SKYLAR
I stormed in the house and immediately found my father and Aunt Josephine at the kitchen table.
“Is it true?” My chest hurt and my pulse pounded in my ears.
Aunt Josephine watched my father. She knew the truth. Everyone knew the truth. Everyone but me.
My dad stood slowly. “Sweetheart, you need to calm down. You’ve had a terrible morning, and we all need to sit and talk about what happens next.”
His calm and rational tone infuriated me more. “Calm down? Do you have any idea what just happened to me at school?” I turned accusing eyes to my aunt. “This was your idea. Wasn’t it? You convinced him to quit.”
“Skylar. That’s enough.” My dad’s warning didn’t stop me.
I continued to stare at the object of my blame. “My mom was right. You’re just a spinster, a cold-hearted woman who doesn’t give a damn about anyone but yourself!”
“Skylar Anne!” The sheer volume of my father’s voice stopped my malicious attack.
But I wanted to say more. The rage inside bubbled and pulsed through every limb and organ. I wanted to throw my father’s glass of lemonade across the room. Wanted to take my aunt’s hair and rip it out of her meticulous French twist.
I stomped out of the room, my hands shaking, my lips trembling, my throat burning from choking back my cries. I slammed my door, but it didn’t give me enough satisfaction, so I slammed it again and again.
The fourth time was met with resistance as my father pushed through the opening. “Young lady, what is wrong with you?”
I shook my hands, jumping on the balls of my feet like a boxer getting ready for a match. Suddenly, I understood the appeal to fight. I wanted to hit something, too. Break anything, the way my heart was breaking.
“Why did you do it? Why did you give up?” I let out a huge breath to stop the onset of tears. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted the truth.
He ran a hand through his hair, and I noticed how loose his shirt was today. How had I not seen it earlier? How had I been so blind?
“The test showed no progress, and the chemo was killing me. I don’t know how much time I have with you, but I refuse to spend it puking my guts out, missing the last few moments we may have together.” There was no hesitation in his voice. No wavering. He’d made his decision without me.
I stared at the ceiling and blinked, praying the tears would stay back. Praying the adrenaline would continue, so I didn’t have to feel the pain ripping at my insides.
“I’m just so angry.” The words came as the first tear dropped. A flood that seemed endless started down my face.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“No, you don’t! You can’t possibly understand.” I met his eyes through the blurry lenses of my own. “I want to curse God. I want to scream at him and demand why. I want to erase every note of music on Cody’s iPod. I want to pull out Lindsay’s perfectly straight blond hair and slap her tiny, innocent face. I want to take a key and scratch the heck out of Aunt Josephine’s car, and I want to smash your guitar into tiny little pieces. That’s how mad I am!”
My father stared at me like I’d lost my mind. A beat of silence and then, “Who’s Lindsay?”
The confusion in his voice combined with the lost expression on his face brought a giggle so huge and loud my stomach clenched when it came out. Sob-filled laughter overwhelmed me. I dropped on the bed, hunching my shoulders and covering my face, all while trying to control my conflicting emotions.
I heard my father cross the room. Then music filled the air. It wasn’t a symphony or even a guitar. No, it was the tinging tick of my music box. The music box my mother had given me on my ninth birthday. The music box that played in my room every night, calming me into peaceful sleep. Beethoven’s “Für Elise” floated like a leaf twirling in the wind and began to heal the sting of my scorching heart.
The bed dipped, my father’s arm reached around my shoulder and pulled me into his solid embrace.
The tears fell heavier.
“I know this is hard. I wish so much I could take away all your pain.” The crack in his voice made me wonder if he was crying too.
I looked up, moved a matted piece of hair from my face and saw his tears matched my own. “I don’t want to be alone.” My whispered cry tore the last of my heart in two. My rock, my mountain, my strength was withering away in front of me. Soon, I’d only have a song or a memory. It was too much.
“You will mourn. You will cry. And I know you will hurt. But Skylar, I promise you, you will never be alone. God will be your father, your best friend and your comforter. He will heal your heart again.”
My sobs came louder, drowning out the slowing music until the knob turned its last click. My father cradled me and replaced the music box with the soft, raspy song he’d written just for me.
And I grieved.
For the first time since hearing the word “Cancer,” I accepted my father was going to die.