Love to Love Her YAC (19 page)

“That’s okay, it was no problem,” Mom says
quietly. I can tell she’s freaking out already, and I want to give
her a shake and remind her to breathe.

“So. I’m not going to beat around the bush
here,” he says, using his feet to walk his stool back around the
counter so he can face us. He leans over and steeples his
fingertips, looking at Tawny as he speaks. “The bad news is, there
seems to be an increased number of the bad cells popping up again
your bone marrow. It’s more than likely an expansion of what was
already there, and it indicates that we’re seeing a relapse.” He
stops talking, allows a moment for this to sink in.

Relapse
. Please, God, no.

The cancer is back.

12:30 PM

M
om calls the
attendance office at the school as we walk back out to the car to
let them know Tawny won’t be in this afternoon. Next she calls Dad
and asks him to meet us at the Applebee’s. None of us wants to go
home just yet.

Tawny is quiet, but she isn’t crying, not
like she did when we first found out about her diagnosis three
years ago. She seems to be deep in thought, like she’s trying to
work through a complex math problem in her head.

We sit in a booth at the restaurant, and Mom
orders a basket of onion rings for us to share – they’re Tawny’s
favorite, and none of us has the appetite for a full meal. An
oppressive silence seems to be sitting at the table with us like a
fourth person, keeping any of us from speaking up. It’s
excruciating.

Dad shows up a few minutes later. He slides
in next to Mom and looks around at all of us, an expression of
resignation on his bearded face. “How was your visit with Dr.
Hennessy, sugar bear?” He addresses Tawny using the name he’s
called her since she was just a baby.

“I’m having a relapse,” says Tawny. Her voice
comes out clear and unwavering in a way I’m not sure mine could at
the moment, and this realization makes me remember how proud I am
of her quiet strength.

Dad nods almost imperceptibly, encouraging
her to continue. She sighs. “It’s not a death sentence,” she tells
him, using the same words Dr. Hennessy used. “It just means I have
to go through more treatments like I did before. He says I still
have a good chance of beating it, especially if we use different
chemo this time, and we’re shooting for a complete remission
again.”

Dad nods again, scrubbing at his face with
his knuckles. He looks as tired as we all feel. “Dr. Hennessy says
she has a few factors playing in her favor,” Mom speaks up. “For
one thing, it’s been two and a half years since the cancer first
remitted. Apparently the prognosis is better the longer it takes
for that to happen. And he said it’s also a good sign the relapse
is confined to the central nervous system. Both of those things put
her in the higher survival rate category.”

Dad reaches across the table to take Tawny’s
hands in his own in a rare show of affection. “I’m sorry, honey. I
know it wasn’t the news we were hoping for.”

Tawny nods, her thin frame seeming to deflate
under the weight of the load that’s been put on her at a time when
she should be worrying about standardized tests and school
dances.

“We’re nowhere near the end of the road
though,” I volunteer, filling my dad in while also reminding my
mother and sister about the other piece of good news. “He said we
can increase her chances even further if we combine radiation
therapy with the next round of chemo. And if that still doesn’t get
it, then there’s stem cell transplant. So there are a lot of
options available to us.”

Dad looks at Mom, who nods. “He wanted us to
talk it over as a family and let him know what we want to do. The
sooner we can get started the better.”

Our onion rings are delivered. I’m surprised
when Tawny takes a sizable helping and begins to eat. The rest of
us follow suit as we continue to bring Dad up to date on all of the
potential risks and benefits of the treatment options we discussed
with Dr. Hennessy. By the time we leave the restaurant Mom is on
the phone with his office, letting them know we’d like to go ahead
with the first round of radiation and chemo.

Tawny decides to ride in the backseat with me
on the way home. She leans her head over on my shoulder. “Will you
stay?” she asks quietly.

“Of course,” I tell her.

