Mark My Words (10 page)

It was several days before I saw her again. I had thought about calling her many times, but didn’t. I figured she needed her space. When she was ready, I knew she’d reach out again. That moment came early on a Friday morning. I was at the coffee shop writing when she marched in and promptly sat down at my table. Nervous energy radiated from her so strong, I wasn’t sure if I should bask in it or move far away.

“I have news,” she said, not indicating whether it was good or bad.

I was afraid to ask. So I stayed silent, lips pressed together, waiting for her to continue.

Leaning forward, she dropped her hands to the table between us. Then she smiled the largest of grins. One that would have frightened me if it had been on anyone else’s face. “The tumor is shrinking!”

“What?” It was so much better than I’d ever expected. I mean, I’d heard of this happening. In fact, in all of my research on the experimental drug she’d been using, there were many success stories. But for every success story there was also a person who didn’t respond to it.

“Yeah.” She rubbed her palms together in excitement. “The treatment is working.”

“That’s amazing.”

“I know.” Reaching across the table, her hands found mine. We linked our fingers, and I squeezed hard. “I had been hoping…you know…” her eyes shifted around, as if she had confessed to some major crime. “But I didn’t want to get my hopes up. Didn’t want to be crushed if it wasn’t working. Plus, I’d been having headaches and stuff. And then there was that time when I almost passed out. All signs seemed to point to the tumor growing, not shrinking.”

“But it isn’t growing,” I reminded her. “It’s shrinking.”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling.

I never wanted that sparkle to go away. I didn’t want the light to dim. “Let’s go out and celebrate.”

“Now?” Her eyebrows raised.

I wanted to say yes. It may have been morning, but some people celebrated in the morning. Often when I passed the pub on the way home from writing in the coffee shop there were men and women already enjoying a beer or cocktail, and sometimes it was as early as ten am. However, the truth was, they didn’t look like they were celebrating. More like they were medicating. “Tonight,” I said, my mind made up. “I’ll pick you up and take you out for dinner and drinks.” Pausing, I thought over the sad amount of money I had left in my bank account. But then I tossed caution to the wind. This was a huge deal. It had to be celebrated. Tomorrow I’d take a break from my book and work on an article or review I could sell now. And worst case, I’d call Mom. But not today. Today was all about Lennie.

“Like a date?” Her hesitation gave me pause. Weren’t we already dating? She’d spent the night at my house, hadn’t she? We’d gone out multiple times. I was the person she was seeking out with her good news.

“Is that a problem?”

“No.”

I sighed with relief.

She opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, but then closed it, subtly shaking her head. “Um…no, that’s fine.” Her lips curved upward in such a genuine way it made me think maybe I’d misread her earlier hesitation. “I just wanted to make sure I knew what to wear.”

Oh, so that’s all it was.
I sighed with relief, buying her words, even though deep down I knew there was more to it than that.

I took her to The Bay Steakhouse and Bar, a place I’d heard about but had never been to. It was supposed to be the kind of place you went for an anniversary, birthday, special occasion. In the past there was never a reason to try it out. Tonight I had a reason.

Lennie looked amazing, and I told her at least ten times on the drive to the restaurant. For the first time since we’d reconnected, she didn’t appear sick at all. Her cheeks had the rosy glow of a healthy person, her hair was shiny as it cascaded over her bare shoulders, and her eyes were alive, as they took in everything. Lennie was like that. She was the kind of person who was always looking around, always observing. But beneath the curiosity there was usually another emotion. Resentment, maybe. Envy, possibly. Anger, definitely. It was as if in everything she saw she was reminded of her mortality. Of the fact it could be gone as quickly as the blink of an eye. But tonight I didn’t see that. I saw curiosity and wonder, contentedness.

I wasn’t naïve enough to think that Lennie would one day be cancer free. I’d done enough research to know that wasn’t even possible. But I did know that if the tumor was shrinking, the treatment was buying her more time. And from the look on Lennie’s face, I’d say that more time was exactly what Lennie was banking on.

We were seated at a small round table in the back corner. A crisp, white table cloth covered it, and a small candle glowed in the center. I held a chair out for Lennie, and she scooted into it. In her black sleeveless dress she looked like she was made for this type of restaurant. Self-conscious, I yanked on my collar. I’d dressed appropriately in a pinstripe collared shirt and black dress pants, but both of them were years old and didn’t fit me as well as I’d like. I hoped Lennie didn’t notice. After scooting in her chair, I went around the table and took my seat. The busboy filled our glasses with water and set a basket of bread in the middle of the table.

Lennie eyed the bread, but didn’t reach for it, so I pushed the basket in her direction.

“Have some,” I offered.

“Oh, no.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to get full on the bread.”

Opening the glossy menu, my gaze scanned it, my stomach tightening. After taking in the prices, I was thinking that getting full on bread might be the way to go. But I swallowed down the thought. This was Lennie’s night. It was worth any price.

When I glanced up, Lennie’s face was obscured by the menu.

