Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (11 page)

Julia bats at her escaped tears. “But
you’re not… These past two years.” She’s shaking her head in disbelief.

I can’t handle a crying Julia. I let
out a frustrating sigh. “Can you give me a few minutes?” I ask as I scoot out
of the bed. I’m almost out the door when I hear Julia gasp dramatically so I
turn around to see what’s wrong.

“Greyson Stone, you… You look… Honey…
You look delicious. You’re filling back out in all the right spots.” I know
she’s just stating her observations because she’s still sniffling in all
seriousness. I see no mocking in her face.

“Knock it off,
Thorton
,”
I grumble and quickly head to the bathroom to hide the grin on my face. Even
though I’m a model, I’m not a vain guy. But man did these last two years really
give my self-confidence a beating. It feels good to not look like death any
longer.

I take my time in the bathroom, not
wanting to address the elephant trapped in this RV. I pull on some shorts and a
T-shirt after a long hot shower and shave. I drag out the flossing and teeth
brushing for as long as I can before exiting. I find Julia making coffee. She’s
still wearing a flimsy hot pink tank top and tiny night shorts. Her hair is
wild with waves and falls nearly to her waist. I’m not comfortable with the
comfort I find with her back in my life. I know that thought makes little
sense, but
it’s
how I feel. Oddly, it seems like she
should always be right here in my space. When she turns around to look at me, I
see she’s still upset. And that does something terrible to my heart.

“Please tell me.”

I have a seat in one of the large
leather
chairs,
feeling tired just thinking about the
whole ordeal.
“Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.”

“What… What’s that?” Julia stutters as
she grabs hold of the counter for support, and so I know she already has it.

“Cancer,” I answer with a shrug.

She stumbles over and throws herself in
my lap. Sobs are immediate and fierce as she buries her head in my neck. I wrap
my arms around her and try to comfort her.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have
been there for you,” she says after she eventually cries out.

Rubbing her back, I try to explain, “I
got through it. I’m okay.”

“You didn’t have to go through this
alone. Why did you completely leave me in the dark?”

“I wasn’t alone. My parents and church
family barely left my side. Julia... Look at you. Sweetheart, you can hardly
handle it now even though I’m in remission. It would have been too much on
you.”

“You’re my closest friend, and I had no
clue that you were sick.” She sits up, her eyebrows are pinched, and those blue
eyes are filled with so much hurt. I know how much she means to me, but I just
never thought I could mean as much to her.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t put you through
it. It wasn’t pretty. You just don’t understand.”

She looks at me sternly. “Then explain
to me exactly what happened and how, please. I need to understand.”

I take a deep breath and for the next
hour or so I explain life, or more close to the truth
hell
, with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. I start from the beginning—how I
started not feeling like getting out of bed most days, crazy night sweats, and
then finding the knot on the side of my neck. I was already at stage four when
I finally agreed to get checked out. Those days are blurry, almost like an
out-of-body experience. I was there surrounded by doctors looking at me
gravely, being admitted one day, and having my first chemo round the next
morning. A port was put in my chest to administer the poisons to the cancer as
well as the rest of my body that took a brutal beating. I had the lymph node in
my neck removed as well as one in my armpit.

Over a year into the treatments, I
found myself feeling like death had already won. With my immune system completely
wiped out, I almost died several times from infections. I withered away and had
to have a feeding tube after I went close to two weeks of eating nothing.
Really, each day I was surprised to actually wake up.
Blood
transfusions became a part of my life and I wasn’t joking when I told Julia I
was portraying a vampire. On top of that I got my days and nights mixed up and
found myself losing any exposure to the sun and roaming the hospital halls at
night when I had the energy. And when I didn’t, my mom would push me around in
a wheelchair. She retired from the school she had taught at all of my life and
refused to leave my side. We prayed a lot and cried a lot in those dark days.
Our go-to Bible verse was Psalm 6:2 -
Be merciful
to me,
Lord
,
for I am faint;
Oh Lord,
heal me, for my bones are in
agony.
We called out that verse daily and God heard us because just as I have
explained to Julia, my body is healed. I’m cancer free.

Julia eventually cries herself out and
falls asleep cuddled in my lap. I’m exhausted too so I recline in the chair and
let sleep claim me while I hold her tight.

Chapter
Fourteen

Julia

A few days have passed since Greyson
came
clean about what was going on. We’ve spent a lot of
time with me impatiently asking questions and him patiently answering them. I
just can’t get over how close he had come to death and survived it. And I
thought I had problems. This revelation has really put things in perspective.
I’ve tried to not stress him out, so I’ve stuck to a protein shake in the
mornings or some of his oatmeal and then forcing myself to eat a little supper
with him. He knows that’s a big step for me so he’s not pushed for more. The
exercise or the nonexistence of it is even harder. I get so antsy and I just
have to get rid of the pent up energy. Running from things or drinking them
away are my two ways of dealing and now I have to figure out another way.
Greyson says talking to him is an option, but I can’t bring myself to do that.
I mean, really; the poor guy doesn’t need my issues piled on top of his own.

