Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3)

51. Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Eight

T he following week, Tom brought over some Chinese takeout for them to enjoy while watching the hockey game, which started at 7:05.

Her mouth sores were healing, but she didn’t want to push her luck. Chicken wings were out, but she’d be able to manage noodles.

He stepped through the side door, kicking off his boots, which were packed with snow. He handed her a brown paper bag, which she set on the kitchen table and began to unpack.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said truthfully. She didn’t feel great, but she’d felt worse right after her most immediate treatment. She had good days and bad days. Some days she felt awful, usually immediately after treatment, and she’d noticed that with each treatment, the side effects intensified.

They were halfway through their meal when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen to determine whether she needed to answer it or not. She frowned when she saw Nena’s name. “I have to take this.”

Answering her phone, she said, “Hello, Nena,” unable to imagine what she’d be calling her about. Probably to wish her a Happy New Year.

“Angie, I’m calling with bad news,” Nena started, her tone serious.

“Yes?” she said, listening.

Floyd was dead. He’d taken a turn for the worse over New Year’s week, had been hospitalized, and had died with his family at his side.

Angie hung up and gripped the table, shaking. How could Floyd be dead? She’d just seen him at the support group after Christmas and he’d looked so well.

Next to her, Tom’s fork froze mid-air. “What’s wrong?”

“Floyd’s dead.”

“Aw, man, really?” he asked in disbelief.

Although Tom had never met Nena or Floyd, he’d heard enough about them from Angie to realize they were important to her.

A rush of tears escaped. In a strangled voice, she said, “People die from this! Every week, I go to support group because they make me feel better, laughing it up with them, but the reality is, we’ve all got a dangerous disease.” Her tears turned to sobs. She was afraid for Nena, Lisa, herself, and the rest of their group members.

She jumped out of her chair and began gesticulating wildly with her hands, her voice shaking as she spoke. “All this time, I’m not paying attention. I could die. I. Could. Die. I can’t forget that. I need to wake up. I can’t be so passive with my own life.”

Tom stood and approached her, putting up his hands in a placating gesture. “Shh,” he said.

“I don’t want to die!” she wailed.

Tom still had his hands up and she rushed him, feeling this incredible need to be held, comforted, and reassured. He threw his arms around her and pulled her close, and she buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed. He rubbed her back and murmured softly, “Shh.” When she was all cried out, she leaned back to look up at him. He cupped her face with his hands, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away her tears.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, Evangeline.”

She blew out a sigh of relief. She slipped her arms around his waist and lay her head against his chest, hearing the reassuring sound of his heartbeat through his shirt. He rested his chin on the top of her head and held her tight. She closed her eyes and got lost in the embrace, wishing she could stay like this forever.

“I want to live,” she whispered. “Really live.”

She could feel him nodding. “I’ve got you.”

Yes, he did have her.

Angie arrived at work the next day earlier than expected, having told her staff she wouldn’t be in until noon. In the kitchen, Jordan and Caitlin, her two teenaged staff members who were off school for winter break, stood against the stainless-steel table, eating something. Melissa stood at the grill.

“Is anyone behind the counter?” Angie asked. Since the news of Floyd’s death, she’d been in a sour mood.

“Joel and Iris are out there,” Melissa said, using a spatula to flip a sandwich on the grill.

Angie put her hands on her hips. “What’s going on here?”

“Melissa made us a grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Jordan answered, wolfing down the remainder of his.

“Really?”

“Really,” Caitlin intoned. “It’s the bomb.”

“Is it?”

“Want to try one?” Melissa asked from the grill. “I was experimenting.”

Angie’s stomach was feeling all right, but she didn’t want to push it. “Sure, I’ll try a bite.”

“I’ll eat the other half,” Jordan said, and then reddened and looked at Angie. “If you don’t mind.”

