Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) (20 page)

“Trust me Mr. Hotshot Lawyer, you weren’t the only one,” Tanyanita replies candidly.

THE SECOND WEEK OF SCHOOL used to always be my favorite week of the year. By then, everyone has settled down and learned everyone’s name and is looking forward to everything new. The possibilities are limitless. I’ll never forget my first year of school after I was removed from my parents. I felt like the world had been given to me on a platter. There was so many new worlds open to me that I never even knew existed— science, social studies and language arts. I thought that new textbooks were some mystical gifts from the gods. Come to think of it, not much has changed. New books still fascinate me.

As I sip my hot apple cider and curl up with some mystery-romance novel, which under any other circumstances would probably be truly gripping, I can’t help but mourn the loss of my dreams for this year. I can’t set foot in the classroom this year. Right now, I can’t really go anywhere. The chemotherapy has made me susceptible to enough random germs that they don't want me to be around a bunch of children. My new restrictions have even curtailed my volunteer work with Diamond at the library. It’s like one crushing blow after another. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on the scope of how much my life is going to be messed up by a few bad decisions I made as a teenager, Karma comes roaring back to remind me what a fool I was. I can’t even tell you how disappointed I am. Jessica, Diamond and I were so pumped up after the
Promoting the Power of Prose
training. I was ready to steer my life in a new direction and apply my degree and love of reading and writing to a new setting. Once again, my life seems to have come unraveled like a sweater from a rummage sale.

I like Dr. Charleston, I really do. Yet, sometimes I wish he was a little less honest. No, I take that back. I don’t wish that. Sometimes, his honesty just hurts me to my core. When I started this journey, I really hoped that it would just be a matter of taking a few bad skin cells off. As time has marched, on they just keep digging deeper and deeper. I feel like my body is a battle zone. It looks like some sort of salvage map for fans of ghouls. Although I tried to tell myself that I was prepared for the worst, when Doctor Charleston told me that I was going to need some chemotherapy to deal with the fact that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes, I just was not prepared for that blow. I’m not even thirty. How can I be dying from cancer? I don’t do any of the risky behavior that I associate with cancer. I don’t smoke, I never took drugs. I stayed away from all the food with preservatives and food coloring. I don’t touch food with artificial sweetener — okay, so, I’ll admit that I’m a little addicted to Diet Mountain Dew, but I had school and work at the same time. It’s pretty much my only vice.

“The Dew” is my only vice unless you count Mark. It turns out that dark, witty, deeply spiritual barristers are my new vice. I take a break from my mini-pity party to eat one of the tiny quiches Mark served me for breakfast. When I mentioned that I loved these little delicacies from a bakery across town, but one of the spices was making me sick since I started chemotherapy, Mark contacted the owner of the bakery and asked her if she would make some just for me without the spice. Not surprisingly, she readily agreed and I now have my own supply of Shelby’s Sublime Quiches. I did not expect her to add it to her menu and give a donation to the Skin Cancer Foundation in my name. It was such an incredibly sweet gesture from a complete stranger that I have a hard time wrapping my brain around it. Yet, that seems to sum up my whole existence the last few months, almost perfect strangers have gone out of their way to help make my life better.

I often wonder how many of the recent “miracles” in my life are due to random fate and how many of them are a result of the efforts of Mark Littleson. Sometimes, I think my man can move mountains for me. I swear that if he could take the cancer on himself, he would. He’s a force of nature like nothing I’ve ever seen. At first I thought he was like Reverend Pratchett, but now I’m not so sure. I don’t think the two men have much in common at all. Reverend Pratchett was big on making empty promises and delivering very little. Mark doesn’t say much about what he's going to do, he’s just solidly there when I need him.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I feel twitchy. I can’t seem to settle properly anymore. It’s almost as if the cancer has made me hyper aware of every cell in my body. Some days, it seems that even my hair hurts. So far, I’ve managed to keep most of my hair. It’s a little thinner than it was, but it’s there. I don’t know why I’ve become so invested in keeping it, because I’m not a really big fan of my hair. I’ve always hated it’s color and kinky, curly texture. Yet, somewhere along the way my battle to keep my hair has become symbolic of my battle to be victorious over cancer. I’ve tried every trick that I’ve read about on the Internet. I wash my hair in cold water and even ice my scalp down when I take my chemotherapy treatments.
 

I even went as far as getting a prescription medication for hair growth. Dr. Charleston told me that the evidence is mixed about whether it actually helps, but he was willing to allow me to try it. The whole thing is really a stupid matter of pride and I know it. Yet, it doesn’t stop me from fighting the battle. I don’t know why it’s become such a focal point for me. Maybe it’s just easier to focus my attention on a minuscule, scalable problem that I can tangibly define, rather than the uncertain prognosis of my cancer. I just don’t know. At any rate, I appear to be winning the fight to keep my hair — or at least that’s what my analysis of my hairbrush allows me to believe. It’s one small positive in a wasteland of negatives so, I take a moment to celebrate.

