“You’re a lying liar,” she says. But she climbs up on the side of the bed he’s not lying on anyway and stretches out beside him. She presses her face against the upper outside part of his arm, and he reaches up to tap her cheek with his other hand. She grabs his obnoxious hand and threads her fingers through his. “But I love you anyway.”
“I love you, too,” he replies. “But you’re in Lynda’s spot, so get out my bed.”
“This was my spot before it was Lynda’s,” she says.
“When we were five!” he tosses back. He gives her a weak but playful shove, and she rolls out of his bed. “I’m just going to sleep for a few minutes,” he murmurs as he rolls over and tucks his folded hands under his face. “Just a few minutes,” he says, and then he doesn’t say any more.
“Let’s go,” I whisper to her.
“Wait a minute,” she replies, as she holds up one finger.
“Why?”
“I’m counting his breaths,” she says.
I watch her lips as she counts to herself. “Why are you counting his breaths?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s something Lynda always did.”
“And you feel the need to do it too?”
She nods. “Right now I do.” Then when she gets to ten: “We can go now.”
&nbs
p; We step out of the bedroom and I close the door behind us with a gentle click.
“There’s puke in Aaron’s car,” she says with a little whine to her voice.
I heave a sigh. “Do you want me to deal with it?”
“You don’t have to do that,” she says, but she looks at me askance as she says it.
I’ll clean up the puke, but I’m definitely not going to beg her to let me do it. “I’ll do it,” I say.
“Thank you so much.” She lays her hand on my forearm, which makes me freeze and do a double take. I stand absolutely still, afraid that if I move she’ll take it back. Suddenly, she realizes what she’s done, and she jerks her hand back. “Sorry, forgot where I was there for a second.”
“You can touch me any time you want, Bess,” I whisper to her, afraid that if I speak too loudly, she’ll bolt.
She shifts from foot to foot. “That’s not a good idea.”
“I think it’s the best fucking idea we’ve ever had.” I stare into her eyes, and she doesn’t look away. She stares at me right back, until the front door opens and it breaks the moment.
Sam walks into the living room, with her kitten in her arms. “Is my dad home?” she asks. She has Alex, Jake and Katie’s twelve-year-old son, with her.
“Yes, but he’s taking a nap,” Bess whispers. She lifts her index finger to her lips to tell Sam and Alex to be quiet.
“Chemo makes him really tired,” Sam says.
Bess and I make eye contact, but neither of us says a word. We couldn’t if we tried, because we don’t know what to say.
“He thinks I don’t know, but I saw his port, and the doctor left a message on our voicemail. Kerry-Anne doesn’t know though. She’s too little.” She looks like she takes immense pride in being the keeper of this secret.
“Oh,” Bess says. It’s more breath than word, because there are no words that fit this situation.
“Did he throw up?” Sam asks. “The last time he did chemo, he puked a lot.”
“He threw up in the car,” Bess admits sheepishly.