Mark My Words (5 page)

Waiting was the hardest part.

In the days after I gave Lennie the book, I went into the coffee shop every morning on time. Some days I remained until closing. Never did I stay up so late that I wouldn’t be able to get up the next morning, and I even set my alarm a couple of times just in case. But she never showed. A week passed, and then two. My anticipation dwindled a little more every day. I had started to give up hope that she would ever step into the coffee shop again, when she suddenly appeared.

That was the way it seemed to be with her. She’d give just enough to reel me in, then leave me hanging. And when I was about to give up, she’d piece out a tiny bit more.

I wondered how long I could live off of these measly bits and pieces. Especially when, deep down, I wanted so much more.

“I finished.” After plunking the book down on my table directly in front of my laptop, she sat down across from me without asking permission. But it was okay. It’s not like I would’ve said no. Still, it was odd how at ease she appeared at times, when other times she looked like she was ready to crawl out of her skin.

“And?” I prodded.

“And it was good.”

“Did you stick to one ending?”

“Actually, I did this time,” she responded, surprising me. “It was a good ending. A happy ending, so I decided not to mess with it.”

“Sounds like maybe we chose the same ending,” I mused, leaning back in my chair.

Great minds…” she let the remainder of the saying hang in the air.

“Oh.” I sat forward. “You don’t have a drink. Let me go grab you one.” I stood. “Vanilla latte, right?”

“It’s okay. I can get it.” She pushed up out of the chair, but when she got to a standing position her eyes widened as if something was wrong. I froze. Her hand flew out, fumbling for the table, but never quite reaching it. Instead her fingers would slide along the edges and then drop off. Her body swayed forward and backward like a bowling pin trying to stay upright. She blinked in rapid succession.

“Whoa.” I shot my arms out, wrapping them around her waist to hold her steady. She wobbled in my arms, but I wouldn’t let her fall. Breathing deeply, she leaned into me. Warm breath blew over my shirt, seeping through the skin over my rapidly beating heart. I rode my hands up her spine, startled by how pronounced it was. She was always so bundled up that I hadn’t noticed how frail she was before. Perhaps she didn’t eat enough. Maybe that’s why she almost passed out. And she had almost passed out, right? That’s what it seemed like to me. “You okay?” I asked, concerned. Her body slid against mine, fitting perfectly. She was so close, it would only take one movement, one inch, for my lips to touch her skin. I would only have to raise my hand and my fingertips would have full access to the flesh on her neck and collarbone, her soft cheeks, her supple lips.

She peered up at me, still not looking right. She was too pale. More pale than usual and that’s saying something. I remembered her being tan when we were younger, but ever since I’d seen her again her skin had been paper white. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well.”

“That’s okay.” It was more than okay. Even though I felt bad that she was sick, it was hard to feel too bad when she was nestled in my arms. My teenage daydreams were being partially fulfilled in this moment. If she lifted her head a little higher, her lips would press against mine, and I could almost put my fantasies to rest.

“I should probably go home. It might be the flu or something, and I don’t want to infect you.” She squirmed in my arms.

Reluctantly, I released her.

At first she looked unsure, as if she thought she might fall over again. But she didn’t, so I backed up.

“Coffee’s probably not a good idea today,” she said, wiping a hand over her brow. “I’ll leave the book here. Thanks for letting me read it.” When she pulled her hand back, she bumped her scarf and it shifted, revealing a portion of her chest, a splash of her neck. I sucked in a breath, and quickly averted my gaze, staring into her eyes. What I saw had renewed my purpose. There was no way I was letting her leave now.

“We never finished our conversation,” I said, moving toward her. “Let me have your number. We can meet up when you’re feeling better.”

“It’s okay.” She waved away my suggestion. “I’ll just see you here. You said you’re here every day, right?”

“Lennie.” Reaching up, I touched her face.

Flinching, she leapt back. Frantically, she tugged the scarf back over her chest. “What are you doing?”

“You’re sick,” I said.

“Yes,” she responded in an exasperated tone. “That’s what I just said.”

“But it’s not the flu, is it?” My gaze fell to her neck and chest. Even though she’d covered herself back up with the scarf, I could tell that she knew what I saw.

Her entire body stilled. She glanced around the room, moisture filling her eyes. Her chest rose and fell. “No,” she finally said, and the darkness in her tone told me everything I needed to know.

Not that I was shocked. I think I knew from that first day I saw her again. She seemed sickly. Too frail. Too pale. Too cold all of the time. And there’d been the other signs like the rash, the headaches. Seeing the scar on her neck and the port in her chest today only confirmed what I’d already suspected but hadn’t wanted to face. I knew what a port was, only because we’d had a neighbor who had cancer and she had one. One time I asked her about it, and she said it was so they could administer medicine and draw blood without having to insert an IV every time.

“And that’s why I can’t give you my number and why I can’t go on a date with you,” she continued.

“Because you’re sick?”

“Because I’m dying.”

