Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Have you checked the weather? Will your parents have good weather to fly down here tomorrow?”
“I think so. Mom will lose her mind if the flight is canceled. She’s itching to hold my baby.”
“Your baby?” He sets Scrot’s food bowl on the tile and joins me on the sectional.
“Yes. She’s mine. I grew her in my garden. I harvested her. I feed her. What do you have to offer, buddy?”
“Baby, I planted the seed.” He slides off one of Penelope’s socks because he’s obsessed with kissing her baby toes.
“And for that, I let her carry your last name. But that’s where it ends. You get your name in the credits.”
He smirks, settling on his side so his mouth can reach her toes.
I love this life we’re making. This moment trumps all others before it.
CHAPTER FIFTY
SHE’S WORTH THE LAST BREATH.
Price
I think my cancer is pissed off that I tried and nearly succeeded at its eradication. The pain has reached a new level at warp speed. In a matter of weeks, it’s dug its claws into me, bringing me to my knees just in time for chemo.
I’m grateful we had one last Christmas together.
I’m grateful I got to see the look on Astrid’s face when she unwrapped her scooter.
I’m grateful that Amelia and the rest of my family didn’t treat me like a lost cause, even if I knew they were thinking it.
My dad was the only one who let the words “it was too good to be true” slip out at dinner. My mom quickly corrected him with her declaration of gratitude for miracles.
As I slide on my T-shirt, my back protests. Everything protests. I don’t remember giving my body permission to give up, but my mind hasn’t been where it was the first time I tried to fight this. Today feels like an official waving of the white flag. Cancer, you win.
And I hate that I can’t trick my mind into believing I can beat this despite the highly toxic drugs that will be dripping into my veins by ten o’clock this morning.
“I packed several books, your headphones, water, and snacks,” Amelia says as I descend the steps to the foyer. “Your mom’s in the kitchen making breakfast for Astrid. I’m interviewing several personal chefs next week. I want you to have whatever you need. I should have suggested it a long time ago.” Her gaze drops to her feet.
I nod slowly.
A brave smile touches her lips as she glances back up at me. When she digs her key fob from her purse, her shaky hand drops it on the floor.
We squat at the same time. I grab it, and my other hand takes hers as it shakes. When we stand, she eyes me with regret and unshed tears.
Cupping her hand, I bring it to my lips, closing my eyes while kissing her wrist, palm, and fingers. When I open my eyes, she blinks out her tears.
“Are you scared?” she whispers, her words trembling as much as the rest of her.
Keeping my lips pressed to the pulse point on her wrist, I shake my head. “No, my love.”
I hope she finds love again when I’m gone. She has so much to share. Some lucky guy will find himself in her path, hopefully not on a bike at a busy intersection, and his life will forever be changed for the better.
“Listen to me. You are the greatest love of my life. And I’m so very sorry for every unkind word I’ve said out of anger, frustration, and fear. Nothing that has happened or will happen to me in the future is your fault. I credit you with everything beautiful in my life. Being your husband and Astrid’s father is an extraordinary gift. Whether I have five days, five years, or five decades left, I could not possibly feel more whole than I do right now.”
My wife shakes in silent sobs.
“Let’s go.” I squeeze her hand before releasing it and picking up the bag she packed for me.
The entire way to the cancer center, I rest my hand on her leg. This is her grueling journey, not mine.
I will be fine.
We update labs, and a young brunette nurse named Rose walks us through the procedure and asks if we have any questions.
When Dr. Faber discussed placing a port, I declined. So we’re doing an IV infusion in my arm.
As Rose places the IV, Amelia blinks back her tears.
“Baby, you don’t need to stay. Why don’t you take a walk or check in with Astrid?”
She shakes her head, eyes glued to the IV.
“There’s a cafeteria,” Rose says. “The coffee’s pretty good. And it’s early enough that the bagels might not be too hard.” She softly chuckles.
Amelia doesn’t even look like she’s mentally in the same room. Tears continue to fill her unblinking eyes.
The nurse inserts the syringe into the line.