The Words We Leave Unspoken(9)
I watch her sigh and reach for her coffee cup again, a quiet acceptance that I take as my cue to keep talking. I grab my laptop from the small desk in the corner of the living room and take a seat on the empty barstool next to Gwen. And we spend the next hour searching the Internet for treatments and procedures. I even make the awkward phone call to Phillip Nash, a well-renowned cardio-thoracic surgeon who I dated for a few months last year. He gives me the name of three oncologists that are known for treating the untreatable and are heading up several trials for cancer research. He wishes me luck and it’s hard not to detect the regretful tone of his voice. As if he knows how hard Gwen’s journey is going to be, how hard she will have to fight. At least he didn’t comment on how things had ended between us last year. He had wanted more, as they always do, but I just didn’t have anything else to give. He’s a great catch and any girl would be lucky to have him, if they can tolerate interrupted dinners and middle-of-the-night wake-up calls. The man is undoubtedly married to his job, but even I have to admit that there’s definitely something noble about a man who spends his time saving lives.
Gwen and I make a plan. She agrees to call all three oncologists that Phillip suggested and I agree to watch Olivia and Max next weekend while she goes away with John for one night, alone. We both agree that telling John now when they both will have to dive back into their routines, moments later, is too unbearable. She wants to tell him alone, when John will have time to digest the news before having to face the kids or work. Gwen seems more determined once we make a plan and I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.
We watch a movie in our pajamas, an old Sandra Bullock film that Gwen and I used to watch together years ago. When the movie is over – after Gwen and I both shower and dress –we say goodbye at my door before she runs to her car, dodging the heavy rain. I watch her drive away, down my narrow street until I can no longer see her car. I look up into the dark, stormy sky from my doorstep where I stand sheltered from the rain, and wonder why this is happening to Gwen of all people.
“Please don’t let her die,” I say quietly, my voice lost to the thunderous roar of the heavy rain beating down on the pavement. “Please.”
Chapter 7
Gwen
With a heavy heart, I drive home in complete silence. The rhythmic drone of the windshield wipers lulls me into a deep and thoughtless trance. I follow the traffic, mindlessly, letting my subconscious lead me home.
The sixty-mile drive to Seaport goes by in the blink of an eye and I find myself inching down the long driveway and parking in my spot in the garage next to John’s sleek black sedan before sunset. I take a deep breath before exiting the car. I can do this, I think to myself. It’s only six days. Six days of living a lie, six days of pretending that my life is the same as it was yesterday morning.
I open the door that connects the garage to the kitchen and before I can even set my purse down, Max runs straight into my legs and wraps his chubby little arms around my knees, nearly knocking me to the ground.
“Mommy’s home,” he squeals. And my heart soars. I kneel down and embrace him, pulling his small frame into my arms and kissing the side of his face and then the top of his head, inhaling his sweet scent. He smells like peanut butter and baby lotion and I squeeze him tighter against me.
“Hey Bubs,” I say when he wiggles out of my arms. I fight the emotions that rock through me, pushing aside the thought of Max’s life without me. It’s too painful.
“Daddy said I could have a treat if I ate all my dinner,” he beams. His face is covered in peanut butter.
“Let me guess, you had peanut butter and jelly for dinner?” I ask with a smile stretched across my face.
“Yup,” he answers, proudly. “And apples and cheese too.”
“Wow, sounds like a good dinner.” I stand and run my fingers through his blond curls. “Come here, let me clean your face little man.” Opening a drawer, I remove a washcloth and wet it under the faucet. “Let me see that sweet face,” I say as I hold him by the chin and gently wipe the peanut butter from his mouth and round cheeks.
“Thanks Mommy,” he yells as he runs away toward the family room.
I sigh. One down, two to go, I think as I make my way into the family room in search of John and Olivia.
“Hey honey,” John calls out from where he’s seated on the cream-colored sectional couch, his feet propped up on the matching ottoman. He’s wearing a faded pair of jeans and an old Seahawks T-shirt. His face is covered in stubble and he’s wearing his glasses. I smile, thinking how young he looks without his suit and tie, when his blond hair is unruly and his face unshaven. He probably didn’t have time to shower let alone shave or put in his contacts. A phenomenon that still baffles him after spending any length of time alone with the kids and usually earns me a little more appreciation for my full-time role.
“Hi Mom,” Olivia says as she looks up from her book that she’s reading. I sit down next to her on the couch, pulling her against my side and kissing her cheek.
“Hey Love Bug,” I mumble against her ear quietly, so only she can hear. I have learned to tread lightly with Olivia. She’s growing up and stuck in that middle ground between a little girl and a young teen. She’s over the mushy stuff, including the pet name that I gave her when she was only a bundle of cells in my womb. I know she still needs me in the same way she always has, even if she refuses to accept it.