Song of Renewal (32 page)

“Raymond.” Charlcy leaned forward, reaching to cover his hands with her own. “It wouldn’t have mattered to me.” She knew in that heartbeat that she meant it with everything in her.

“But it did to me. You’re too much woman to settle for – ” He shifted, frowning. “Heck, I know there are ways to please each other without – well, anyway, I decided not to go the surgery route. It was a gamble – asort of damned if I do and damned if I don’t, y’know? I chose another course of action, brachytherapy.”

He shifted his lanky frame forward, elbows on table. “And as for Lindi, we talked several times. I didn’t tell her about being sick. So she didn’t understand why I stayed away. I knew she was angry and hurt.”

Charlcy frowned, perplexed. “I don’t understand why Lindi didn’t share that you two were in touch.”

He leaned back, brow furrowed. “She knew you were angry with me. An’ you had every right to be. She didn’t want you to be mad at her for seeming to take my side. She simply didn’t want to rock the boat.” He flexed his long fingers, then reconnected and studied them on the table. “It’s hard to explain. As long as I didn’t tell you two, it didn’t seem as real. The Big C’s like a death sentence when you dwell on it. So I didn’t. Any more than I had to. But I wanted to see if this brachytherapy thing would work. My doctor agreed to try it.”

“What is it? Charlcy asked.

“Well, brachytherapy is where they use a needle to plant these little radioactive seeds – about the size of a rice grain – directly into the cancerous tumors. They went through the skin of my scrotum to put ’em into my prostate gland – I’m not freaking you out, am I?” He peered anxiously at Charlcy, who’d felt the blood leaving her head moments earlier. She blinked against the dizziness, swallowed, and shook her head.

His expression was dubious, but he continued. “I was put to sleep for that procedure, by the way. Brachytherapy has been real effective in knocking out prostate tumors without surgery. Less risk of losing sexual function than with surgery.”

He slanted her a searching look. “Even if that happened, there’s always Viagra.”

She shrugged that away. “What happens to the seeds ?”

“Still in there. In the prostate. There’s no problem leavin’’em there. Least that’s what the doc says. I’m not aware of ’em anymore. Actually, they used the strongest radiation seeds – Palladium, I think they call ’em.”

He shrugged and sighed, obviously exhausted and wanting to leave the subject. “The radiation has slowly decayed – can you believe that’s the term they use? Decayed?” He gave a dry laugh. “Anyway, I’m not contagious at this stage.”

“Is it all over? The treatment?”

He smiled tightly. “Yep. Now, it’s a game of wait and see.”

Charlcy’s heart was thumping so hard she felt it would leap from her chest. “Is it working, Raymond?”
Oh God. Please say yes.

“So far, so good.” His smile grew more relaxed. “Doc says the tumor’s shrinking right on schedule. I go in every three months for checkup. If it shrinks too fast, not good. Too slow, not good, either. So the danged varmint is dwindling just right.”

“That’s great, Raymond,” Charlcy whispered, so relieved she felt that she was melting into a puddle right there on that hard seat. “Are there any side effects?”

“Well – there are. The worst being the piss complications. That’s ’cause the prostate swells from being tinkered with and puts pressure on the bladder.”

They had not discussed, in depth, his treatment until now. He’d backed away from it, saying he didn’t want to play on her sympathy, which to her was pure crap. Even if she couldn’t forgive him for his infidelity, he was the father of her daughter. And one of the best friends she’d ever had. She couldn’t turn her back on him now, could she?

Deep, deep down, on a very primitive level, Charlcy knew her own arguments against reconciliation were also pure crap.
But on another level, she could not let go of the violations. Not at this point. So she pushed them aside – tabled them for the time being.

“Another thing.” Raymond cleared his throat. “I’ve been going to AA for the past seven months. I don’t want to bring up that thing that hurt you so – ”

“Then don’t.” Charlcy took another slug of root beer, frowning against its growing tepidness. She was hoping against hope that he’d drop this particular subject because it was like banging her head against a cement wall to relive even one second of it.

