Love to Love Her YAC (18 page)

…Nothing. I dig my phone out of my back
pocket, find her number and hit Send. It rings once, then goes to
voicemail.
Shit
.

I’m beginning to feel desperate. All sorts of
grisly possibilities flash through my mind. What if she’s in there
and she’s hurt? What if she’s in there just ignoring me, too
mortified or ashamed of what we did to face me?

I pound against the door one more time.
“Rhiannon, please, if you’re in there just come talk to me,” I
plead. I stand there, staring blankly at the door, wishing it would
open but knowing instinctively it isn’t going to. She’s either a
really deep sleeper, or she isn’t there.

I push a hand back through my hair and take a
moment to gather my wits and stop my head from spinning. After a
moment I pivot and climb back down the steps. I nearly break out in
a jog back to my truck, tossing the coffees in a waste bin as I go.
Once I’m sitting back in the cab, I take out my phone again and
re-dial Rhiannon’s number. Again it goes straight to voicemail.
Anger wells inside me, mostly directed at myself. I slam my hands
against the steering wheel a few times until my palms start to
sting.

Last night we were on the brink of having
sex, and now she’s fucking run away.

Rhiannon – 11:00 AM

I
t’s a three hour
drive across the desert from Carson City to my hometown,
Winnemucca, Nevada. Before pulling away in my rarely-used Honda
Civic, I fire off a text message to Ruthie and Corinne letting them
know I’ve had to leave town and to take notes for me while I’m
gone. My phone is beeping low battery, and cell phone reception
along I-80 is spotty anyway, so I power it off after the text is
sent and settle into the welcome silence, seizing the opportunity
to think and clear my head.

My first thoughts are of Tawny. Next month
will be the third anniversary of her diagnosis with leukemia. I
wasn’t far into my senior year at Lowry High, and Tawny had just
turned twelve. She had been complaining of what she described as
“bone pain” for a while; at first we thought it was just the
growing pains of adolescence, but when it didn’t subside after a
few weeks, Mom took her to see our family doctor. They ran some
tests and found that her blood counts were abnormal. That’s when we
were introduced to Dr. Hennessy. He performed Tawny’s first bone
marrow biopsy and diagnosed her with pre-B ALL, the most common
form of leukemia among children.

We were horrified and shocked. Dr. Hennessy
explained that, because of her age, Tawny’s prognosis was not as
good as it would have been had she been diagnosed a few years
earlier. He assured us, though, that for now her prognosis was
still good, with chances of survival being greater than eighty
percent. My parents seemed mollified by this statistic, but it
scared me to death. Until a couple of weeks prior, I would have
assumed the chances of Tawny making it to adulthood were right
around one hundred percent. The thought of those odds being
significantly reduced was nothing short of heartbreaking.

As Tawny started the intense induction phase
of her chemotherapy, we all coped in different ways. Mom started
going to church again for the first time in five years. Dad began
staying out later with his buddies from work. And Tawny and I clung
to each other, becoming closer than we had ever been.

Thankfully Tawny made it through that first
phase of treatment with flying colors – at least in terms of her
numbers. She felt miserable and seemed to constantly be sick, but
according to the doctor she had responded rapidly to the regimen,
and she managed to achieve complete remission by the end of it. Dr.
Hennessy, who had initially seemed more guarded about my sister’s
prognosis, now seemed more optimistic, and that went a long way
toward boosting our confidence. Tawny entered the next phases of
her treatment, and everything seemed to be going according to plan.
Now, three years out, we’re all more than ready to be out of the
woods. Tawny especially deserves to get on with her life.

I plug in my iPod and scroll to a playlist I
first created for my sister when she turned fourteen. I smile as I
listen to it, remembering how she hadn’t wanted to listen to
anything else the entire time I’d been home that weekend. We had
danced to the fast songs and swayed to the slow ones while we made
her birthday cake, drove to the mall and talked under the covers at
night.

Suddenly, unbidden tears blur my vision. I
wipe at them angrily before they have a chance to spill over. I
refuse to cry before we even know the news. Instead I try to laugh
at myself for being ridiculous and wasting all this gas just to sit
next to Tawny while the doctor tells us everything is fine, that
the cancer is gone forever.

