Chapter 8

 

Connor

 

Sometimes insomnia bites hard, but having Whitney by my side makes it significantly better. She’s sleeping on her stomach, one leg pulled up, chin tucked down, hugging her pillow, breathing softly. She’s fucking gorgeous. We didn’t finally get to sleep until after midnight to start with—well, she fell asleep anyway—but, it’s after one now and, in spite of my physical exhaustion, I’m still wide awake.

For some reason, people assume I get insomnia when I’m worried about things. I wish that were the reason. At least then maybe I could do something about it. No. It seems my body has a mind of its own and just flat won’t sleep sometimes.

Tonight’s different, though. Aside from a whole lot of wondering about the woman lying next to me, my cousin Corrine is on my mind and, yeah, you could say I’m worrying about her. It’s only four in the afternoon in California, so I should wait a bit before calling her, but fuck it. I’m awake and I can’t wait any more.

I quietly climb out of bed, get dressed, and take my phone to the darkened main room. Not bothering to find a lamp, I use my phone’s light to guide me to a chair and hit Corrine’s number.

When she answers, she doesn’t even say hello. “No, I haven’t heard yet.”

“I wasn’t calling for that.”

“You’re full of crap.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I was just getting ready to call Dr. Nguyen’s office though. I want to get them before they close. Want me to call you back?”

“Okay.”

Trying to ignore my nerves, I check emails while I wait. It’s the usual sort of stuff: some business-related correspondence, an update from my broker, a sappy this-is-true-and-will-break-your-heart bullshit internet story my gullible grandmother forwarded to me, and a link from my mom. It’s an article about a graphic novel that illustrates Albert Einstein’s life, just the off-the-wall thing we both find interesting.

I’m half way through drafting a reply to an email when Corrine calls back. “The nurse was just getting ready to call me.” I already know the answer based on the tone of her voice. “Negative!”

Thank God.

“See?” I say, trying not to sound as relieved as I am. “I told you everything would be fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.” I sigh and sink further into the chair, feeling distinctly more relaxed now. “So tell me what else is new.”

“Your mom gave me a new project. She wants me to update the operations manuals.”

“Shit. All of them?”

“Yeah. I’m really excited.”

“Better you than me.”

“Do you want me to read a few pages to you? It’ll help you sleep.”

“If you’re trying to bore me, just put Rayce on.” I grin.

“I’ll tell him you said that.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“So, where are you now? Did you make it to Santiago yet?”

“Yeah. A couple days ago.”

“Did you get to see the incense thing?”

“Yeah,” I say, remembering kissing Whitney during the second one, and everything after. “Yeah. It was pretty cool. I’ll send you a pic.”

“How long do you think you’ll stay? Do you know?”

Last time we talked, I mentioned that I’d planned on staying in the city awhile. It seemed like it’d be a good one to explore. After getting there I didn’t change my mind about that. It did seem like the kind of place I’d like to get to know better. But, you know, things change.

“Well, I’m actually heading for the coast now,” I answer. “I’m in Olveiroa.”

“Oh yeah? What made you decide not to stay in Santiago?”

“Oh,” I say vaguely, “you know.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I know. Those feet of yours have a mind of their own.”

We talk awhile longer before hanging up. I finish the email I’d started and send off another. That done, I sit in the dark a few minutes, trying to let my mind and body relax. My brain is still whirring though, so I give my brother Rayce a call.

“I heard you want me to put you to sleep,” he says, after our initial hellos.

I smile. “Word travels fast.”

“I could sing you a lullaby.”

“There aren’t enough miles between us for me to stomach your singing.”

“So where are you?”

That’s the standard question on just about any call with my family: where are you? I give him the latest, sans Whitney. Normally I’d tell him, but he’ll either make it out to be a meaningless hook up—which I don’t want him to think—or something serious. Which I also don’t want him to think.

I don’t know what to call this thing that’s happening with Whitney, so I’d rather stay mum.

Anyway, I called him for a reason. “How’s Corrine?”

“She seems to be doing okay.”

“She’s not getting too worn out?”

