17

I’VE BEEN SITTIN’ at the airport in Jackson for hours. I can’t find the balls to leave. I don’t know what she will say or if she will say anything. She may not forgive me for what I did, but my heart, the one that I managed to piece back together on the flight over, tells me she will.

When my phone rings, it’s a number I don’t recognize. I’m hesitant, but I answer because only a few people even have this number.

“Yeah.” I hear noise in the background like two people are arguing. Then, I hear the familiar voice of Saylor’s friend. It’s Jeffery.

“Dirk?” I stay silent, trying to figure out who the other voice in the background is. Jeffery is obviously covering the phone. “Shut up!” he yells and I have to pull my head away from the phone. “Dirk? It’s Jeffery.”

“What do you want, Jeffery?” To castrate me?

“We have a little problem.” Alarm bells are going off inside my head. Something is wrong.

“What? What’s wrong?” I’m shouting, drawing stares from people in the small airport.

“Don’t tell him shit!” This time, Donnawayne’s voice can be heard clearly through the phone. He is pissed. I hear a struggle and then a door slam before Jeffery starts rapidly speaking.

“She’s gone, Dirk.” My heart sinks. My world stills. But Jeffery is still speaking. I catch a few words here and there, but I just want to hang up. I want to die. I want to torture myself for wasting the past two weeks being selfish when I should have been with her. “Dirk?”

“Do you know where she is or not?!” Donnawayne’s scream cuts through my thoughts. What?

“What?” I find my voice, it’s weak but it’s there.

“Saylor. Do you know where she could be?” I hit my knees in relief. I need to puke. Or faint. Or laugh. My reprieve is almost too much.

“She isn’t dead.” I say the words out loud and I find myself laughing.

“What? No! Oh, shit! I’m sorry. I meant she is gone, as in we woke up this morning and she had left. Her coffee can of cash, her diary, and her backpack are missing. We don’t know where she is.”

I pull my shit together and stand. I find my way outside into the fresh air, then light a smoke. I must have told them to give me a minute at some point, because they are still on the phone with me when I use the cherry from my first cigarette to light my second. Now maybe I can be of some use.

“Okay, when’s the last time you saw her?”

“Last night. She fell asleep on the couch and we stayed there with her. Then this morning, I thought she just went out to get coffee, but it’s after two and she’s not here. And her stuff is missing.” Jeffery calms a crying Donnawayne while I think, but he didn’t give me much to go on.

“Did she say anything? I mean the smallest thing could mean something.”

“No. Nothing.”

“We didn’t even get to talk because of that damn movie.” I hear Donnawayne’s voice in the background and something triggers in my memory.

“What movie?” I ask, already knowing what the answer is.

“Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” And just like that, I’m booking a flight to Del Rio.

—

In the town of Ciudad Acuña, there is a bar called La Dama, meaning “the lady.” It’s just across the Mexican border and a place I’ve visited many times. The damas are plentiful there too. But I’m not going for them. I’m going for the white lights that hang on the patio, the endless tequila, and my dama, who will be waiting for me.

Call it coincidence, fate, or divine intervention, but a black van was in the border line next to the cab Saylor took. And in that black van was Shady, who led her to the place she was searching for, after he called to tell me where she was. She never asked him to not tell me. I guess she assumed I was either coming or I didn’t give a shit. She probably thought the latter.

I’m ruling out coincidence and narrowing down the battle between fate and divine intervention when I find exactly what I’m looking for in an airport gift shop. Shit like this don’t just happen.

It’s dark, I’m standing outside La Dama, and I’m holding in my hands everything I need to make Saylor’s vision come true. When lightning strikes in the distance and I smell rain in the air, in the middle of a fucking drought, I know that fate has nothing to do with this moment either. This is divine intervention. Her god didn’t let her down, and it may be unintentional, but he’s helping me out too.

Saylor is sitting at a table on the outside patio, running her finger across the glass of tequila that sits next to a bottle that’s just over half full. She hasn’t been here long and her mission is to get drunk, obviously. I’m not breathless at the sight of her. I’m not excited or joyful either. I’m heartbroken, again, and I’m on the verge of doing something I haven’t done in years.

Cry.

