Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Thirty-two

November 20, 2014  | Charlotte Chronicles  | (2)

Nathan

We arrive at the clinic early as Charlotte has to give blood and piss at the lab. I avoid hospitals, having developed an aversion to them during our teen years when she was first diagnosed. Everyone here appears to know her, though, and she appears comfortable. I’m the one who can’t sit still.

She ignores me and scrolls through a sea of white lace and satin on her phone. Our parents spent hours last night hammering out the details of the fall wedding. No one complained it was short notice, probably because everyone thinks we need to get to the altar before I flake out again.

Uncle Bo called me on a separate line.

“I’m sorry,” I said before he even got out his greeting.

He heaved a long, heavy sigh. “Not going to lie to you son. There were times I was mighty disappointed in you, but it looks like you righted your train. That said, let me tell you if you hurt her again, I’ll forget you are my godson. And then I’ll hand you over to AnnMarie.”

“I’m not going to let anyone down again,” I said.

“See that you don’t.”

Mom sent me a long email full of scolds and admonishments finished off by encouragement. Dad’s email was succinct and to the point: “Not everyone gets a second chance. Don’t waste yours.”

“Does it always take this long?” I ask, glancing at my watch. We’ve been in here for over an hour.

“No,” she admits. “But it could be extra busy in the lab. They like to run a couple of tests before I leave.”

“You still taking your shots?” After her chemo and radiation, she had to administer daily shots of human growth hormones to make sure that all her organs fully developed.

“I don’t need them anymore,” she answers, not looking up from the phone. “I’m fully grown. I take a few drugs to help my little thyroid along, but mostly I’m drug free.” She wiggles her wrist, and her medical ID bracelet jingles. It’s the sparkles of my diamond on her finger that capture my eyes, though. I can’t stop looking at it—my little sign post of possession.

Taking a seat beside her, I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her. “I love you.”

“I know,” she says. She lifts her chin so I can kiss her. That’s a far better way to pass the time than pacing, I think. I massage her neck lightly as I trail soft kisses along her jawline to her ear. The little lobe with its small gold hoop adornment dangles in front of me. I bite the soft flesh and then lick the soft pink upper shell. Her phone clatters onto the counter next to her. I drag her onto my lap.

“There’s a bed over there,” I mouth against the hollow in her neck.

“It’s not a bed,” she laughs.

I drag my mouth away and glance over to the paper-covered exam table. “It’s bed-like.”

“Nathan, this is my doctor’s office.” She tries to sound scandalized but at least half of her, hopefully the lower half, is intrigued.

Before I can summon up more arguments, the door opens and the nurse bustles in.

“Charlotte, can you come with me? I need to move you to another room.”

Charlotte stands and grabs her phone. “Sure, another test?”

“Oh no, the doctor just wants to chat.”

The sense of wrongness that I pushed away earlier comes flooding back. The nurse won’t look at us, and even Charlotte is starting to feel nervous. I rise and place my hand on her back.

“Just Charlotte, sir,” the nurse instructs.

“Nate’s my fiancé,” Charlotte objects.

The nurse purses her lips together. “Let me check with the doctor.”

She disappears, and Charlotte takes up the pacing. “I’m sure nothing is wrong,” she says, but there is no conviction in her voice. I shove my hands in my pocket because I’m afraid I’m going to punch a hole in the wall if someone doesn’t come in here soon and take away our anxiety.

I have the knob in my hand when the door pushes open. A slight, dark-skinned man with frameless glasses and a white coat appears on the other side. I move away so he can enter. Standing behind him, I cross my arms and look down my nose, daring him to give us bad news.

“Charlotte, why don’t you take a seat,” he begins.

She covers her mouth and stumbles into a chair. I’m frozen in my spot, unprepared for this news. I’ve been in danger, real danger where I thought I might not come out of a mission alive. I’ve walked among land mines with RPGs being cannoned around me, but the last time I felt this cold hand of fear was when Charlotte was fifteen.

“No,” I say as if by my command I can stop whatever is happening.

The doctor gives me a pitying look. “There are anomalies in your blood. I want to get you in for a CT scan. They’re ready for you now.”

“What do you think it is?” Her voice is barely a notch above a whisper, but the room is so quiet, we’d be able to hear a mouse squeak.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to guess. Let’s get these tests done, and then we’ll talk.”