“No. If anything she’s looking better. I think it’s helping to get back into the swing of things. Mom was right.”

“She usually is. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Not long later, when I’m climbing back into bed, Whitney stirs slightly and barely opens her eyes at me before letting them slide shut again. “Did you go somewhere?” she asks sleepily.

“Just for a minute.” I kiss her on her cheek and settle into bed. My body finally seems tired enough, and I’m more than ready.

She heavily scoots over, curls her arm around my waist, and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around her soft body, sink against the pillow, and am asleep seconds later.

 

 

We both sleep in a bit, and take a little longer getting ready than usual—what with the whole morning romp we couldn’t seem to resist, not that we tried very hard—but we manage to get on the road at a decent time anyway.

A couple hours in, we pass by an outdoor market and pick up some bread, cheese, salami, and grapes for lunch. Not long after, we find the perfect place to enjoy it: a grassy area with a view of the sprawling field just across the Camino from us.

We settle on the ground and lay our items on the brown bag we’ve been carrying it all in.

“It’s almost too pretty to eat,” Whitney says, admiring the braided Challah loaf, “but I’m sure we’ll manage it.”

I smile, pull out my pocket knife, and cut a slice of the salami. When I hold it out to her, she holds my eyes and smiles in that way that makes my breath catch. Good lord, she’s a beautiful woman.

She reaches for the salami, but I gently catch her wrist in my other hand and tug. Her smile widens, and she lets me pull her in. Our lips come together in a soft, sensual kiss. Only when I’ve had my fill do I release her. Her cheeks are softly flushed and the crotch of my shorts are a bit tighter than normal.

She takes the slice of salami with two fingers, puts it in her mouth, and licks the tip of each finger, watching me the entire time.

“She-devil,” I say grinning, and turning to the meat to slice the rest.

“You started it.”

“Keep that up and I’ll finish it.”

We’re too close to the road and potential spectators to be serious, though, and eventually settle into our meal.

“Were you up in the middle of the night?” She tears off a chunk of the bread. “Or did I dream that?”

“Yeah. Just for a bit.”

“Was I keeping you up?”

“No. Not at all.” I explain my occasional insomnia issues, telling her there’s no real reason for it apparently. “I just have trouble with my clock sometimes. Last night was different though. Corrine’s been fighting cancer and we were waiting on some test results.”

“I’m sorry.” She genuinely looks it. “Is she okay?”

“Everything came back negative, so that’s good.”

“Is she in remission then?”

I nod and fill her in on the details. Corrine was diagnosed half way through the first semester of her sophomore year of college (what would’ve been my junior year, had I not left that summer to travel the world instead). The prognosis wasn’t too bad that first time. She had to pull out of school, then went through six months of treatment before being declared cancer free.

That fall she went back to Hartman College, again starting her sophomore year. She finished that year and got in a full semester’s worth of credits her junior year, but in February of that school year, the cancer came back and she had to drop out again.

“Things were serious before,” I say, “but when it came back last year it was really bad. She ended up going to the Mayo Clinic in Scottsdale from February all the way until October.”

“Geez,” Whitney says softly. “That’s a long time.”

I nod. “Yeah. It was a long, long year. Things were kind of touch and go there for a while, until they found the treatment that worked.”

“Did you get to see her at all?”

“Oh yeah. Both times. The first time I still travelled all over, in between visiting her. She lost her hair, and I made a joke that I should’ve brought her a gaucho hat from Argentina—”

“What’s a gaucho hat?”

“Gauchos are South American cowboys, and they still wear traditional clothing.”

“Oh yeah. I think I’ve heard of them.”

“Right. Well, that’s where I’d been when she was diagnosed. So, you know.” I shrug, smiling. “I went back and got her one.”

“You went all the way back to Argentina just to get her a hat?” Whitney says, grinning.

“Well, it’s a lot quicker if you fly. Besides, she wanted one. She loved it, too. All any of us wanted was to try to make her happy. It turned into this running thing. I’d bring her hats from all over so it wouldn’t be as bad, you know. Losing all her hair.”

“What else did you bring her?”