She’s lost weight. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her face is sad. Her hair is wild and crazy, just how it always is, and it’s the only thing that hasn’t changed about her. There is no happiness in her eyes. There is no smile on her lips. The light that comes from her and illuminates everything around her is dim and depressed. And all I can think in this moment is that it is my fault.

I’ve taken everything good about her and destroyed it. I’ve sucked the joy and will to live right out of her and for what? Because I’m selfish. I’ve spent the past two weeks annihilating everything good about her because I was too selfish to appreciate what I had. No matter how long I had it.

The truth is, that even if the only time I ever had with Saylor came from those few encounters before I even knew her name, then I was luckier than the people who went a lifetime never being graced with her presence. I was an idiot, but I was fortunate. Some people only get one second chance. Now I have two.

My hands are shaking when I lay the black box in front of Saylor, who doesn’t even look up to see who it’s from. When she whispers my name, I finally get that breathless, excited feeling of joy I should have had when I first saw her sitting here.

“You’re late.” I watch her lips as they struggle to turn up to form a smile. I wonder if the memory of the first time we officially met is playing in her head like it is in mine. “I was beginning to think you were not going to make good on your promise.” She stares at her glass, never looking at me.

I promised to bring her here, not show up later because I’m so fucked up that I left her when she needed me most.

“I’m here now,” I tell her, and my voice causes her to look at me for the first time. Even tired, sad, and heartbroken, she is still the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. Cliché, but so fucking true.

“Yes, you are. Will you sit with me?” When I do, she grabs my hand and holds it. My eyes lock on hers and I can see the dull pools of green slowly coming back to life.

“I know why you left. This isn’t easy for you. I know that now. I knew that then. But there is nothing we can say to fix what is wrong, so let’s not waste time with apologies or what-ifs or who was right and who was wrong. Let’s just live this moment. I want it to be as special as I’ve always imagined it would be.”

I want to tell her I’m sorry. I want to tell her nothing is her fault and I shouldn’t have left. I want to tell her I was wrong and she was right and all the shit that men say when they fuck up. But she wants none of that. And it’s not that important that I tell her because she already knows.

She’s proven time and again that she has the ability to read my mind, and this time is no different. I’ll make this night perfect for her. Better than she imagined.

“I bought you something,” I say, motioning to the untouched box in front of her.

“And I’m pretty sure I already know what it is.” And I’m pretty sure she does too.

—

Saylor emerges minutes later from the bathroom, wearing the white, floor-length dress I bought her. In her hair, I place the flower I picked from the tropical plant growing outside, and it completes the picture.

I pull her into my lap and we drink cheap tequila from a bottle, while traditional Mexican instrumental music plays in the background. By the time the rain starts, she is buzzing, I’m intoxicated more by her than the liquor, and not a word has been spoken between us.

I sit her in the seat across from me before standing and making the final arrangement to make her night special. I make my request, pass a twenty to the bartender, then make my way back to Saylor, who is still watching me from across the room.

“Mondo Bongo” plays through the speakers and I hold my hand out for hers. She takes it with a smile and I pull her into the rain. Saylor dances with her eyes closed, while I hold her hips and move with her. The rain drenches us both, but we dance on. I hold her in my arms, kiss her with my lips, and tell her everything I haven’t said in this one moment. She feels it. And I feel her. I feel her love piecing my heart back together. I feel her body that moves in sexy sways in my arms. And I feel her soul. A soul that God didn’t need to shine any mercy on. Because this one, this one was made perfect.

—

I get us a room next door. This time when we shower together, she bathes me and I don’t leave when she’s finished. I return the favor. Before, she used the time to memorize everything about me. Now it’s me memorizing everything about her.

I memorize the shape of her collarbone and how the hollow of her throat is deep and holds water when she leans her head back and takes a breath. How the weight of the water makes her hair perfectly straight, forcing it to brush the top of her ass. How the swoop of her back curves inward and when she moves just right, two dimples form on the lower part of it. How her thighs thicken, then narrow at her knees, then thicken at her calves. The small arch in her feet and the descending order of size in her toes. Her full, pink lips that have been kissed too much. Her small, narrow nose that is dotted with freckles. The wrinkle in her forehead and the laugh lines at the corners of her mouth.

