Page 45 of Interference

Ugh. That hadn’t even been true when I’d still been employed. The hours, yes. Keeping the bills paid? Yeah, right.

“I just wish they’d let you take some time off,” she said. “Is there any chance we’ll see you over Christmas?”

This time, I did wince. I rubbed my eyes with my thumb and forefinger and tried not to let the fatigue into my voice. “We’ll see. It’s, um… It’s not looking good, though.”

Her disappointed sigh made my chest ache. “Well, if anything changes, you let us know. We’d love to see you.”

“I know.” I pushed back the lump threatening to rise in my throat. “I wish I could.” Then I took a deep breath and asked, “How’s Dad doing?”

Mom sighed again, but it wasn’t disappointment. Just pure, bone-deep exhaustion. “He’s hanging in there. His last scan looked good, so the treatment seems to be working for now.”

“That’s good,” I said. “How is he feeling?”

“He’s tired a lot,” she admitted. “The new chemo doesn’t make him as sick as the last one, but it wears him out.” From the heavy fatigue in her voice, my father wasn’t the only one being run down by this round of treatment.

“At least it seems to be working,” I said softly. “How much longer is he on this round?”

“He’ll get his last infusion next week. Then he’ll have a break for a few weeks to let his system recover, and his oncologist will make a decision from there.” She brightened minutely. “Hopefully that means he’ll be feeling better over Christmas.”

“That’s good,” I murmured. “Really good.”

“It is.” She paused. “Sweetie, I understand your situation. But if you can ask your bosses—we’d really love to have you here this year. I… We can get you a train ticket if you need it.”

I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut. I could read between the lines. We’d talked a few times about the progression of Dad’s cancer and the long-term prognosis. Though the chemo had slowed things down and bought him some time, he wasn’t coming back from this. Sooner or later, the cancer was going to win. Mom didn’t come out and say it, but I suspected the consensus was that this would be my dad’s last Christmas. At the very least, the last one he truly enjoyed, since I didn’t imagine he’d be anything but worse a year from now, assuming he was still with us at all.

And I couldn’t be there. Goddammit.

“I’ll try,” I told her. “I’ll definitely call if I can’t be there.”

“We’d love to hear from you.”

I swallowed. “Can I talk to Dad?”

“He’s sleeping right now. Today’s been a rough one.”

“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “I’ll call again soon.”

We talked for a couple more minutes, and when we ended the call, I sagged back against Anthony’s couch. Lily crawled up into my lap and leaned against my chest, and I petted her while I let my emotions settle. I wasn’t spiraling into a panic or a flashback, but this wasn’t much better. I hated lying to my parents. I hated being this far away while my dad slowly withered away and my mom buckled under the weight of caring for him. More than once I’d considered getting myself to Portland to help out, but my parents were financially threadbare. The pittance I received from the VA wouldn’t be enough to offset the cost of me living there, and Mom would be stressed about caring for me as well as my dad. The last thing she needed was another mouth to feed… especially one that occasionally had loud and violent night terrors that woke up the whole house.

I would be a burden on them, so I stayed here, and I kept my destitution and homelessness out of their sight as much as I could. If I couldn’t help them, the least I could do was not pile on them.

Lily pushed herself up and licked under my chin. I exhaled and patted her side. “Don’t know how I’d get through any of this without you, kiddo.”

She gave my face a lick, and I managed a laugh.

If nothing else, I was physically in a good place right now. That would only last so long, and the best thing I could do was take advantage of it and recharge mentally. The military didn’t leave us in warzones longer than a few months at a time because of battle fatigue, and in a way, that was what I had right now. By some inexplicable miracle, I had ten days of R&R from the war I’d been living, and I could not spend that time wallowing in things I couldn’t change.

I had to get my head as right as I could. Tonight, I had Anthony’s house to myself with a whole evening laid out in front of me, and I needed to spend it doing something other than tapdancing around all my mental landmines. I’d made a vow to help others living on the street when I was in a position to do so, and I’d made contact with my lawyer about the VA. I’d find a way to see my parents one way or the other, hopefully while Dad was still with us, but there wasn’t much I could do about that tonight. The best thing I could do right now was distract the hell out of myself.

Fortunately, my miraculous host was playing hockey tonight, and I’d quickly learned that hockey games held my attention so completely that I couldn’t think about anything else. Perfect.

First things first: dinner.

The instant I started rattling around in the kitchen, both cats materialized on the counter. There were two islands in here—my God, this kitchen was huge—and the one I was using was two levels. There was the counter surface that I was using, and then a higher section where Anthony and I had eaten a couple of times while sitting on the barstools. Moose was currently on the higher section, sitting up as tall as he could with his long tail wrapped around his enormous paws. He was huge anyway, but when he sat up there, he was above my eye level.

“You know housecats are supposed to be small, right?” I asked him as I started arranging cheese, meat, and condiments for a sandwich. “You’re supposed to be like… half the size you are.”

He watched me with narrowed eyes, and I couldn’t tell if it was his normal resting bitch face—because holy shit, Maine Coons had some legendary RBF—or if he was telegraphing, “Shut up and give me some cheese, human.”

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