It’s four in the afternoon when Jake wakes me. Goodness gracious, it feels so good to be back in Jake’s arms. Dad is still out with Drake so it’s just the two of us. Well, it was. Faintly, I hear a rapid knocking on the front door. Easing out of bed, I walk down the hall and swing open the door. My jaw drops about ten feet at the sight before me.
My mother.
My hand tightly grips the door as anger washes through me at the nerve she has to show up here again. Before I can say anything, she holds up her hands in surrender.
“We need to talk.”
“Excuse me?” I can’t take my eyes off her. She looks exactly as I remember.
“Sweetness?”
I can’t even turn around. Words are stuck in my throat as I feel Jake’s stiff body behind me. He obviously sees the resemblance. Jake’s arms wrap around my waist protectively and he leans down to whisper in my ear, my mother watching every move.
“You okay?”
My answer is to shut the door. My mom stops me about half way when her pleading voice begs me to stop. I hate myself when I do.
“What do you want?” I spit like venom.
“I told you. We need to talk.”
“Talk.”
“I was hoping I could come in.”
The woman has lost her mind.
“No,” Jake and I say at the same time.
“Fine. I came to tell you that I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I’m better mentally now.”
“What made you change your mind?”
With a deep breath, she says, “I have cancer.”
After all these years, my first instinct is to trust her. Jake’s gentle squeeze brings me back to Earth.
“Yeah, right. Well, die slowly.”
This time, I do slam the door in her face. Walking away from Jake, I return to my room and lay down in my bed. What if my mother isn’t lying? What if she really has cancer? What then? It doesn't make a difference since she's just now gaining a conscience, right? She didn't say that she changed her mind because she felt bad. She's sorry because she's going to die. I'm ill and upset at the same time, unsure of which should take over.
Jake motions for me to scoot over. After he has crawled into bed beside me, I rest against him, my arm lying across his stomach. The covers are bunched under my arm, and it’s annoying me. So much so that I huff in frustration and throw the blankets completely off.
Tears splash onto Jake’s shirt like big droplets of rain. You know, the huge fat ones that leave a tiny pond. Those teardrops of rain that join forces to flood an anthill. That’s the kind of tears that fall from my eyes, soaking Jake’s shirt quickly.
“Ssh. It’s okay, Sweetness.”
I’m choking on air, the words cramming together in my throat are getting ready to pour from my lips, gliding off my tongue in such a manner that I might as well be throwing them up.
“I d-don’t kn-now what to do,” I sob.
“Ssh. Quit crying, Sweetness.”
Hiccups take over and slowly, my crying fit is over. An overwhelming sense of pure fatigue takes over, and before I can even say anything, I’m asleep.
10
Jake