The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (40 page)

I collapsed next to her on the hot sand.
 

“You let me win.”

“Did not,” I said, but when I looked at her, I knew she knew. I shrugged. “You wouldn't have it any other way.”

She tossed me a bottle of water from the cooler.

We’d been in Panama six days already. Each day had been great. It was like old times again. We didn’t do anything, declining all the packaged tours that the hotel offered, opting instead to lounge on the beach. I was happy enough to spend my days hanging out. Lord knows we needed it after the last ten months.
 

I looked over at Addison. She’d pulled her ball cap off to expose the black stubble sprouting on her head. Soon it would be long enough to call a pixie cut, but she looked great despite the awkward hair. She was still skinny, way too skinny. Her bathing suit hung on her hip bones, and I could see all her ribs. But she was happy. And her smile made up for the ravages of her body. My eyes traveled to the empty spot in her bikini top where Veronica should have been.
 

“Does it feel weird?” I asked suddenly.
 

She traced my gaze and saw where I was looking. “Not anymore,” she said. “Not usually. Although, sometimes I think it’s still there, and then I look down.”

“Are you going to…you know, get a new one?”
 

She looked at me with a funny look and then burst into laughter.
 

“A reconstruction, you mean?” she said when she was pulled herself together.

We’d never talked about it. In all the months during her treatment, it was just day to day survival. We never looked past the next treatment. But now, we could.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t know,” she said and put her hand flat against her chest. “I don’t think you can ever replace Veronica. I mean, she was a one and only.” She looked at me over the top of her sunglasses. “Don’t you think?”

I met her gaze. “There will never be another Veronica,” I said.
 

She didn’t look away like I thought she would and I was the one to break the stare. I dug my toes in the sand at the end of my towel and laid back to soak up the sun.

"I guess we're more like Betty and Veronica than I thought," Addy said.
 

"Except there's one big difference."

“What’s that?”

“I still have my Veronica.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual full-face grin. “Betty always seems to do okay without Veronica,” she said. “But it’s never the other way around.”

“Are we talking about your boobs or the comic?”

“Neither.”

Addy looked at me with such intensity it made my stomach flip. After a few moments, I said, “Is there something you want to talk about?”

She shook her head and in an instant her face cleared. “Nope,” she said. “Hey, I’m going for a swim. You coming?”
 

She jumped up without waiting for an answer and flung her sunglasses on the towel.
 

“No, I need a nap.”

“Suit yourself.”

I watched as she ran towards the water. Right before she jumped into the waves, she turned and yelled, I love you, Betty.” She blew me a kiss, turned and dove into the surf.

###

Addison’s funeral was on a Thursday. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it was hot for May. It was the kind of day she liked to call ‘summer psych’ because it was just as likely to snow the next day.
 

The church was packed and the service was beautiful. I sat next to Addy’s dad and held his hand although I barely knew him. It was odd, I’d cared for his daughter in her toughest time but the man who sat next to me was a stranger. I listened while the minister spoke about how God must have a plan for a young woman who was strong enough to fight cancer only to take her away from us just as her life was beginning again. I nodded at the appropriate times and when Addy’s dad started to cry, soft silent tears, I squeezed his hand a little tighter and handed him a tissue.
 

I didn’t cry. I couldn’t. When he spoke of heavenly love and how we should be happy for Addy because she was with her mother, I smiled.
 

After the service I stood at the back of the church and shook hands with her family, friends, co-workers and people I didn’t know. They all knew me. I was Rori. “Addison told me so much about you,” they said.
 

After their introductions, they all said the same things.

“Addison was such a strong swimmer, I don't understand.”

“Was there a current? A rip tide?”

“Thank goodness you didn't swim with her that day, Rori.”

“How could this happen?”

Indeed, how could this happen?
 

I knew.

Chapter 7

I had woken from my nap to the sound of a woman screaming for help. She was standing at the water’s edge, yelling and pointing. In slow motion, I looked at the empty blanket beside me. I stood and went to the shoreline.
 

There were sirens. Lifeguards. Police and then, the ambulance. No lights, no sirens, taking Addison away from the beach. Quiet.
 

Alone in my hotel room I sat on the edge of the bed, numb. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. I had to pack her clothes. I moved in a daze as I collected everything from her side of the closet before going to the dresser. When I opened the drawer, I froze.
 

On top of her t-shirts was an Archie comic book. I picked it up and took it to the bed where I opened it and took out a folded piece of paper.
 

Dear Betty,
 

I’m sorry.
 

Love always, Veronica

A sob escaped me from somewhere deep. I opened the paper.
 

Test results.
 

The cancer had spread. Stage four. It was in her lymph nodes and her bones.

I waited until the last mourner was gone, I went to the front of the church to the open casket I’d avoided earlier.
 

She was beautiful. Too young and too beautiful. I laid the Archie comic on her chest.
 

“I love you too, Veronica.”

Thank you for reading my story.
 

