Chapter 39

Levi

Come rescue me. Elle now openly reads smut in the office. I could cry.

Bee

Tell her to stop polluting the minds of children.

I can’t help it: I laugh out loud, the sound echoing in the back of the shop as I slip my phone into my apron pocket. Despite everything going on, I feel somewhat refreshed by the lack of news from the doctor. (No news is better than bad news.) Today is a designing day for me, as Tracy is getting ready for a wedding and needs an extra set of hands, which only adds to my happiness. I have three arrangements left: a simple arrangement to put on display in the cooler, an autumn wreath for someone’s front door, and a basket arrangement for a funeral.

I’m starting with the biggest and hardest: the funeral piece. (Tracy thinks I’m ready for this and I hope to prove her right.) I’ve soaked the oasis already, and now it sits inside the basket, waiting to be filled with stems. I step into the cooler to gather the ordered flowers (a dozen white roses as a base, and white lisianthus, spray roses, stock, and a splash of iris to fill).

I start with the roses, spreading them equally and giving them gradual height toward the back of the basket. Then I weave leather and misty around the edges to create a frame. Within twenty minutes I have filled the in-betweens of the roses with the other flowers and more filler, adjusting it every so often to get the look I want. Finally, I stand back, surveying my work.

“Bee,” Tracy calls from the storage room. “Will you open the back door? Ludwig’s here! He needs to grab that funeral piece.”

I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve finished…just in time. “Yeah!” I call out, heading to the back.

Ludwig, Tracy’s funeral delivery man, is just on the other side. I’ve only seen him a few times, since he works for Tracy at odd hours, but I’d know him anywhere. He has long silver hair, which he always wears down, and he’s got on his signature cargo pants and floral button up. “Hey!” he says cheerfully.

“Hi, Ludwig,” I say, stepping aside so he can come inside. “It’s ready for you on the table.”

He nods and approaches the work table. “Phew, Tracy!” he calls out, as if he knows she’s hiding somewhere. “This is stupendous work!”

OH MY GOSH, I think, and then I don’t know what to think. Tracy laughs—but then comes the sound of crashing.

“You okay?” Ludwig shouts.

Tracy laughs some more. “Yes. Bee made that funeral piece, not me.”

Ludwig’s expression swiftly changes: a raised eyebrow, one side of his mouth quirking.

I duck my head awkwardly, blushing straight to the roots of my hair. “Thanks?”

He whistles. “It’s like you’ve been doing this for twenty years. Is Tracy teaching you?”

“Yeah.” Most of this I picked up from watching her and experimenting on my own, but I don’t say that.

“Real talent, this.” He waves at the basket arrangement like he doesn’t know what to do with it. He walks around the table once to get a three-sixty view.

“Thanks,” I say again, cursing the one-word answers sticking to my tongue.

“Ever thought about taking classes?”

His question startles me more than I care to admit. It’s not a bad idea. I’d even go so far as to call it a great idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? “No,” I answer slowly. “I haven’t.”

“You have a lot of talent, Bee.”

I shake my head. “It’s not—”

“It is,” Ludwig says firmly. “I know Tracy. She doesn’t put time and energy into people who don’t have true talent.”

I bite my lip. “Thank you.”

“I teach,” he announces, as if he’s just been waiting for this moment. He leans back against the work table. “It’s already full for the fall, but I could give you a guaranteed spot in the spring, if you want. And at a discount, for a friend of a friend.”

I swallow.

“It’s more advanced than what Tracy’s teaching you here. More about finding your style and making you the designer only you can be.” He laughs. “I sound like the inside of a Hallmark card, but it’s true. Besides, it looks good on your resume and will be a bonus if you go to school for this later.”

I’m not without my doubts (Classes? School? Resume?!) but I smile at Ludwig and nod. “I’ll think about it.”

“Let me know by November and I’ll have a spot for you.” He turns, grabs the trip sheet on the counter, and hoists the basket into his arms. “Gotta take this now. See you soon?”

I nod. “Thanks.”

He nods, smiling, and disappears out the back door.

My doubts and worries soon fade into general excitement. I’ll worry about all that stuff later, I argue with myself, and end up bursting with the news as soon as I get to the hospital and sit down beside my Papa. “You’ll never believe what I just heard from Ludwig today.”

He snorts. “I didn’t realize there were any Ludwig’s left alive.”

“Shh, Papa, I know his name is…old fashioned…but you named me Bernice so you can’t talk! Besides, he’s really nice.” I scoot my chair closer. The room is empty except for us (Mama went for a walk), and the quiet is kind of nice. I explain everything to him, hardly taking a breath the whole time. I heave when I’m done, satisfied with my narrative.

My dad raises an eyebrow and squeezes my hand. “You want to do it?”

“I don’t know…I mean…yeah?” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I do.”

