A faint sniffle brushed my ear, and I pulled back to find her crying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a downer.”
She swatted an invisible fly in front of her face. “No, it’s not that. I wanted to know your story. I just … I think your sister and I would have been best friends. Two studious nerds with mummy issues,” she said with a rueful smile.
“You would have hated her taste in music.”
“Oh, really? What’re we talking about? One Direction? Justin Bieber?”
“Techno pop.”
“Oi, Jesus!” We both shuddered, having a laugh before picking up where we left off.
It wasn’t until much later, as we sat watching the box, that I realised I hadn’t felt the need to run off and do something crazy for an adrenaline fix, or reach for a bottle. Whether that meant she was helping me heal, or that she was becoming the fix that I needed, I wasn’t sure yet. I didn’t want to analyse it right now.
Reaching across to link my fingers with hers, I pulled the back of her hand to my lips for a kiss. She didn’t stiffen up, or stop me. She smiled. That was all the confirmation I needed. Whatever role she fulfilled for me, I was doing the same for her. And that was something to be damn happy and proud about.
Ronnie
Before my lunch break, I searched for Beverly, hoping she’d seen the doctor by now. It had been a week since the mammogram. My concern for her overwhelmed any qualms I had about getting close to another person. Beverly was all about caring for others. It was about time I returned the favour. She was one of the most open-minded people I knew. Very new-age. She’d probably be okay if I suggested she look into a crystal ball. Not that I was into that sort of crap.
“Hi, Beverly!” Where I’d pulled the cheer from, I didn’t know. That ought to make anyone suspicious. Ronnie’s all cheery. Call the cops ‘cause some crazy shit must be going down. Her blonde hair bobbed as she raised her head, giving me a view of the dark circles and bags under her eyes. The smile fell off my face.
“Ronn—” She choked on my name as a sob wrenched free.
Shit! I rushed around the desk, encircling her in my arms. Her tears soaked the sleeve of my shirt. The grief pouring out of her was so raw and unbound it burrowed into my soul, unleashing my own pent-up anger, frustration and sorrow. I felt like I did this to her. Like it was me mutating her cells and sentencing her to months of misery, if not death. All my complaining about being an outcast seemed juvenile in the face of her battle for life.
“How bad is it?” I asked her when the deluge became a trickle, standing back to give her some space.
“Locally advanced breast cancer. It’s in the lymph nodes. They want to pump me full of poison, and possibly nuke me with radiation to shrink it first. Then, they’ll take my breast. They think I have a pretty good chance, if I survive all that.”
“You will. You have to fight, but you will.” I knew it. I could see her old and grey with a grandchild on her lap. “When does all this start?”
“First treatment is on Friday. John is taking the day off. We haven’t told the kids yet … and I really don’t want to.”
“Maybe, let John do that. Can I do anything for you?”
She shook her head and ripped another tissue from the box. “No. Thank you. I honestly can’t say that enough. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have waited too long and had no chance at all.” She squeezed my forearm.
I didn’t know what possessed me to say, “Actually, I’m just the messenger. Your mother badgered me to tell you. I should’ve said something sooner. I never know how to deal with these things, so I usually just ignore it. But I knew I couldn’t ignore this. I’m so sorry you’re suffering.” I clasped my hands together and dropped the bomb. “Your mum, she’s watching over you. She’s a determined lady.”
Her puzzled expression was unexpected. “You’ve seen my mum?”
I bobbed my head, bracing myself for the criticism.
“Is she the one who’s been hiding my bras?”
Was not expecting that question. “Ah …” A movement to my right caught my eye. Beverly’s mother shook with laughter. “… I’m guessing yes, but she’s unable to speak at the moment.”
“She was an imp, my mother. Her nickname was Tinkerbell.” Beverly sighed. “I’ll have to apologise to John. I thought he’d developed some weird fetish.”
The snort ripped out, unfettered. “Do you feel up to having some lunch?” I asked.
“Absolutely. I’ve got to gorge myself while I can, before my extreme cleansing starts.”
“What a way to diet.” I rubbed the sudden pain in my stomach as we headed out to the closest cafe.
I sat alone at a table outside under an umbrella, while Beverly contemplated her dessert choices at the counter. Her finger pointed to several different delicacies that she discussed with the manager. This could take a while.
People from all walks of life ambled by. Across the green, Twit was with a group of his mates, making rude gestures behind a young woman’s back. What a dickhead. That would