“I have to, honey,” Raymond murmured and took her hand, forcing her to look at him. “I’m not excusing myself, but had I not been a drunken sot that night, I wouldn’t have done what I did. As simple as that.”

“Simple?” Charlcy glared at him, pulling her hand loose, astonished that her rage was so
there,
near the surface. Ready to explode. But she couldn’t stop her tongue “How dare you put it in so easy a term. Your
simple
little indiscretion cost me dearly. As well as Lindi and – ”

“It cost me more,” he rumbled softly.

Somehow that almost inaudible little declaration pierced the hostile screen she’d thrown up to ward off the blows. It knocked her off balance for long moments. Then, from long years of self-defense and survival experiences, the tiny rupture plugged itself up and storm clouds regrouped stronger than ever. “Ah, so now we’re in a pissing contest as to who’s the most pulverized?” She tossed her head back, rolling her eyes. “Spare me.”

“I’d win hands down.” He gazed at her, a gaunt portrait of misery. “Because I’m the one who blew it. I have to live with that, darlin’. I threw it all away.”

Charlcy stared at him, the anger fizzling as she suddenly glimpsed his wretchedness. She blinked and looked away. She didn’t like what she felt. She didn’t want to feel anything. She’d lived her life for others, deflecting pain from them, taking it upon herself to be a freakin’ protector.

And – God help her – the one person in her life she’d counted upon to protect
her
had let her down, defiling the sacredness of that trust. How could she just…let it go?

Raymond was watching her, his expression all soft and caring. When she met his gaze, he whispered, “it’s okay, Charlc. I don’t blame you. I don’t deserve forgiveness.” His smile didn’t reach his sad eyes as he picked up the ticket and sauntered to the cash register. She retrieved her purse and followed.

Raymond had given her a pass. He didn’t expect forgiveness. That should make her feel better.

But it did not.

chapter sixteen

Angel sat in her wheelchair, situated near the hospital window. Her newly assigned room rendered a more colorful view, overlooking raised berms of artistically arranged, crimsonblossomed crepe myrtle trees, sculpted shrubbery, and riotous summer flowers – all burgeoning with life, reaching inside her to dredge up an affirming response.

The thing was, though, she felt once-removed from almost everything these days.

“Survival mode” was how Dr. Abrams described it. “You’re simply working through survival. All these other feelings and reactions will come eventually.”

Angel wondered at that. It seemed lately that something else stirred deeply inside her, something she could not quite label. She’d begun to have unsettling dreams and little flashbacks of dark, dark times. Just snippets, but they were growing increasingly disturbing in nature. Maybe Dr. Abrams was right, though. Maybe it was normal in a case such as hers to feel this way.

Penny sat next to her, chair pulled close in case Angel grew faint from low blood pressure after her extended stagnancy.

Eyes closed, Angel sat in a pool of sunlight whose marvelous warmth penetrated her down to her waist. Below that, she felt nothing. The nothingness still blitzed her at times – not quite shock but some muted clone of it. Earlier that day, lower body spasms, in her paralyzed regions, had tugged at her upper tendons, while milder upper body spasms made her uncomfortable. Range of motion therapy was helping her upper body twitches.

Seeming to read her mind, Penny asked, “Have the spasms eased?”

Angel nodded, in that moment too weary to speak. Every willful act taxed her beyond measure. But Penny always seemed to understand and she loved her anyway.

Meds like Valium, Baclofen, and Dantrium gave her relief. Dr. Abrams explained that the spasms had a positive side, in that they improved the circulation in her extremities during this cycle of paraplegia. She refused to consider this a permanent thing.

No way.

For the moment, she would enjoy the beauty of life outside her sick chamber. In the next instant, though, a gush of anger welled up. “B-be glad when…I’m outta here,” she grumbled feebly.

