Page 22 of Stuck with the Grump

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I have a good chance of surviving the next five years. Eighty-six percent. But there’s going to be a lot of treatments.”

“What about after five years?”

My mom sighed and sniffled again. “Leigh, fighting cancer is no way to live. I’ll fight this time and win but if it comes back, I’m not going to fight.”

“Mom,” I said, finally collapsing to the ground as sobs shook my body.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re going to be okay.”

“You’re not supposed to be comforting me,” I said, a shaky laugh escaping me. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I have in a long time. I finally know what’s wrong with me and I know what I’m going to do going forward. I’m going to enjoy what life I have left, Leigh.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Baby girl,” my mom said softly, her tone the same soothing one I had heard countless times growing up. “Being afraid of death only gives death more power.”

I wanted to scream. There was nothing I could do to help her and it was killing me inside.

“Leigh, I’m going to go spend a little time with your dad now, okay? I’ll call you again tomorrow when I feel ready to talk about it more.”

“I love you,” I whispered, the lump in my throat not allowing me to speak any louder.

“I love you too.”

When the line went dead, I pulled my knees to my chest and stared out at the rain. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Everything in my life was changing. I clenched my hands into fists at my sides, trying to keep myself together but failing. Tears fell rapidly, my chest aching as I sobbed.

“Leigh?”

I looked up at Clarke, my eyes wide. The lump in my throat was growing bigger, cutting off all oxygen. My chest felt tight, and the room started closing in around me. I squeezed my eyes shut and rocked back and forth, trying to take a deep breath.

Strong arms wrapped around me and lifted me up. I buried my face in Clarke’s shirt, sobbing as he carried me down the hall to his room. The smell of his soap enveloped me as he laid me down in his bed. After he pulled the blankets up around me, he started to turn away.

“Please don’t go,” I whispered, hating how broken I sounded. “I can’t be alone right now.”

Clarke shed his jeans and shirt, climbed into the bed beside me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

When I woke up in the middle of the night, Clarke’s side of the bed was empty. I ran my fingers along where he would have been sleeping, feeling nothing but a cold blanket. I got up and wrapped the blanket around my shoulders. Thunder still rolled outside and lightning illuminated the hall as I entered the living room. Clarke was pacing back and forth, his back stiff and his eyes on the storm outside.

“Are you alright?” I asked, my voice raspy from too much crying and lack of water.

Clarke spun around to look at me, a line of worry creasing his eyebrows. “I should be asking you that.”

“Clarke.”

“I don’t sleep well. Never have.”

I nodded, shifting my weight from foot to foot as the storm raged on outside. The fire in the hearth had died down long ago, but the room was still warm.

“I don’t know about you,” I said, walking backward toward the bedroom. “But I could use a distraction.”

The corner of his mouth twitched as he followed me back to the bedroom. We tumbled together onto the bed, desperate to put the last twenty-four hours to the side as we lost ourselves in each other.

10

CLARKE

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