The nurse arrives and leads Charlotte out because she’s turned into a wooden doll. I’m not much better. We shuffle down to radiology. I’m forced into a tiny sitting room while Charlotte is taken away.

Time moves sluggishly. After each test, she is increasingly worn out. The mental toll is exhausting her. Finally, they send us home after having taken a biopsy of her leg, a procedure so painful that Charlotte is biting back tears and I’m ready to tear the surgeon in half. They’ll call us, we’re told, but we don’t need confirmation for the news we don’t want to accept.

We stumble outside in shock. The late afternoon sunshine nearly blinds us as we stagger to her car.

“I can’t drive,” she says. Her hands are shaking. I look down and mine are too. I’m not in much better condition.

I call upon my training and somehow get us into the car and to her condo in one piece. I don’t remember the drive or if we talked. It is all a blur. When we get home, Charlotte runs into the bathroom and locks the door. Inside, I hear her crying.

On the other side, I stand like a worthless fool wondering what I should do. I want to break the door down and pull her into my arms, but this is one fight I can’t win with a gun or a knife or even a great plan.

There’s only one thing I can do and that is be with her. This time, I’m prepared. I’ll go to every hospital visit. I’ll research every article on healthy eating and alternative medicines. She’s not in this alone. And no one is taking her from me. Not her parents, not my parents, and not the goddamned military.

I pull out my phone and call my commander.

“You’re supposed to be enjoying your shore leave,” my LT barks.

“I’m separating,” I say.

“Didn’t know you were married, son,” he says in confusion.

“No, from the teams. From the Navy.” I squeeze the back of my neck, trying to gather my thoughts into a logical and comprehensible form. “My fiancée has just been diagnosed with cancer, and I need to be with her.”

“You’ve got two more weeks of love, Monk. Plus we’re just training when you get back. There’ll be plenty of time for you to be with her while she has treatment.”

“No, sir. I’m telling you now that I’m filing my separation papers ASAP. No more missions. Nothing. I’m out.”

The door wrenches open suddenly, and Charlotte lunges at me. She plucks the phone from my hand and nearly yells into my CO’s ear. “He’s not separating. Forget that he called you.”

She punches the disconnect button and throws the phone on the bed. I make a grab for it, but she blocks me.

“What the hell, Charlotte?” I bellow.

“You’re not quitting,” she shouts back. Her hands are fisted by her sides, but her tears have stained her face. The mascara has created black circles around her eyes, and there are wet tracks down her cheeks.

“Fuck I’m not.” I snatch the phone up, but she clutches my arm and then starts to sob. “Fuck, okay, I won’t quit.” I’m bewildered and heartbroken and would do anything to make her stop crying. Collapsing on the bed, I hug her shaking body into mine. The tears I refuse to shed are burning the back of my eyelids and scorching my throat. Hoarsely I whisper stupid, meaningless things in her ears. That we’re going to be all right. That this is just a temporary setback. That she’s going to beat this.

She feels tiny and fragile in my arms. What did we do to deserve this? Hasn’t she suffered enough?

We lie together for hours until the phone rings. Charlotte rolls onto her back and covers her eyes with an arm. I thumb the answer button, put it on speaker, and rest the phone between us.

“You have osteosarcoma in the proximal tibia. It’s unrelated to the childhood brain tumor, and it’s just really unlucky.” The doctor’s voice is matter of fact, as if he isn’t announcing that Charlotte’s body is full of death-inducing cells. “Recommended treatment is a course of aggressive chemotherapy followed by resection of any remaining tumor. It’s smaller, and I feel we have a good chance of beating this, Charlotte.”

She hasn’t moved. I wonder if she’ll ever move again. Picking up the phone, I walk out of the bedroom. “It’s Nate Jackson, her fiancé. Charlotte is—she can’t come to the phone. What’s next?”

“We’d like to have her start chemo this Friday. We’ll do six weeks and then consider resection.”

“And is resection your way of saying amputation?” I ask grimly, wanting all the details laid out in brutal detail so I know exactly what we’re dealing with. It’s the only way I’ll be able to deal with this. But I forget where I am and behind me I hear a gasp. Cursing silently I turn to see her leaning against the door frame, a hand covering her mouth.

“Yes, below the knee if the drug therapy does its job.”

“Thanks.” I pocket the phone and stride over to her, lifting her into my arms. “It’s going to be okay, baby.” The worthless words fall out. She snorts and then struggles to her feet.

