The Other P-Word Read online

On the way out, I practiced all the things I wanted to say to Evan. He rode his motorcycle. I had Tilla’s car and followed behind him.

  The apartment he lived in was bare, sparsely furnished, but a few things instantly drew my attention. He’d put out the pictures of his family and the one I’d given him of Orange Beach. They sat on a mantle, surrounded by a collection of wine corks. I swallowed with the realization that they were our wine corks—all the unfinished bottles between us. Even the cork I’d split was there. He’d saved them.

  “I can remember each one of these conversations.”

  “I had no idea you were so sentimental.”

  “Neither did I.”

  I turned to him, but he held up his hands before I could hug him.

  “I can’t have the surgery. No doctor in their right mind would even attempt it.”

  “We’ll look for one together.”

  He sighed, pacing back and forth. “Let me give you a shot of reality. They’ve done this kind of surgery before. It’s considered experimental. There’s a less than thirty percent survival rate.”

  “Last I checked, thirty is hell of a lot better than zero. It means people can survive it. You are strong and young. If anyone has a good chance, it’s you.”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I felt the shake in his fingers. “I can’t afford it. Insurance will not pay for this. Despite what you think, I’ve looked into it. I’ve done the research.”

  For this, I had an answer too.

  “You looked into it on your own. Not with me helping you. Together we can find all the answers. Also, my stepfather is a very wealthy man.”

  Evan appeared surprised by my statement. “The guy in the old truck?”

  “Yeah, you know how some people have bumper stickers that say ‘My other car is a Porsche 911?’ Damien’s other car really is a Porsche 911. He’s a real estate developer. He likes to live a normal life, but he is one of the richest men in Chicago. I’ve never asked him for anything, but he would do this for us. I’ll talk to him.”

  Evan shook his head. “No.”

  “You’d rather die than swallow your pride?”

  “I’d rather die than give you false hope. It would have been better if you never met me.”

  “Do you wish Owen or Erin didn’t exist for you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then don’t every wish yourself out of my life again. I’ll never wish you away, Evan.”

  He stood behind me, pressing against me. His hot mouth on my neck. “Will you please respect my decision? I’ve spent the last months coming to terms with it.”

  “I’ve only had a few hours,” I spat, the anger coursing through every vein.

  His muscles tightened, but he didn’t let go. “That’s my fault. I’m sorry.”

  “You could have made your condition worse. We went surfing, for Christ’s sake.” I cupped my hand to my mouth. “We had crazy monkey sex.”

  He chuckled. “Baby, I wanted to spend our time living. They were monitoring the tumor and it was growing fast, but I wasn’t in a danger zone yet. I was trying to beat the clock. I didn’t feel sick…not then.”

  “And now?”

  “Now is a different story.”

  “Do you live here by yourself?”

  “My uncle, my dad’s brother, lives close by. It’s not much, but it’s close to the hospital.”

  “Evan, even if you don’t do the surgery, you need someone to take care of you.”

  “I’ll call them when its time.”

  “Who?”

  “Hospice.”

  He planned to die alone.

  “Were we doing your bucket list with that road trip?”

  He spun me around to face him. “I was saying goodbye in my own way. Trying to right some of my wrongs. I wouldn’t have had the strength for it if you weren’t with me.”

  “You’re not going to tell them either, are you?” The question sounded sharp, like an accusation. He winced in response.

  “No.”

  “Evan—”

  “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that night. I couldn’t do it. Let me love you right now. Let me show you how much I love you. I’m having a good day today. Let’s not waste it.”

  He kissed me, softly at first, building it until our mouths sought each other with complete greed. Evan was using sex as a way to pause or maybe stop the conversation. I shouldn’t let him, but I also had trouble denying him. I’d missed him so much. He walked me to the bed, leaving a trail of clothes dotting the short path.

  I fell back. He stared at me, the intensity of his gaze causing my skin to prickle and my toes to curl. He kissed me everywhere. As if he was trying to memorize my body with his lips. I started crying. He kissed those tears away.

  “Shhh, don’t cry…unless it’s ’cause you’re in ecstasy from the orgasm I’m going to give you.”

  He caressed me as he headed downward…a route he often took.

  “You’re wet,” he said, a mischievous smile on his face.

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  He pushed my legs apart. He clasped an ankle, bringing it up to his waist. His thrusts were slow. He stared into my eyes the whole time.

  “I love you, Billie Marie Price,” he whispered. “I love you with every beat of my heart and I’m sorry it’s damaged beyond repair, because you don’t deserve that.”

  “I love you too, and there is nothing damaged about you.”

  I wiped away his tears. And held him tightly. I rolled us over and straddled him.

  “I’m going to fuck you today,” I said. “The way I want to, and you’re going to let me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I leaned forward, flattening my hands on the wall to steady myself. I ground into him, each push and pull stealing my breath, but even in this Evan couldn’t let me have my way. He grasped my hips and rolled me in a steady rhythm. I would have protested but the pulsing pleasure of it left me speechless. He watched my face carefully.

