Page 81 of Taming Georgia

“So, tell me everything,” I urge. “When did you find out you had cancer? What type? What treatments have you been through? I want to know it all.”

Ethel explains that she’s been receiving chemo for a while. The mass in her breast was small and contained, and it hadn’t traveled to her lymph nodes. The chemo she was on wasn’t extremely aggressive. The mastectomy was a precaution toward future breast cancers since, apparently, she carries a gene that predisposes her to it. Her prognosis is very good.

“So, you’re going to be around for a long time?” I ask a question that no one has an answer to. Nobody knows when their last day will be, but I want reassurance anyway.

“I’m going to be a pain in your ass for years to come.” She grins.

“Good, because I need you to get better and come get your damn cats,” I joke with her.

She laughs before raising her hand to her chest with a pained face. “Don’t make me laugh.” She winces.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “But, seriously, we miss you. The place has gone to shit without you.”

She shakes her head against the pillow. “That’s not true. It has you. Everything that is good about the rescue is because of you, Wyatt. It was your vision that you’ve carried through to fruition. You are the smartest, most caring man that I know. With or without me, you will continue to do amazing things.”

“I don’t know about that,” I argue, “but we miss you regardless. Even if you come back just to prop your feet up and relax on the couch, we want you there. It’s not the same.”

“How’s my Georgia girl?” Ethel’s smile is immediately replaced by a frown when she sees my face fall.

“She left,” I say coldly. So much bitterness rises within me just at the mention of her name.

“What do you mean?”

“She left a few days ago for Mexico. She’s going to help out down there now, apparently.” Each word comes out with an air of annoyance.

“For how long?”

“I have no idea, E. The point is, she’s gone, and I’d like to forget about her now.”

A low scoff comes from Ethel, and she taps my hand. “She’ll be back. She’s just working through some things. You’ll see.”

“I don’t want her back. Enough people leave. I need someone who will stay.”

“She’s a good person, and she’s good for you. We’ve all seen that. Just don’t give up on her yet.”

“I was stupid,” I tell her. “I all but begged her to stay, and she left anyway. I feel like an idiot.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be in love if you didn’t have moments of idiocy. It goes with the territory.”

“Did you hear the part where I told you that she left? She’s gone. So, whether I loved her or not, it doesn’t matter.”

She taps my hand once more and holds me in her stare. “Loving someone always matters. Love matters, Wyatt. Don’t you forget that.”

I let her have the last word on the subject, considering she almost died and all. Yet I know it doesn’t. Love doesn’t change a thing. People let you down just the same.

“So, let’s change the subject, shall we?” I ask her.

She’s only awake for a little while longer. In that time, I catch her up on the dogs at the rescue and, of course, her cats. There’s not much to tell her about them. They’re cats. They purr, meow, and sleep.

I try to get an idea of what type of assistance she’ll need when she gets out of here. I have no idea what is needed when caring for a sick loved one, but I want to do it right. She makes me promise to go home to eat, shower, and sleep. It’s been twenty-four hours since I’ve eaten anything besides some graham crackers and juice that they have in the patient lounge outside her room.

I’m not ready to leave just yet. I have this irrational fear that if I leave her side, something bad will happen, and I won’t be here.

Ethel’s right though. A shower, change of clothes, and food would do me some good. The nurses say that she’s stable and set to be moved from the ICU to a regular post-surgical unit tomorrow if all stays well.

I lean back in my chair. Crossing my arms, I close my eyes. I’ll head home in a bit. I’m going to sit here a while longer.

In my dreams, I hear Georgia’s voice—soft and beautiful, as it always is. She’s so real; I can smell the light scent of coconut and lime from her shampoo. I know I should block her out, think of something else. Yet I can’t bring myself to. In sleep, I can pretend that she never left. In my dreams, I can go on as if she were still here with me. When I wake, the reality that she left will weigh on me so greatly that it will be hard to breathe, like it has been every day since she left. Right now though, I see her, and I smile, for in my dreams, I still love her. I still have her. I still want her.

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