I want him to be able to focus on
getting his strength back and not trying to fix me. I’m pretty sure that’s not
possible anyway. So when he says we are painting in the park today, it’s all I
can do not to start whining. Painting in the park?
Really?
I’ve chewed small sores inside my lip, trying not to fuss. I say nothing, just
climb on my moped and follow behind him. I let out all sorts of nasty words of
frustration on the road though, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the
roar of the mopeds.

Okay. So it’s not some lame kiddy park.
Nope. Greyson has led us to a tranquil park that is smack dab in the middle of
a mountain valley with a thick brook splitting the grounds. An old wood-covered
bridge joins the two sides together and we cross over it to meet the art class.
There are chairs and easels set up on the bank, positioned to face different
scenes. Some are of the mountain views and some are angled towards the
weathered bridge. The group members are already picking their spots, but I
choose neither. This is not my cup of tea.
At all.

I pick a spot beside my fisherman. Yes,
he is still sporting his fishing hat along with well-worn jeans and a deep blue
shirt that is doing something wonderful to those big green eyes of his. He
chooses the mountain scene and sets into the project with gusto as I sit and
check my phone. I scan through my emails and then do
an
estimation
with my caloric intake on my calorie count app. I’m keeping
it under one thousand calories a day—I think—I hope. I answer a text from my
agent,
Leeza
. She wants permission to sell some of my
stock shots I’ve posed for before I left. I give her permission because this
will keep my face out there without me doing any more added work. I look up
from my phone screen and find Greyson glaring at me, so I pocket the phone and
pick up a brush to appease him.

Instead of painting, I choose to sit
and watch my companion get lost in his work.

“Why aren’t you painting?” Greyson asks
without looking up from his canvas.

“I don’t paint. I didn’t know you did
either,” I remark as I run my fingers through the soft bristles of the brush
I’m holding.

“I don’t. I just always thought it
would be fun to try.” He glances over to me and nods towards the unused paints
on my palette. “Why don’t you just give it a try too?”

I think about pointing out that my
hands won’t steady enough to paint the delicate smooth strokes he seems to have
already mastered, but he is back to getting lost in his painting and ignoring
me. I dab the brush through the light blue paint blob and move it towards my
blank canvas. My hand has a never-ending tremble that I can’t shake so my
sweeping stroke looks more like a jagged blue lightning bolt. Ugh! I let out a
groan of frustration and set the brush down.

“I don’t get this,” I fuss while I try
unsuccessfully to rub the tremors out of my hands. I really could use a drink
to help steady me. Just one…

“Just chill out,
Thorton
.
It’s not a contest,” Greyson mumbles
as he concentrates on his work.
Easy for him to say, because
it looks like he has mastered the art of painting within twenty minutes of
picking up the stupid brush.
The mountain scene on his canvas is already
taking shape.

I let out another sigh and pick the
brush back up to try again. I only get the same results, though.
Messy squiggly lines.
It’s frustrating so I sort of
accidently
throw my brush and helplessly
watch on as it plops in Greyson’s lap.

“Seriously?” he asks in his own
frustration as he hands me the brush back. He dabs a cloth over the blue smudge
on his pants, but I think he may be stuck with that.

Oops
.

I feel my control slipping as my
frustration escalates and I lash out before I can stop myself. “This is just
ridiculous. Shouldn’t an instructor be guiding us through some sort of step by
step process? And some beginner’s pointers wouldn’t hurt. We paid enough for
this class—”

Before I can continue with my rant,
Greyson stands up and starts gathering his art supplies and canvas. I follow
suit but he puts a hand on mine to stop me.

“What?” I ask.

“No. I want to enjoy this and you’re
ruining it. Stay right here and be miserable.”

“But… Where are you going?”

He points to a vacant chair. “Over
there so I can paint in peace.” He begins walking away but pauses to add, “Talk
about being the fun police.” And he’s not joking around this time. There’s a
bite to his words.

Greyson leaves me all alone with my
wreck of a canvas. Well. This makes me downright mad, so I start slapping all
sorts of colors on the canvas and swirl them together in my anger. Eventually
oranges burst through the hues of blues and mingle with more shades of the
rainbow. And I swear I actually lose myself in it after a while. The anger
drains away, and I am left with some sort of contentment.

By the end of class, my canvas is
covered in paint—as well as my outfit. Honestly, my artwork is a hot mess of
color and design, but somehow I was able to escape into it for a spell and
forget about my worries. During the long walk back to the parking area, Greyson
keeps looking over at me and my canvas with a smug look on his handsome face. I
say not a word and neither does he, but it’s obvious he achieved more than a
hand painted mountain scape.