  “I want us to come together this time,” he said, the words coming out choppy and raspy.

  “Me too.”

  His thumb rubbed my clit. I pulled his hair. He pushed himself up on his elbows. He kissed and sucked my nipples until they hardened to stone. Our release was mutual. I fell on top of him, listening to the beat of his heart, wishing I could heal it with my love for him.

  “Stay inside of me,” I pleaded.

  “Inside of you is my favorite place.”

  When he pulled out, he closed his eyes, gripping my arms.

  He spooned me, humming softly until we both fell asleep.

  * * * *

  When I woke up, the sky was turning pale, illuminating the room in a glow of soft orange light. He was slouched in a chair next to the bed, wearing nothing but his faded blue jeans with their knee rips. The sun shone, but the window behind him was frosted over with condensation. An old wooden, acoustic guitar hung around his neck.

  “Go ahead, I know you want to play.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “You already did when you stopped holding me. Play me something nice, Evan.”

  “Come here,” he said, patting his knee.

  I groped for my panties and his shirt before moving toward him. He held up the guitar and patted his knee. His lap was a comfortable place. I curled up on it, resting my head against his chest. He placed the guitar over us and strumming the strings. The coating of frost on the window made the naked trees look ethereal. The leaves hadn’t just turned, they’d withered and died, their scattered ashes stuck in odd bunches against the frozen earth below. I traced our initials into the cold glass, making a garishly huge heart between them.

  Evan kissed my neck and ran his fingers through my hair for a while, before he tilted my chin up so I was looking into his rich, dark eyes. “I think I started falling for you from that very first day in the café. I’ve heard the term infectious smile, but it sounded like a metaphor. But your
smile really is infectious. You made me laugh. That girl who came to the crowded bar and took off her wig to the worst haircut I ever saw—who could forget a girl like that?”

  “I was drunk at the time.”

  “I admired you nonetheless. You were what my gramps calls spunky and spirited.”

  “You made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t. I’ll never forget that. I wondered what it was about you that kept drawing me to you. Why you took up every other thought in my head, no matter what I did.”

  “Me too. Will you sing with me, angel?”

  I shook my head. “I have a horrible voice.”

  “You have a beautiful voice. It calms and excites me. I want to harmonize with you, honey. Sing with me, please.”

  “Okay, but only because I think I might sound good if we do it together.”

  I could feel his smile when he kissed my shoulder. He started strumming, every vibration hitting my diaphragm, sending the melody of the sad chords straight to my heart.

  “You know this one, baby?” He played a few notes and sang the first verse.

  I nodded. “Warren Zevon. You played him that first night at the bar.”

  “Yeah but not this song. This song, I play only for you.”

  “Keep Me in Your Heart for a While.”

  “Yep, that’s right. I never thought I’d meet a girl who knew music like I do.”

  “Never thought I’d meet a boy who could make me want to sing out loud.”

  He strummed the guitar. He missed chords but his deep, raspy voice was still there. My voice wasn’t soulful like his…it was hollow and sad. Because I knew what these lyrics were supposed to convey. I suddenly hated the song, but I choked out the words anyway, each biting, stinging, bitter word of it. We sounded awful. We sounded achingly beautiful too.

  “You’re being cruel, Evan.”

  “That’s not the way I see it, Billie.”

  “You’re sending me away. At least have the courage to use your own fucking words, you coward.”

  “You’re right. I am a coward. But it’s not cruelty, it’s me loving you. It’s me giving you the only thing I can. Freedom. We’re not going to have the same discussion over and over. This is not a spontaneous decision. I’m not having the surgery. I don’t want you to watch me die. That’s my choice.”

  “It’s really fucked up, Evan. You think what you’re doing is selfless but it’s selfish. I refuse to give up on you, even if you’re giving up on yourself.” My voice shrieked on the edge of hysteria.

  “If you don’t leave, I will.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll leave Chicago.”

  “You need to be close to your doctors.”

  “I agree. It’s better if you leave, don’t you think?”

  I grabbed his arm, twisting his wrist. My hand ran over Dylan Thomas’ words etched there. “Do you know what this means?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you going gentle into that good night, Evan? Why aren’t you raging against the dying light?”

  “The light for me has always been dim, sunshine. I’m tired and tried.”

  I pushed the guitar away. It landed with some hauntingly screeching melody as it bounced on the floor. “No. No. No. No. I’m not going. I’m going to stay with you and take care of you.” I was going to talk him into the surgery. Obviously, he knew that.

  He stood behind me, wrapping his arms around me. He held me until my loud sobs turned into soft gasps. “I’m so sorry, Billie.”

  The finality of it all hit me. My legs shook. He handed me my clothes. He tried to help me put them on but I shoved him back.

  I walked out of the door, looking back once. He sat in the chair again, his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands. I watched the initials I’d traced dissipate as a new layer of cold glazed the glass. Maybe they’d never existed in the first place.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I quit my job at the bar. I couldn’t work there anymore. Evan was everywhere. Tilla said she understood. I told her I’d never forget her friendship and everything she’d done for me. Then we hugged, which led to a long, ugly crying session. Mike walked in on us. He opened his jaw to say something, snapped it shut and embraced us both.