“Tell me what they said.”

The lump in my own throat is making it hard to talk. “Chemo and then amputation of the leg, hopefully below the knee.”

Would it help to tell her about all the veterans who’ve suffered a loss of limb and how they’re doing amazing things? I’m at a loss. She walks in a circuit around her living room, touching a few items: a signed football, a tall thin orange vase, a piece of driftwood.

“Your mom and I found this one day when we were walking. A year after Nick and I graduated, I was so lonely. I’d call her up, and we’d drive up to the house and take long walks along the shore. This piece was lying on the sand, and she picked it up and carried it back to the house. When I got home I realized she had stuck it in my car. There was a note in it that said that and no matter what happened between you and me, I’d still be the daughter of her heart.”

Her fingers curl around a small branch. “A couple of years later, when it looked like you were never coming back, she called me and said that I was the bravest girl she’d ever known and not to give up on my dreams. We never spoke of you again after that.” She swallows. “I just don’t know if I can be brave again.”

The wood cracks and she stumbles. I leap over the back of the sofa and catch her.

“You don’t have to be brave. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

I put Charlotte to bed, wipe my wet eyes and pick up the phone. The first call is to Nick.

“No,” he says in disbelief. “No! Fucking not happening.” There’s a crash of something heavy being thrown across the wall. He screams profanities for a full minute. I clutch the phone in my hands, wanting to rail at the sky, God, every deity that anyone every acknowledged. My throat is raw from all the emotions I’ve swallowed down. When he winds down, he pants, “I’m coming down.”

Nick lives on the eighteenth floor and Charlotte on the seventh in this condo building, but I’ve got more phone calls to make and I can’t deal with Nick’s rage right now.

“No,” I say. “She’s sleeping. She needs to rest.”

It takes another ten minutes to convince him that coming over would be more disruptive. I spend the rest of the night making phone calls. There’s the call to her parents and then to mine. Everyone is crying. Even Dad choked up and said he couldn’t talk anymore. They all are coming down tomorrow. I make arrangements for them to stay at a hotel nearby. The last thing that Charlotte needs is the entire family hovering outside her bedroom.

When I’m finished, my fingers are cramped from being clenched around the phone. The condo is silent. Seven floors up, the street noise is dulled from the distance and the solid walls and windows. I could use a distraction. Booze, danger, anything.

But the person who matters the most in my measly existence needs me, and for once in my pathetic life, I’m going to be there for her. As I stand in the doorway of the darkened bedroom, I can barely make out her slight form under the covers. She’s always been a slight girl, more wiry than curvy. She might wish for bigger boobs or a bigger ass, but I’ve loved her since forever because of who she was, my Charlotte, rather than whether she had a big chest, lots of hair, or even two limbs.

Is it easier for a guy to lose a leg or an arm than a woman? Women have these impossible standards of beauty that they think that they have to meet: tits of a certain cup size and some magical hip-to-waist ratio. Guys just want to be able to make love to their women, protect their family, and pound a few bears.

Ah shit, that’s not even true. If I couldn’t run, jump, and climb like I’m currently able to, I’d be a basket case too.

But my love for her, my utter devotion to her will never change. It wouldn’t matter if she was in a different body entirely. It’s her, the essence that animates her body, that matters.

I strip off my clothes and crawl under the covers next to her. In the dead of the night, I close my eyes and search for the connection to a higher being and pray.

• ••

When I wake up, she’s gone.

The sheets where her body laid are cold, and for a heart-stopping, ball-freezing moment, I think the worst.

“Charlotte!” I jump out of bed and run into the living room shouting her name. My heart’s still pounding hard when I skid to a halt in the kitchen and see her at the table surrounded by her friends. A dozen magazines are strewn across the table with white dress-wearing, flower-carrying women adorning the covers.

Lainey’s eyes widen and Reese licks his lips. Looking down, I see that I’m completely nude with my twig and berries dangling out for everyone’s perusal. And I have morning wood.

“Good morning, babe,” Charlotte smirks.

“Ah, yeah,” I say and drop a hand to my crotch. Did I dream what happened yesterday? A careful inspection of Charlotte reveals dark circles covered in makeup. No, yesterday was not a bad dream. Gathering up my uncooperative flesh, I turn and march into the bedroom.