“I got her a headwrap in South Africa. She loved that one. A Rastacap from Jamaica. Soft things like that were better so she could wear them lying down. She asked for a beret from Paris. Places far away like that I’d cheat, though and fly.”

“You didn’t want to sail all that way, huh?”

“Well, normally, sure. But I didn’t want to be gone too long. I kept my boat docked in the Caribbean or Gulf of Mexico somewhere and fly to Arizona to see her. I felt like I needed to stay close, especially when the cancer came back that second time. That’s the only time in my life it was hard to pick up and go places. No matter where I went or how long I was gone, it was like there was this part of me... kind of... anchored there in Scottsdale with Corrine. I’d feel really unsettled until I was with her again.”

Whitney’s listening thoughtfully, chewing on her bread.

“I would’ve stayed there the whole time, but I was afraid she’d think I was just waiting around for her to die, and how was that going to help? It was better to say, ‘Hey, I’ll bring you something cool from Saint Lucia.’ There was this weird power in that, too. If I said I’d bring her back something, she had to stick around, you know? Like, that was a reason to fight.”

Whitney smiles, but I shrug.

“Honestly, looking back, it’s kind of stupid I thought that. As if she didn’t have enough reasons to live. It’s not like my little gifts were the things that would make her want to stay. But at the time, giving her things was like making an offer to whichever god could keep her from dying. Every time I brought something, her eyes would light up and I’d think it was working.” I shrug. “It’s funny what you hang onto in times like that.”

“I’m sure,” Whitney says. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

“I’d find the perfect thing and call and say, ‘Wait till you see it.’ But I wouldn’t tell her what it was, because, you know, wondering would keep her alive until the next time I saw her.”

“Hmmm.” Whitney smiles softly. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Sweet. Delusional. Whatever word you want to use.”

She laughs. “Maybe she needed someone in her life who could leave for weeks at a time and say, ‘See you when I get back.’”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What was her favorite thing you brought her?”

“Aside from the African headwrap? Two shot glasses from the Bayou Boogaloo Festival in New Orleans.”

“Bayou Boogaloo?” she asks, laughing.

“Oh yeah. It was awesome. Music, food, people.”

“Why two glasses?”

I grin. “So we could take a shot together when she was better. And we did. She’d been done with her treatment for about a month and was living in Seattle with her mom at the time. They came down for the Christmas party my parents throw every year, and before the big toast, she pulled them out of her purse and she and I took a shot first.”

She told me she’d been saving them. I’d wanted to do it as soon as her treatment was done, but she claimed she wasn’t up for it physically. She eventually confessed that wasn’t completely true. When she went home from the Mayo Clinic, she still felt like she was straddling the line between life and death, and hadn’t yet really allowed herself to believe she could put both feet on the life side of the line. She knew she’d come to it eventually, it just took some time. She didn’t want to use those shot glasses until she was “all in.”

“Anyway,” I continue, “for a while she was kind of convalescing in Seattle, and she needed it. But her mom’s a little... overprotective. She always has been, but it’s even worse now. Just hanging around doing nothing made things worse for her after a while though, I guess. My parents went up last month and my mom kind of saw what was going on and decided it was time for Corrine to take the next step to rebuilding her life. So she says, ‘When are you coming back to work?’ and that was that.” I grin. “Gotta love my mom.”

Whitney smiles. “So Corrine’s doing okay now?”

“So far so good. We’re all holding our breath for the five year mark. That’s when the chances of it returning go way down. She’s just working part-time and living with my folks again, but Rayce says she’s getting her strength back. Thank God.”

“So she’s been in remission...” I see she’s doing the math in her head, but I know it without having to calculate.

“Eight months.” I brush the crumbs off my hands and pull out my phone. “Here.” I bring up the photo gallery. “My turn for pictures.”

“Oooh.” She scoots closer so she can see better. This girl gets brownie points for that, I can tell you.