  “I’m sorry, Billie.”

  “Sometimes lost souls don’t come home,” I said.

  “They always come home, but only when they’re ready,” Tilla replied.

  I moved back in with Marley and Rick. I assisted Marley, whose tummy was getting larger by the day. I faked a strong smile whenever she was around. The work kept me busy. Mrs. Garcia and I made blankets but my hands shook too much to make a proper stitch or crochet. I started running too. Early in the morning, before the sun came out. I usually ran to a point of exhaustion, vomit or tears…whichever came first. The tears usually won.

  I’d excused myself from the family dish session, not able to share anything. Dillon found me gripping the countertop in the kitchen. He put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Talk to me, kid.”

  “Evan is dying,” I said without hesitation.

  I buried my face in his chest while he listened until I was finished with the whole horrible, sordid tale of us.

  “Sometimes life only deals bad hands. I wish I could do something.”

  “This is something,” I said, wiping my tears on his shirt. “Shit, this is silk,” I said, staring at the splotch on his shirt that wouldn’t come out.

  “It’s okay. I have more.”

  There is no faster connection than the family network. My mom and sisters gathered around me like I was the subject of an exorcism, each one trying to lift a dead spirit.

  Damien visited one afternoon. “Your mom told me about Evan. When I married her, you all became family to me. If you need financial help, I’m here.”

  “Thank you, Damien, I appreciate that more than I’m capable of expressing right now. But it’s not necessary. Evan doesn’t want it. I can’t convince him.”

  “Why?”

  “He said something about false hope. Maybe he’s right. I’ve made calls to many surgeons on his behalf, and none of them will do this kind of surgery anyway.”

  “Did you call Derek?”

  I lifted my head, staring at him.

  “Derek, your brother?”

  “Yeah, the one that works in a hospital that’s doing advanced research on tumors and unique cancers? That Derek.”

  I’m not sure why it hadn’t occurred to me. Luckily, Damien didn’t expect a reply.

  “Let me know if you need me. Any of us. We’re all here for you.”

  That night, I wrote Evan a letter. An email or text would have been easier. But I wanted him to feel my words on the page. My emotion. My emptiness and desperation.

  Dear Evan,

  I’m not sure how to write this so I’m going to give you my thoughts…random, jumbled and unrefined. I think I found a surgeon and I have the money. It wasn’t so difficult, but fixing the other things that are wrong in your heart, only you can do. I will say this— My life is better because you’re in it. My heart is fuller for knowing you, Evan Wright. Thank you for that gift. Please don’t take it away. We have a chance. A chance means hope. Why would you throw that away? I want to surf again and actually finish a bottle of wine with you. I want to plan a future and live a present. I want you next to me as we watch the sun dip and rise. Please do not go gentle on me now.

  I love you forever,

  Billie Marie Price

  No answer. Two weeks and no response. Not just to the first letter. I’d written him several—sometimes they were just song lyrics or excerpts from a book or poems. In each one, I gave him another piece of me. What if he wasn’t getting the letters? Oh God, what if it was too late? I wouldn’t think that. I’d keep writing. And each day I waited anxiously at the mailbox, wondering if I’d get all of them back.

  * * * *

  Rick had to go to Davenport to argue with suppliers about their lax shi
pping practices for his latest client. He didn’t want to go.

  “You have to go, Rick,” Marley said. “It took a long time to get this appointment.”

  “I don’t want to leave you. It’s three hours away.”

  “I’ll be here,” I offered. “And Dillon’s coming over later so we can sort out the nursery.”

  “I’m not due for another two weeks anyway. Go, Rick,” Marley urged.

  After a few more negotiations, he grudgingly went.

  I helped Marley mail out invoices for him and update his database.

  “How about tea?” she asked, clapping her hands. “We deserve a break.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll make it.”

  “You sit. I need to move around,” she said.

  She brought it out on a silver tray.

  I picked up a porcelain cup, sticking my pinkie finger out and shaking it with great exaggeration. “Fancy.”

  “Remember we used to do this as kids?”

  “We used plastic cups and filled them with Kool-Aid. You and Stevie were too old for it, but you always played with me.”

  “We liked it too.” She took the composition book from me. “Maybe you should take a break from this too. Just for a little while.”

  “I stopped writing them. They weren’t working anyway. I bet he’s not even reading them.”

  “I’m sure he’s reading them.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t convince him.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  I buried my face in her shoulder. “I think he already resigned himself to it. He’s not suicidal but he’s also not opposed to death. I can’t understand it myself, so it’s hard to explain.”

  “I understand it, Billie. I wasn’t far off from that place once.”

  I lifted my head. “No, you weren’t. You were in a bad place but not…not—”

  “I was. It was right after my father died. Everything came out. The nightmares started.”

  “How did you pull back from that?”

  “With your help.”

  “I know…the family.”

  “Yes, everyone, but especially you.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything for you. I was just a kid.”