Everything about her is now permanently etched in my brain, but I plan to focus on these parts every day, just to be sure I don’t forget. We’re in bed and I want to make love to her. So I do. And she wants it. It’s intimate. It’s long. And it’s amazing. I kiss all the parts I memorized. I lick every piece of flesh exposed to me, and let her fall to pieces in my arms every time she comes. Over and over again. Then I bury myself inside of her, memorizing the way her walls contract around my cock as I fill her.

I know everything about her body. I know the goodness of her heart. I know the destiny of her soul. And I know she loves me. Because she’s told me over and over tonight. I guess that’s the only thing I needed to hear, and I can only hope that her love is something I can memorize too.

—

The sun rose long ago and we’re still in bed. And I’m still holding her. And today my will to stay is not as strong as it was yesterday. I can’t keep thoughts of the future out of my head. How many times will I get to hold her before she is gone? How am I here when all I really want to do is run?

I have an answer, but only to that last question. I can’t run because she needs me. And I promised her I would never leave her again. But I’ve already broken that promise once, and I’m a coward.

“Don’t run from me, Dirk.” Maybe it’s because I started to pull away. Maybe it’s because of her ability to read my mind or maybe it’s because she knows me well enough to know what my plan of action is. Whatever the reason for her words, they are what I need to hear.

When she tries to pull away, I hold her closer. And I let Shady’s words cut through my brain. It shouldn’t take this kind of news for me to want to hold on to her. She could have died in a car wreck, or from an aneurism or a fucking kidney infection. Does it really take her saying the words I’m dying for me to realize our time together is limited? Even after I’d heard them, I ran. What about all the time I’ve wasted? What about all the nights I left her? What the fuck was I thinking? I should have held her this tight and kept her this close from the moment I knew she owned my heart.

We all have to die, but it’s one of those things we choose to ignore because we don’t want to imagine life without the people that mean the most to us. But, the truth is, no matter if it’s in six months or sixty years, Saylor is going to die. So am I.

One day, I will wake up and she won’t be here, or she will wake up and I won’t be here. Knowing that I only have at most six months makes me want to give her what she desires even more. And that’s me. Because I am all she wants. I can feel it every time I touch her. I can hear it in every word she speaks and I can see it every time I look in her eyes.

If Saylor only has six months, then I will give her six months of my undivided attention. I won’t waste my time with fighting or ignoring her. I will make each moment count, just like I should have done weeks ago. I won’t be selfish. I’ll devote all my time to her and what she desires. Today we are alive, and I’m no longer afraid of losing her. I won’t have to live long without her anyway. Because when she dies, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I’ll die too.

—

We flew back to Jackson today, because Saylor has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. She told me this morning and she said it as if she didn’t care much either way. She then told me that she wasn’t planning on going, but now that things have changed, she needs to be there.

I know what changed, and the thought puts me back in my self-hating shitty mood, and that’s not a place I want to be. So I ignored her words and booked us on the first flight out.

I don’t want to hear the doctors remind her of what she already knows, but I’ll go because she asked me to, and every moment I’m with her counts. Even the bad ones.

I could tell she was nervous and when I asked her what was wrong, other than the obvious, she said this appointment would tell her how much the tumor had grown in the past thirty days. I could read between the lines. I knew that this would determine if the six-month mark would increase or decrease.

Saylor was devout in her faith, but she was also human. Knowing she was near death was good for me because I could make her life on earth whatever she wanted. But, for her, it was one step closer to the unknown. We could say we believe all day, but faith can only take us so far. At some point, our human brain tells us we are leaving the only thing we’ve ever known and it is up to a supernatural being to determine our afterlife. It’s not logical.

My best advice to Saylor when the time neared would be to not overthink it. It wasn’t original or inspiring, but it was the best I had.

—

I try to be in a good mood the next morning, but I fail. I do manage to make her smile when I bring her doughnuts, but even that isn’t enough to make this sick feeling in my gut go away.

Donnawayne and Jeffery wanted to go, but she asked them to stay behind. They respected her wishes and promised to be at her apartment when we got back, but Donnawayne’s hatred for me grew when he found out I was going. Oh well, he would have to get used to me or get the fuck over it. I wasn’t going anywhere.

