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Here come the wedding plans—great.
Chapter 6
Sarah
I give Mary a grin as she tries to do an arabesque, which basically means she's positioned on one leg with the other leg raised behind her body and extended in a straight line.
She shouldn't be doing it, especially with her chemo, but I couldn't say no.
I'm sitting on my parents' porch, watching her. I hope and pray we'll get thousands of more days like this. Her doctors aren't very hopeful, and it's disheartening, but I know the odds are bleak, and I hate the thought of her no longer being here. She's my baby sister. I remember the day she was born. I was only ten years old, and I was so scared I was going to break her. When she cried, I nearly dropped her in panic. Still, when she gripped my finger only moments later with her bottom lip out and her beautiful eyes shining with unshed tears, I promised to never let anyone hurt her. Now her cancer is back, and it's back with a vengeance.
I feel like I failed her, even though I know I didn't.
"Momma isn't going to be happy that I'm out here, sissy."
I give her a small smile. Her eyes are brighter than I've seen them since we got the news of her diagnosis. "I know, Tiny Dancer, but I… it's a nice day."
She gives me a small smile and nods before going back to practicing her dance moves. I know Momma will be mad, but she and my dad are at work. I took the day off to spend it with Mary, and this morning, when she brushed her hair, some fell out; she looked devastated. I had to get that look from her face, and being out in the sunshine did it, even if its only for an hour.
Half an hour later, after I'd gotten off the phone with Amy, who called me for details on someone I was trying not to think about, Mary came and sat beside me after getting too tired to continue. We both have some hot cocoa, watching the clouds start to take over when my Momma pulls in; she looks mad, really mad, and I know she saw the door cam. I feel Mary tense, but I pat her arm and say, "Why don't you go and head on in? We'll join you in a minute."
She gives me a nod, her eyes showing concern. Still, I give her a reassuring smile before she goes inside, where she'll most likely press her face up against the window to watch just as Momma points at me after slamming her car door and says, "How dare you, Sarah."
I try not to flinch. Her tone indicates I purposely put my sister at risk. As much as I don't want to hurt Momma, she needs to understand that in the past eight years, I have taken a back seat, just like my dad had stated. I was still the good girl they raised while being one of the main breadwinners in the household, working my ass off for my family.
I never got to party with my friends; heck, I'm still a fricking virgin. The last date I went on was when I was seventeen before I broke up with the douche canoe. I don't deserve Momma's anger; I haven't deserved it in years, to be honest, but I'm the one who takes the brunt. If she starts an argument with my father, I try to make her focus on me. I won't have her destroy her marriage and push her heart away because of the fear she feels day in and day out.
This time is no different, but I won't have her make out like I have put my sister in danger, especially when I ensured to call her doctor first.
I tilt my head and have a bite to my tone as I ask, "How dare I do what? Allow my little sister to have a dance outside?"
She growls, anger shooting from her, "She is sick; she can't be outside, and you know this. You had no right to allow this; you've probably made her worse!"
I flinch a little, making her jump back, realizing she just insinuated what I already knew she was implying when she knows Mary's health is my main concern; it's all I think about lately to the point where I don't even go out with Amy anymore.
My life is work and Mary; there is nothing else in between.
Sighing, I stand before walking down the stairs toward my Momma, who has guilt written all over her face. She looks ready to burst into tears, and I sigh again before grabbing her into a hug, making her tense, though reluctantly, her arms go around me before squeezing me tight at my words, "All she wanted was to be in the sunshine and dance. The doctors are not hopeful, Momma, and I refuse to deny her what she wishes; I would never put her in danger, and you know this. Her doctor gave me the OK this morning." I squeezed her tighter and rasped, "Her hair fell out this morning, Momma."
She pulls back as her eyes tear up. "I haven't been a good mother to you, have I?" I shake my head about to deny her claims because she has done her hardest, so I've never held anything against her. People may see me as weak for that, but they don't see how she falls apart every day watching her youngest struggle; they don't see the guilt she carries for the arguments she tries to make just so she can feel something other than pain. Momma squeezes my arms, "I haven't, baby. You've had to grow up quickly; your father pointed it out, yet I never picked up on it. And just now, I was about to blow up on you, and I've just accused you of trying to hurt her, and... God, I'm so sorry, Sarah."
I give Momma a small smile and grab her hand, ignoring her words because if I listen, I'll fall apart and can't. I need to be strong; Momma's outburst proved she needs me. "Come on, Momma, Mary wanted tacos for supper."
She nods knowingly as her eyes turn sad. I curved her speech, and I will continue to dodge them. They don't need me falling apart.
Not right now, at least; maybe in the shower later, when no one can hear me.
When we get inside, Mary has her nose to the window watching us, making me laugh while Momma shakes her head and says, "Come on, trouble." I grin at Mary, who smiles at Momma before we follow her to make tacos like my Momma didn't just blow up on me. I know she'll most likely tell my dad, and he'll then berate her for it, and I'll get in between them again. It's been the same cycle lately.
One I'm starting to really struggle with, but there's no handbook on how to deal with a child who could possibly die.
I swallow hard at one of the thoughts I avoid before grabbing the cutting boards as Mary gets the ingredients and Momma sets up the pots.
We're about halfway through cooking, creating a meal in silence when my little sister decides to break it and drop me in it and ask, "Hey, Momma, do you know someone called Boldy?"
I instantly freeze. My hand was midair with the knife to cut up the veggies as Momma looked at Mary with a raised brow in confusion. Mary nodded. "I know, I know. It's not a real name, but Sarah was speaking to Amy. She said he said he was going to make Sarah his. I heard the whole conversation while dancing, and Sarah's face reddened too."
I slowly closed my eyes as Mary smirked, loving to stir the pot before Momma looked my way.