“Jesus, those Jackson boys are well endowed,” I hear Lainey say.

“How would you know, young lady?” Reese asks.

“I’m just guessing,” she protests. I can tell by the high-pitched tone it’s a lie. I’ll have to ask Nick about that later.

In the bedroom, I make use of the attached bathroom to piss and brush my teeth. After I’m done, I throw on briefs, sweatpants and a T-shirt.

When I arrive back in the kitchen fully clothed, Reese stands and offers his hand. I shake it but look at Charlotte in confusion. She grins.

“Thank you,” Reese says. “I was all upset over hearing Charlotte’s news, but seeing you completely nude has restored my good humor.”

“No wonder Charlotte has agreed to move to San Diego,” Lainey pipes up. “I wouldn’t want to be more than ten feet away from that at any given time.”

“He’s big,” Charlotte says, “but not that big.”

Everyone laughs at this, and I don’t give a damn because my dick can be the topic of jokes every morning if it makes Charlotte laugh.

“It’s pretty damn big,” I say and wink at Lainey. “Bigger than Nick’s.”

“Right, as if I’d know.” Her wild, not-so-funny laugh ends in a hiccup. She stands abruptly, and her chair’s legs catch on the carpet. I grab it before it can fall over.

“Lainey,” Charlotte calls at her friend’s retreating back.

“Let her go.” Reese places a hand on hers. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I need some coffee,” I say and follow Lainey into the small alcove off the kitchen where Charlotte stores all her appliances, including a fancy coffee maker. Lainey has her back to me, hands braced on the counter.

“I just need a minute,” she says.

“Can you work that machine, or does it make coffee by itself?” I ask.

She whips around at the sound of my voice. “I thought you were Charlie . . . or Reese.”

“Nope, just the better part of the Jackson brothers.”

A half smile touches her lips and then dies off. She turns and busies herself with the coffee maker. “When Reese told me that Charlie had reconnected with you, I was worried and not a little angry on her behalf, but I told myself that I wasn’t going to complain about you or suggest she was making a mistake because what’s the point of telling your best friend that her man is rotten.”

I wince. Rotten? Lainey’s good at hiding her feelings because the other night at dinner, she was all smiles and welcomes. “Thanks, I guess.”

She flicks a hand but doesn’t turn around, either fascinated by the machine or not willing to look at me. The coffee machine hisses and gurgles as it heats up the water. Twisting a few knobs, she turns and shoves a steaming mug of coffee at me. “Don’t screw up this time. If you do a runner on her, I swear to God your little band of SEALs won’t be able to keep me from carving out your balls.”

Lainey may have thought her fierce words would scare me away, but they only make me smile. “My big balls and I are safe then because I have no intention of running away from Charlotte. She, and the rest of you, are going to have to get used to me.”

“Fine, but I’m watching you.”

She sweeps by me, but I ruin her exit line.

“By the way, Lainey, I won’t tell Charlotte that you’ve slept with Nick until you’re ready to come clean.” The shock and horror on her face is a little comic relief as I walk out. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Back in the dining room, I lean over Charlotte’s shoulder. “What are you looking at?”

“Wedding dresses.” She taps a magazine with the tip of her perfect shell shaped fingernail.

“How about this pink one?” Reese asks, showing her his phone.

“Pink?” I draw back in horror.

“Nathan’s a traditionalist,” Charlotte explains and pats my leg. “It’s okay. I like white.”

It’s not the pink that I’m overly concerned about. It’s that she’s planning a wedding as if we didn’t just find out she had cancer. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure.” She picks up her coffee and follows me out into the living room.

Trying my best not to look confrontational, I clasp my hands behind my back. “Are you planning someone’s wedding?”

“Yes, Master Sergeant, I am, sir.” She salutes me like a smart ass.

“Seriously, Charlotte,” I scold. “And I’m a Senior Chief Petty Officer. There are no sergeants in the Navy.”

She falls onto the sofa and laughs. “You look so earnest, Senior Chief.”

I stalk over to her and place an arm on the back of the sofa. “You have to start treatment this Friday.”

“I know, babe.” She lifts a soft hand to stroke my face. “I want to get married before my surgery. Next weekend. I’ve already called our parents so they aren’t going to fly down. They’re expecting us.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Never been surer about anything.” Her hand curls around the back of my neck and rises up to press her lips against mine. “We’re going to be okay.”