I spend the leg of my trip between Reno and
Fernley in a sort of trance, shoving all thoughts (especially of a
certain someone) to the periphery. My iPod plays through one
playlist and starts on the next. I stop at a filling station to put
gas in my car and shell out some pocket change for a Fanta. As I
start back down the ramp onto the interstate John Mellencamp’s
“Hurts So Good” starts playing.

My mind clouds with thoughts of my birthday
and Blake’s spirited rendition of “Authority Song.” I had been so
taken with his burning bright eyes, and then the zinging warmth of
having him near when he and Adam had joined us at our table. The
last few weeks now seem like a whirlwind of pent up desire and
titillating near misses…until last night. The shame comes flooding
back with the reminder of the weak, self-indulgent person I’ve
become. But then there’s a small, ugly part of me that wouldn’t
trade what we shared, no matter how stupid and reckless it may have
been.
Seriously
, I had been about to have my first
orgasm
(at least that was provoked by someone other than
me). And of course, the mere thought of him shirtless, the muscles
in his shoulders rippling as he unconsciously flexed them, the
hard, smooth lines of his stomach and pecs, is enough to make my
heart race all over again.

I think of the note he left
– he was
coming back
. I owe him a phone call, at least, to let him know
where I am. But not now. For now I need my space, and I need to be
with my family, all thoughts of my illicit romance aside.

Blake – 1:00 PM

I
feel completely helpless. It’s been
two hours, and Rhiannon’s phone is still turned off. If I thought
she was just ignoring my calls it might actually bring me some
relief, but as it is I’m actually concerned for her safety. I drove
around for a little while, making a circuit around the campus,
mostly because I couldn’t stand the thought of just going home. I
kept my eyes open for her cap of wavy blond hair that catches red
in the sunlight as I drove, halfway forgiving myself for this new
stalker-ish side of me in light of the fact she’s missing and could
be in trouble.

I wish I could call one of her friends, but I
don’t have any of their phone numbers. Idly I wonder if Adam got a
number from Spence the day we all went to the beach, but I can’t
think of a way to ask without it raising more questions I don’t
feel like answering.

Finally I return home and change into a pair
of jogging pants and a T-shirt. I go for a run along the river next
to the golf course east of town, letting my legs carry me forward
until they can barely support my weight anymore. As I head back to
my apartment, Jordan calls. I silence the call and send her a text
message a few minutes later to let her know I’ll call her tomorrow.
I know I’m going to have some explaining to do, but for now
explaining myself to Jordan seems of little importance. The only
thing I can do is wait for my phone to ring and the right name to
pop up.

Rhiannon – 2:00 PM

I
roll into the
gravel lot by my childhood home on Water Canyon Road a few minutes
past two. The house faces west toward Winnemucca Mountain and is
situated on five acres that were carved from an old cattle ranch
eighteen years ago when my parents bought the place. A stable with
three horse stalls stands on the edge of the property and houses
Domino, Mom’s black and white Appaloosa, and Queenie, the chestnut
quarter horse Tawny and I share.

I lug my suitcase from the trunk of my car as
Dad comes outside with his hands shoved in his pockets. “You made
it,” he observes as he picks up my bag for me. “You hungry? Your
mom has stuff for sandwiches.”

“Yeah, I guess I haven’t really had much to
eat today,” I reply as I swing my backpack over my shoulder and
follow him inside.

From the entryway I can see Mom standing in
the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. She looks up when
the screen door bangs shut behind us and comes over to hug me. What
dad lacks in affection she more than makes up for in abundant hugs
and kisses.

“I hope you’re not going to be in any trouble
missing a day of school,” she says as she steps back.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t have any tests this
week, and I’m going to email all of my professors tonight,” I say.
Mom is a worrier; she’s the type of person who requires constant
reassurance that everything isn’t going to fall apart at a moment’s
notice.

We turn at the sound of scampering feet on
the tile. Tawny enters the room still dressed in her pajamas, with
Sophie, our affable Australian Shepherd on her heels. Animals love
my sister, and that dog is no exception; he’s always followed her
everywhere.