The words she spoke were shocking, but the way she said them wasn’t. It was the same way you told someone you were going to school or going to work. It was the way someone spoke when they’d resigned themselves to their fate. When they’d gone through all of the emotions it takes to process this kind of information.

And now it all made sense.

Now I knew where the old Lennie went.

She’d already been laid to rest.

But I refused to let her go completely. Lennie was still here. She was still flesh and bones. Every moment on this earth counted, and I had to make her see that.

“But you’re not dead,” I pointed out.

“Not yet,” she intoned.

“So why can’t we spend time together for now?”

Cocking her head to the side, she bit her lip. “Why would you want to? I mean, you hardly know me.”

“That’s not true. We’ve known each other since we were teenagers.”

She snorted. A couple walked inside holding hands. Cool air enveloped us. “We’d had like one class together and talked a couple of times. I’d hardly call that ‘knowing each other’.”

“Still. I knew you. Maybe just in passing, but I did. And I liked what I knew,” I told her honestly. The guy at the table next to us glanced over curiously, so I lowered my voice. “And I’ve enjoyed our last few conversations. I’d like that to continue. I don’t think that’s so weird, do you?”

She sighed. “Look, you seem like a nice guy. And, honestly, I’ve enjoyed our conversations too.” Pausing, her gaze dropped to her boots. “A lot, actually. But partly because you didn’t know I was sick. Every relationship I have right now is about my illness. And once it becomes about that, it’s ruined.”

“But this isn’t ruined. Hell, it hasn’t even started yet,” I said. “Sit down.” I lowered my hand toward the chair she was in a few minutes ago. “We can talk about the book or we can just sit in silence. I’m okay with that. What I’m not okay with is you leaving right now after you almost passed out.”

A small smile flickered. “Okay. I’ll sit. But only for a minute. And only because I’m not sure I can make it home right now.” After we settled in our chairs, our gazes met. “You wanna know what I have, don’t you?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Then what do you want to know?”

I touched the book that lay on the table. “I want to know what ending you chose.”

Relief swept over her face. Smiling, she leaned forward. “That’s something I’d love to tell you about.”

As she launched into an explanation of the book, I sat back in my chair admiring her. For the first time since we’d reconnected, she was animated and lively. I had to remind myself that this was flesh and blood Lennie and not imaginary Lennie. And it gave me hope.

Hope that I could help her.

Hope that I could make her come alive.

“Did you walk here?” I asked when Lennie prepared to leave.

She nodded.

I collected my things, shoving them into my bag. We’d been here for hours. Some of it was spent talking, but most of it was in silence. Lennie seemed content, even relieved, to simply sit at the table while I worked. It was weird writing about imaginary Lennie while flesh and blood Lennie was seated across from me.

“I’ll walk you home.”

She shook her head exactly like I knew she would.

“It’s no use,” I said firmly, flinging my bag over my shoulder. “If you refuse, I’ll just follow you.”

Her eyes widened.

“C’mon, you almost passed out earlier,” I explained. “What kind of guy would I be if I let you walk home after that?”

“It’s been hours. I’m fine.” She readjusted her scarf, tucked her thumb under the strap of her purse.

“I told you it was no use. I’m walking you home. It can either be as your walking partner, or your shadow. Your choice.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You always struck me as a go-with-the-flow type of guy. I never pegged you as the bossy type.”

“It’s like you said, ‘we never really knew each other’.”

Her head bobbed up and down with agreement, but she appeared unnerved by the statement. “Fine. You can walk me home. I don’t want you following me like some kind of stalker.”

It was only a joke, but it hit a little close to home, and my insides knotted. Swallowing hard, I stepped forward. Icy air greeted us when we walked outside. Lennie shivered, and I fought the urge to put my arm around her. Ever since I’d held her earlier, it was all I could think about. Besides, I hated seeing her cold. But I also didn’t want to scare her, to push her away again. She was skittish like a stray cat. One wrong move, and I was certain I’d lose her for good.

“What did you miss about the city?” I asked as we rounded the corner.

Her head swung up, a question in her eyes.

“You said that Southern California wasn’t home,” I reminded her. “What did you miss?”

“Oh.” Again she seemed surprised that I recalled what she’d said. Was it really that strange that I paid attention? Did people not do that? “I don’t know that it was any one thing. More the feeling I guess. San Francisco feels like home. It feels comfortable, you know. In Southern California everything was new, and I had trouble finding my bearings.”

A dance studio was to the left of us. Lennie’s head swiveled toward it, her eyes widening as she took in the couples floating over the dance floor. A funny expression cloaked her face that I couldn’t quite place. Envy maybe. Longing possibly.

“Do you dance?” I asked, my head bending toward the window.

“Um…no. Rob and I were signed up to take lessons, but we broke up before we ever had the chance.”

I wanted to ask her what happened between her and Rob. But every time she mentioned him she appeared so sad. I hated seeing her like that, so I didn’t linger on the subject.

Once we’d passed the dance studio, we came upon a homeless man. He held up a cardboard sign. I didn’t need to read it to know what it said. Lennie stopped when we reached him.

