Standing shakily, he teased, “I think I can admit defeat when I need to.”
Heathcliff stood with him, the empty pie tin on his lap falling with a clang to the floor. “Let me help you.”
Uncle Gregor started to wave him away, but then paused, a pained expression pinching his features. “You know, I think I would like some assistance.” He glanced at me. “Hawthorne, there are some pills on top of the fridge in the kitchen. It’s the only bottle there. Can you bring those to me?”
Heathcliff offered Gregor his arm, leading him carefully through the living room and into the hallway as I scurried to the kitchen. My hands shook as I reached for the bottle on the fridge. The pills were for pain, and my heart hurt as I carried them to my uncle’s bedroom, a glass of water in my other hand.
“These?” I asked upon entering the room, even though I knew the answer.
Uncle Gregor sat on the edge of the bed, his head hanging. He accepted the bottle, shaking a pill out into his palm before swallowing it with the water I’d brought.
“That should do it,” he said, his voice cheerful.
Lying back, he pulled the blanket over himself before rolling to his side, tensing as he pulled his knees into his chest.
“Do you need me to stay?” My voice shook despite every effort to keep it level.
I was beginning to see a change in myself. Days past, I’d sat at the table with Uncle Gregor and talked about my fear of his dying. Today, I’d been angry about it. Now I was determined to help him through it. Fear, anger, and the need to nurture. Maybe they were steps in the grieving process, maybe they weren’t, but they were changing me. I was seeing life differently.
Uncle Gregor peered up at me, his lips thin. “Go on to bed, Hawthorne. I’m okay. I promise.” His eyes pleaded with me. “There’s going to be a point when I’m going to need you,” he added. “Right now, I think I’ve got this.” He winked, trying for his usual offhanded, debonair manner, but his closing eyes ruined the effect, his brows furrowed with pain.
Heathcliff touched my arm, his eyes sad. Together, we left, the sound of the door shutting behind us too loud in the hallway, as if it were cutting me off from Gregor in a way I was afraid to admit. Cancer, I was beginning to learn, didn’t just rob a person’s voice, it often took away a person’s ability to understand things about the people he/she was losing.
“Come on,” Heathcliff soothed.
Taking my hand, he led me to the stairwell, our feet soft on the stairs as we made our way to bed. The shutting door was just as loud in my room, the sound an echo in my heart. Two shut doors, too little time.
“You want to talk about it? Cry maybe?” Heathcliff asked, shifting awkwardly. He looked so out of place in my room, his uneasy stance endearing. He didn’t have to be here. He didn’t have to keep coming back, but he did. He’d made an investment in me, and he was keeping his promise.
Maybe that’s what made me do it.
“I’ve cried too much. There have been too many tears lately,” I whispered, my hands going to the hem of my shirt. Slowly, I pulled it over my head and threw it down, my eyes on the floor.
Heathcliff inhaled sharply. “What are you doing, Hawthorne?”
I swallowed hard. “Do you have any sort of protection on you?” My cheeks flushed, but I fought against nerves and embarrassment, my gaze coming up to meet his. He was staring at me, his eyes flicking from my face to my chest and back again.
“Hawthorne …” His words trailed off, his forehead creasing. “What are you thinking? Because I’m having a hard time trying to process your thoughts.”
My hands fell to my jeans. “Honestly? I really do want to make love to you. Maybe it’s crazy, especially now of all times, but I think about it more than I should.”
Heathcliff stepped toward me, his hand diving into his pocket to pull out a faded leather wallet. “My parents own a gas station.” Flipping the wallet open, he tugged a foil packet free. “I always have protection on me. Easy access.” Throwing the condom onto the bed, he pocketed the wallet and took another step forward. “Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
“I need more than that,” he said.
My eyes searched his. “Have you done this before?”
He nodded. “Twice.”
It was the honesty in his gaze, the easy way he told me the truth about his experience that made my decision for me. Fumbling with the button and zipper on my jeans, I pulled them past my hips and stepped free of them before I lost my nerve, my underwear and bra the only thing left.
“I’m sure,” I told him. He stared, and I fidgeted. “But I don’t know what I’m doing.”