Texas Heat (47 page)

“I suppose so. I talk. He listens. He doesn't make judgments. Today is the day I talk about Rand's visit. He met me on the street two weeks ago, if you can believe that. He was coming here to talk to me. He said a lot of things, too, things I didn't want to hear. Things I don't want to think about. I will today, though.”

“Sawyer, look at me. Listen to what I say. There is every possibility the operation will be a success.
Think.
For God's sake, use that wonderful brain you have to see what's out there for you. Reach out. Fight with everything you have. How can you not want to see the first buds of spring or the first snowflakes of winter? I don't understand it. When it's time for me to go, I plan to kick and scratch all the way. How can you give up Cole and Riley? They love you. Your grandmother is eating herself alive because you won't fight. And what about Adam? That young man loves you.
Loves you
, Sawyer.”

“It's my life,” Sawyer said defensively.

“You belong to all of us. Even Maggie and Rand. Once you touch someone's life, they have a claim on you. Has Maggie been here?” Amelia asked suddenly.

“Yes. She dumped her garbage on me.” At Amelia's perplexed look, she explained, “Her diaries. Seems she kept them from the time she was ten years old. Just the way I did. In fact, she gave me my first one. It's probably the only thing we have in common. We both write in diaries.”

Amelia was dumbfounded. “Maggie actually gave you her diaries! I can't believe it.”

“Well, she did. I threw them in the fireplace. I was going to burn them, but Adam rescued them. I don't know if he mailed them back or not.”

Amelia found herself at a loss for words. She felt awe, relief, and something like pride that Maggie would bare her soul to her daughter. “Sawyer . . . do you have any idea, any idea at all, what it cost your mother to bring those diaries to you? Do yourself a favor and read them.”

“I can't. I don't want her in my life. I don't want to be in hers. Rand told me he was on his way to ask her to marry him—said he wanted me to hear it from him. He told me that in some greasy restaurant. Then he left.”

“How did you feel?”

“Numb. It was a terrible experience. I made it through, though. It took a lot of courage for him to tell me; I know that now. Nick—that's the shrink—made me . . . What he did was help me see that you can't make someone love you. It's like Adam and me. He loves me. I love him, too, but not the way he loves me. Maybe someday. Rand couldn't wait for someday.”

“Why should he wait, Sawyer? Life is too short. Surely you can see that. Don't begrudge his happiness or Maggie's. Don't hate.”

“It's what I feed on now,” Sawyer said honestly. “It's what keeps me going.”

“Then you're lost. I'm just wasting my time. And I don't have all that much left, so I have to put it to good use. Go to your shrink and play games. Wait till it's too late and blame everyone but yourself because you're going to die. I'm sorry if that hurts you, Sawyer, but that's the way it is.” Amelia stood up. “I was going to stay overnight, but I don't think I will. You depress me. I need sunshine in my life and I'm going back to get it. You stay here with that crazy cat and wallow in your misery. I'm glad your grandmother can't see you. Good-bye, Sawyer.”

Adam found her crying at the dining room table, Marble purring softly in her lap. “What happened?”

“Amelia stopped here on her way to Sunbridge. She let me have it with both barrels. It's closing in on me, Adam. They're all saying the same thing: that I'm a quitter, a loser, that I have no guts. Rand said I was a taker, that I don't know how to give. They're all disgusted with me. Instead of being supportive like you are, they come here to jab at me and leave. Fight, they tell me. What the hell am I fighting?” she cried suddenly. “Do you think I want to die? I don't. Honest to God, I don't. I'm scared out of my wits. I don't want to die on an operating table. I don't know what to do.”

“For starters, you're going to wash your face and comb your hair. Then we're going to see Nick. You're going to talk this out if I have to force him to cancel all his other appointments. Go on now; do as I say.”

While Sawyer was in the bathroom, Adam called Nick. “I'll pay. I want you to stick with her till she can't talk anymore. I don't care how long it takes.”

“Be glad to do it. Do you think she's coming around?” Nick asked hopefully.

“I'm afraid to think. I'm hoping.”

“I'm waiting for her now, so get moving.”

 

Nick settled his soccer-ball body comfortably in an easy chair across from Sawyer. “Take off your sunglasses. I want to be able to look at you when we talk.”

“The mirror of one's soul, is that it?”

“More or less. So, tell me what's been going on. You haven't been here for two weeks.”

Sawyer spoke haltingly at first, and then she sped up, like a child on a downhill slide. Soon there was no stopping her. At one point she jumped up angrily and lashed out, “They have no right, no right at all!”

“Do you feel like smashing something, putting your foot through the wall?” Nick asked complacently.

“Huh?”

“Don't play games. You heard me. If that's what you want to do, do it. I told you, when you come to this office you can do whatever you want. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to scream and yell, do it. You want to smash something, be my guest. You will, however, clean up and replace when you're finished. Go ahead. I'm not stopping you.”

“That's stupid,” Sawyer said in disgust.

“Don't you think it's more stupid to hold the anger in and direct it at people who don't deserve it?”

“Of course. You're saying that's what I'm doing?”

“No. I asked you a question. You assumed that's what I meant. You already know the answer. I told you, Sawyer, no games are played here. Now, tell me about Rand.”

Nick listened carefully to Sawyer's wild babblings, all the while sifting, collating, making neat little summaries in his head. In the beginning he'd made notes, but his scribbling seemed to bother Sawyer, so he'd opted for this “sit and chat” area, as he called it. She'd relaxed almost immediately.

“What, in particular, didn't you like about the meeting?”

“I didn't like his nerve. I don't owe him anything, even conversation. He assumed he could ‘get through to me' where the others failed.”

“Did he?”

