Surviving Love (13 page)

Zoe smiles in return and then looks at me. She is quite striking when she smiles; it lights up her entire face. “It was busy last night, and it was a surprise to see him here, to say the least.”
 

“Why? Did something happen last night?” Mrs. Fields looks to me and I can’t deny the truth on my face. She knows the trouble with my anger. She’s never seen it, but I’ve told her in weaker moments about how I harbor so much rage toward my brother. After I attacked the first guy, Mrs. Fields was the only person I talked to about it. She knows me well and she is aware that I fought last night.
 

I look up at her, ashamed, and then back down to my hands. “Yeah…the same thing as before.” When I connect my eyes with Zoe’s, she tilts her head slightly, curiosity peaking just below the surface.
 

“I see.” It’s all Mrs. Fields says because she’s suddenly interrupted by an onslaught of coughing. It hits her fast, and then she is coughing so hard that she can hardly catch her breath. I look to Zoe and she looks back to me, both of us confused. Zoe jumps from the couch and gets a glass of water then, when Mrs. Fields pulls her hand away from her mouth, blood is covering her palm. I’m no doctor, but I do know coughing up blood is not a good thing. Not at all.
 

Zoe returns with a glass of water and sees the blood in her hand. She lets out a gasp and looks to my confused expression. “Aunt Connie, what’s this?” Zoe snaps as she stares at her hand.
 

“Mrs. Fields?” I say, just as inquisitively.
 

“Connie, please, Drake.” She lets out a big breath and looks to both of us. Then she stands and moves to the kitchen with Zoe and I following close behind her. She begins to wash her hands and is trying to hold back the tears. “It’s really no big deal.”
 

“Coughing up blood
is
a really big deal,” I firmly debate. “Tell me what’s going on.”
 

She looks to me, tears streaming down her face. I can’t help but feel the heartache resurfacing again because her eyes are telling me something I don’t want to know. Not yet. Not today. Not ever.
 

“I didn’t want you to know this. God knows I was trying to find a way to tell you, but I couldn’t find it in me to tell you this, especially after everything that’s happened. But…I’m dying, Drake.”
 

Chapter 12
 

Zoe
 

I was in the middle of stewing over Drake and his onslaught of anger toward me when Aunt Connie starts coughing. They are short little coughs at first then she struggles to get her breath, wheezing and gasping for air. All the anger I’ve had bubbling inside of me evaporates as I shift gears. I jump from the couch and get Aunt Connie a glass of water then I see her hand as I come back. The palm of her hand is red, blood red, and her eyes are leaking water. What the hell?
 

Now I’m angry again, but for other reasons. I’m not sure what those reasons are, but it annoys me all the same. I follow Aunt Connie into the kitchen and demand answers, but she doesn’t give them to me. She looks to Drake, heart break in her eyes and tells him she’s dying. The look on his face is one I will never forget. His golden caramel complexion turns ghostly white, and he looks like someone’s just sucked all the life from his body.
 

“What?” he manages to whisper, still shocked where he stands. “Why…why didn’t you say something sooner?” Drake grabs a hold of the counter to keep himself upright, and I’m soon baffled by his reaction. Why is this so devastating to him? Granted, I’m sad and she’s my family and all, but Drake looks like he’s losing a battle with life itself. Why is he having this kind of reaction?
 

Aunt Connie moves from the kitchen and sits back on the sofa, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Initially, I wasn’t sure it was anything, but after I wasn’t feeling better, I went to the doctor. That was about six months ago. I was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. There isn’t much they can do for me considering it has spread to both my lungs and trachea. And I don’t want to do treatments when there’s really no point. So now they’ll just keep me comfortable. I was doing well until recently. Then last week I started to feel really poor and was told my disease is progressing quickly. My specialist has given me three months to live. He suggested I stop watching Mia full time and get reacquainted with my family.” She looks over to me, the tears soaking her eyes, and I feel them filling mine. “And I’m so glad you’re here, honey.”
 

