“He refused to discuss it. When we had sex, he used a condom.” She glances at me and gives me a mischievous grin. “TMI? Sorry.” She shakes her head and the grin fades. “There was no getting around it. He refused to get me pregnant again.”
“And that was when you started hating him.” Not a question. Just a statement.
“No,” she corrects me on a heavy exhalation. “That’s when I started hating myself.” She quietly starts to clean up her chemicals, transferring them from pans to containers. “The one thing I wanted to be in life, I couldn’t be. I blamed myself. It was my body that failed me, not Eli. But then that hatred and contempt I had for myself started to seep into everything I did. When Eli pulled out a condom, I would freeze up. The first few times I ignored it, thinking he would eventually change his mind. He didn’t. And, eventually, I pulled away entirely.”
“Does he know this is how you felt?” I ask. “Sometimes men don’t understand.” That happened with me and Lynda. Sometimes she would have to spell out how she felt for me because I truly didn’t understand.
She shrugs. “I have no idea what Eli knows.”
“I’m sorry, Bess. If Lynda and I had known, we would have been there to support you both.”
“You and your perfect family made me jealous as fuck, Aaron,” she admits, more than a little snarl to her voice.
I step back, surprised by the vehemence in her tone. “My perfect family?”
“Yes, your perfect family. You and Lynda met, and you fell in love so quickly… You never doubted she was the one, did you?” She stares at me like she’s watching my face, looking for lies.
“No, I always knew.” A little smile tugs at my lips when I think of her. “She was my world when it was just the two of us. Then she made my world bigger and better with the kids.” I choke out a laugh. “Not going to lie, though. Miles was a complete surprise. I thought we were done with two.”
“See, you were able to make babies even by mistake,” she says quietly. “And I couldn’t even make one on purpose.” She hops up to sit on the counter and looks at me. “I hate you,” she says and gives me an affectionate punch on my arm. This is the Bess that has always been my best friend. She’s the one that I can talk to about anything.
It’s time. “I need to tell you something,” I say. I wring my hands together, and she stares at them, her brow creasing.
“Okay,” she replies slowly, drawing out the word.
“Tomorrow, when I go for chemo, I’m going to see the doctor instead. I’m going to tell him that I’m ready to stop.”
“Stop the chemo? Can you do that?”
“I can do anything I want.”
“But will it affect your recovery?” Her brow knits tight, and I can see her struggling to put two and two together to get four.
“I’m not going to recover, Bess.”
I stare at her as she balls her hands into fists.
“Stop it, Aaron. That’s not funny.” Her mouth tightens as she grits her teeth. The muscle at the side of her face jumps.
“No, Bess, it’s not funny at all. But that’s what I have. And I’m dealing with it.”
She jumps off the counter. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me…” Her voice trails off.
“I’m telling you that tomorrow I’m going to stop the treatments.”
“But if you stop, you won’t get better,” she rushes to say, her words tumbling over one another in her haste to get them out.
“I’m going to die, Bess,” I say gently. “And I don’t want to spend any more time so sick that I can’t get up off the floor. I want to enjoy the rest of the summer. With my kids. With you. With Eli and Jake and Katie. But mostly I just want this last summer to be a good one for my kids. Because when I’m gone, all they’ll have is memories. I want them to be good ones.”
She stares at me for a moment, tears in her eyes threatening to spill, and then she walks past me and out the door.
“Bess!” I follow her out and around the side of the house and then watch as she stomps up the steps and into the house. “Goddamn it,” I growl to myself.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asks. She looks from me to the door and back. “What’s wrong with Bess?”
I step in front of my daughter. “Sam, we need to have a talk.”
“About what?” She sets her hammer down.
I motion for her to follow me and we go to our cabin. I close the door behind us. She stares at me, and I hate myself in this moment, because this will be a day she’ll remember for the rest of her life, and what I say to her will affect everything she does from this moment forward.
“You should probably sit down,” I tell her.
She sinks down onto the sofa and stares at me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. And I begin, even though I don’t know how.
28
Eli
I watch as they walk away, unsure of whom I should be more worried about, Bess or Sam. Bess is spitting mad, but she will be okay. Sam, on the other hand, I’m not as sure about.
Suddenly, our screen door flies open, and Bess stalks out with a box in her hands. She walks to the back of the car and pops the trunk, then shoves it in. She walks past me two more times with two more boxes, this time putting them in the back seat. Her face is red, her eyes are swollen, and she swipes a hand across her cheeks.
“Bess?”
“What?” she snaps. She doesn’t slow down.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m packing.”
“Why are you packing?”
“Because I’m ready to go home.” Her voice breaks, but she still doesn’t slow down.
“Bess,” I say softly. Her back bristles and she stops so she can face me. She stares at me.
Suddenly, it hits her. She points her finger at me. “You knew.”
“Bess…” I don’t know what else to say. I need to explain but how? It wasn’t my place to tell.
“You knew,” she says again, and this time it’s less an accusation and more a condemnation. “How could you?” Her voice is brittle.
I throw up my hands. “He wanted to tell you himself. But he kept putting it off. Then today I told him that either he had to tell you or I would.” I stare at her. “So I’m guessing he did.”
She visibly deflates. “Yes. He did.”
“Are you okay?” I take a step toward her and reach out a hand, and I see her soften like she wants–no, she needs–for me to touch her.
But the door of Aaron’s cabin flies open, and a pair of little twelve-year-old feet stomp out. Sam turns back to where her dad stands in the doorway. All the fight has left him, and he just stands there, ragged and exposed in the doorway.
“I hate you!” Sam screams in his direction. “I hate you!” Her voice gets louder and louder. “I wish you had died in that car that day instead of Mommy!” Then she runs around the corner of the house, grabs one of the bikes, and takes off down the lane, moving as fast as her feet can pedal, tears streaming down her red face so that I’m surprised she can see.