I’m holding my hair up in pretend hairstyles and vogueing in front of the mirror while I sing along to Pink with absolutely no filter. I wasn’t kidding when I told Ketki I have no singing skill. The key to having fun at this is wearing high-quality earphones and having the volume turned up really high. I can’t hear my own really wretched singing.

When the song ends, I jump about three inches in the air when I suddenly hear clapping erupt from behind my left ear. I spin around on my heel, but trip over the laundry basket of clothes I was folding and end up in Mark’s arms as he reaches out to catch me.

As he steadies me and helps me stand up, I ask, “What are you doing here? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Nope. I was doing a court-appointed and my client had to have an appendectomy,” he answers with a somewhat smug grin. “The judge rescheduled the whole song-and-dance for this time next month.”
 

“So what are you going to do, Mr.-I-live-by-my-calendar? Do you even know what to do with free time?” I tease.

Mark looks pensive for a moment before he answers, “I’m not sure I know the answer to that. I can’t remember having any free time in the last decade and a half. First it was college and law school, then Ketki. I’ve been working like crazy to keep Hunters Crossing up and running. Huh… I guess I haven’t really slowed down enough to process how much effort it really takes to keep everything going. I took a little time to go to Paris to retrieve Callum’s body, but that wasn’t a vacation by any stretch of the imagination.”

I grimace as I respond, “No, I imagine not. My brother has been gone for a decade and a half and I’m still not over it. I can’t imagine losing him under the circumstances you did. How are your parents doing?”

“Funny you should ask about my parents, because my mom would like to meet you,” Mark answers. “In fact, my mom has summoned us to the house. Apparently, my cousin is participating in his first pow-wow in a while and my mom would like us to be there.”
 

I gasp as I gesture over my body which is barely covered by my robe. “Mark, I am in no shape to meet your mom. I’m in no shape to meet
anybody’s
mom, but
especially
not
your
mom.” I respond self-consciously, “Have you looked at me recently?”

Mark gathers me gently against him being careful not to touch any of my sore areas. He thoroughly kisses me before answering, “Yes, I see you every day and to me you just grow more beautiful.”

I shake my head as we sit stuck in traffic. “I still can’t believe you talked me into coming. What about the fact that I’m not supposed to be around a ton of people?” I question.

“
Immokalee
, I’ve been protecting you for months now. I’ve already given my mom a heads up. She doesn’t want anything to happen to you either. I don’t think you quite understand what a huge deal it is that my mom has extended an invitation to you,” Mark advises.

“I am a little confused. Your mom doesn’t know me from Adam and the parts she does know probably seem like really bad news. I’m not even sure why she wants to meet me,” I confess.

“I can answer that in a single word. Ketki. Shelby, you are amazingly good to my daughter,” Mark replies emphatically.

“Mark, how would your mom even know that? Who wouldn’t be amazingly good to your daughter?… Oh, never mind.” I let my speech trail off. “Still, how would your mom know about me?”

“Remember how you once described Ketki as more tenacious than a tabloid reporter?” he responds. “Ketki and my mom are active friends on Facebook. Ketki sings your praises often.”
 

“That was incredibly generous of Ketki. I adore your daughter,” I declare.

“I don’t think you quite understand what a huge favor Ketki did for you. In our culture, a mother’s decision is everything. Without my mother’s invitation, you would not have been welcomed into her home.”

I nervously fiddle with the bandage under my bra. It’s the one area that I can’t seem to get healed up. Well, I have two areas but the one on my back I can’t see, so unless it starts itching or the searing pain strikes, it doesn’t come as readily to my mind as this one under my breasts. Finally, I take a deep breath and decide there really is no way to delicately address the situation so I decided to tackle it straight on.
 

“I respect your mom’s right to do that, but it’s one thing to bring you and Ketki into all of this, it’s a whole other thing to bring your entire family along for the ride. You know that I’m not completely out of the woods yet. What if meeting them is a mistake?” I ask, chewing on my lip. “You know that they’re going to think you’re crazy for dating someone who has cancer? Come to think of it, I think you’re a little crazy for dating me —” I confess.

Mark shakes his head violently as he protests, “Shelby, skin cancer is something you have, it isn’t who you are. You were a person before you found out about the skin cancer, and you will still be a complete person after you beat this thing.”

Mark’s words leave me speechless. It’s such a simple little statement yet so profound. It’s the reason he can accept me as I am — so freely without reservation. I wish I could turn my brain off and just accept it for the beautiful gift that it is. Somehow I just can’t. The analytical part of me has to push it just a little further. “Mark, there is a chance I might not make it, what then?”

The sound Mark makes is low and guttural as he sighs and moans at the same time. Finally, he pulls the car over to the side of the road. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and then meets my gaze as he responds, “Honestly, those thoughts torment my dreams, but love is more than skin deep and when you love someone, you have to be able to take the hard times. If it comes to the worst, I will be forever grateful you touched my life, however briefly you are in it.”

If I thought I was stunned into speechlessness before, I’ve got
no words
now. This is the kind of grand declaration of love I had always hoped that I would hear — I envisioned being completely happy and healthy when I heard it. I want to be able to say, “
I love you too
.” Yet, without knowing even if I have a future, I don’t know what to do. Cancer sucks.