Save Me (9 page)

S
orry I’m late. It took forever to haul that truck out. I don’t know how he managed to get so far down in the ditch,” Noble says as he kisses me on the cheek.

“It’s fine.”

“It looks like you’re ready to go.” Noble appraises my long parka and crocheted scarf wrapped around my neck.

“I just walked BJ over to Butch’s. How long do you need?”

“Give me five minutes,” Noble calls back, running up the stairs.

“I’ll go warm up the car.” I grab my overnight bag before heading out the side door to the L-shed.

I start the engine and pull the car up to the side door of the house and get out to climb in the passenger side. Odds are Noble’s not going to let me drive.

He runs out and yells, “Did you bring my toothbrush?”

I nod. I am now the girl who packs her husband’s toothbrush.

Noble climbs in the car and leans over to kiss me. “Happy New Year,” he says, and pecks me again. “I know going out tonight is a lot to ask with everything that’s going on with Butch, but I’m glad we are.” Noble’s smile warms me. “I’d rather be taking you to a hotel all by ourselves, but a party at Sam’s will have to do.”

“How many people are going to be there?” All I saw was an e-mail with cocktail attire as the dress code. It’s nice to dress up once in a while. Although I’m not sure if I’m exactly dressed up.

“I think a lot. Maybe eighty. That’s why we need to get there early. Sam’s giving us the guest room, but it’s smart to stake it out.” Eighty is a lot for Sam’s small apartment. It’s basically a two-story loft with a small guest bedroom off the living room. It’s on a pier on the Delaware River and the perfect location to watch the Philly fireworks at midnight.

Sam is talking to the doorman when we arrive and he tells us to go on back, that the door’s unlocked. Noble and I walk through the center courtyard and I shiver from the cold.

“You are going to freeze when we watch the fireworks,” Noble says, and puts his arm around my shoulder.

“I brought clothes to change into for it.” I tap my overnight bag hanging off his other shoulder.

“What dress did you wear?”

“I actually bought something new. I think you’re going to like it.” I flash Noble a naughty grin, and hope he does. It’s a bit of a departure for me and it’s absolutely in his honor. We slide the glass door to Sam’s condo open and step into the heat. It’s going to be a hundred degrees in here by the time everyone arrives. Noble opens the door to the guest room and I follow him in. I take off my parka and straighten my dress. It’s extremely short, black, and leather on top. There are sleeves, but they’re sheer black with wide leather cuffs at the wrists. It’s also tight, fitted and very body conscious.

I roll my coat up and store it on the floor next to the bed. When I turn to Noble, he’s staring at me with his mouth hanging open. He likes the dress. He’s easy to please. Simple, really.

“Do you like it?” I ask.

“My dick is so hard it almost broke off,” he says without taking his eyes off me.

“Heaven forbid.”

“Where…when…did you get that dress?”

“I ordered it online. I think it’s the shortest thing I’ve ever worn.” I walk to Noble and lean against the front of him. He’s right; his dick is hard. I grab it and pull his bottom lip with my teeth. “What are we going to do with this?” I ask, and kiss his neck. Noble’s head falls back and he moans as I find his balls with my hand. I reach over and lock the door to the guest room and turn back to Noble.

His pants are hard to unbutton, he’s filling them so. As I work, Noble pulls my hair back from my shoulders and runs the back of his fingers across my cheek. He’s hungry, yet gentle. It’s hard to understand what Noble is capable of. As if answering my silent question, he turns my back to the wall, pulls off my thong, and lifts my left knee to his chest. He crashes into me and then pauses. I swallow, breathe, and look up into the possessive eyes of my husband.

I don’t say a word. Not because there is nothing to say but because there’s nothing left to say. Noble has taught me the difference between love and need. You can have both with the same person. It’s a form of sanity I forgot existed before we got together. What was my life like, when sanity became a lesson?

Noble plunges into me again, holding me up against the wall as he watches me take him in each time.
You like to watch, too.
I block the thought from my mind and take Noble’s hair in my hands and fist my fingers. Noble doesn’t stop. I unbutton his shirt, hungry for the sight of his shoulders, and pull it down to his elbows. As Noble still thrusts into me, I lean over and kiss his shoulder as he speeds up.

I dig my fingernails into him and lean my head back. Noble raises my right knee, too, and renders me completely at his mercy. I’m floating above the ground with only Noble’s rhythm anchoring me down. I tense, fighting for every breath.

“Noble,” I breathe, and he looks me straight in the eye, his warm blue pools loving me. He continues and watches me come. Noble holds me against the wall and I wrap my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. He finishes and I squeeze myself around him. Noble lays his head on my chest, still supporting me with an arm under each thigh.

“Charlotte, I love you.” Noble releases my legs and moves a lock of hair behind my ear. “More than anything else.” He’s warm and rich with his love, and he blankets me with it every minute I am with him.

“I know.” I consider the last five years of my life. How different they would have been without him. Noble lowers my other leg and I stretch them, making sure my hips still work. I pull on my underwear and pull down my tiny black dress. I smooth out the front and, with raised eyebrows, ask Noble if I look okay. He kisses me as he buttons his shirt.

