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“I think he notices more than you think,” Aaron says after he gets in and tosses the photo albums into the back seat.

“No. He really doesn’t,” I say quietly.

He reaches over and gives my hand a squeeze. But I’m okay with where my marriage is right now. I’m okay with it being over.

“So, what’s up with you?” I ask.

“Not much,” he replies. “Staying busy.” He drives out of the complex and past the campground.

“Kids are doing okay? Since Lynda?” I don’t say “since Lynda’s death” because that part still seems like poking at an open sore.

“Miles and Kerry-Anne are fine. Sam is a little bit of a challenge. She misses her mom. I think she wishes it was me who’d died instead.”

I turn to face him. “She doesn’t wish that.”

“It’s okay,” he replies. “I wish it had been me too.”

The car is quiet for a few minutes. I can’t think of the right thing to say.

“How’s work?” he finally asks me, breaking the silence. “Are you still taking pictures?”

“No,” I reply. I quit doing that a few years ago. “I got an office job. Crunching numbers.”

His brow furrows. “You hate numbers.”

“Have to pay the bills, and taking pictures was just a hobby.”

“When we were little, you never went anywhere without a camera.”

I had wanted to be just like my mom. She always had her camera with her, and I wanted to do everything she did. “I’m not little anymore,” I remind him.

He turns off the highway and pulls up to a medical building. “Come on,” he says as he flings open his door.

“Why are we here?” I ask as I get out.

&n

bsp; “I have an appointment,” he replies. He gets the photo albums out of the back of the car. I follow him in through the glass door, the cold air tingling my cheeks. He checks in and I stand back, but they take him to the back immediately and he motions for me to come too. I follow warily, unsure of what we’re doing. He follows the chatty nurse to the back of the building, where lines of chairs and curtains are set up. He settles into a chair and unbuttons his shirt, where I see a tiny plastic disc on his chest.

I lean closer so I can see it more clearly. “What’s that?”

“Chemo port,” he says blandly, still chatting with the nurse as she gives him a little cup with pills in it, hangs a bag of fluid, and affixes the other end of the tube to the port.

When she’s gone, I blink hard and try to clear the confusion. “Are you sick again, Aaron?”

“Cancer’s a bitch,” he replies.

I suddenly feel like it’s hard to breathe. “I thought you were in remission.”

“I was,” he says. “Now I’m not.”

“And you’re only telling me this now?” I feel like someone just let the air out of me. “How long have you known?”

“I found out a little while before Lynda died.” He stares hard into my eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly, I didn’t want to face it.” He shakes his head. “Cancer a second time is a little scary, Bess.” He looks into my eyes. “And I’m telling you now.”


Tags: Tammy Falkner Lake Fisher Romance