Blake – 4:45 PM

I
sit at my desk,
staring out the window at the athletic fields, waiting for five
o’clock to roll around so I can go home and lie down. I’m sure Herb
has noticed my precipitous drop in productivity this week, but he
has yet to say anything about it. He just looks at me with this
vexed expression on his face. Honestly, it’s a wonder I’ve managed
to make it in at all. I’ve been sleeping like shit, and I’ve only
been getting my three square meals a day because I force myself to.
Every time I pass a mirror I’m startled by my spectral
appearance.

Needless to say, I still have no idea what
happened to Rhiannon or where she went. I’ve been calling her
several times every day to no avail. Sometime late Tuesday it
stopped going directly to voicemail, indicating that her phone is
turned back on. I’m not sure if this makes me feel better or worse.
She doesn’t ever return my calls or my text messages. I’ve even
knocked on her door twice this week, hoping to catch her at home.
Still no sign of her. I’m beginning to wonder if I dreamed her
existence.

I stand up at five o’clock on the dot, gather
my things and leave. It’s an overcast day, and the dusty parking
lot is suffused with cold, gray light. Without any forethought,
instead of getting in my truck I keep walking across the street. I
cut directly to the soccer field where I saw Rhiannon playing
Frisbee with Spencer that day that seems like ages ago. I’ve kept
an eye on the field all week, waiting to see if Spencer will show
up, but he never has.

I don’t stop until I reach the alder tree I
stood under that day watching her. The tree has lost most of its
leaves, and the ground feels cold as I lower myself to sit on it,
my back resting up against the trunk. I stare into the middle
distance while my thoughts swirl around me. I start when someone
nearby says my name.

I turn, looking for the source of the male’s
voice. There stands Spencer in a pair of gym shorts and a black
hoodie, a basketball tucked under his arm and a sheen of sweat on
his forehead. I scramble to my feet, feeling more hopeful than I
have since I left Rhiannon’s apartment on Sunday.

“Hey Spencer,” I say.

“You look like death,” he comments by way of
a greeting.

I chuckle, unable to disagree with him or
even feel affronted. “I haven’t been getting much sleep
lately.”

“You talked to Rhiannon lately?” he asks. His
expression isn’t giving anything away.

I shake my head. “No, I can’t get ahold of
her. Have you talked to her? Is she okay?”

Spencer’s cheeks inflate like a puffer fish
as he expels a breath. He takes a few more steps toward me and mops
at his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I haven’t talked to
her,” he said. “But I talked to my mom yesterday. My mom is
Rhiannon’s dad’s sister.”

I nod encouragingly. “Uh… It’s not really my
business to say anything, but…you know about her little
sister?”

“The one who had cancer?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah…they just found out her
leukemia relapsed. Rhiannon’s been back at home.”

I concentrate very hard on Spencer’s drawn
face, trying desperately to keep the world from spinning.
So
that’s where she went
. At least she isn’t avoiding me, or at
least not any more than she has been anyone else. But I can only
feel relief for a split second before profound grief rushes in to
take its place.

“Oh my God,” I finally manage to say.
“That’s…awful.”

“Yeah, it is,” says Spencer. “Listen, man,
you don’t look so good. Why don’t you walk back to my dorm with me?
You can sit down and have something to drink.”

I nod without thinking. I trudge after
Spencer in the direction of the yellow brick high rise that houses
undergraduate students.

Spencer’s room is much tidier than most guys’
rooms. His twin-sized bed is covered with a simple navy comforter,
and a MuteMath poster hangs on the wall above his desk. He pulls
out his computer chair for me as we enter, gesturing for me to sit,
and pulls two bottled waters out of a mini fridge before taking a
seat on the edge of the bed facing me. He tosses me a water, which
I guzzle down appreciatively.

“So…” he says. “Look, feel free to tell me to
mind my own beeswax, but what’s going on with you two anyway?”

I look at him, assessing the situation. I
could tell him the same thing I’ve been telling Adam, assure him
we’re just friends, no harm done, but it would feel good to have at
least one person know the truth. So that’s what I tell him.

“Right now, nothing…or at least not as much
as I’d like for there to be,” I admit. “Rhiannon and I met a few
weeks ago on her birthday—“

Spencer gasps, catching me off guard. He
laughs. “So
you’re
the eye fucker!”

