“So… Chick-fil-A?”
“Bingo,” she said.
Needless to say, the kids were thrilled.
London was still wired when we finally got home, but her energy level started to crash by the time she was in her pajamas. I called Vivian and let London FaceTime with her for a few minutes; afterward, I decided to read Two by Two. As I finished, I remembered that Emily had promised to text the photographs of the two of us dancing. Pulling out my phone, I saw that she had, and quickly scrolled through them with London.
“Don’t we look good?”
London took the phone from me and stared at the photos.
“You can’t see my face because my hair is in the way.”
“That’s because you were looking at my feet,” I said. “That’s okay. I was looking at my feet, too.”
She continued to scrutinize the images. As she did, I remembered the photos I’d removed from the house and made a mental note to print one of these and have it framed.
London handed the phone back to me.
“What are we going to do tomorrow?”
“There’s art class, of course. And after that, we’re going to see Nana and Papa. Is there anything else you want to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“You could help me clean the hamster cage.”
“No thanks. It’s kind of icky.”
Right. Smelly, too, I thought. “Let’s see what you’re in the mood to do when you wake up tomorrow,” I said, tucking the covers around her.
I kissed her goodnight and went back downstairs. I turned on the TV, but the photos that Emily had taken seemed to call to me. I pulled out my phone again and lingered over the images with a smile on my face, more grateful than ever to be the father to such an amazing little girl.
Emily waved as soon as I walked into art class with London the following morning. London ran over to hug her, then went to chase down Bodhi.
“That was fun last night,” she said. “I think we’re a good team when it comes to keeping the kids entertained.”
“Agreed,” I said, reflecting that I’d been happily entertained as well. “And thanks for the photos—I’m probably going to get one or two framed. Even with just an iPhone, you clearly have an artist’s eye.”
“Maybe… or maybe I just sent you the best of the hundred or so I shot,” she said with a mischievous smile.
She jerked a thumb in the direction of the strip mall. “You want to grab a cup of coffee while the kids are occupied?”
“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” I said, holding open the door for her. And I meant it.
“It’s the cancer,” my mom insisted. “I just know he has the cancer.”
Standing in the kitchen, my mom was reprising her usual worries in particularly urgent tones. We’d barely walked in the door after art class when she pulled me aside for a hushed conference.
“Was he having trouble breathing again?”
“No,” she said. “But I had the dream about the hospital again last night. Only this time, there was no purple pig. And this time, the doctor was a woman. She was talking about the cancer.”
“Did you ever think it might just be a dream?”
“Do you have the same dreams twice?”
“I have no idea. I don’t remember most of my dreams. But I wouldn’t read too much into it unless you’ve actually noticed something amiss with Dad.”
She looked at me with a mournful expression. “The cancer sometimes doesn’t show many symptoms until it’s too late.”
“So you’re saying that because he feels fine, he might be sick?”
She crossed her arms. “Explain to me why I dreamed it twice.”
I sighed. “Do you want me to talk to Dad again?”
“No,” she said. “But I do want you to keep an eye on him. And if you see something, I’ll need your help getting him to the doctor.”
“I’m not sure I’d even know what to look for,” I protested.
“You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Did Mom waylay you about the cancer?” Marge asked, pouring herself a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher on the table.
I’d just joined her and Liz on the back porch, after sending London off to help my mom in the kitchen. As usual my dad was in the garage, probably lifting an engine out with his bare hands.
“Oh yeah,” I said, holding out a glass of my own for Marge to fill. “It’s been a few months since she last brought it up, so I guess I should have expected it.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I hope I never get like that.”
“Like what?”
“Living in fear all the time.”
“She has good reason,” Marge said. “The cancer knocked off her entire side of the family. Don’t you ever worry about it?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had time to worry about it.”
“I think about it,” Marge said. “I don’t worry, but it does cross my mind from time to time. But I have the sense that if Dad ever starts to develop cancer, the healthy cells will strut over, tap the bad cells on their shoulders, and then proceed to beat the crap out of them.” The afternoon sun played across Marge’s amused expression, throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief.
“Hey, you’re looking good, by the way,” I remarked. “You’ve lost some weight.”
“Thanks for finally noticing,” said, preening a little bit. “You didn’t say anything yesterday.”
“I’m paying attention now. Are you on a diet?”
“Of course. I’m going on vacation—meaning, I’ll be hitting the beach, and a gal’s got to look her best. Besides, with all that running, you were starting to look better than me and I just couldn’t have that.”
I rolled my eyes and turned to Liz. “And how are you doing, Liz? Marge said you’re drowning at work.”
“Yeah, I’ve been covering for another therapist who’s been on leave. Lately I spend most of my free time fantasizing about our getaway to Costa Rica. I’ve even been trying out some Latin American recipes, but Marge won’t eat any of it because of the carbs. I keep reminding her that people in Costa Rica aren’t as overweight as they are here in US, but to no avail.”
“I know my body,” Marge countered. “And it helped that I was sick, since my appetite was nonexistent. On a more interesting note, though, did you see the fair Emily today? At art class?”
I pointedly turned to Liz. “Do you know what I like about you?”
“What’s that?”
“You don’t seem to feel the need to pry into my personal life every time we talk.”
“She doesn’t have to pry,” Marge said. “As a general rule, you blurt out everything you’re thinking or feeling without prompting.”
Marge probably had a point, but still. I sighed. “I not only saw her today, but we also went to the aquarium last night. With the kids. We’re friends, that’s all.”
“And you probably haven’t even noticed how pretty she is, either.”
Liz laughed. “Whatever the reason, I’m happy for you, Russ. You seem to be in a much better place these days.”
“I am,” I said, surprising myself. “I really am.”
After Vivian FaceTimed with London, I asked her to call me back to discuss London’s upcoming birthday party. When she did, her tone was markedly icier than it had been over the previous weekend.
“I’ve already made all the arrangements,” she said. “I’ve rented one of those bouncy houses to set up in the backyard, I’ve set up the catering and I’ve ordered a Barbie birthday cake. I sent out email invitations as well.”
“Uh, okay…,” I said, caught off guard by her chilly demeanor. “Can you tell me what time the party is going to start?”
“Two.”
Nothing else. She seemed to be trying to make me feel purposely uncomfortable.
“All right,” I said slowly. “I assume you sent my parents and Marge and Liz an Evite, but I’ll confirm with them just in case.” When she didn’t answer, I went on. “And you’re still planning to stay in the guest room, right?”
“Yes, Russ. I’m staying in the guest room. We’ve already talked about this.”
“Just making sure,” I said before she abruptly ended the call.
I let out a long, slow breath. Despite the truce of the previous weekend, it seemed that all bets were off again.
CHAPTER 22
The Eye of the Storm