Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) (13 page)

The sigh I let out isn’t voluntary, but with it I release all my dreams of having more with Trey. “Let me
uncomplicate
it for you. We’re done." My voice is hard as ice and I step to the side of Trey and walk past him back to the party.

With my heart dead for the night, I’ll work on building up all the walls I’ll need to get me through this event without an issue. Trey Good is dead to me. At least until this weekend when I’ll take him out of his little box and deal with him through a pint or two of ice cream.

By the time I’m back to Roger’s side, I wear my best perky smile. He’s moved on to a new couple and hands back my bottled water without introducing me again.

When there is a lull in the conversation he turns to me. “Is everything okay?” Roger actually sounds concerned.

Before I answer Trey interrupts, “Simone, we weren’t done talking.”

Roger’s eyes widen at the comment and I involuntarily flinch before we both turn to a stony faced Trey.

“Oh, Mr. Good. Meet my boss, Roger Walters. I assure you any questions you have about starting an account with Lowry, Lowry, and Fink should go through him.” I smile at Roger and make sure to avoid eye contact with Trey.

Trey’s eyes narrow at me. “So it
was
about the account then?”

I make sure to match my tone to the hard one he asked with, “It’s always about the account, Mr. Good.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ugh. Thoughts of Trey kept me up half the night and without enough sleep, the warmth of the water from the shower spray isn’t helping to energize me for the waiting day. I’d turn it cold if I had more self-control, but who in their right mind makes the decision to take a cold shower? Not even learning Trey’s an asshole of epic proportions can make me that insane.

Trey stalked away from our group and I spent the rest of the night being the perfect companion to Roger. I smiled pretty and shook hands like nothing was wrong. But Trey’s look of betrayal before he turned and left played on repeat in my mind. By the end of the night, I regretted my final words to him. It was never about getting his account to Lowry, Lowry, and Fink, but in a time of weakness I played on his insecurities.

I press my head against the cool tile of my shower as water flows over my eyes. I’m not sure why I’m even concerned with how he feels. Why do I feel miserable and guilty over what I said? The man has a girlfriend. Most women would have gone psycho on his ass. I was nice and calm. Too nice, too calm. I should be pissed off, but I’m just sad. I turn back into the spray and rinse the conditioner from my hair, scrubbing extra hard to remove any traces of last night.

For some reason I allowed myself to believe I’d move to San Francisco and be entitled to a sweet and happy future with my vacation fling. I was delusional thinking this was some kind of fairytale where we’d get married and I’d get those two point five kids behind a white picket fence. Shit like that does not happen in real life. Not in my life.

No. In real life you get promoted and leave a great boss in a city you love. Move across the country to work for an asshole and learn your soulmate is taken, by a tall beautiful redhead. I roll my eyes at myself over the thought and turn off the water.

I want to lay around in pajamas today and wallow in the crappy hand life dealt me, but it’s Thursday and even though Roger and I were at the fundraiser until after midnight he’ll expect me in at nine. I’m sure of it… because he told me twice as he dropped me off.

I need a plan. A plan to get me through the rest of the week. I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a big white towel, one of the few purchases I’ve made for the apartment.

Okay, a plan then.

Step 1: Get dressed for work
Step 2: Go to work and avoid the bull terrier
Step 3: Agonize over why I feel guilty about Trey while I stare into space
Step 4: Come home and eat ice cream

Right. Not a perfect plan, but it’s what I can manage right now. If I follow those four simple steps for the next twenty-five years, I’ll be set to retire. A few steps take me to the bedroom where I’ve laid out my outfit for the day. A blue short sleeve blouse and black pencil skirt with a black jacket to top it off. Feminine, but professional.

There were a few times last night as I listened to Roger drone on and on to various clients where I considered asking for my old job back. Jay would welcome me home with open arms, but I’m not ready to leave San Francisco with my tail tucked between my legs. I didn’t come here for a man. Well… I didn’t come here for only a man. I’m here for a promotion, to kick butt at a job I love, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. Kick butt at my new job. If I turn down this promotion now, I may never get asked again.

Day one post Trey has a killer outfit and nothing can make a girl feel better than a nice pair of shoes. My foot slips into teal high heels when my cell phone rings from my nightstand.

My phone buzzes again, a default sound rather than the custom ring tones I’ve assigned to most of my friends. The lack of husky male singer on that end means it isn’t Trey. Not that I’d want him to call me and apologize anyway. I’ll have to find a new song to be his ring tone if I decide to keep his number. Good thing the world doesn’t lack songs about cheaters.

One quick look to the phone where “Mom & Dad Home” pops up on the screen helps reset my gloomy thought. I’ll have someone from New York to help chase away some of Trey's sadness.

I’m able to answer with honest excitement, “Hey.”

“Simone, Sweetheart. Have you left for work yet?” my mom’s voice carries over the line.

Fully dressed I sit down on the edge of my bed, crumbling the white comforter with big bright red roses in the design. “No, I have a few minutes until I need to leave. What’s up?”

With the time difference it’s almost lunch in Buffalo and my mom has taken to calling me on her break so we do a quick catch up before I start my day at work. It’s an arrangement that’s worked well for us over the last two weeks, although today is a bit earlier than normal.

“Well, your dad and I went to the doctor today.” It takes her a long time to push the stressed words out. She doesn’t remind me of the woman who harassed me over every man on vacation. “I’ve been so tired lately, you know. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t the flu.” Her voice breaks and I clutch my phone harder.

“Mom?” Fear twists my gut in a death grip and my lungs won’t fill with air.

“It’s cancer.”

These words are spoken with strength, they broker no disagreement, but they won’t stop me from not believing. “Cancer? What do you mean?”