Our waiter approached the table and introduced himself. Then he asked what we’d like to drink. This was the part of the night I was dreading the most. When I chose this restaurant, I did so with the intention of ordering a nice bottle of wine. They were known for their wine selection. However, I knew nothing about wine. I rarely drank it. And when I did, I chose based on affordability, not taste. Staring at the wine list wasn’t helpful because I had no idea what to look for. What was the best? Oaky? Sweet? Peppery?

My gaze met Lennie’s, and I nodded. “Do you have a preference?” I asked, hoping she would know what to order.

But she shook her head. “You choose.”

Great.

As if sensing my hesitation, the waiter asked if I’d like to talk with the sommelier. I had no idea what a sommelier was, but I took him up on his offer. It seemed like the right thing to do. The waiter left, and Lennie smiled at me from behind her menu.

“Do you know what you want?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I’m thinking about the salmon.”

The salmon had sounded good to me too, but the pasta dishes were cheaper, therefore I’d probably go with one of those.

“Good evening.” I peered up at the man approaching our table. “I’m Trent, the Steakhouse’s sommelier.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Trent Wheelhouse?”

His eyes widened as he studied me. “Colin Wilde?” Reaching out, he slapped me on the shoulder. “How ya been, man?”

“Good,” I responded. “So this is what you do now, huh?” Trent had been a partier in high school. I’d heard rumors about him getting drunk every weekend. But I guess it worked out for him if he got a job working with alcohol.

Trent’s gaze slid over to the other side of the table, and they widened further, shock evident. “Lennie Samson?”

“Hi, Trent.” Smiling, her lashes fluttered.
Man, she was stunning.
I could tell Trent thought the same thing, and pride welled in my chest. Honestly, I couldn’t have planned this night better if I tried. “I’d heard that you were a sommelier, but I didn’t realize you worked here. That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. Looking at me, his eyebrows shot up. “So you two, huh?” He pointed back and forth between us.

“Yep,” I answered smugly, but not too smugly, because Lennie was watching.

Trent raised his brows in appreciation, giving me that look guys gave each other to show that they were impressed. “Well, this calls for a celebration, and I know just the bottle.” Smiling, he spun around. “I’ll be right back.”

When he left, Lennie set her menu down. On her face she wore a pensive expression that concerned me. This was supposed to be a night of celebration.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah.” Fidgeting, she bit her lip. “Um…I just… I kinda need to tell you something.” She leaned forward, appearing agitated, and warning signals blared in the back of my head. I desperately wanted to put the brakes on whatever she was going to say. Things had been going so well. Too well, in fact. I guess that should’ve tipped me off. Things never went this well for me.

“Here it is.” Trent stood beside our table, holding out a bottle of wine. As he opened it, he touted off all of its stats – the kind it was: Zinfandel. Where it was from: some winery in Paso Robles. Truth is, I wasn’t paying that much attention. Mostly I was searching Lennie’s face, trying to figure out what she had been attempting to tell me a few seconds ago. But more than that, I was conjuring up a plan to keep her from saying it tonight. To keep her in celebratory mode with me.

As Trent poured the wine into glasses, the deep purple color swirling inside, Lennie excused herself to the bathroom. Once she was out of earshot, Trent nudged me in the side. “Lennie Samson?” He said, incredulous. “How’d you manage that?”

I bristled. “I didn’t manage anything. We just struck up a friendship, and then I asked her out.”

He seemed to mull over my words. “Last I heard she was sick or something.”

“Yeah, she is,” I answered quietly.

“Oh.” His face grew serious as he took in my words. Then he shrugged. “Well, I guess it makes sense now.” He set the bottle in the middle of the table. “Anyway, it was good to see you. Enjoy your dinner.”

My face flamed, my hands fisting at my sides. He’d said the words flippantly, as if they weren’t piercing daggers. As if they wouldn’t tear me apart. But they did. Trent thought the only reason Lennie was dating me was because she was sick. But that wasn’t true. Was it?

When she returned, I sat up straighter, took a deep breath.

Reaching forward, she picked up her glass. Her slender fingers folded around the stem as she lifted it to her lips. When she took a sip, deep purple stained her mouth. “Hmmm. That’s amazing,” she said.

I relaxed a little as she continued to enjoy her wine. Her whole demeanor shifted, as if whatever was weighing her down left the minute she went to the restroom. Not bothering to question it, I picked up my own glass of wine and took a sip. I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to taste like, but it wasn’t bad. And it calmed me a little, warmed my insides.

Pretty soon, we ordered our dinners, drank more wine and talked about fun stuff like books and life in the city. Never again did Lennie bring up whatever it was she had tried to tell me at the beginning of the evening, and eventually I forget about it altogether.

If only I could’ve prevented the topic from ever resurfacing.

Lennie changed after that night at dinner. At first it was subtle. She became a little quieter, more reserved. But then it was more obvious. She came into the coffee shop less often, stopped returning my phone calls. I wanted to ask her about it, but the words died on my lips, stuck to my tongue, got lodged in my throat. I felt them every time I swallowed. They hid between my teeth, cowered near my tonsils.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened to me. I knew what it looked like when a woman had second thoughts. Our relationship had been too good to be true from the get-go. A fantasy come to life. Her behavior now wasn’t surprising.