He nods. “Then you should do it. It’s fun for you, and I think it would make your mother happy. She wants you to find something you love.”

“Me, too, Papa.” Our eyes meet, and it is unmistakable—he is in pain. “What’s wrong?” I ask tentatively, hoping his body isn’t about to shut down with another seizure. The doctors say the seizures are unpredictable. I never want to see him like that.

Papa squeezes my hand again and swallows hard. That’s when I realize he’s choking back tears. “I just want to see you accomplish all these things, Baby Bee.”

“Papa,” I try to say, but my voice cracks.

“Shhh.” He brings my head to his chest, patting down my hair. “We have to start preparing for the worst.”

I move to the edge of the bed so I can better lean on his shoulder. I’m trying to erase those words, to pretend he never said them, but they are ringing, bouncing off the walls of my mind. It hurts worse with every second, because every second feels closer to the end, and there is no way I can deny this any longer. Not now that he’s said it out loud.

Papa falls asleep shortly after, his breathing evening out. I don’t move, however, until his door opens and Levi sticks his head around the corner.

“Hey,” I whisper, quickly standing up.

“I’m sorry, bad timing,” he whispers, crossing the room steadying me as I wobble. “I didn’t realize he’d be asleep.”

“It’s okay. We never know when he’s tired.” (He’s always tired.)

Levi kisses me sweetly (always sweetly), so I bring my hands up to cradle his face. He presses them closer with his own hands, covering mine completely. “How much longer are you going to be here?”

I shrug. “Not sure. My mom’s on a walk, and my sisters are with Tom. Maybe until one of them gets back?”

He tugs me toward the window seat, moving aside my mom’s magazines and purse so we can sit side by side. I drape my legs across him, and he puts his arm around my shoulders, resting his hand on my ankles. His long fingers play with the laces of my shoes, looping in and out, twisting, knotting. “How was work?”

Sighing, I repeat everything I just told my dad (but with much less flourish). “I don’t know what to tell Ludwig,” I end with. “It feels so real, like something I could actually do. Something that could make me really happy.”

“I think it’s a great idea. You get better and better every day.”

“Ha.” I roll my head against his shoulder, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Thanks.”

“Your sarcasm is duly noted and unappreciated.”

“Levi?” We both look up as my mom comes into the room, closing the door behind her. She smiles that pixie smile of hers, glancing at my sleeping dad, and lowers her voice. “Good to see you.” Levi starts to get up, but she waves her hand at him. “Stay there, don’t mind me.”

He gives her a broad grin. “Hi, Chloe.”

My mom kisses his forehead, and then mine. “Did you get to talk to him?”

“He fell asleep before I got here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be so bummed when he finds out he missed you.”

Levi shrugs. “I can stay as late as you’ll let me.” Suddenly, he sits up straight and reaches into his pocket. “Hey, before I forget, I brought the check for you.”

The envelope that he passes into my mom’s hands is white and small, but I can tell it immediately makes her nervous. She glances at me in worry, then back at Levi, and tries to smile. “Thanks.”

“What’s that?” I ask, uneasy.

Levi glances between us. “Oh.” His eyes widen. “I, um, thought she knew?”

My mom sighs. “Bee—” She opens the envelope and takes out the check. It’s addressed to my dad.

It’s from The Color Project.

Everything in the room slows to a halt as I slide my legs off Levi’s and stand. “What?” I whisper. My blood rushes in my ears, too loudly. “Mom?”

She takes a deep breath in before she says, “Levi has been paying for your dad’s treatments.”

“What?” I repeat for the third time. I look down at where Levi is sitting, expression confused, like he doesn’t know why I’m acting like this. “Why?”

There’s a flash of irritation in his eyes. Like he has a few choice words for me that he doesn’t want to say in front of my mom. “Bee, come on—”

“There are other people, Levi, who might need this more than we do.”

My mom sighs. “We do need this. We haven’t been able to afford a single treatment.”

I look her, with her sadness and stress and worry so plain on her face, and then at Levi, who nods in affirmation. “They applied shortly after we found out that day,” he says.

(My heart shatters.) “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, willing one of them to answer me. I don’t want to cry, but it’s a battle I know I’m losing. I’m angry—so angry—that I blamed this on Levi, that I assumed he was giving us money without a reason. Why on earth would he do that? Of course there was a reason; of course my parents applied.

She touches my arm, but I step out of reach. She works her jaw and says, “We didn’t want you to worry about anything else. Cancer is a hard burden to bear on its own.”

“I could have,” I protest, although I’m not sure I’m telling the truth. “I would have been fine! Maybe I could have even helped.” I stop, something dawning on me. “Is that why you stopped asking me about college? Because you knew you couldn’t afford it?”

