her treatment. Getting excited
about it wasn’t going to make a bit of difference. He would do
what he did best—hold his ground and wait. Besides, there was
nothing else he could do.

“James?”

James looked up and unexpectedly saw
Samantha sitting on the top step of the stairs to the deck. He hadn’t
realized he was so close to the house. “How is she?” He
reached for a beach towel draped over the railing and wiped the
perspiration off his body.

“She’s better.”
Samantha watched him closely. “Are you okay?”

“Is she—”

“She’s resting in bed. The
bout of nausea has passed.” Her voice was low and soft as her
eyes found his. “I asked about you.” She looked at his
body and clothes soaked with sweat.

“You okay?”

He took the towel and ran it over his
damp hair. “Don’t worry about me.”

She touched his hand to stop him. “It’s
hard not to.” She moved down two steps, so she was eye level
with him. Leaning forward, she cupped his face into her palms, as he
remained silent. Finally, she ran her fingers the length of his jaw
to the tip of his chin. “Talk to me.”

It was a moment before he spoke. “I’ve
never heard anything like that before. And I went to some pretty
rowdy parties in college.” He closed his eyes momentarily. “It
almost killed me to listen to that.”

Samantha nodded.

James opened his eyes and stared at her
as relief inundated him. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He pulled her against him hard. “She was right. My mom was
right, you’re the only one—”

Samantha stroked his back and ran her
hand through his hair. “It’s okay.”

“Knowing you’re here—that
it was you in there with her. If it had just been me I wouldn’t
have known what to do. If it had been some stranger it wouldn’t
have felt right.”

“Shh . . .”

He buried his face in her hair and
exhaled a long sigh. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’ve already thanked
me,” she said as she released him.

“Did I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“She’s okay?”

“Yes,” Samantha patiently
confirmed.

“You’re okay?” he
asked seriously.

“Yes. Remember I do this for a
living. I can handle it.” She put her hand over his. “Relax.”

“I’m trying.”

Smiling, she said, “Good. You can
see her now if you want to.”

“Does she want to see me?”

She nodded. “Go see her. I’ll
fill you in on the treatment later. I have to run into town anyway.
It will give you two sometime alone.” She touched his bicep as
he walked by. “She’s fine, really. It sounded worse than
it really was,” she reassured him. “And she does want to
see you.”

His voice was hoarse and low when he
spoke. “What do I say to her?”

Samantha stood very still. “She’s
your mom; you’ll know what to say.”

He just nodded and headed into the
house.

* * * * *

James presented his mom with a bouquet
of a dozen yellow roses as he opened the door. Samantha must have
brought them downstairs, because he had found them on the kitchen
counter when he had come in. “How’s my favorite mom?”

She brought the flowers to her nose.
“Are you going to bring me flowers every day?”

He winked as he kissed her cheek. “If
you want. A different color every day.” He studied her. He
didn’t know what he expected her to look like. She looked the
same as she did when she left this morning, just a little more tired.
However, the cotton ball taped to her left arm didn’t escape
his notice.

Marie set the roses across her lap.
“Why are you looking at me like that? My hair isn’t going
to fall out in just one treatment.”

“What was it like?” He had
to know.

She fingered a sprig of baby’s
breath. “Boring. All I could do was sit there. I tried to read
but I couldn’t focus. I just kept thinking about what they were
putting into me.”

“What they’re putting in
you is what will save you.” He felt numb as he said the words.

“That thought was what made me
stay.” She looked down for a moment. “I wanted to run.”

James moved closer when she took a deep
breath. She looked powerless and vulnerable. Those were two things
she had never looked in her life. How could a disease take away
everything that defined who and what you are and leave nothing in its
wake but an unrecognizable shell?

“I can’t tell you how much
I wanted to tear out that I.V. and run.” Her body shook as she
spoke the words. Goose bumps formed on her arms. “I was
terrified.”

It killed him to see his mom having to
go through this.

Before his dad passed away, James had
promised his father that he would take care of his mother. And he
had, all these years. They had spoken every day and had seen each
other at least twice a week. Their connection was one that ran deep.
It went beyond just a mother-and-child relationship. It was so much
more; they were friends. But right now he felt like he was letting
his dad down. His dad would have handled this situation much better.
He would have stood strong, letting nothing waver him or his family.
James felt like he was going to crumble as he looked at his mom. “How
do you feel?”

“A little weak, but good
considering they pumped me full of chemicals.” She grimaced. “I
think I threw half of them up.”

He bit back the sickening feeling. “I
heard.”

“I think most of the neighborhood
heard, too. I hope I didn’t scare you.”

He shook his head.

Marie lifted her shoulders. “Well,
if this is as bad as it gets I’m not going to complain.”
Her expression softened when she spoke the next words. “How was
your day?”

“It was just like every other
day. I wake up too early, go to ten different meetings, make a lot of
decisions, and come home too late.” He smiled. “Same old,
same old.”

She took his hand in hers and stroked
it affectionately. “You work too hard, honey.”

“I’m the boss—that’s
what they pay me for.” He gave her a devilish grin. “Besides,
all this work has made your son rich.”

“I don’t care if you’re
rich. I want you happy.”

He shook his head from side to side.
“Happy, rich. Rich, happy—”