When we are finally called into the doctor’s office, Saylor is placed into a CAT scan machine, and then we are ushered into a room to wait for the doctor. I thought it took days to get results back, but it seemed they didn’t want to waste any time. The thought was unsettling. But now, here we are, at the oncology clinic in a private room, and Saylor is performing her eye-closing, hand-touching, nose-sniffing ritual. When she is finished, she looks at me and smiles, and I smile back. I’ve gotten better at it and she likes it, so I’m sure I’ll be a professional at it in no time.

When the doctor knocks on the door, I stand next to Saylor and hold her hand, noticing the tension leave her shoulders at my touch.

“Miss Samson!” the doctor sings, and he is the happiest bastard I’ve ever met in my life. I wonder if he is putting on a good show or just a sick fuck who gets pleasure out of telling people they are dying. If it’s the latter, I’ll kill him.

“This must be Dirk.” He beams at me and sticks out his hand. Not wanting to be rude to the man that could potentially save the love of my life, I shake it. “Saylor has told me a lot about you over the years. I’m glad to finally see the two of you together.”

My eyes go to Saylor but she is avoiding my stare. Years? We’d been together weeks, not years. “I’m Dr. Beasley, the patient counselor.” His badge read clinic psychiatrist, but I guess that was more intimidating than counselor.

“I’ve known Saylor a long time.” He smiles fondly at Saylor, and I shift. I don’t like how he looks at her. Even though he is old enough to be her grandfather.

“What you got for me, Doc? I know they didn’t send you in here to say hello.” Saylor cuts right through the bullshit and I feel pride swell in my chest.

“No, they didn’t.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and I know the news isn’t good. “Saylor, they want you to try chemo. Now, you know that won’t stop this, but they would like to see if it slows it down. It’s more advanced than what your mama had, but it still has some pretty intense side effects. The team is pretty sure you’re strong enough to handle it, but we understand if you don’t want to do it.”

“Why? How much more time would I actually get out of doing this?” Saylor seems almost angry at the thought of going through this, and I move my thumb over her hand. When she looks up at me, I smile. She returns it, but it’s weak.

The doctor takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. I know he is debating on telling the whole truth or just what she needs to hear. When he sighs and takes a deep breath, I’m pretty sure what we are fixing to get is the truth, no matter how much it’s gonna kill him to say it.

“For you? Maybe a month or two longer. According to your CT results, the tumor hasn’t changed in size, so we’re pretty sure the treatment will help to shrink it, giving you the month or two longer I mentioned. But, as you already know, the quality of life is gonna go down drastically. The drug is powerful. You’ll lose your hair, be sick quite often, and possibly hospitalized for days at a time. You can stop whenever you want, but if you decide to do this, we are gonna need at least six weeks of treatment to make it worth doing.” He pauses to take a breath and Saylor finds her opening to ask what’s on both of our minds.

“So, you’re telling me my quality of life will go down. Even if it does prolong my life it wouldn’t be worth it. Why would I do that?”

“Another benefit is research. If we test it on you and see the tumor shrinks in size, we can get funded for more research on cases like yours. It’s very rare, but the number of patients diagnosed with your type of tumor has increased significantly over the past few years, and we want to find something to treat it or slow it down.”

“You want to try this on me, in hopes that it will shrink it so you can get funded to hopefully invent something that can prevent this in other families in the future?” Saylor is waiting for his confirmation that they’re using her as their fucking guinea pig. The last six months of her life won’t be spent in a hospital, while she withers away and dies. It will be spent doing things she’s never done, seeing places she’s never seen and spending time with me . . . Those were her words. Not mine.

“Advances have been made in being able to diagnose these tumors and differentiate them from other brain tumors. What I’m asking you to do may just offer these people some hope, treatment to prolong their lives, and possibly even a cure.” I’ve heard enough. I’m ready to get Saylor the hell outta here. I hoped they found a cure, just not at the expense of my girl. I stand, reaching my hand out to hers. But, before I can move, Saylor is speaking, and her words paralyze me.

“I’ll do it.”