Still, I held onto the hope that I wouldn’t lose her completely. That hope had started as a minuscule thread. It was now frayed and tattered, barely hanging on, but I clutched it in between my fingers so tightly that my knuckles turned white with desperation.

In the past, my eagerness caused girls to walk away, and I was determined not to do that this time. Therefore, I didn’t push Lennie. Instead, I gave her what she needed. If she sought me out, I was available, but only to the degree that she invited me. Sometimes it was a simple chat over coffee, or a walk in the park, or a short phone call.

I’d taken to wooing her through books again. She enjoyed the first romance novel I’d bought her, so I picked up a couple more by that same author and left them on her doorstep. This thoughtful gesture earned me a visit one morning as I was working at the coffee shop.

I couldn’t afford to buy her anymore books, so I grabbed a few more choose-your-own-ending novels from the box in my parents’ garage. It aroused some suspicion from Ray, though, which forced me to have a very uncomfortable conversation I would’ve rather avoided.

I’d been getting out of family dinners as much as possible since Lennie and I started dating. It was easier that way. Then I didn’t have to dodge Mom’s leading questions, or outright lie to her when she begged me to tell her about my love life.

About my muse.

And I didn’t have to squirm under Ray’s intense gaze, so bright it was like the lights in an interrogation room.

But I needed to get Lennie those books, and I knew I couldn’t show up and ask to go in the garage after declining all of Mom’s dinner invitations.  Besides, it would get Mom off my back, so I figured it was killing two birds with one stone.

And, actually, dinner wasn’t so bad. Mom kept her pestering questions to a minimum. And Ray seemed so focused on his food he barely noticed me. Also, it helped that Amelia had been sick that week. It was most likely just the flu, but I could tell my parents had been worried, and Amelia’s health status colored much of our conversation. It irked me a little, only because Amelia’s bout with the flu paled in comparison to Lennie’s cancer. But I was grateful that it took the spotlight off of me, even if only temporarily.

Once I’d survived dinner, I asked Mom if I could retrieve more of my books from the garage. She gave me the okay, and then went to do dishes. I assumed Ray had gone into the family room to zone out to some stupid sitcom. That’s why I was shocked when he entered the garage as I was down on my knees perusing my box of old books.

The garage was already dimly lit with only a spray of light coming from a lightbulb that hung precariously from the ceiling. But once Ray’s large frame filled the doorway leading into the house, the light was practically swallowed whole. Ray’s shadow cast over me, blanketing me in darkness.

I shivered.

He took a few steps, his boots stomping on the concrete. Ignoring him, I continued rifling through the books. I silently hoped that he was retrieving something for Mom. Maybe she broke something while cleaning up and Ray was grabbing a tool to help her. But when he loomed over my shoulders, I knew that wasn’t the case.

“What have you got there?” He asked the same way he used to when I was a kid and had gotten into something I shouldn’t have.

“Just looking for something,” I answered.

“What is it?”

My patience was wearing thin. Sighing, I stopped searching and craned my neck, peering up at him. “Clearly, I’m looking for a book.”

I expected him to scold me for my condescending tone, but instead he raised his eyebrows, his gaze darting to the box. “What’s your sudden interest in your old books?”

“Just reminiscing, I guess.”

Ray shook his head. “Cut the bullshit, Colin, and tell me what’s going on.”

I recoiled from his harsh tone.

“You might have your Mom fooled,” he continued. “But I know something’s up. You’re not acting normal.”

I snorted. “You mean, I’m not acting like you.” My fingers lit on the book I needed, and I yanked it out. Then I stood up, wiping dirt from my knees. “News flash, Ray, I’m not like you. I never have been.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” he answered gruffly. “You’ve always been strange, but right now you’re even more strange than usual.”

I bristled at his statement. Pretending it didn’t maim me, I shoved the box back on the shelf and patted Ray on the back. “Nice talking to ya,” I said sarcastically before attempting to slide past him.

But he grabbed my arm. “You better get your shit together, son. I’m not bailing you out a second time. No matter how much your mom begs me.”

Angry, I tugged my arm back. I always knew it was Mom who made him help me all those years ago. She had told me he wanted to, but I knew better. Still it stung that he admitted it. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to bail me out this time.”

“There better not be a reason to,” he snapped.

“Chill,” I hissed. “There’s nothing going on.”

“I really hope you’re telling the truth.” His eyes narrowed. “For your mom’s sake. She can’t survive it again.”

Blowing out an annoyed breath, I shook my head. Then headed back inside the house, leaving Ray and his unsavory opinion of me in the garage.

But enduring my stepdad’s hurtful words ended up being worth it once I gave the books to Lennie. She read them swiftly, and then we spent the day together discussing them. And I started to believe we had turned a corner.

That she’d gotten past whatever issue had been plaguing her. That we could move forward with our relationship.

But then I saw
him
, and all of my hopes vanished, snuffed out like a candle when the wick burned out. It was then that I knew the truth.