Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) (18 page)

“Only because you’re the best friend in the whole wide universe and I owe you a lifetime supply of fancy coffee…” Rogue answers as she sorts her flashcards. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why this paper snuck by me on the syllabus. Usually I’m much more on top of things.”

“Why isn’t your husband helping with all of this?” I ask. “Isn’t he some sort of computer guru with magical tools to suck thoughts right out of your brain?”

Rogue sighs wistfully as she responds, “I wish. He’s actually on some priority project with your hunk at the moment. I didn’t have a very good connection with him, but it sounded like he said something about making families whole or something like that. Anyway, it sounded like something pretty positive. He rarely gets too hyped about anything specific, but he seemed pretty excited.”

Rogue’s words just echo in my mind like some sick soundtrack. If I’m honest with myself, I knew that this was a possibility ever since that weird day at the hospital when we came face-to-face with Tanyanita and I discovered out who she was. Yet, somehow I assumed I would actually be involved in the ending of our relationship. It’s funny, I thought that after all we been through, Mark would fight harder for us.

Maybe I’m being unfair. After all, Tanyanita had him first. She is Ketki’s mom and they are the original family. There is a lot to be said for Ketki feeling grounded and whole. Just as loudly, the less charitable side argues that Tanyanita had that once and gave it up. What about the fact that Ketki loves and trusts me? Why should Ketki have to give me up just because her ‘real mom’ is back in her life and wants a second shot?

A wave of nausea overtakes me. It’s too strong for even the industrial-strength anti-nausea medicines the doctors have me on to combat my chemotherapy regimen. I have to leap up and run toward the restroom to throw up.
 

When I return, Rogue exclaims, “
¡Dios mío!
 
You look like you’ve had a come-to-Jesus moment and seen a ghost all at once. What happened?”
 

Well, maybe not a ghost but close enough. “You know, I haven’t done a whole lot of relationships, but I sort of thought there would be a dramatic fight at the end. After all that we’ve been through with the melanoma, I didn’t figure Mark would just walk away because his ex-wife showed up. I am trying to be the bigger person here for Ketki, but I’m not feeling very big. I’m feeling like the old family hound who got kicked out on the back porch for the new shiny puppy,”

“Are you sure that you’re interpreting this correctly?” Rogue cautions. “I don’t know Mark all that well — but he strikes me as very much the same kind of man as my husband. The kind of man who sees life like a really large chessboard and who doesn’t make moves without a great deal of thought and consideration of those around him. In all the months that I’ve seen him interacting with you, he’s never done anything that wasn’t to benefit you — even if he was clumsy and awkward and pushy as all hell.”

I stop to think about her point for a moment. “Okay, that’s true, but he’s never had to balance me against his ex-wife before. What if there are still latent feelings there? What if because I’m sick — it’s better for Ketki in the long run for them to be together? What if it’s better for Mark for them to stay a family?” I speculate. “You saw how broken up Ketki is about her mom. Maybe being reunited is the best thing for them. Perhaps I should just step out of the way.”

“Hold up!” Rogue interrupts. “You don’t know any of this to be a fact. I thought you talked to Mark about this. Didn’t he say that they were just childhood friends who married in a rush? Why are you in a hurry to give them a happily ever after ending they never had in the first place?”

Rogue’s words bring me up short. That’s a really good question. Why am I so quick to give away my own happily-ever-after? Even though I’m sick from my chemotherapy and my other medications and I struggle against a multitude of side effects from extreme itchiness, puffiness and nausea, I have never really been happier. An interesting thing is happening to me as I look at myself through Mark’s eyes. Even though I have deep ugly incisions and scabs where there used to be none, he makes me feel beautiful and cherished. At a time when the world defines me as ugly, Mark not only says I am stunning, he routinely shows me how he feels. Am I really willing to walk away from all of this just because it might be convenient for another family? I don’t have to dig very deep for that answer. Every cell in my body screams no. I have found my happy. I’m not so quick to give it up. I just have to figure out this cancer stuff and get it under control.

I roll my shoulders and grab some Kleenex off of the desk as I dry my eyes and blow my nose. “Come on Rogue,
French Impressionist Artists of the Twentieth Centur
y won’t organize themselves. I’ll deal with all the rest of the stuff later. I can’t sort it out without Mark here anyway.”

I surreptitiously check my phone after the nurse finishes checking my vitals. I don’t understand why Mark isn’t here yet. He told me he was going to be here twenty minutes ago. He’s been acting beyond bizarre recently. I can’t help but wonder if this is just a form of slow-motion breakup. Finally, my phone vibrates and I see a text.

No texting, but juror passed out in court
. Judge held us. So sorry I won’t be there. Can you pick up Ketki?

My shoulders slump in relief. At least there is some sort of explanation. There’s a knock on the door and Dr. Charleston comes in and sits behind the consulting desk and puts my most recent PET scans up on the display board. While he’s arranging things, I quickly type an affirmative answer to Mark and put my phone away.

“All by yourself today?” Dr. Charleston asks as he leafs through my file.

“Apparently, Mark is stuck in court today,” I reply with a shrug.

“I’ve seen him in action. He is a very impressive fellow,” the doctor remarks with a grin.

I smile as I respond, “I think so, but I might be biased.”

Dr. Charleston turns on a huge overhead light and announces, “Ms. Lyons, come on over here let’s take a look.”

