Page 36 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
She leveled me with her own version of The Look. “Don’t you raise your voice to me, young lady. I am not gonna leave this earth without seeing you settled, you hear?”
“You’re not going anywhere!” I said, horrified she was talking about dying.
She ignored my interruption. “And I’m gonna tell you something else—your own daddy wasn’t the saint you think he was. Before we were married that man chased every skirt he saw, and when I found out, I left him flat as a penny run over by a freight train. But he begged me to forgive him, and I’m glad I did because we were happily married for more than thirty years and he gave me the best gift I’ve ever gotten—you.”
I stared at her with my mouth hanging open.
She continued. “Men aren’t like us, baby. They’re dumb as doughnut holes when it comes to love. But once they decide to commit—not say they’re committing, but deep in their heart actually make the commitment—they never waver. Your father didn’t waver for thirty years, even when his own parents cut him off without a cent because he married me. He didn’t waver when we found out I couldn’t have any more babies, even though he wanted a big family. He didn’t waver through good times or bad, sickness or health, for all the years after he took a vow to love and cherish me. In the end the only thing powerful enough to put us apart was death.”
Her voice grew quiet. “And sometimes I’m not sure that did it, either. I can still feel him when I’m low. Every once in a while I smell his cologne, even when I’m in a room all by myself. Just this morning I rolled over in bed and felt a hand on my forehead, but when I opened my eyes there was no one there. I don’t know what that means, but I do know this. If your father, God rest his soul, could turn out to be the honest man and true friend and loyal husband he was for all those years, chère, there’s hope for anyone. Even a scallywag like Trace.”
Rattled to my core, knees shaking, I sank back into my chair. I whispered, “You never told me any of that before.”
She smiled and leaned over and brushed a lock of hair off my cheek. “I’ve never been dying before.”
“You’re not dying,” I insisted, gripping her hand.
“We’re all dying, baby. It’s just a matter of when.” She lifted my hand and pressed it to her lips. “I’ve had a wonderful life. Maybe better than I deserve. I’m not afraid to go, so don’t you be afraid, either.”
I teared up, hard. “How can you not be afraid? I’m so afraid for you.”
This time her smile was truly beautiful. “Because your daddy’s waiting for me on the other side, baby,” she said gently. “Finally we’ll be together again. Being afraid of that would just be plain stupid.”
My lip quavered. My throat closed.
Then I burst into tears.
“Oh, come on now, chère,” she said, opening her arms. I buried my face into her chest and cried. She patted me on the back and kissed the top of my head, chuckling softly. “You always were such a sentimental little thing. Crying over dead goldfish and those Morris the Cat commercials where he’s lost and his owner’s looking for him in the rain.”
My reply came out muffled. “You’re not a goldfish!”
Her sigh sounded philosophical. “Might as well be. We’re all just here for a blip in time, riding on a rock that’s flying through space at a million miles a day in a galaxy that has a hundred billion stars. Me, Jay Z, the president, a goldfish . . . in the end there’s not much difference, chère. We come and go. We live and die. If we’re lucky, we love and are loved.”
She tilted my head up with a finger under my chin and smiled at me. “And I’ve been incredibly lucky, so don’t you waste your tears on me, you hear?”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good girl.” She looked over my shoulder. Her voice turned brisk. “Now where the heck is that male nurse? I feel in need of some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!”
There was nothing else to do but laugh. I laughed until the doctor pulled me into the hallway and told me in a solemn voice that Mama was going to need chemo for the next seven days straight, have a break for a week, and then another seven days, and so on for the next month . . . and each round would cost almost $3,000.
Which didn’t include lab tests, imaging tests, radiation, or the antinausea and other drugs she’d need in addition to the intravenous chemo.
I was going to need a lot more than twenty grand.
ELEVEN
BIANCA
By the time Jackson’s charity benefit rolled around, I was jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof.
Doc Halloran had told us what to expect in the way of side effects of the chemo, but neither Mama nor I was prepared for the reality of it. She felt fine for the first few days, and then everything kicked in with one big wallop.
The nausea and vomiting were the least of it. She also had massive headaches, frightful mouth sores, and fatigue so bad she could hardly get out of bed.
I went with her every day to the hospital for the first week, th
en helped out at the house during the second, trying to get her to eat and fielding all her callers, turning them away with excuses that she had the flu. Even the poor Colonel wasn’t allowed inside. Mama didn’t have the energy to put on her face and pretend, so away he went, shoulders slumped.
