Page 4 of The Facade

There was a hint of anxiety in his eyes at the mention of his parents leaving. And I hated seeing it because I hated that his family was even dealing with this. Dealing with the possibility of his mom not being here to watch him graduate.

Whenever I saw the fear in Mack’s eyes, I wanted to give him a hug and tell him that everything would be okay. But since he didn’t seem to ever want to bring attention to what was going on in his personal life—always preferring to make everyone laugh instead of talking about his family’s crisis—I just gave him what I hoped was an understanding smile and said, “Well, my mom and Marie planned to have your favorite pork burritos for dinner, so we’ll keep you well fed while your parents are in New York.”

2

Mack

“You begood for the Hastings, okay?” My mom pulled me into her frail arms for one last hug. She and my dad were about to leave for the hospital in New York where my mom would be receiving some experimental treatments for her glioblastoma multiforme brain tumor.

My parents’ things were already packed into the Bentley behind us, and in just a few minutes, I’d be rolling my suitcase to my best friends’ house where I’d be staying for two weeks.

“I’ll try to stay out of trouble,” I said, hugging my mom tighter and resting my cheek against her scarf-covered head—her beautiful, long black braids a thing of the past. My mom was tall for a woman at five-foot-ten and had always been a little soft around the middle when I was growing up. But lately, it always caught me a little off guard whenever I hugged her and could feel her ribs.

My mom wasn’t supposed to feel frail.

Mom pulled away from the embrace so my dad could hug me next. At six-foot-seven, he was two inches taller than me. Even though my dad was white and I had more of a light-bronze skin tone since my mom was black, most people didn’t seem too surprised that we were related because we were giants compared to most people we met.

My dad had been on his way to the NBA before my mom’s first brain tumor took him from that path right after college and had led him toward becoming one of the best neurosurgeons in the country instead.

Yes, my dad was a neurosurgeon but his wife was dying of the kind of brain tumor that was, so far, considered incurable—the white shark of brain tumors as they called it.

I’d probably say it was ironic that one of the best neurosurgeons in the world couldn’t heal his own wife, if it didn’t piss me off so much.

My dad patted me on the back. “Have a good two weeks, son. Hopefully, we’ll be back with better news soon.”

I nodded as we pulled away from the hug. Even though I knew my parents needed to get on the road so my mom could get a full night’s rest before her treatments tomorrow, I didn’t want to say goodbye quite yet.

So before my mom could walk to the car with assistance from my dad, I gave her one more hug and said, “Get feeling better, Mom.”

“I’ll do my best, Macky,” she said, using the nickname she’d given me when I was a toddler. “And while I’m doing that, please try not to tease Cambrielle too much while you’re living over there. She already has three brothers; she doesn’t need another.”

“But Mom,” I whined. “That’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? I’m supposed to treat them like we’re really family, right?”

Mom gave me a warning look, the look I’d seen hundreds of times when I was trying her patience. “Joel and Dawn have enough to handle with three teenagers of their own. If I hear that you caused any trouble while I’m away…” She held up a bony finger. “I’ll kick your butt when I get home.”

“I’m counting on it.” I shot her a mischievous grin.

Of course I knew she’d never kick my butt in reality, since she barely spanked me more than a handful of times as a kid—and only after I’dreallyearned it. But if she came back with the energy to kick my butt after spending two weeks at the hospital, then it would mean that the treatment was doing something.

And with Thanksgiving coming up in just a few weeks—which was when the doctors had initially predicted would be a day she’d be lucky to survive past—I was desperate for this new treatment to buy her more time.

I knew saying goodbye to my mother was inevitable, because so far, my dad and his colleagues hadn’t figured out how to use voodoo magic to treat patients. But having months or even years versus weeks and days would at least make it so I could breathe again.

I hadn’t felt like I’d really drawn in a full breath since her diagnosis last year.

My dad and I helped my mom into the car, and when she struggled to buckle herself in—a sign of the paralysis slowly taking over her left side—my heart squeezed in my chest.

This new treatment needed to work.

My dad walked around to the driver’s side of the silver car, and when he noticed my mom still struggling with the seatbelt, he reached over and helped her.

My parents waved goodbye to me one last time. After I watched them drive down the driveway, I swung the garment bag with my school uniforms over my shoulder and gripped the handle of my gray suitcase and wheeled it down the paved sidewalk we had put in years ago that served as a shortcut between our house and the Hastings family’s estate.

A minute later, the huge stone country house came into view through the mostly bare trees. Even though I’d gotten used to climbing up the big tree by Cambrielle’s balcony and sneaking into her room last month, I made my way to the front door like a normal person, since I was actually invited here by her parents this time.

“Hey roomie,” Carter said with a smile after he opened the door. “Come on in.” Stepping back, he gestured for me to walk inside the mansion that he and his family called home.

I always joked that my family’s modern-style home seemed like a shack compared to the Hastings’ estate, which most people found ridiculous since my parents had the second biggest house in our small town of Eden Falls. But this house was just massive with an indoor pool, basketball court, conservatory, ballroom, theater, bowling alley, and basically every amenity a person could ever dream of having.

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