I go to the older pictures first, and pull up one of the four of us on the beach in Swan Pointe. It’s one of my favorites. This was my junior year of high school, well before Corrine got cancer. Also before I shocked the hell out of my family to take off on my own. Rayce and Lizzy were both in college, but home for summer break. Rayce and I are standing next to one another wearing our swim trunks. The girls are in their suits as well and on our shoulders—Lizzy on Rayce’s and Corrine on mine—with their arms up in victory. We’re all sporting broad smiles and the dark California tans of deep summer.

“Oh my God, look how cute you were,” Whitney says. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen. That’s Corrine, there.” I point. Her long hair is flowing over her tan shoulders.

“I figured. You look like your siblings. You can tell you’re related.”

“Everyone says that.”

“So this is Lizzy and Rayce.” Whitney points.

I nod. I scroll until I find the one with Corrine in her gaucho hat. This picture is just her, sitting at the game table in Mom and Dad’s living room, looking pale from the chemo. She’s holding some playing cards and sticking her tongue out at me, the picture taker.

I laugh a little. I laugh every time I see this one.

“Why’s she sticking her tongue out?” Whitney asks, laughing a bit too.

“Because I just stomped all over her ass in gin rummy.”

“So when was this? Was she in treatment then?”

“Yeah. This was during the first round, so she’d go in a few times a week and be home in between. I think this was maybe three or four months in or something.”

“And with everything she was going through you didn’t let her win the card game?” Whitney playfully swats my arm.

“Oh no. The Rivers family takes competition very, very seriously. She’s not easy to beat, either, so let me tell you, that was one fine moment of glory.”

Whitney laughs and takes another slice of salami as I scroll through looking for my other favorite. “Just one more. I promise.”

“No, no.” She licks her fingers again. “I love this.”

And I love it when you lick those fucking fingers.

“Okay, here it is.” Whitney leans back in, her shoulder pressing against mine. I took this photo in the Mayo Clinic, Corrine’s home for nine fucking months. But she’s a fighter, and no other picture shows it more than this one. She was down to something like ninety-five pounds, and her complexion had turned sallow. Between the cancer trying to eat her alive and the chemo taking its own shot at it, she was weak and exhausted almost all the time.

She’s in her hospital bed, bald, all hooked up to IVs and monitors and oxygen. I’m leaning over the bed, my head close to hers, and we’re both looking at the camera, making “rock on” signs with our hands.

“That was our secret Fuck Cancer sign.” I grin at Corrine’s smile. “Our moms would’ve had our hides if we’d gone around flipping the bird all the time, so we came up with this instead.”

“I love that.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a recent picture of her?”

“Sure.” I flip through to the one I took the last time I was in town. “This was back in March.” We’re at her mom’s dining table, leaning close to each other and smiling for the camera, the remnants of our most recent hand of gin rummy on the table. Her hair’s growing back. She has a cute pixie cut that actually suits her well, though she’s a little self-conscious about it.

“Aww,” Whitney says. “So cute. Is that another gin rummy game?”

“Oh yeah. I can’t get out of a visit with Corrine without playing gin rummy. She fucking loves that game. Played it about a billion times when she was in the hospital.”

“Who won that one?”

“Irrelevant,” I say, tucking my phone away, and Whitney laughs.

“You’re close to your family.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She smiles. “Do you miss them?”

“Yes, I really do. But I go home for visits, and call them a lot. So, you know. It’s all good.”

“So you’re close to them, and you miss them, but not enough to stick around?”

Our eyes meet then. I’m not sure, but we might be talking about something else now.

“No,” I say, quietly. “Not enough for that.”

“That tells me how much you love it. I’ve seen it, too. Just the little I’ve been with you. It’s like this energy inside you coming out.” She talks about it like it’s a good thing, and I appreciate that.

“Yeah.” I look at the field and trees off in the distance. “That’s a good way to put it.” I can’t help but wander. I really can’t, and I’ve tried. “I just...” I hesitate. “I love my life, but there’s a downside to anything, I guess. I just wish I didn’t cause other people pain.”

“Like who?”

“Like the people who want me to stay.”

“Your family?”

I don’t respond. Yeah, my family, too. But that’s not who I’m thinking about.

“A girl?”

I sigh. She’s a smart cookie, this Whitney.