Page 146 of Never Forever

“This just makes it all the more confusing.”

“I know. But it’s not just my story to tell.”

“Who else-”

“Just…give me some time. Okay?”

Because in the end, I was helpless to resist him. “Okay.”

33

When It All Fell Apart

Past

Matt

“Dad?” I said, pushing open the door of the bathroom with my foot.

I’d just gotten back home after dropping Carrie off at the airport, feeling guilty about everything that I wasn’t telling her. If she knew…she’d be so pissed at me.

The room was dark and he was sitting on the floor against the wall by the toilet. His barrel chest was running with sweat, and in the moonlight coming through the window over his head, he looked bone white.

“Matty,” he whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You drop off Carrie?”

I nodded as I stood outside the bathroom door. “Are you okay?” I asked. “You need some water or Sprite or something?”

The mention of Sprite made Dad sit up and heave over the toilet again.

“Oh shit,” I whispered. Unsure of what to do. Feeling utterly helpless.

I don’t know why I thought cancer treatment wouldn’t be a big deal. I mean, I wasn’t an idiot. But Dad was so confident that everything would be fine.

After finally getting him to the doctor, things had moved fast. The diagnosis: early-stage thyroid cancer. The treatment: three rounds of radiation, followed by chemotherapy.

We weren’t going to tell anyone. Carrie was headed off to shoot a commercial for a few weeks, and by the time she came back, Dad said he’d be well on the mend.

It seemed plausible at the beginning, a few weeks ago.

He was fine the first day after treatment. I made dinner and we watched the game.

The next day was bad. Then the third was worse.

When I went to school in the morning, he was weak and pale but he put a good face on it. By the time I came home, things were awful.

Dizzy and sore all over. So sick to his stomach he could barely handle water.

I was terrified and I had no clue how to help him.

“I’m okay,” Dad said, after what seemed like a minute of dry heaves.

“You’re not, Dad. Let me…”

He struggled to get to his feet and I got my shoulder in his armpit and got him upright. He was cold and clammy, and with a shaking hand he reached forward and flushed the toilet.

“Just need a minute,” he rasped, his hand braced on the bathroom sink.

I was blank inside. A kind of cold shocked fear creeping in along the edges of my brain, the lining of my stomach.

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