Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
I see it, the impending disaster. A woman places her bags down, right in Luke’s path. Not that Luke would know, since he’s still facing me while he rushes blindly across the lobby. “Luke,” I yell.
My warning comes too late.
“Shit!” His feet get all caught up in the bags, sending him sailing through the air. I slap my hands over my eyes, cringing, waiting for the sound of his body to hit the marble floor.
Thud!
“Motherfucker,” he curses, and I peek through my spread fingers, seeing him sprawled all over the floor, lost amid a heap of bags. His curse, as well as the crash he went down with, silences the entire foyer. I press my lips together, starting toward him, but his hand held up stops me. “I’ve got it,” he says, scrambling to his feet as the woman, whose bags he’s kicked all over the foyer, watches on with wide eyes. Luke makes quick work of gathering up all of her things and passing them to her on an awkward smile.
She accepts, silent, staring at Luke, and I smile as he fixes his suit. Straightens his tie. Takes a quick peek around at the peanut gallery of people. Then he takes an over-the-top bow.
I burst into laughter as Luke shakes his head, giving me a mortified look. “I’ll be going now,” he says, taking a more unhurried walk to the revolving doors, shaking his head to himself.
With the clown now having left the building, everyone returns to their business, including me, and I wander back to the elevator. But I’m still laughing. And then I realize I’ve laughed twice in the last twenty-four hours because of Luke Williamson. And it feels good.
Chapter Five
I leave work at lunchtime, having taken half a day holiday, and I know the moment I lay my eyes on Billy when I get home that I’m going to have a challenge on my hands. His appointments at the hospital are never anything to celebrate, and they always leave us both silent for the rest of the day, sometimes even the whole week. Because there’s never good news. We never get told anything that gives us hope. There’s no miracle cure, and Dr. Smith hasn’t changed his mind about operating. Billy’s had two rounds of radiotherapy to shrink the tumor, but each one has failed to do anything other than make him feel even more poorly than he does already. And even more grumpy. And even more negative. And whatever Billy feels, I feel too.
“I’m not going,” he states with utter finality before I can even ask him if he plans on showering before we go. He’s lying on the bed in his dressing gown, watching golf, the curtains drawn, blocking out what there is of daylight outside.
I swallow and walk across the bedroom, pulling the curtains back. “We must go,” I say, sounding positive and trying to feel it too. Despite the negative news at each appointment, there’s still a part of me that hopes. That prays. “Dr. Smith said at your last appointment that he would consider another round of radiotherapy.”
“Two tries haven’t worked, Lo. I’m not going through that shit to be told it was for nothing again.” He looks across at me, the frustration I’m feeling myself written all over his pale face. “Shut the curtains.”
I sigh, leaving the curtains open. “So that’s it? I’ve just got to sit back and wait for you to die?”
He looks away from me, focusing back on the damn television. “I’m not up for living like a cripple for the rest of my life. We both know the only thing that can save me is out of reach. So get used to it, Lo.”
“It’s not out of reach,” I whisper. I know I sound unconvincing, but hope is all we have. Hope that by some miracle, the money we need to get Billy to the specialist in America will magic its way into our lives and save him. Save us.
Billy laughs coldly. “Why? You playing the lotto every day?”
For a stupid moment, I tell myself that tonight I will play the lotto, because some good luck has got to come our way soon. Then I remember how broke we are. I don’t have my bus fare to work, let alone spare money to gamble away. “How can you give up so easily? You hardly ever leave this room anymore. It’s always dark, the television is always on. You haven’t joined me for dinner in weeks, and I can’t remember the last time you walked Boris with me, even just to get some fresh air. We wouldn’t have to go far. Just a slow stroll. Please, Billy. Just—”
“Shut up!” He slams his fist down on the bed, and I stagger back in shock at his outburst. “Just shut up, Lo. I’m dying. So forgive me if I don’t fucking want to go for a fucking walk in the fucking park. Forgive me if I haven’t got a fucking appetite. Forgive me if I want to drown in my fucking sorrows—” He starts coughing violently, choking on nothing, but when I’d usually rush to help him, this time I stay where I am, stunned into stillness and quiet. “Just leave me alone. Go. And shut the damn curtains.” He slumps back on his pillow and closes his eyes, breathing heavily.