Page 20 of Let Me

Riley shakes her head again and then asks, “So, what are you going to do?”

“I feel like I should be there for him.No, Iwantto be there for him.It must be a terrible feeling.I couldn’t imagine waking up every day knowing that I was living with cancer.”

“Girl, let me go get us a drink.You’re going to have me crying, and I don’t even know the man.”

“No,” I say, standing.“I just stopped by real quick to tell you that.I have to get home so I can get ready for work tomorrow.”

“Aw…come here,” she says, pulling me into her embrace.“Everything is going to be alright.”

“I know.Sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, though.”

“But it is.My concern is, if you’re sure you can handle a friendship with him.”

“I can.I think I need to, Riley.It’s the weirdest feeling, but I don’t want to not have him in my life somehow.”

“Then go with your gut.I’ve always believed that people come into our lives for a reason.”

“Yeah, me too.I’ll see you later, girl.”

“Okay.”

Chapter 6

I pull up in the driveway of the small, two-bedroom house that previously belonged to my grandparents.My grandfather left it to me – said he hoped I found as much happiness in it as he had with my grandmother, my mom and her brother, my Uncle Reuben.My grandmother died years before he did – about ten years or so, leaving him in this place all alone.In his will, he left this house to me, along with their life savings - $700K, a lot of which I’ve donated to homeless shelters and food pantries.I could’ve sold the house and bought a bigger one in Asheville or some place more affluent than Arden.I could’ve used the money they left me for any number of self-serving reasons, but instead, I stayed here and chose to help people with it.And there was no way I would sell this quaint, little house.It was owned by my family, and that means something to me.

My mother insisted I give it a facelift.When my grandfather was alive, he wasn’t about to jump on the modern train to spruce it up.Chipped paint and a rickety front porch with two rocking chairs that looked like they’d seen better days suited him just fine.And the inside of the house – yikes!– it smelled like a mothball convention.Floral wallpaper had faded and yellowed over the years, and the linoleum on the kitchen floor had died a long time ago.

When I took ownership, I had the place painted and the porch rebuilt with wide cedar planks along with two black ceiling fans above for those muggy nights and hot mornings.I had all the furniture taken out so the place could be properly remodeled and modernized.I reupholstered what I could, keeping a lot of the furniture they already had.

Fresh paint graced the walls of every room.The kitchen was completely gutted to make way for new cabinets, granite countertops, and up-to-date stainless steel appliances.

The two bathrooms in the place were properly modernized with subway tiles.My bathroom – the ensuite – I had converted from a bathtub to a walk-in shower with all the handles for support.I’ll never know when I’d need them.Sometimes I get dizzy.Having a handle to grab is reassuring for those times.

I lean over the counter and bury my face in my hands, thinking about the day.The store was busier than normal for a Wednesday.With July Fourth weekend coming up, I’m sure people are gearing up for backyard cookouts and fireworks.Sounds nice, but I feel myself drifting into a slump.

I hate it when I feel like this – like life is leaving me behind and there’s nothing I can do about it due to my circumstances.I’ve been dealt a hand that would be difficult for anyone to deal with.And I’m so tired of hearing people say God put this on my plate because he knew I could handle it.

Why?

Why would God hand me a pill he knew I couldn’t swallow?Granted, I do my best to keep a positive outlook – to convince myself that I will be fully healed from this disease, but the science says otherwise.

It—

My thoughts are interrupted by a tap on the front door.I walk there but my mother is already letting herself in with her canvas slides and white sun visor to match.

“Good evening, Judah.”

From her behavior, you’d think she didn’t just see me at the grocery store.We work together almost every day.Well, actually, she’s back in the office reviewing inventory with my father.I’m by the registers, bagging.

“Good evening, Mother.Out for a walk again?”

“Yeah.Me and your father went for an evening stroll.”

“You decided to drop by on your way back home.He just kept on going, huh?”

My mother throws a hand on her hip and says, “Come on, now, Judah.You know your father means well.”

“Sure he does…” I say facetiously.I know my father is upset with me.Even with my diagnosis – somehow it’s my fault.Usually when we talk, we end up in a heated conversation about how he wasted so much money putting me through college for a degree in economics, only for me to end up working at a grocery store.

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