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“But will it affect your recovery?” Her brow knits tight, and I can see her struggling to put two and two together to get four.
“I’m not going to recover, Bess.”
I stare at her as she balls her hands into fists.
“Stop it, Aaron. That’s not funny.” Her mouth tightens as she grits her teeth. The muscle at the side of her face jumps.
“No, Bess, it’s not funny at all. But that’s what I have. And I’m dealing with it.”
She jumps off the counter. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me…” Her voice trails off.
“I’m telling you that tomorrow I’m going to stop the treatments.”
“But if you stop, you won’t get better,” she rushes to say, her words tumbling over one another in her haste to get them out.
“I’m going to die, Bess,” I say gently. “And I don’t want to spend any more time so sick that I can’t get up off the floor. I want to enjoy the rest of the summer. With my kids. With you. With Eli and Jake and Katie. But mostly I just want this last summer to be a good one for my kids. Because when I’m gone, all they’ll have is memories. I want them to be good ones.”
She stares at me for a moment, tears in her eyes threatening to spill, and then she walks past me and out the door.
“Bess!” I follow her out and around the side of the house and then watch as she stomps up the steps and into the house. “Goddamn it,” I growl to myself.
“What’s wrong?” Sam asks. She looks from me to the door and back. “What’s wrong with Bess?”
I step in front of my daughter. “Sam, we need to have a talk.”
“About what?” She sets her hammer down.
I motion for her to follow me and we go to our cabin. I close the door behind us. She stares at me, and I hate myself in this moment, because this will be a day she’ll remember for the rest of her life, and what I say to her will affect everything she does from this moment forward.
“You should probably sit down,” I tell her.
She sinks down onto the sofa and stares at me with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. And I begin, even though I don’t know how.
28
Eli
I watch as they walk away, unsure of whom I should be more worried about, Bess or Sam. Bess is spitting mad, but she will be okay. Sam, on the other hand, I’m not as sure about.
Suddenly, our screen door flies open, and Bess stalks out with a box in her hands. She walks to the back of the car and pops the trunk, then shoves it in. She walks past me two more times with two more boxes, this time putting them in the back seat. Her face is red, her eyes are swollen, and she swipes a hand across her cheeks.
“Bess?”
“What?” she snaps. She doesn’t slow down.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m packing.”
“Why are you packing?”
“Because I’m ready to go home.” Her voice breaks, but she still doesn’t slow down.
“Bess,” I say softly. Her back bristles and she stops so she can face me. She stares at me.
Suddenly, it hits her. She points her finger at me. “You knew.”
“Bess…” I don’t know what else to say. I need to explain but how? It wasn’t my place to tell.
