Ten Below Zero(64)

“Everett likes control.”

“He does,” Bridget agreed. "That’s why he’s choosing this. Choosing not to have the surgery, choosing not to fight. He wants the choice. But it’s the wrong one.”

Whoa. I didn’t know how to respond to that.

Bridget signed and sat back in the booth. “How much has Everett told you about his tumor? The one he has right now?”

“Not much. Just that it’s decently sized and in his forehead, where I’m assuming his last one was, based on the scar.”

“Everett hasn’t had the tumor evaluated. Not extensively. His doctors are here in Texas, the doctors that treated his cancer the first time. He saw an oncologist in California a month ago. Had a CT scan. The doctor recommended a biopsy, but Everett said no. He said he was done. But,” Bridget put her hand on the table, “he doesn’t even know what kind of tumor it is. He has no clue! It could be something so treatable, and he’s choosing not to do anything about it.”

This was all new information. I had assumed Everett had checked it out thoroughly before deciding not to deal with it. “Then why was he so quick to decide not to operate?”

“You didn’t see him go through cancer when he was a teenager. It was, well, devastating. He lost so much weight. He lost a lot of himself. He lost friends and his family fell apart. Physically, the cancer weakened him. Emotionally, in his mind, the cancer destroyed his life itself. And treating his cancer took away his memory.” I watched her fingers trace the wood grain on the table top. “Everett had an exceptional memory growing up. He remembered people he’d met only briefly, years later. He always did well in school. After the surgery, he had trouble with his short term memory. He forgot everything that had happened in the months prior to the surgery.”

I nodded, letting this all sink in.

“Everett,” she continued, looking to the arcade that was adjacent to the restaurant. “Everett is a good man. A very good man, Parker. He’s kind, he’s giving, and he’s selfless. But he doesn’t see those things in himself. He sees a man who tore apart a family. I wouldn’t say he is depressed, but like all of us, he does have his demons. But his demons are robbing him of a future that may very well exist.”

This conversation was causing me pain. I felt betrayed by Everett. For not telling me about having visited all those locations we visited. For not telling me his real, more meaningful reasons, for not having the surgery. But again, I didn’t feel like I had the right to be upset, to feel betrayed. I sat back in the seat.

Bridget leaned across the table. “I haven’t told you anything in confidence. You’re free to discuss this with Everett if you’d like.” She looked to the arcade before looking back at me again. “I’ve never met any of Everett’s girlfriends before.”

My eyes widened. “I’m not his girlfriend.”

“I know.” She licked her lips. “But you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to one.”

Before I could reply, Everett had joined us at the booth again. Bridget and I lapsed into silence while Everett looked between us both. “Did you have a nice chat?” he asked, seeming unconcerned. He had to have known we talked about him.

“Sure did,” Bridget said, winking at me. “We talked about what an idiot you are.”

“Parker doesn’t think I’m an idiot,” he said, pointing a thumb at me.

“No. You’re just an *.”

“A rude *,” Everett clarified, angling his head towards his sister.

“Well you are that,” she agreed with a straight face.

The waiter delivered our food, but Clark was still in the arcade. “His dad fed him lunch before we came, so he’ll likely spend the entire lunch in the arcade,” Bridget apologized.

“He’s a kid,” I said, shrugging. “He’s got his priorities.”

“He does.” Bridget smiled softly. “Where are you two headed next?” She seemed genuinely interested.

I was still conflicted in my feelings towards Everett, so I stayed quiet while he spoke up. “We’re headed to New Orleans next.”

My head popped up at that. New Orleans was like a gold mine for people like me, people who loved to watch other people. But I kept my eyes away from looking at Everett.

“What are you going to do there?” Bridget asked between bites.

I felt Everett’s shoulders shrug next to me. “Stuff,” he replied, before taking a bite of his slice of pizza.

“Stuff?” Bridget asked, an eyebrow raised. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

“I’ll take pictures. I’ll send them to you,” he said, waving his hand to brush the conversation aside. That reminded me of the photo we took in the Picketwire Canyon.

“We’ve already taken one photo,” I said, staring at my plate, “of us under an arch.” Everett stiffened, halting in taking another bite. He knew what I thought of, what I would think of, every time I looked at that photo. But it felt personal, too personal to say aloud.

“Oh?” Bridget asked, apparently unaware of the thoughts that were sucking up space in mine and Everett’s memory. “I want to see.” She leaned over the table. “The arch in the canyon?”