Drake stands straight on his feet; the sadness is gone and replaced with anger. I feel like I’m in an episode of the Twilight Zone. I’m present in the room, however the majority of the conversation does not involve me at all. There is something between the two of them, a connection I cannot put my finger on, but I know it exists. I can feel it present in the air.
 

“Why would you not tell me about this?” Drake begins to pace the room, running his hands through the dark hair on his head. “You’ve been caring for my baby when you should have been taking care of yourself.”
 

“I know, but…I just didn’t want this to be your burden. You’ve had your fair share of troubles, Drake.” Aunt Connie shuffles her feet, cutting off Drake and stops him from pacing. He looks down at her with sadness and hurt, not anger…just pain. “I will be okay, Drake. I’m an old woman; this is what we’re supposed to do.”
 

Drake wraps his arms around her weary body and holds her tightly. She comforts him with motherly arms, and it’s a sight that brings tears to my eyes. I will miss my Aunt Connie. No one
deserves to die the way she’s dying, but I can’t help but feel overwhelmed for Drake. For the first time since meeting him, I don’t think he’s a psychopath or a serial killer; he’s a man with a broken soul. For reasons beyond me, I have to know what has broken him in the first place.
 

Drake
 

I was so sure seeing Zoe today at Mrs. Fields’s was going to be the worst part of the day, but when Mrs. Fields reveals to me that she is dying, all the wind gets sucked out of my body. We’ve gotten so close over the last year or so, and whenever I’ve been really struggling with life, Mrs. Fields has been that comforting person that I needed. She is my rock and the only motherly figure I’ve had in my life. Now she’s dying.
Dying
.
 

When I arrive at my house sometime later, I pull Mia from the back seat. We’ve stayed longer than intended after her revelation, and now it’s after ten o’clock at night. Mia is exhausted and needs her sleep. When I walk in the house, Darcie and Reggie are snuggled up on the couch watching a movie. I stand in the entryway to the living room and stare at them. It takes a moment, but Darcie meets my eyes and stands to her feet.
 

“What…what is it?”
 

I clear my throat and readjust my sleeping child in my arms. “Mrs. Fields has cancer.” The words feel like poison in my mouth and I can barely get them out. “She’s got three months to live.”
 

I can feel the emotions start to surface and I quickly turn on my heels, heading to Mia’s room. I lay her down in her bed and quietly close the door. When I turn around, Darcie is standing behind me, waiting for me to elaborate. I push past her and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, instead deciding to start the shower and wash away the events of the day.
 

***
 

The next morning I’m not able to avoid Darcie when she corners me in the kitchen. I tell her all I know about the situation and ask her if she can watch Mia while I go in search for new daycare. I call in sick to my job, knowing I won’t be able to do it for long. I’ve never had to look for daycare; I’ve been lucky to have people in my life willing to help watch Mia.
 

The first place I go smells horribly of dirty diapers and mildew, then when I get a good look at the toddler room where Mia would be, it is disgusting. I am in the place a total of three minutes before I flee out of it like a bat out of hell. Next, I go to a daycare that is a little more expensive and looks nice on the outside, but when I walk in the front door, it is the same as the first; filled with a disgusting smell and inadequate conditions. This will not be acceptable.
 

The final daycare seems nice on the outside, the toys look taken care of and the yard has been maintained. When I walk inside, I notice it smells clean. I look around the lobby, seeing it appears well kept. So far so good. Then I visit the toddler room. It is exactly what I’ve pictured a daycare to be. The teachers are on the floor, playing with the kids, the room is clean and the children appear to be really happy. They also have a webcam installed so I can watch whenever I want to. That is the selling point right there.
 

I sign her up thirty minutes later and fill out all the appropriate paperwork. Tomorrow will
be Mia’s first day, and hopefully, she will like it.
 

When I drive home, I can’t help but think about why I have to do this. Mrs. Fields is dying—before the year is over, she will be gone. I’m not sure which is worse, knowing when someone will die or them being ripped from your life unexpectedly. Granted, Presley’s death was torturous, yet how I’m feeling now does feels eerily similar. Mrs. Fields is like a mother to me, someone I can count on for the advice I seek. I’ve been looking forward to her watching Mia grow into a young woman, but now all of that will be gone. By this time next year, she will be gone. I will miss her so much. This right here is the reason why I don’t want to get close with anyone. It hurts too much when they leave, and there is nothing I can do about it. There never is, and it’s infuriating.
 