My confusion must be written on my face,
because he hurries to elaborate. “I went over to her apartment the
next morning, and Ruthie kept going on about this totally hot guy
who was hitting on Rhiannon and eye fucking her the whole
night.”

I smile sheepishly, wishing I could deny it.
“Yeah, that was me. I was maybe a little out of line that night. If
you’ve heard her sing, though, you probably know where I’m coming
from on this one.”

“Oh sure,” says Spence. “Trust me, you’re not
the first to be bewitched by that particular talent.”

I try not to think of what other guys he may
be referring to. “So anyway,” I continue, “we went out the
following night, just kind of as friends. We had dinner, and then I
took her out to the lake. I’m sorry to say things got a little out
of hand – physically, I mean.”

Spencer interrupts me again before I can
continue. “Sorry? Why sorry?”

“I’m getting to that. Rhiannon didn’t know it
at that time, but I have a girlfriend. I have for a while.”

Spencer sits back, studying me. “Well shit,”
he says.

“Yeah. And I’m a serial monogamist…I’ve never
cheated. I’ve never even felt tempted. So my lack of self-control
with Rhiannon took me by surprise.” I rub circles in my temples
with my fingertips, mustering the strength to keep talking. “Of
course I knew I had to tell her,” I go on. “So a few days later,
actually that night after I saw you guys playing Frisbee, I went
over to her place and told her about Jordan.”

“Yikes. And how did she take it?” asks
Spencer.

“About like I expected her to,” I say, hating
reliving these painful memories. “She asked me to leave, so I left.
I told her I wanted to keep being her friend though. I knew it
probably wouldn’t work because I want her too much, but I had to
try.”

“So you became friends?”

“More or less. We took a step back,
obviously. That is until last Saturday when we went to that
restaurant opening.”

“Uh oh. What happened there?”

“We had too much to drink for one thing,” I
begin, as if this will explain away all of our later wrongdoings.
“I got a little defensive when she danced with some other guy, and
she
got mad that
I
was mad – rightfully so. She
confronted me and asked me what I want from her, and even though I
wasn’t really in any condition to be acting on my thoughts, I’d
been having these feelings for a long time, and it all caught up to
me. I kissed her.” I decide to leave it at that – not because I’m
too ashamed to expand on what happened next, but because it feels
private, like something that should stay between Rhiannon and me.
Besides, I don’t want him judging Rhiannon like I know she’s
probably judging herself.

Spencer watches me but doesn’t say anything.
I’m grateful to him for managing to not look angry or disapproving.
I take a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not proud of what
happened – of any of it, really. But after what happened last
weekend I know now I can’t just be
friends
with her. I went
over to her place to talk through everything on Sunday morning, but
by that time she was gone. I haven’t heard from her, and I’ve been
going out of my mind worrying about her.”

“What were you going to tell her?” asks
Spencer evenly. He looks poised to begin throwing punches if I say
the wrong thing.

“That she’s the one I want to be with,” I
reply without hesitation.

“And does your girlfriend know this?”

“Not yet. Don’t get me wrong, I know I need
to end it with her, regardless of how things end up with Rhiannon.
But we’ve been together for six years, and you don’t just end that
with a text message. I need to talk to her face to face, but I want
to talk to Rhiannon first.”

Spencer nods slowly, processing. “Well, I’m
relieved,” he says finally.

“Relieved? Why?”

“Because I was afraid you were going to tell
me you needed to cut Rhiannon loose or some bullshit like that. I
hate to see guys cast her aside like they don’t get how special she
is.”

“Has that happened before?” I ask, already
wanting to inflict pain on the faceless mystery man or men who may
have hurt her.

“Not for a long time,” he says. “She was
pretty serious with this one guy a couple years back, but she’s
been pretty guarded ever since then. She doesn’t let herself get
too close, you know?” I nod at the sad truth of it.

“So…” he starts. I look at him with curiosity
as he studies me. “What now?” he asks finally.

I swallow, afraid to ask the next question.
“That depends,” I say. “Can you tell me where to find her?”