“He hit some nerves. Yes. He made me think.”

“Do you still hate him?”

“Hate Rand? Oh, no!” Sawyer cried passionately.

“You said he's going to marry your mother. Does that bother you?”

“Of course it bothers me! It's tearing me up inside. She tricked him.”

“Does even one small part of you believe he could really love her? You told me he didn't love you enough to make that final commitment. Yet now he's ready to make that commitment to your mother. How do you explain that?”

Sawyer hedged. “He might care for her... a little. I told you, Maggie is a man-eater. She mesmerized him.”

“But you said she sent him away. Sometimes people do that when they love too much because they can't handle it.”

“Maggie can handle anything,” Sawyer said bitterly.

“Even your illness? Is she handling that?”

“Of course. She came to see me, dumped her trash on me, and left.” She hesitated a moment, then burst out defiantly, “It's
her
fault—all of this is her fault!”

Nick lit a cigarette, his third of the day. “You told me you didn't want to read her diaries, that Adam packed them up. You said her life was trash. Actually, I believe you used the word garbage.”

“So what if I did? It's how I feel,” Sawyer cried. “Why should I waste my time reading about
her
life?”

“You tell me. Why would it be a waste? Are you afraid of what you might see in those diaries?”

“Of course not,” Sawyer blustered.

“If I asked you to read them, would you?”

“Probably not.”

Nick stubbed out his cigarette. “I have to assume you're afraid.”

“I'm not afraid. I'm petrified,” Sawyer whispered.

“Tell me what you're petrified of.”

Sawyer lit a cigarette with trembling hands. “There might be something in them that would . . . that I might not like. Maggie always comes out on top. She wouldn't have given me those diaries if they were going to hurt her. She wants to hurt me. That's why she gave them to me.”

“That thing you think might be in those books, would it absolve Maggie?”

“Of course. It would make me take the rap. I told you, Maggie always wins. Didn't she finally get Sunbridge? She got Rand. Amelia and Susan are living there. My grandmother gave her permission,
gave her permission
,” Sawyer shouted, “
to take Rand
!”

“If you read those diaries and your worst imaginings are true, then you won't have anyone to blame. That's what you're saying.”

Sawyer pondered Nick's words. “I suppose... in a manner of speaking, you're right.”

“So now, at the most crucial time of your life, you need someone to blame. Your illness is the biggest crisis you've ever had to deal with. But you aren't dealing with it, are you?”

“I'm trying.”

“Then why won't you go for the operation?”

“I told you, I'm petrified.”

“I don't believe you.”

“I really don't care. You all expect too much of me. I'm only human.”

“Ah, you're only human. What does that make the rest of us, inhuman?”

“I didn't mean that.”

“Then what the hell did you mean?”

“People are choosing up sides. When you do that, there's a winner and a loser.”

“Which are you?”

Sawyer laughed hysterically. “I'm going to die and you ask me a stupid question like that! Of course I'm the loser.”

“How did that happen, that you're the loser?”

“Maggie.”

“Maggie has nothing to do with your illness. You lose when you don't fight. If you decide to go ahead and have the operation and it's successful, what will happen then?” “I don't know. Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I know you don't, but we're going to talk anyway. Now answer the question.”

“Life will go on.”

“Maggie and Rand will live happily ever after. Your grandmother and her husband will live happily ever after. Your aunt Amelia is going back to Texas to reconcile with her husband, and they'll live happily ever after. Your aunt Susan is going to get married again, and she and her new husband will live happily ever after. Cole and Riley are going off to college, two handsome studs with girls dropping at their feet. Who does that leave who isn't going to be happy?”

“Me,” Sawyer cried. “Damn you, me! What about me? When do I get to be happy?”

“When you open yourself to it. You can't buy it; it isn't a commodity. You want to know something else I found out? You have to earn it. Take my old buddy Adam. He's unhappy—miserable, as a matter of fact. He'd die for you if it would make you happy. You know that, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Let's talk about something here for a minute.” Nick handed her a piece of paper and a pencil. “I want you to list all the things in order of importance—now that's crucial—all the things you'll never see or do again if you don't go for this operation. I'm going out to the other office to call some of my patients who think I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

“You must be kidding.”

“Do I look like I'm kidding?” He nodded as Sawyer reluctantly picked up the pencil. “When you're finished with that list, I want you to make another one on the back of it. Things you can do and will do; things you
want
to do if the operation is a success.”

Nick closed the door behind him and immediately called Adam. “Look, I'm not promising anything. I think I have her on the run, though. Christ, for a minute there I thought she was going to wreck my office. I actually gave her permission, knowing you'd pay the bill.” He grinned at the hysterical squawking on the other end of the line.

“I think the best thing for Sawyer was having Rand and Amelia talk to her. She's thinking, and that's the first step. I'm hopeful. Don't worry about her getting home. I'll put her in a cab. Just be there for her.”

Nick waddled to the men's room and back to his secretary's desk, where he made several more phone calls. When he returned to his office, Sawyer was sitting with her feet propped up on the round table in the chat area. There were tear streaks on her cheeks, which he pretended not to see. He scanned both sides of the paper in front of him. “Good,” he said briskly. He lit another cigarette and held the light for Sawyer.

“Is that it for today?” Sawyer asked through a perfect smoke ring.

“Not quite. Let's touch on the operation.” He held up his hand to ward off her objection. “My talking about it isn't going to change anything. I want you to talk about it. I do understand more now, though. I called your doctor because I wanted to make sure I could explain anything in case you had some questions. You gave me permission, so wipe that look off your face. . . . Well?”

“Twenty percent odds aren't very good,” she said in a tight voice. “Actually, the neurosurgeon said it was more like fifteen.”