“Tim?” She said, shocking me. He peered into her eyes, a smile forming on his weathered face. “I got you something.” Dipping her hand into her purse, she pulled out a white bag. I knew there was a pastry inside. She’d bought it at the coffee shop. Until now I hadn’t noticed that she didn’t eat it.

“Thank you, Lennie,” he responded, holding the bag close.

When she stood back up and resumed walking, I stared at her profile in awe. In so many ways she seemed like a different person, but in many ways she was the same sweet girl she’d always been. As if sensing my eyes on her, she turned her head.

“What? Why are you staring at me?”

“You knew his name….and he knew yours.”

“Why does that surprise you? Because he’s homeless?”

What she implied was convicting. I probably passed that guy every day and didn’t notice him. Lennie had taken the time to not only talk to him, but introduce herself. I shrugged, a little embarrassed. “Now that I think about it, it’s not that surprising. It was a very ‘Lennie’ thing to do.”

She cocked one eyebrow. “A ‘Lennie’ thing to do? Meaning what?”

“I just remembered you being a compassionate person, that’s all.”

“From high school?” Her tone was dubious.

“Yeah,” I responded.

A group of men came toward us, taking up the sidewalk. My hand brushed Lennie’s arm as we moved out of the way.

“Glad to know I came across that way,” she said.

“Did you think you hadn’t?”

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “I know that I was really different then. I was obsessed with boys and clothes and popularity. Stupid stuff.” She snorted. “I often wonder if I would’ve done everything differently…you know….if I had known.”

“Known what?”

She shot me an irritated look. “Known that I was going to die.”

I couldn’t help the light chuckle that escaped from my throat. “Did you think you were immortal?”

“Of course not.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

I did know what she meant, but I wanted her to stop thinking that way. “I used to work at a record store before I started writing my book,” I said. Her face scrunched up with confusion, and it almost made me laugh out loud. She was probably wondering what this piece of randomness had to do with anything. I continued so she’d see the connection. “For awhile I worked with this guy named Ben. He was in his early forties, married, had two kids. Most days he rode his bike to work. But one day his wife dropped him off. They had dinner plans with friends, so she was picking him up after work. I remember that day so vividly. Nothing happened out of the ordinary at all. Ben was the same as always – laughing, joking, talking. Apparently, he and his wife had a great time at dinner. Afterward, they went home, poured some wine and sat on the couch watching TV.” Lennie’s stare was so intense, I could practically feel it. She didn’t breathe, and her clipped strides had slowed. It was obvious that she knew where this was going. “Then he suddenly slumped over and died. Massive heart attack. Came out of nowhere.”

Lennie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “God, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it was,” I agreed, remembering how heartbroken his wife and kids were at the memorial service. Even though I’d hardly known him, he’d left an impression. Work never felt the same after he passed. “And, do you remember John Sims from high school?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “And I know about his accident.” Shaking her head, her eyes pressed closed for a minute. “I was friends with his wife, actually. In fact, I was at the wedding. It was awful that he died only a few months after they got married.”

“I didn’t know them that well, but I remember being shocked when I heard.”

“If you’re trying to cheer me up, you’re doing a terrible job,” she said, shoving her fingers down into her pockets.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just pointing out that none of us knows when our time is up. Ben was just living his life. He had a fun night at dinner and then was cuddling on the couch with his wife, completely unaware that it was his last night. Honestly, it gives me comfort to know that he was happy at the end.” We rounded another corner, and the street inclined upward. “The truth is, that you may be the one who’s sick, but I could die before you. I could get hit by a car when I leave you tonight.” Light from the streetlamps cast an eerie glow on her pale skin. She wasn’t looking at me, but I could tell she was contemplating my words. I could see it in the tight set of her jaw. “Being sick doesn’t guarantee your death. Being alive does.”

Lennie’s head snapped toward me, fire in her eyes. She stopped abruptly, taking a deep breath. I stopped too, waiting for whatever it was she was gearing up to say. But then her gaze flickered to a house on her right, and she simply said, “This is where I live.”

It was a nice home, and I wondered if she lived with a roommate. From what I understood, she didn’t have a job. As if in answer to my silent question, she said, “It’s my parents’. It’s actually the same house I grew up in.”

Something dawned on me. “The appointments you’ve been going to. They weren’t job interviews, were they?”

She shook her head. “Doctor’s appointments. The hospital is--”

“Right across the street from the coffee shop,” I finished for her, wondering why I hadn’t figured it out sooner. “Well, if you ever need someone to come with you to an appointment, let me know.”

She smiled. “You’ve already done enough.”

“At least let me take you out for dinner sometime,” I pressed.

Pausing, she scratched the back of her neck. Sighing, she reached out her hand. “Hand me your phone.”

After turning it on, I dropped it into her palm. Her fingers flew over the screen for a second, and then she handed it back. “Now you have my number.”

Closing my fingers around the phone, my heart leapt in my chest.