I take the buttons from his hands and work on them myself. I sigh as I work, hating to cover his shoulders. Noble leans down and kisses my cheek.

“What am I going to do with you, Noble?” I ask, believing he’s too perfect. Too sure of everything; certainly this, too, is going to come crashing down on us.

“Love me,” he says, and kisses me again. “And feed me, and wear that dress more often,” he adds, returning to his playful normal.

We exit the room to find about ten more people have arrived. Sam walks over and hands us each a beer.

“You know, you guys are married now. You can have sex at your house, anytime you want,” he says, completely unannoyed.

“We’re newlyweds,” I remind him.
How long?
About four months. I glance down at my ring. It’s as if it’s been on my finger forever.

Sam’s party is compact and eventually spills out onto the shared patio of the condos. There are plenty of drinks, food, and people to talk to, but I only want to be with Noble. Without Julia, Jenn, and Sydney here to yell at me for turning into one of “those girls” who ignore their friends once they’re married, I can bask in him.

There are zero decorations in Sam’s house except for a large poster board with the wind superstition for New Year’s written on it in marker. It reads:

As I’m reading them, Noble grabs my hand to lead me out the door. He stops and reads the sign, too. When he gets to the west wind, he turns to me and pulls me toward him.

“He’s going to be okay, Charlotte.”

“I know,” I say as Noble wraps his arms around me and holds me close to him. I don’t know a thing, though.

We hear the fireworks on the river and get to the edge of the pier just in time for the finale. Noble lifts me off the ground and kisses me, the sound of the last fireworks pushing any fear from my mind. He places me back on my feet and I am in awe of my gentle giant.

“Happy New Year, Noble.” I kiss him again.

I had opened my eyes to the first day of the new year and immediately thought of Butch. Under any other circumstance I would not have left Philly this morning, but it’s the last Sunday before Butch’s surgery and I want to go to church with him. Even if I do smell like a day-old bottle of whiskey. I really hope I don’t. I smell my arm for alcohol oozing from my skin and notice the Volvo’s clock says I’m going to be late if I don’t speed the whole way.

I pull into the church parking lot and take the open spot next to Marie’s car. She’s probably here for the same reason. Noble offered to come with me but looked like I should just bury him instead. The death reference sours me. I drag myself out of the car and shut the door behind me. The cold wind blows my hair and sneaks down the back of my parka. I pull my hood up and tighten the toggle around my neck. Is it coming from the west? I face west out of the parking lot and the wind slaps my face. I turn quickly and hurry through the front door, not letting myself contemplate the wind.

Once inside the sanctuary, the heat is pumping. God wouldn’t want us to be cold. I exchange good mornings with Dr. Grubb, who is the greeter today, and carry my program to my pew. I slide in from the outside and sit next to Butch; Marie is to his left. He is gaunt. Daily milkshakes have done little to combat the effects of the chemotherapy. His emaciated frame anchors the skin that is now hanging off of him. Butch has aged twenty years in the past month. I rest my hands in my lap and lower my head.

Dear Lord, thank you for this new year. Please let this be over this week. Let Butch’s cancer be removed and let him heal. Let him eat, and gain weight, and enjoy Marie, and his grandson, and—

“Morning,” Jason whispers in my ear as he sits down, inappropriately close to me. I open my eyes and turn toward him. He is the devil.

“Great,” I say sarcastically. “Now we’re all going to be struck by lightning.”

I feel like every pair of eyes in this church, as well as the eyes of the Lord, are on me. Me and Jason, that is. Pastor Johnson welcomes us. As he speaks, he moves up the aisle and pauses for a few seconds, smiling at Butch. To Butch’s complete mortification, I put him on the prayer list after the diagnosis. Pastor Johnson’s eyes skip over to me…and Jason…and return to me filled with concern. He doesn’t miss a beat, though, and continues on with his announcements. I twist my engagement ring on my finger and remember Pastor Johnson welcoming me to the ritual of marriage…with Noble.

What will Noble think of this? I have to tell him. Jason’s been popping up too much without Noble being aware. Keeping it a secret turns this into something it’s not. Jason slips his hand between our thighs and a chill runs across my breastbone. I look down at his hand and up into the eyes of my past.

“It’s chilly in here,” he whispers in my ear. How long has torturing me been his hobby? He’s a bored child entertaining himself with my demise.

Pastor Johnson is obviously clairvoyant because his sermon focuses on temptation. Mr. Chambers, one of the few attorneys in town, stands from his pew and walks to the podium on the side of the altar. Maybe Noble and I should talk to him about our money and our land. Mr. Chambers reads this week’s scripture to us.

“There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.”

Mr. Chambers pauses and the pastor nods to him.

“This is the word of the Lord,” he says.

“Thanks be to God,” we respond, and Pastor Johnson explains that we will never be given a test by God that is more than we can bear. Turn to the word of God instead of our own hearts, our lusts. At this point I actually start to sweat. Jason shifts in his seat until the weight of his immense chest is resting on my side. I lean forward and look past him at several feet of pew uninhabited. Jason is silently laughing, his eyes down, his shoulders shaking.