I head straight to the shower when we
return to the RV to scrub the paint off. Afterwards, I slide on a fresh pair of
shorts and a tank top and decide to forgo blow-drying my hair and head back
outside to see what Greyson is up to.

I come close to passing out at what I
find. Greyson is laid out in the small patch of yard and my heart stops at the
sight. I rush over, straddling his lap, and start shaking him.
“Greyson!”
I shout.

“What?” He exaggerates his word in
annoyance.

“What’s wrong, honey?” I pull his
shades off so I can see his eyes.

“You yelling at me
is
what’s wrong.” He looks up at me through squinted eyes.

But I’m still confused. “Why on earth
are you lying on the ground? I thought you passed out or…”

“I was just trying to enjoy watching
the clouds roll by,” he answers, and all I can think of is why on earth a grown
man would want to do such a thing. But then I remember.

I sit up on his stomach and his hands
go to rest on my hips on what seems to be their own accord.

“You scared me,” I whisper as I ease
his shades back over his eyes so he doesn’t have to keep squinting from the
sun.

Greyson repositions me on his lap and
sits up. “Can I be honest with you?”

“As if I have a choice in that matter.”
I smirk and brush some grass clippings
from his shirt.

“This is why I wanted to do this trip
alone, so I could just be a normal guy with no one worrying over me dropping
dead on them.” I stiffen at this statement and he starts rubbing my back to rid
me of it. “I have no plans on doing that. It’s just… Now you know and now I
worry you are going to pity me.”

I scoff at this. “Like pitying me isn’t
what you’ve always done.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never pitied
you. I’ve always cared about you. It’s a big difference.”

“I care about you, too. How’s about we
just keep caring for one another?”

“Okay.”

“And Greyson… I’m sorry I ruined your
travel plans.” I know I’ve put such a wrench in his adventure. I’m trying but
keep failing.

“No worries.
Just as
long as you can knock this stuff off.”
He pats my hips for emphasis.

“How?”

“Just pretend I’ve never been sick. And
pretend you like me for good measure.” He grins at me and I can’t help but do
the same.

I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll try. But
you have to admit you would have thought the same, if you found me sprawled out
on the ground.”

“Fair enough.
Now get off me.” He pats my hips again
so I stand up.

Later tonight as we sit down at the
picnic table to record our thoughts in our journals, I find another Bible verse
from Greyson.
Wherefore comfort yourselves together, and edify one
another, even as also ye do. – 1 Thessalonians 5:11
. He also wrote –
Thanks
for caring about me.
This man is beginning to do crazy things to my heart.

~~~~

The stay in West Virginia was a
significant part of this journey. So much so I’m still writing my thoughts down
in my journal as Greyson drives us on towards Kentucky. We’ve been on the road
for close to an hour now and he is already starting up about being hungry. He’s
always hungry, by the way.

“Would you mind getting us a snack?” he
asks.

“Sure, honey.” I set the journal down
and head to the kitchen and grab both of us an apple and bottle of water. For
good measure, I snatch him a granola bar and a protein shake. I place his
bounty near him and start nibbling the green peel off my apple.

Greyson glances over at me with his
head tilted in that way only he can do before redirecting his attention back to
the highway. “Honey?” he asks as he takes a bite of his apple.

I smile at his question. “You
remember
Miss May, right?”

“Yep.
You’ve talked enough about her over
the years, I feel like I know her personally.”

“Honey is what she’s always called me
and
just
me. It made me special and
set apart. Savannah has always been the closest to Miss May. She practically
lived with her off and on during most of her teen years. Even though they have a
unique bond, Miss May has a way of never letting me feel any less important to
her.” I take another nibble of my apple as I watch Greyson drive.

“Humph,” he says absently as he focuses
on switching lanes. “I’m the only one you’ve ever called honey.” He seems a bit
distracted.

“Well, honey. That should tell you
something.”

He looks over at me with a sincere
smile. “I guess it should.”

Once we are checked in and settled at
the campground in Kentucky, we eat a supper of large chef salads we picked up
at a deli before arriving. I’ve managed four good bites and this seems to
appease Greyson. I leave him to finish both our salads as I go wash off the day
of traveling.

Greyson has been true to his word about
lots of natural exercise. He keeps us busy all day long with some excursion or
another. If there is a trail around, we hike it. We also walk almost everywhere
we need or want to go. Our new routine for the towns we visit is to park the
mopeds and strike out on foot to explore what they have to offer. Each town is
quaint and filled with little shops, museums, and galleries to explore, yet
each one is unique in its own certain ways. Greyson always sniffs out homemade
chocolates in every town. It’s really his only indulgence. He’s diligent about
eating clean. I know he’s on a mission to reclaim his health, and he is one
dedicated man. It really encourages me to work on some things myself. The
traveling days are surprisingly tiring, too, and I’ve found that I am starting
to sleep better.