She doesn’t answer me directly, but her drooping shoulders and the bags under her eyes tell me I’m right. “Baby Bee, we don’t want you to help. That’s what TCP is for. And if you’d found something you wanted to do, I would have wanted you to go for it without worrying about us. Everything is being taken care of—”

I’m not listening anymore. I did find something, but now I can’t tell her because she’ll insist on paying for the class and whatever college courses I want to take later. I can’t let her do that.

(Papa is dying. Papa is dying. Papa is dying.)

I take a step back and turn. “I’m going home,” I say, grabbing my purse by the foot of the bed. I hear my mom ask Levi if he can follow me home, but I’m gone before I can hear his response.

Because he’s Levi, he does follow me home, exactly like my mother asked.

“Wait,” he says when I ignore him. He follows me up the path and the steps to the front door. “Bee! Come on,” he pleads.

“I don’t want to talk,” I say, and I mean it.

He takes my hand, so unassuming, but I jerk away. “Please, listen to me—”

“I know you didn’t know, Levi,” I say, and pause fumbling with my keys to turn and look at him. “I’m sorry I blamed you. I should have asked questions.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He breathes out. “I can pay for the class, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t want you to pay for the class!” My voice is raised now. My throat hurts. “That’s the whole point!”

“You should have told her. She loves you and wants you to be happy. I want you to be happy!”

“You can’t do everything for me!” I burst, hands closing into fists.

“What?” He rests back on his heels, as if tempted to take a step away from me. He doesn’t just look surprised, he looks shocked. “Why would I want to do everything for you? I want to do one thing for you. Just one!”

“I don’t need help with that, not right now. Please, just…” I wipe a hand over my face.

“You can’t just…pull away when things get hard,” he tells me, jaw growing hard.

“I’m not—I’m not.” (I am, and I know it.)

“I know we still have things we need to work through. I’ve been trying not to bring it up because there are a lot of other things happening but maybe that’s not good for us. Maybe it’s getting in the way of…us.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk about any of it right now. I’m too tired.”

“Why won’t you let me comfort you?”

“This is not comforting.”

“Not this.” He takes a deep breath. “I imagined this going a lot differently.”

I wipe my eyes with shaking hands. Everything is falling apart too fast. Everything in me aches for him to understand. “Levi, my dad is dying.”

“I know he is,” he grinds out. “I’m trying to imagine what you’re going through, believe me.”

“You know what I’m going through—your own dad—”

“It’s not the same.” Levi runs both hands over his hair, jaw locking in what I think might be anger. “I never loved my dad the way you love yours. Hell, I’ve never loved my dad the way I love yours.”

“Then you understand!” My voice is raised again. “You know what it’s like to watch him wasting away every day, suffering. I’m breaking, Levi.”

“And I want to help hold you together,” he says. “But we have to talk about things—”

“No, we don’t! Not right now.”

He stops short, his breathing heavy. “That’s your problem. You did this before, when the news came out. You didn’t want to talk about it with me, you didn’t tell Gretchen for a whole week—”

A month, I correct him silently. His words are hitting a mark I didn’t even know existed. I know he’s right, and I also know that I am angry.

“We have to talk about things. Otherwise, I will never be able to comfort you, because I don’t know how,” he says. “I can’t read your mind.”

I don’t answer. I don’t know how.

“Do you love me?” he asks. The question is sudden and violent, and we both immediately know he’s been bursting with this for a long time.

I let out a soft moan. This was exactly what stopped me the other day: I haven’t done enough, I haven’t loved him enough. “Of course. Of course I love you.” I wipe my eyes again.

“Then show me.”

Three words. (Three knives.) “I’m trying.”

“You’re trying.” He tries to disguise his scoff, but I hear it. (For a moment, a terrible, unexplainable second, all I feel is fear.). “All right, answer me honestly: Were you ever planning to tell me your name?”

I stare at him, because his question dumbfounds me. I don’t know—I actually don’t know.

But my silence is answer enough. He laughs, harsh and un-Levi-like, very much like his father, and I want to scream.

“Why?” he asks.

I swallow hard, but there’s still a lump. My words come out as hoarse whispers, incomplete, raspy. “At first it was funny, you trying to guess. And then…I don’t know.” I shrug. “I don’t know.” I’m breaking. It’s not enough. Papa’s dying. I love you. I’m hiding. Please, come find me.

Levi backs up, down the steps, hands in his pockets. His eyes are on me, but they’re not really, like he can’t see me anymore because I’m so small, so invisible. He stops at the bottom and nods once. “See you around, Bee.”

That freezes the very blood beneath my skin. The last time he said that there was so much hope and joy in it. Before, it reminded me of an ocean I could float in forever, or eating ice cream sundaes for breakfast, or meteor showers. Now, it reminds me of a promise being broken, and it makes me cry.

And Levi—he sees my tears. He sees my hands shaking at my sides, and the way my chest heaves, and he turns and walks away.