Raph extended his hand across the table. “G’day, Amanda.”
Amanda raised her eyebrows at me before taking his hand and shaking it. “Another Australian?”
Raph chuckled. “Yeah. Don’t hold that against me though.”
Amanda laughed, giving me a sideways grin. “I’ll try not to.”
“Raph and Maci live in Plenty, Ohio,” I said. “They’ve flown here so Raph can be tested to see if he’s a match.”
Amanda’s face flooded with a whole myriad of emotions, from confusion to stunned disbelief, before contorting into the most heartbreaking mix of gratitude and misery I’ve ever seen.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, covering her mouth with a shaking hand. Tears glistened in her eyes as she locked her stare on Raph. “Oh my God, I don’t . . .” She stopped. A fat tear spilled from her eye and ran down her cheek. She swiped at it with the back of her hand, still staring at Raph. “Thank you.”
“Now . . .” Raph began.
The sharp clattering of Amanda’s chair tumbling to the floor shattered the room, a split second before she ran around the table and enveloped Raph’s head and upper body in a hug.
“Thank you,” she repeated, the words choked with tears.
Raph reached up and rubbed her back. I know Raphael Jones well. He’s not a fan of invasion of his personal space, but he didn’t seem to be fazed at all by Amanda’s abrupt embrace. “It’s all good,” he answered. “I pray I’m a match.”
“God willing,” Parker Waters’ voice sounded on my right.
I turned in time to see him grab a chair from the table next to ours and pull it over. He sat down, straddling it. Today his green-framed glassed were replaced with red-framed ones, and his hair stuck out from his head in a spiky mess. He wore faded gray sweatpants with HARVARD printed down one leg, and an equally faded Hawaiian-print shirt. I noticed the buttons were misaligned. I also noticed the flip flops on his feet were mismatched.
Here was a man who either had rushed to get dressed before leaving home . . . or didn’t give a toss about his appearance. From my experience with Parker, it could be either option.
“So?” He folded his arms over the back of the chair and peered at Maci and Raph over the top of his glasses. “I’ve been told one of you has Parkinson’s. Who is it?”
My gut dropped at the blunt question. Raph’s nostrils flared, and Amanda gasped.
Maci however, raised her hand and let out a wry grunt. “That would be me.”
Parker dipped his head in a single nod. “You know, of course, you’re ineligible.”
She returned his nod with one of her own. “I do.”
Parker turned his attention to Raph. “And before you go into over-protective mode and punch me for being callous, I want you to understand, my primary focus is your friend’s son. Right now, we don’t have time for PC tip-toeing. Understand?”
Raph drew in a slow breath.
“He understands,” Maci answered, smoothing her hand up Raph’s arm.
Raph released his breath in a sigh. “Yeah, I do.”
Parker nodded again. “Excellent. Now that’s out of the road, you must be Raphael Jones?”
“I am.” Raph extended his hand. “What do you need me to do?”
Parker shook his hand. “A simple blood test. If it looks like you’re a possible match, we’ll move onto tissue matching, okay?”
“Okay.”
With a slap of his hands on the back of the chair, Parker rose to his feet. “Right, let’s punch it, wookie.” He turned to me. “Are you okay to stay here with these lovely ladies, big guy?”
“If one of them buys me another coffee, sure.”
Parker turned to Raph. “Ready?”
“Yep.”
As they walked away, I heard Parker ask, “So, named after the painter or the turtle?”
I’m pretty certain I heard Raph reply, “Turtle.”
When I turned back to Amanda and Maci, it dawned on me I was sitting at a table with the only two girls I’d ever loved. It was surreal. I would have made a joke out of it, but this wasn’t the right time. Not under these circumstances.
As it was, before I could open my mouth to break the silence, Maci did, in typical Maci Rowling fashion – quickly and to the point.
“Just to get the awkward out of the way,” she said to Amanda, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, her right hand firmly clasped around her left to contain its trembles, “I’m going to be up front. I didn’t like the way you broke his heart” – she tossed a sideways nod in my direction – “or left him in the cold about your son.”
I saw Amanda stiffen. And Maci frown. My gut clenched.
“On the other hand,” Maci went on, her eyes fixed on Amanda’s, “I’ve been in the position of not wanting to tell anyone about my own illness, so I get it. And it sucks. It sucks a lot. So we will do anything we can to help you.” She gave me a warm smile. “Both of you, and your son.” Settling back in her seat, she let out a short breath and turned her smile to Amanda. “There, that covers it, right?”
Amanda let out her own breath, hers far more wry. “Breaking Brendon’s heart was never the plan. Nor was any of this, trust me. I’ve just been trying to survive one wave at a time. It wasn’t until Bren arrived that I realized I can survive whatever the world throws at me, even . . . even what’s happening to Tanner, when I’m with him.”
“So you love him? He’s not just here because you hoped his bone marrow would match? Or that you needed his sizeable shoulders to lean on?”
Amanda met Maci’s intent gaze. “I don’t think there’s words to describe how much I love him. I never stopped loving him. Ever.”
Suffice to say, my heart tried to thump its way out of my chest at that. And damn, I had a hard time not leaning over to kiss her senseless.
Maci’s smile grew warmer. She stood, walked around the table to where Amanda sat, crouched down beside her and without a word, slipped her arms around her waist and hugged her.
I’m not going to lie. I had to blink a lot to clear my eyes.
“Gonna get us coffee,” I muttered, rising to my feet.
Ten minutes later, the three of us sat drinking the poor excuse of a beverage the Americans call coffee, while Amanda and Maci talked about Parkinson’s disease, Australia, Tanner, and any other topic that crossed their minds.
I sat silent in my chair, letting their soft voices flow over me, watching them, but not really watching them. I was being. Just being. Not meditating, but existing, drawing comfort from Maci’s company, drawing strength from Amanda’s love.
My mind – like their conversation – flittered about, jumping from one subject to another, never lingering on one for long. Tanner, Raph’s blood test, living in America, American financial systems, my mum and dad’s tests, Charles Sinclair, Robby Aames, working in the States, living here . . . My mind touched on all of it.
I wasn’t searching for answers. I was just . . . existing. Decompressing.
I was still doing so when Raph returned. Or maybe I was dozing? I didn’t hear him arrive that’s for certain, nor did I hear he and Maci tell Amanda they were going to check into a hotel, but apparently that’s what happened.