“You’ll be out of here in no time flat,” Penny decreed and reached out to squeeze Angel’s hand. Penny was always upbeat, but not so much as to lope ahead of Angel. Penny’s compassion penetrated Angel’s apathy fog, releasing
hope
to advance in minuscule increments. “In the meantime, you’ve got to go to therapy. Which is it this afternoon?”

“Recreational T,” Angel said. “
Yuck.”

“But with Internet sessions, you get to check your e-mail, don’t you?” Penny’s genuine interest smote Angel on some
wispy, subterranean level. Shock still subdued her senses and emotions, but she was slowly coming back.

She felt Penny’s fingers gently squeeze her hand before loosing it, and gratitude emerged in semi-translucence.
There
but ghostlike. Angel felt, at times, like she was a voyeur of someone else’s drama. Even Troy’s death seemed surreal and distant. Dr. Abrams said that was normal after being comatose. He said it took time. She figured it was like landing on Earth again after a long stay in outer space, going through the process of getting back one’s Earth legs.

Only now, she didn’t have legs. Even that thought failed to shock her senses. It was like listening to a foreign language with no interpreter.

Total balance would take a while, wouldn’t it? At least she thought it would. Counted on it.

Anger had more impetus, more kick – such as it was in her addled state.

“Yeah, check…e-mail. Hardyhar-har. Dense games…too much to handle at once. My head – still loopy.” Angel’s speech still stumbled but was improving daily.

Penny giggled, a bit self-consciously. “Hang in there. You’ll be good as new soon.”

“Darn right.” Angel gazed out the window, demeanor glazed and faraway. Then she looked at Penny again, eyes suddenly over-bright. “Thanks.”

Penny’s expression grew puzzled. “For what?”

“E-everything. Being here. Like this. Staying for…the long haul.”

At that moment an all-white clad, tall, jock-looking guy with a butch haircut burst into the room. “Ready to rock, Angel?”

“Yeah, Mark. Let’s rock ’n’ roll.” Angel rolled her eyes at Penny and then set her features in resignation.

Penny trailed the chair to the elevator, where they said good-by.

Angel watched her friend wave until the elevator doors slid shut and she felt herself hoisted to fourth floor. She now knew what “best friend” was all about. Solid. Unwavering. Unconditional.
Penny.

Therapy. Tears gathered suddenly. Where had they come from? She’d not felt them in so long they felt bizarre. But they were there. At least for that heartbeat in time.

The words of her psychiatrist, Dr. Carlsbad, flashed through her mind, haunting her. “Don’t get your hopes up, Angel. Most likely, you’ll not walk again.” A parade of specialists agreed. “Accept it. Prepare for what’s ahead. You’ll be much better off if you adjust quickly.”

I will not let negative people determine my self-worth
.

Nor my hope
.

She would not cry. No matter what they said. Because if she did, that would mean she’d given up. That would not happen. That’s what she prayed for – to not give up.

She closed her eyes and curled her hands into fists.

“Aren’t you going to stop today and eat?” Liza called to Garrison, who perched on a ladder in the big upstairs studio, shooting nails into bookshelves. They would hold Angel’s books, CD and DVD collections, and whatever else her heart desired.

He looked down at Liza and wiped his brow with his forearm, damp even in the air-conditioned coolness of the upper chamber. “What time is it?”

She smiled and sent his heart into a tailspin. He’d never again in his life take her for granted. “After two. Lunch has been ready for the past couple of hours. C’mon, let’s rest a few
minutes and chill out.” He felt her warm gaze on him as he descended the ladder.

“Please, madam, let’s ride down in style.” He bowed eloquently and swept his hand toward the newly installed elevator. Liza’s peal of delight at the picture he made in his baggy coveralls and courtly demeanor pleased him immensely. He’d decided to tune into her world of humor, hook up and fly with it. Chortling like kids on holiday, they boarded and descended smoothly to their destination, stealing kisses along the way. This was the second project Garrison had determined to complete before Angel’s homecoming, an avenue of transportation.