“Reena!” she whoops, barreling into me with a
huge bear hug. I laugh as I rock her back and forth. She feels too
skinny, but her coloring is good. A daub of white tooth paste
covers a pimple on her chin. I’m gratified by the fact she looks
like a normal fifteen year old girl.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I was overdue for a visit,” I reply. “And
Mom’s been nagging me to get the last of my stuff out of my old
room so they can convert it to storage.” I wink at our mother over
Tawny’s shoulder, and she shakes her head in response, a faint
smile on her face.

“That reminds me, Rhiannon,” says Mom, “we
moved your bed to the basement and put a futon in your room. You’re
welcome to sleep in either place. Just let me know what you decide
so I can put sheets on for you.”

“Oh, sleep in my room!” says Tawny. “We’ll
have a slumber party!”

I laugh. “How can I pass that up?” I face Mom
again. “I’ll just sleep on the air mattress in Tawny’s room.”

She shrugs her resigned approval. “I have
roast beef, do you want me to make you a sandwich?”

“Yes please.” I smile back at Tawny, who
looks as if she’s bursting with excitement. God it’s good to be
home.

Rhiannon – 11:00 AM

T
awny’s appointment
with Dr. Hennessy isn’t until eleven, so Mom gives her permission
to miss school in the morning. We were up until the wee hours
talking, so we sleep in and then eat a late breakfast of eggs and
bacon with toast. Mom drives to the doctor’s office while Tawny
sits up front and I ride in back.

Highland Park Cancer Center is a new
construction, funded by an endowment from a wealthy breast cancer
survivor. It isn’t like other doctor’s offices; the waiting room is
more cheery, with lots of windows and skylights that let in plenty
of natural light. There’s an alcove with toys and children’s books,
and a table with free coffee and tea. Dr. Hennessy is also the only
doctor I know who typically runs on time for his appointments –
within minutes of checking in we’re whisked to one of the consult
rooms. There isn’t any paper-covered exam table in here, no sterile
instruments or jars full of cotton swabs or tongue depressors.
Instead there is a counter with a state-of-the-art computer and a
rolling stool behind it for the doctor to sit on, and across from
that a comfy faux-suede sofa and chair.

I sit next to Tawny on the sofa while Mom
takes the chair. I want to hold Tawny’s hand, but I’m afraid it
would only make her worry. Normally I don’t try to comfort her by
touching her unless something bad has already happened. Instead I
watch her as she blithely chews her bubble gum and leafs through a
copy of
Seventeen
magazine, blissfully ignorant of the bomb
that may be about to drop.

A light knock announces Dr. Hennessy’s
arrival. He sticks his head in before stepping the rest of the way
into the room. Clad in Dockers, khakis and a plaid shirt, he is the
antithesis of the lab coat wearing, stethoscope toting physicians
you typically see. He’s young, too, maybe in his late thirties,
although he has a receding hairline and a bit of a paunch.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite patient,” he
says, his voice warm and friendly. I’m sure he says the same thing
to all his patients, but I love him for it anyway. Tawny beams at
him as she sits up straighter, striving to be worthy of the title
he’s bestowed on her.

Dr. Hennessy shakes Mom’s hand and then mine.
“Glad you could make it, Rhiannon,” he says. I’m impressed he
remembered my name. It’s been over a year since I last went along
to one of my sister’s appointments.

He takes a seat on the stool and types
something into the computer. “Tell me about school,” he says,
glancing back up at Tawny. “Are your teachers being nice to
you?”

“All but one,” she replies. “My math teacher
and I don’t see eye to eye.”

“Well that’s math teachers for you,” he says
sympathetically. “’My way or the highway.’” Tawny nods knowingly as
he clicks around on the computer.

“Okay, kiddo, I’ve got your record pulled up
here. I brought you in here today because we did that bone marrow
aspirate – let’s see, was it a week ago Friday? – and they sent me
the results back.” He looks at Mom. “Patty, thanks for being able
to make it in on such short notice. Like I said to Rich on the
phone yesterday, I’m sorry I couldn’t call and get something set up
last week.”