Page 46 of Remember Us This Way

My mind starts to whirl, memories of Zoey in her hospital bed, weak and connected to all sorts of machines. Sometimes she’d have to run to the bathroom and throw up, other times she was too weak to even lift her head before getting sick. Her mom and the nurses would quickly clean her up, but there were times like that I wasn’t allowed near her. I was pissed. They told me the type of medicine she was taking meant that I couldn’t be there, and I was too young to even question it. I wasn’t a doctor. I didn’t know any better, but I knew if they said it was helping Zoey, I would have done anything, even if it meant not being there to hold her hand. At times like that, I would FaceTime her instead. But childhood cancer? I would have known.

Not in the sixteen years that I’ve known her have I ever heard that word tumble from her mouth. Sure, every now and then her parents would mention the time she was sick, but they always talked about her being a survivor, being strong, and . . . a warrior.

Fuck.

I never even thought to ask because all that mattered was that she was okay. That she was healthy and strong and still smiling back at me. Her illness didn’t matter. It was in the past, and she kicked its ass. But cancer?

How the hell did I not know? Am I that fucking self-centered or just naive?

The horrendous realization has me tumbling out of the car, and I hurry up the path to the garden before throwing up everything in the pit of my stomach. Mom gets out of the car and walks around to the driver’s side to close the door I’d left wide open.

She makes her way up the path and moves in beside me, rubbing her hand over my back like she used to when I was sick as a kid. “It’s okay, Noah,” she soothes. “Zoey is okay. She’s been in remission since she was seven and a half and hasn’t stopped living since.”

The agony is too much to bear, and I drop to the sidewalk, bracing my head in my hands. “I stopped her living,” I say. “I stole three years of her happiness. How is she supposed to forgive that?”

Mom shakes her head, kneeling down beside me. “That’s for Zoey to decide,” she tells me. “But you’re never going to find out while you continue to hold her at arm’s length. She’s been through enough. Don’t continue to make her suffer. She wants to be part of your life, and I know you, Noah. You’d sooner lay your own life down than see her get hurt again.”

I don’t respond, not able to find the words or even figure out how to feel about any of this, and as I sit in agony, Mom makes her way toward the door, leaving me alone to deal with this overwhelming grief. She’s just about inside when I glance back at her. “What kind of cancer?” I ask, my voice coming out strained.

She gives me a tight smile, hovering in the doorway. “It’s called ALL. Acute lymphocytic leukemia,” she tells me.

“Leukemia,” I say, the word sounding so alien on my tongue. Of course I’ve heard of it before, but I never thought to do any research. I never knew I needed to. When someone hears the word leukemia, you automatically think the worst. “That’s blood cancer, right?”

“Yes. It’s an aggressive form of blood cancer that starts in the bone marrow. I’m certainly no doctor, and it’s been quite some time since I’ve looked over the facts, but my understanding is that due to some form of mutation, patients with ALL create an influx of cancerous blood cells, and instead of dying out as they should, they continue to grow and multiply, essentially crowding the healthy blood cells.”

I swallow hard and nod, itching to do some research and fully understand exactly what it is Zoey had gone through as a child while I sat beside her, fucking clueless, probably complaining that we couldn’t go outside and play.

“And it’s aggressive?”

“Yes,” she says, not willing to sugarcoat it. “However, Zoey had amazing doctors, and her symptoms were caught early on, so she had the best chance to fight it. She really is a warrior, Noah. She responded well to her chemotherapy, and after eighteen months, she was in the clear.”

I let out a shaky breath and nod, having heard what I needed to hear. “Okay,” I say, getting back to my feet and trying to smother the fear that pounds through my veins despite having nothing to worry about. This was all in the past. Nearly ten years ago. I don’t need to fear for her, and if she knew I was right now, she’d probably be pissed.

Zoey isn’t the type to use her battles as a crutch. She grows from her experiences and uses them as a weapon to draw strength. I can only imagine what kind of strength she’d gain from this. Like Mom said, she’s a warrior.

And me? Fuck, she’s so much stronger than me.

Glancing back at Mom, I blow out my cheeks, finally able to get a firm grasp on my control. “I, uh . . . I need to head out,” I tell her. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Her brows furrow. “It’s late,” she scolds. “Where could you possibly be going now?”

Digging into my pocket, I pull out my car keys and dangle them before me. “I have a car to go and find,” I remind her.

“Ah,” she says with understanding, a smirk playing on her lips. “I’m not going to lie. I’m impressed that she managed to pull it off without getting caught. That Zoey certainly is full of surprises.”

She sure as hell is.

With that, Mom heads in, hopefully taking herself straight to bed, and I make sure the door is locked before turning on my heel and stalking down the street. Pulling out the pack of cigarettes hidden within my pocket, I quickly light one up and take a deep drag, the nicotine settling my system.

I never got around to asking Zoey where the hell she had dumped my car. That’s the whole reason I was in her room to start with, apart from getting my keys of course, and a part of me was disappointed. I thought she would have at least tried to hide them, but they were just dumped right there in the center of her desk. But once she walked in wearing nothing but a towel, every train of thought I had systematically derailed, and I suddenly couldn’t give a shit where my car was. But I didn’t need to ask anyway.

Like I told my mom earlier, I know Zoey better than anyone. Everything she does has been thoroughly thought through, so if she was going to dump my car somewhere, it would be somewhere meaningful. And where better than the one spot we used to say was ours?

The park.

It’s at least a fifteen-minute walk, but I really don’t mind. The fresh air is probably the best thing for me tonight. My head is a fucking mess right now. The kiss. Zoey’s comment. Leukemia. I don’t know how to handle it, but one thing is for sure—while the kiss was absolutely everything, and I’ve replayed it a million times over, I keep coming straight back to her cancer.

Despite it being nearly ten years ago, the overwhelming need to hold her plagues me, to reiterate that she’s okay and put me at ease, to apologize for not looking beneath the surface and digging deep enough to know what was really going on with her. But I no longer have the right. So, for now, I have no choice but to settle with my mom’s assurances that she’s better now.

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