Cancer is a brutal disease, one that affects all too many of us in some fashion. Please consider how you can help. Together, we have a chance to end the suffering.

Canadian Cancer Society

www.cancer.ca

American Cancer Society

www.cancer.org

THE END

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______________________

Drawing Free

"What would happen if I just kept driving?"

Moms aren't supposed to have a life of their own, at least that's what Becca Thompson believes. Between dealing with her youngest's never ending tantrums, her teenager's attitude and her ailing father's rapidly failing memory, Becca doesn't have time to worry about who she used to be.

Deep down, Becca knows she wants more than the daily chaos and the quick fixes her self-help books have to offer, but when her husband starts demanding more, the pressure proves to be too much. On the way to pick up her daughter, she makes the split second decision to take a different exit off the freeway and drives towards the mountains leaving her crumbling life in the rear-view mirror.

Fleeing to a remote mountain town, Becca knows she must rediscover her spirit, even if reconnecting with herself comes at the expense of everything she left behind.

____________________

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
 

Drawing Free

All Rights Reserved

Copyright © 2011 Elena Aitken

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Your support of author rights is appreciated.

Ink Blot Communications

ISBN: 978-0-9877457-6-7 

Version 1.6

Chapter 1

There was nothing quite as wonderful as starting the day with a hot cup of coffee. Especially when that cup of coffee was enjoyed in complete silence before the rest of the house woke up. I only had a vague recollection of such moments, since it’d been years since I’d actually enjoyed one. My latest book, The Right Foot: Setting Yourself Up For Success, suggested setting the alarm a half hour early, to enjoy the quiet time, and with nothing to lose, I’d done just that.
 

Then I hit snooze. Twice.
 

By the time I dragged myself out of bed, there was only about five minutes left before I’d have to wake the girls for school. But I’d take what I could get.
 

I ran my hand along Jordan’s bedroom door as I passed. For a split second I was tempted to open it and watch her sleeping. It was my favorite way to see her, at least since she’d become a teenager. But no, I had to start my day off right, and that meant a cup of coffee, even if it was rushed. At least it would be quiet.
 

A crash came from the direction of the kitchen. I froze. Panic pricked at the back of my neck. What if someone was in the house? Should I hide? No. Protect the girls. I glanced behind me to Kayla’s room. The door was open. It only took me three steps to reach her room. Kayla’s pink comforter was crumpled on the floor and her usual nest of stuffed animals was flung around the room.
 

“Kayla?” I hissed under my breath.
 

Another crash. Then—singing.
 

I sighed, the vision of my coffee dimming as I walked towards the high-pitched rendition of “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” As soon as I rounded the corner into the kitchen and splashed straight into a puddle, that vision vanished completely.
 

My eyes took in the wreckage. The new jug of milk I’d just bought, lay, mostly empty, on the floor, blocking the fridge door. The high-pitched beeping of the refrigerator door alarm filled my head. Again, I cursed Jon’s insistence on purchasing top of the line appliances; the stupid things were always making noise. A mixture of corn flakes, Fruit Loops and my favorite granola covered the counters and most of the floor, turning into a chunky sludge where it met the milk.
 

My eyes came to rest on my youngest daughter, who was sitting at the table in the middle of the chaos. The singing stopped for the moment; she was munching on a mixing bowl full of cereal.

“Hi, Mommy.”

“Kayla,” I said very slowly, trying to keep a rein on my temper. “What on earth happened?”

“I made breakfast,” she said with a mouthful. “Want some?”

I closed my eyes and tried a deep breathing technique I'd read in one of the many parenting books that lined my shelves. Positive Parenting stressed the importance of encouraging your children when they attempted something on their own. The author also had the foresight to instruct parents to take a moment to think about what they were going to say before they said it, lest they discourage their wellmeaning children.

I tried it, counting in my head. One, two, three.
 

“No,” I said when I opened my eyes, “the last thing I want is breakfast.”
 

So much for not discouraging my child.
 

Kayla's blue eyes, peeking out from under her blond fringe, started to glisten and her lip began to quiver. “I was just trying to help.”

“Well, you didn't.”

As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wanted them back. That happened a lot. I'd never been very good at keeping my inside voice actually inside my head. And just to concrete the fact that I felt like an awful mom, Kayla folded her arms over her cereal bowl and collapsed in a heap of tears.
 

Perfect. I was definitely out of the running for Mother of the Year.

Again.

I waited for a second. She tipped her head to the side, watching me. When I didn't respond, her wailing got louder.
 

I could not deal with this. Not without coffee. But it was all the way across the milky pond, strongly resembling vomit, which was now forming on my floor. The fridge was still emitting its screech, which was now combining with Kayla, creating an orchestra of pain in my head.
 

I took a step into the mess right as Kayla kicked her screaming into high gear. The sudden switch in volume spooked me; my feet slid out from under me and I landed on my ass with a soft plop.
 

Lovely.

Milk immediately seeped through my pajama pants but I didn't move.