She sucks in a breath, but then there’s silence on the other end. Rustles of clothing or air across the speaker break up the silence, a telling sign she hasn’t hung up. The word cancer hangs in the air without any explanation and I go into survival mode.

Cancer sucks, but science has made huge improvements in treatment. We’ll get Mom into a center, one of those places I always see commercials for on TV. There’s bound to be one in New York. It’s New York for fuck’s sake. What doesn’t the city have? I’ll ask for an immediate transfer back and be by her side whenever she needs me.

With a reasonable plan now in place, I allow myself a calming breath and wait for her to get back on the line. It doesn’t take long, but it’s my father’s voice I'm greeted with.

“Simone, its ovarian cancer and it’s… spread.” My Dad struggles to get each word out in a calm manner, making them choppy.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out so I close it again when he continues talking.

“The doctor wants to run more tests of course, but…they’ve given her thirty days.”

The floor drops out from under me, but I refuse to admit it so I stand on the invisible surface. “Thirty days? For what? To find a treatment center? Can’t they start her treatment there?” My head is already clocking through all my contacts in New York and who I’ll call to help Mom get into the best center the fastest.

“To live.” He pauses again as my thoughts skid to a stop. “They’re giving her a month to live.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I buckle my seatbelt before the flight attendant walks the aisle and my mind wanders back to my earlier conversation with my father. I can’t remember anything concrete after he said my mother, the woman who brought me into this world, had thirty days to live.

I brought a bag on the plane with me, but I’m clueless to what’s in it. Hopefully clean underwear or socks, maybe some pants. I move a hand to my temple and push on the space in frustration at myself. Isn’t it amazing that in a time of turmoil my damn brain is worried if I packed clean underwear? Is it my feeble attempt to try and keep it together?

I’ve done well so far. Maybe this is what people call shock. Thirty days to live. How can doctors calculate thirty days? Where does this number come from? Is there some demonic cancer calculator floating around the Internet? My other hand reaches up to rub the opposite temple as I lean both elbows on my knees. Who has the right to tell my mother she only has thirty days left on Earth? I want to talk to them because they’re wrong.

In parts of my memory, my dad used words like “silent killer” and “found too late” and “no treatment options,” but they mean little to me except my mom will die. My mom will die before Elena and I give her those grandchildren she wants so badly.

Images of the children I’ll never watch her bake cookies with, or open Christmas gifts with, any of those grandma activities that everyone should get the chance to take part in flood my vision with tears. I turn my head to the window thankful for the inside seat on this last minute flight.

I arrived at the airport ticketless with a dazed look and an overstuffed carry-on bag. The counter worker was helpful until she realized I wasn’t concerned with a return flight to San Francisco. I didn’t have the strength to explain to her without losing it, so I booked a flight back for thirty days exactly. Not sure if I was sealing my mother’s fate with the action.

If I’d booked my return ticket for sixty days out, could I have bought her more time? The idea causes fresh panic to well up inside and I reach for my seatbelt, ready to get off the plane and change my ticket time, but I’m stopped by the flight attendant as she walks through the aisle again.

It’s not until the overhead speaker warns us it’s time to turn off all electronic devices that I remember I never called Roger to explain my absence. The bull terrier will pissed, but even he will forgive this one indiscretion.

**

It’s dark when my plane sets down at the Buffalo airport. I didn’t check a bag, so getting off the plane is quick and easy with my small carry-on. A five-hour ride fraught with intermittent bouts of crying has my steps heavy, boulders of despair weighing down each shoe.

Elena waits for me to the side of the baggage claim carousel and we hug in the middle of the open space. Her body rocks against mine with each of her sobs. It’s not until she starts to pull away that I realize I’m crying right along with her.

“What are we going to do?” Elena looks to me for sisterly advice.

There’s none I can offer. “I don’t know.”

Together we walk out the double doors to the waiting darkness outside. Elena pulls to the left and stops at my parents’ hunter green Jeep parked at the curb. The passenger side door opens and my mom steps to the sidewalk. She’s lost weight from the last time I saw her in the Caribbean. The islands that will forever hold some of the last memories I’ll get to keep of my mother.

I drop my bag on the ground next to Elena and run to my mom. My tears increase before I wrap my arms around her. She allows me a few minutes in her embrace as my father gets out to stow my case in the trunk. As two sets of car doors close, she pulls away and grabs me by the shoulders.

“I’m so happy to see you, sweetheart,” she gives me another tight hug, “but now you need to get it together. You can do this. Be strong for Elena. No more tears. This is a happy time.”

My mouth falls open at her words and I step back. She gently pushes me into the backseat of the car and wears a determined smile on her face by the time she takes her place in the front seat.

“Now that both of my girls are home again, we’re going to have a great month together. Right, dear?” She pats my father's leg as he puts the car into gear and pulls away from the curb.

His grey streaked head turns to her for a moment before he smiles, pats her leg in a matching endearment they’ve been doing for years, and nods his agreement.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Sheila Stevens, known to me as Mom, lived more than her projected thirty days. Her life stretched past forty. On day forty-seven, her dreams ended in a cold and sterile hospital room. The beeping noises drained to a constant buzz, a horrid sound still inundating my ears three days later. Standing over her defective body while my sister and I shared the hand on her right side, she took her last breath.

I didn’t cry. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. My body screamed at me to push my sister out of the way and wrap my arms around my mommy and never let go. My sister cried, my father cried, but my tears wouldn’t come. I stared off into space instead. I’d cried the last forty-six days, maybe I had no tears left. I didn’t cry that day or the next or even the next, but today the tears won’t stop.