I’m not particularly shy about my body. You can’t grow up in the conditions that I did and be overly modest. But there is something distinctly different about this strip-down. The stakes feel so high. I clutch my hospital type gown around me and it feels dozens of sizes too large as I stand under the lamp. That heat from the lamp feels reminiscent of the tanning beds I used to use as a teenager. It’s hard not to feel a moment of would’ve, should’ve and could’ves. If only I had made different choices or been more aware, maybe I wouldn’t be standing under this lamp having a doctor look at me with a magnifying glass in his hand with an intense expression on his face. The longer we stand there, the more nervous I become.

It gets really awkward when I have to move my breast for him to see one particularly ugly scar. This one just doesn’t seem to want to heal correctly. He examines my closely. “Is this the one the first physician tried to scrape in the office?”

I nod carefully as I respond, “Unfortunately, yes. That was not a pleasant experience. It’s a good thing she didn’t warn me in advance she was going to do that or I would’ve climbed the walls. That hurt!”

Dr. Charleston nods sympathetically as he comments, “I imagine it did. Unfortunately, her hasty decision to treat you without having diagnostics has compromised that site and made healing more difficult in a couple of areas. Overall, I’m pleased with how well you’re healing and how well you’ve responded to outpatient chemo. But, there are just a couple of troublesome areas where we may have to develop a different protocol for treatment.”

“What does that mean exactly?” I ask with trepidation.

“Well, we need to see how the genetic analysis comes back on your samples — I’m relatively sure that I’m going to send you to a bigger facility so that you can have targeted gene therapy and other more cutting-edge procedures done that we just don’t offer in this small setting.”

My heart absolutely sinks, but I put on a brave face and smile as I say, “You know me, I’m like a child of the wind. I’m adaptable.”

Dr. Charleston just smiles a kindly smile as he replies, “I wish all of my patients had such a flexible attitude. It will take you far Ms. Lyons. I’ll have my PA contact you with more details once we know more. I’m glad I got a chance to see you again, although I am sorry that it had to be this way.”

“I had to go register for school today and you and Dad weren’t there,” Ketki announces as soon as she gets into my car.
 

“I’m sorry. I had no idea. I thought you were already registered,” I reply as I back out of the parking space.

“Most kids are, but they kicked some kids out of the system because of our first names. Apparently they think that my first name is one big typo. I don’t know how come they think that because I’ve had the same first name since I was in preschool. It’s not even like I changed it. I guess they don’t respect the fact that I have a Native American name. I don’t understand why I have a Cherokee name and my dad doesn’t have one. That never made any sense to me. He says that his parents gave him a non-Native name because there was a missionary in their village that saved my grandpa’s life when he was a teenager and they gave my dad his name as a big thank you for what he’d done. Still, don’t you think it’s funny to have all these Cherokee names and then have an American name stuck right in the middle? I thought it was really funny.”

I smile as her hands fly through the air in active animation. “You’re right, I’ve always wondered about the story behind your dad’s name. I think your name is beautiful. I think everybody has weird ideas about their name. I think my name sounds like a country music song. Shelby Lynn Lyons.”

Ketki giggles as she replies, “It totally does. Do you sing?”

I poke my bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout as I confess, “Nope. Not a single, solitary note. I was in math club and chess club, not choir.”

“I thought the kids were trying to make you into one of the popular ones after you were adopted?” Ketki asks with a puzzled expression.

“Oh, they were in the beginning,” I explain, “but, it didn’t take them too long to figure out that I was kind of a lost cause. I hadn’t gone to school with other kids. My sister Savannah was older than me, so when my mom and dad weren’t paying any attention, she tried to play school with me and teach me some stuff that she remembered from when she used to go to school. It was easier for her to teach me math concepts because she didn’t have to have books and writing stuff around. She could do it with things that she found in the environment. A lot of times she’d teach me math concepts when we were doing other things like laundry or cooking. I don’t think she really understood what a great teacher she was. She taught me really complicated stuff like how to add and subtract fractions and even how to multiply and divide them without having the luxury of pencils and paper or calculators. She taught me a little bit about music too, even from the old hymn books at the churches that we would visit.”

“I don’t get it…why would your parents not want you to go to school?” Ketki asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before.”

“I don’t know that I know the answer to that. I was pretty little when all this happened I wasn’t much older than you are now. I was trying to figure it all out in my head and I was trying to take care of my little brother, who was very sick. We didn’t have a permanent home like you have. We moved all the time. Savannah and I spent a lot of time worrying about how to stay warm and fed. My parents didn’t trust a whole lot of people. When they did trust people, they always seemed to choose the wrong kind of people to trust.”

“Maybe they were crazy,” Ketki suggests. “You know, some people say that being autistic like me means you’re crazy. I don’t think that’s true, but some of the mean people at school say that’s true,” she discloses as she fiddles with her seatbelt.

Her simple declaration sears my heart. Even though we’re only a couple miles from home, I pull into a strip mall and find a little ice cream shop. I count my lucky stars when I realize it’s one of Ketki’s favorite chains. As I help her unbuckle her seat belt and take her hand to walk across the parking lot, I am suddenly very grateful for a college degree in special education, which is going to help me explain to this phenomenally talented young woman why she is not only not crazy but may someday change the world. The only people crazy in this scenario are the one’s trying to hurt Ketki.