When I arrive home, Mia is up from her nap and is keeping Reggie busy. I stand in the threshold of the door, observing Mia interacting with her uncle.
 

“Uncie Edgey…no.” She shakes her head and takes the doll brush from his hand. Reggie just chuckles out loud and shakes his head.
 

“Okay, princess. Then you tell me what I need to do,” he says back, trying to be stern with her.
 

Mia hands Reggie the doll and shows him how to brush her hair. “Like dis, Uncie.” She starts combing the doll’s hair, slightly ripping it out, but insists she’s doing it right. “Now hers pretty.” Mia turns the doll and stuffs it in Reggie’s face. “See?”
 

“Yes, Mia, I see. She’s very pretty.” Reggie notices me and smiles. Then Mia sees me and comes running to my arms.
 

She looks precious as usual with her hair combed into a cute little braid and short outfit. I lift her in my arms and give her a hug. She wraps her arms around my neck and quickly rests her head on my shoulder. It melts my heart, as it always does.
 

“Hi, Dada!”
 

“Hi, sweet girl. Are you having fun with Uncle Reggie?” I ask as she fiddles with my cheeks.
 

“Yeah! He likes my baby.” Mia holds up her doll and shoves her right in my face. I push the doll away and nod my head. The look on her face is puzzling as she creases her brows and studies something beyond my sight. When she connects back with me, Mia practically throws me off guard. “Dada, what’s douchie bag? Uncie said his team was douchie bags and yelled at the TV.”
 

Reggie sputters a laugh and begins to gag while trying to hold back the laughter. I look at her and I’m dumbfounded. Awestruck. I don’t know what to say.
 

I glare over to Reggie as he makes it to his feet, holding up his hands. “Don’t look at me, man. You know who says that phrase around here.”
 

“Damn, Jake,” I mutter under my breath.
 

“Damn, Uncie Jake,” Mia repeats and smiles her big, dazzling smile. Shit, she’s repeating everything I’m saying. The timing couldn’t be worse because she’s starting daycare tomorrow and I don’t want her cursing at the teacher on the first day.
 

“Now, Mia, those are grownup words, okay? You don’t say those words,” I scold her.
 

She looks at me like I took away her favorite toy and crushed it under my boot. The tears fill in her eyes just before she lets them fall down her cheeks. Her bottom lip begins to tremble and then the onslaught of sobs soon follows. Fuck! Now I feel like a douche bag and the world’s worst dad.
 

Reggie again tries to stifle a laugh because he knows I feel like a fucking jerk right now, but as long as
he’s
in good graces with Mia then it’s all good. As much as I want to tell her I’m sorry, I know I need to hold strong. She needs to know her limits, but what that fucker in the books neglects to tell you is how tormenting the guilt can be.
 

“Dada, m-m-ad at me!” Mia wails and I start to sway back and forth, rubbing her back to calm her down.
 

“Mia,” I say, pulling her back to look at me. “Dada is not mad at you. You just can’t say those words.”
 

She snuggles up to my chest and rests her head on my shoulder. I continue to rock her back and forth, humming the lullaby song she loves, and before I know it, Mia’s asleep in my arms. Crisis averted for now. But next, I need to call Jake and explain for the millionth time that cursing in front of a two-year-old is not a good idea.
 

***
 

I pull up to the daycare and park the Chevelle. All morning I’ve been talking to Mia about going to school and making new friends. She seems to be okay with it, but in all honesty, I don’t think she really understands anything that is happening.
 

When I pull her from the car, Mia has a smile on her face as we walk through the front door. I like it that you have to have a special card to be able to enter the building and you can’t get into the classrooms unless someone from the inside lets you in or you have a key. The security in this place is perfect, plus with the webcam, I think it couldn’t get any better. It will be expensive sending her here, but my daughter’s happiness and safety is worth it.