Page 17 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Quiet again.
Heavy.
Insufferable.
“If you won’t talk to me, then listen to what I have to say, Nelly. Just listen. Don’t say anything until I’m done.” He leaned back against his chair, folding his hands over his slightly rounded stomach.
“Okay,” I agreed, crossing my legs, then uncrossing them, then choosing to lift my legs and fold them under my body to stop fidgeting.
My chest squeezed, bracing for whatever bomb he was about to drop.
His soft, wizened smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They got my bloodwork back, Nelly. Then they did a bunch of scans.”
When I started to interrupt, demanding why I didn’t know about the scans, he held up his hand to stop me.
“Just listen,” he reminded me. “I’ve been poked and prodded so much, I look like bruised Swiss cheese.” Suddenly, a cough rattled his body. He hacked and hit his chest gently. I popped up from my chair and raced to the bathroom for water. When I returned, the coughing had stopped. He took the little paper cup and downed its contents in one go.
“Better?” My brain was racing through the worst possibilities.Bloodwork back. Scans. Poking and prodding.
“Fine, honey. Sit back down.” He gestured at the chair, his fingers almost limp. I followed his orders. When I was sitting again, it felt like I was perched atop pins and needles instead of a cushion.
“Here’s the deal, Nelly. It’s pancreatic cancer. Already spread ten ways to Sunday.” He said it all so matter-of-factly, so clinically, as if reading from a script.
Reality came to a screeching halt. “Is that… treatable?”
Hadn’t I given up on hope?
But there had to be a sliver of it left in my life.
And if there was, it would be for this reason. To make sure he was okay.
Grandpa shrugged, the movement barely perceptible. “They offered all the bells and whistles. Chemo, immunotherapy, a new clinical trial. It could buy me time or kill me quicker. There’s no guarantee.” He looked out the window. “But I don’t want to spend the days I have left sick and tired, honey.”
My next words were agony, each syllable a glass fragment.
“You’re not even going to try?”
He shook his head. “Annie needs me, even if she can’t remember my name half the time.” His lips stretched again, soft and tired, an approximation of a smile. “I just want to brush her hair, Nell. Sit next to her at dinner. Watch her eyes light up when she recognizes me. That’s it. That’s all I want. I’ll be okay when my time comes.”
For an eternity, neither of us spoke.
It was my turn to break the tension. “How long without the treatments?”
He met my gaze without flinching. “A few months they figure. Maybe less, maybe more. Doesn’t matter, really.”
My heart was thudding sluggishly. Too heavy. This was all too heavy. One person shouldn’t have to wade through so much emotional shit in so short a time. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palm brutally.
Grandpa noticed. He shifted in his seat, reaching out to cover my hands with both of his. “Don’t look so scared, Nell. It’s not the end of the world. Just the end of a world.”
A hot tear slipped down my cheek. I hated myself for crying, for being so goddamn selfish about it. I was only making this worse for him.
He squeezed my hand. “Promise me something.”
I wiped my face. “Anything.”
“Don’t waste your time worrying about me. Or Annie. We’re fine, as long as we’re together. You need to take care of yourself. I may not know what’s happened, but I know you. The light’s gone from your eyes, honey.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” I whispered, voice barely audible.