Angie had doubts about this. A grilled PBJ? Melissa handed her a plate with half a sandwich on it. It was lightly grilled, with smooth peanut butter and Gibson’s Grape Jelly. She took a bite and lifted her eyebrows. It was delicious. Rich but yummy.

Iris walked in and spotted Angie eating the sandwich. “Those are delicious, aren’t they?”

“They are.”

“I suppose if Elvis could eat fried peanut butter–and–banana sandwiches, we can eat grilled PBJs,” Iris said.

Angie kept busy that morning, but before the lunch rush, she retreated to her office to think about Floyd and be sad for a little bit. If she’d learned anything, she’d learned that grief denied was only grief delayed.

As she sat in her chair, crying, thinking of her loss, an undercurrent of fear coursed through her. If someone like Floyd, who was so funny and full of life despite his serious illness, could suddenly take a turn for the worse, what hope did she have?

Tom arrived, interrupting her descent into despair. She was glad to see him. He parked in the chair on the other side of her desk. “Just checking in to see how you’re doing.”

She was going to say “I’m fine,” but decided to go for honest. “I’m struggling this morning.”

“Talk to me.”

She leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands over her belly. The tail of her headscarf hung over her shoulder. She gathered her thoughts and voiced her concerns to Tom.

“It’s natural to feel that way. Of course you’re upset. Of course you’re scared,” he said.

“But what do I do?”

“You have to deal with the emotions and feelings as they come up. Talking about it helps.”

“It does,” she said. It made her feel less alone. “You know, I feel so tired I wish I could go home and take a nap,” she admitted.

Tom shrugged. “Why can’t you? Listen to your body. You can’t do everything, Evangeline. And no one expects you to.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Go home and lie down for an hour.”

Her shoulders slumped. She hated the thought of abandoning her staff when the lunch hour was almost upon them.

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift home.” He stood.

“No, Tom, I appreciate that, but I can drive myself.”

He nodded and stood at the door to let her walk past. As she did, he placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle massage. She stopped and closed her eyes. “That feels good.”

“Good. Now go home. I’ll talk to you later.”

Melissa and Iris exchanged a look when Angie told them she was going home for a little while.

“I’m sorry to abandon you at the start of the lunch hour.”

Both were quick to reassure her.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Iris said.

Melissa smiled. “Everything is under control.”

“Thanks.”

She went home and once there, she turned the thermostat up, changed into her pajamas, and crawled into bed, sleepy. She pulled off her headscarf and tossed it on the nightstand.

When she awoke, it was nearing four o’clock. She would have jumped out of bed, but she was too sleepy. She was angry at herself for not setting an alarm. When she turned on her phone, she saw several missed messages, mostly from her staff, wondering if she was all right, and one from Debbie, asking how she was doing. She typed off a quick text to Melissa, telling her she’d be there soon.

Later that night when she should have been asleep, she was wide awake, on her back, staring up at the ceiling. She kept glancing at the clock. It was after midnight. With a heavy sigh, she thought she might get out of bed. It was too late to call anyone. But she picked up her phone anyway and rang Tom.

“Evangeline?”

“Did I wake you?”

“Nope. Just watching the sports recap on ESPN.”

“Do you ever sleep?”

“Sure.” He paused and asked, “Everything all right?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Okay. What would you like to talk about?”

“Let me think . . . I know, tell me where you were and what you were doing twenty years ago.”

He chuckled. “Do you really want to know?”

“I do.”

“Twenty years ago, I was just finishing my last year in the Army.”

And Angie had just filed for divorce.

“Tell me about the Army,” she said.

“Really? It’s boring.”

“I’m interested.”

He launched into his time in the military, and before long, Angie began to yawn.

“Was that a yawn? See, I told you it was boring.”

She laughed, her eyes getting heavy. “No, it isn’t. It’s interesting.” There was satisfaction in knowing a little bit more about him.

“Go to bed, beautiful. My work here is done.”

“Good night, Tom.”

“Goodnight, Evangeline. I’m glad you called me.”

“Me too.”