I think I decipher some talk about the temptation being a divine test and God’s purpose, and finally, in hope of self-preservation, I completely stop listening at the mention of the lusts of my flesh. Instead I begin to pray for Butch and his surgery. Only my life could include the irony of a sermon about temptation creating temptation.

T
hey are going to remove it. They’re going to operate on Butch and remove all the cancer and we’ll all go back to our normal lives…with Butch. I’m driving the Volvo with Butch in the passenger seat. Jason and Marie are in the back and no one says a word. I want to hold Butch’s hand, but I’ve never held it before. I want to cry, but it will only repulse him.

I want this day to be over.

A month of chemotherapy almost killed him. I glance past him at the side mirror and even his posture sings the song of fear. I look in the rearview mirror and Jason is staring out his window, lost in his own horrific thoughts. Thank God for Marie. There’s too much fear in this vehicle to manage alone.

We get Butch settled and plant ourselves in the waiting room. Butch is assigned a number we can use to track his progress throughout the day. I find it on the monitor hanging on the wall above the information desk. Marie sits in the corner knitting, or crocheting, I don’t know the difference. Jason stands staring out the window, his arm above his head, his forehead resting on it. He is beautiful. I shut my eyes and chastise myself for thinking like this, for thinking at all. His father is about to be operated on.
What’s wrong with you?

Seconds form minutes; minutes crawl to hours. Jason sits across from me and takes out his phone. He stares down at it and I can’t imagine anything there brings him comfort. I pull out my own and text him:

Jason never looks up from his phone. He texts back:

I write back and toss my phone into my bag on the floor by my feet.

I pull out the notebook I’ve been carrying to all of Butch’s doctors’ appointments. He has stage 4 cancer. It has metastasized to his liver, which seems to be the greatest concern. There are several lesions, cancer tissue that has a moth-eaten appearance, which will be removed today. Two surgeons will perform resections of his colon and liver. It will take seven to eight hours. My eyes find Jason again.
When was the last time we spent eight hours together?

While they’re in there, intraoperatory ultrasound will confirm placement of the lesions and look for small tumors. Anything they couldn’t see. Hopefully the chemotherapy has worked and most have shrunk. I wring my hands as I read everything I’ve written and try to imagine how Butch must feel. I’m a complete wreck and it’s not me, or my dad. I look up at Jason again. He’s now just staring at me and for some reason I don’t mind.

The doctor walks in and I pull my eyes and the rest of me from Jason.
You’re early.
I stand up and face the doctor, who, without saying a word, tells me things are not the way they are supposed to be.

“He’s in recovery. We’ll move him to a room in about an hour. He tolerated the surgery well,” he says, but there’s no relief on his face. “Unfortunately, when we got in there, we found small lesions that were not visible on the scan. Their positions make them inoperable. I’m sorry.”

I can hear Marie crying behind me. She knew all along.

“What do you mean you’re sorry? What else can we do? There has to be something else,” I say, ready to storm over to Butch and operate myself.

“If Butch chooses, he can do chemotherapy. There are also targeted drugs we can discuss. These will slow the cancer, possibly alleviate some symptoms for a while.”

Jason walks past us and out the door of the hospital.

“But there’s no cure? No stopping it?”

“I’m sorry. It’s already gone too far,” the doctor says, and I want to follow Jason right out of this building.

“How long?” Marie asks through her sniffles.

“Six to nine months with treatment. We can discuss all the options when Butch is up to it.”

Up to it?
Is anyone ever up to it?

“I’ll come back and get you in a little while to see him.”

I turn to Marie as she backs into a chair by the window. I find some more tissues in my purse and place them in her hand.

“I know you love him, Marie.” She nods, still crying. “I’m going to find Jason. Are you all right?” I lean down to her eye level as she nods and cries again. Butch is lucky to be loved by her.
Lucky.
I roll my eyes.

I exit the elevator into the freezing parking deck and search for signs of Jason. I walk to the far end where the Volvo is parked and see him leaning on the front fender, staring out over the concrete wall of the garage.

My feet are moving, but I don’t know how. I reach Jason and wrap my arms around his neck and pull his head to my shoulder. He melts there and puts his arms around my waist, his whole body touching mine, shielding me from the truth of our lives—everything is lost at some point. I run my hands through his familiar curly hair and inhale the kiwi right before I close my eyes, still clinging to Jason for survival.

He leaves his head on my shoulder until the weight of it causes a dull pain. I keep smoothing his hair, unable to give him anything more. I turn my head and my lips are close to his ear, too close. The chill runs from the back of my throat down my chest and I pull back from him.

Jason’s eyes are almost black, but there’s no sign of anger. Some version of surrender, an alien in his body, inhabits them.

“I can’t do it, Annie,” he says, without an ounce of strength in his voice. There’s nothing that has scared me more in my life than the sound of fear coming from him. “I can’t watch him die.” No one should have to live through this…twice.

“I’ll do it,” I say, and pull him to me again. “I’ll take care of him. I love him.” Tears fill my eyes and one streaks down my face as I add, “And I love you.”