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That’s when his mother notices me standing at the entrance, acting like a scared rabbit.
“Oh, hello. I’m Lauren Sheridan. Slade didn’t mention he was bringing anyone with him.”
“Sorry. I don’t want to intrude. I can wait in the car if you’re…”
“Nonsense.” She waves her hand through the air like she’s swatting a fly. “Please come in and have a seat. I love having visitors.”
Her warmth puts me at ease, even if I’m the victim of her intense scrutiny. That’s okay. I notice several things about her as well.
Lauren’s hair is just starting to grow back. She wears it spiky on the top of her head and it looks rather modern. In spite of this, she looks frail, as though she’s lost too much weight and one puff of wind might knock her over. Her hands tremble in her lap, and puffy dark circles intensify her eyes. All signs point toward the battle she’s endured. Her fatigue is obvious with one glance.
“I’m staying at Sheridan House. I needed a few things at the store. Slade offered to take me.”
“That’s my Slade. He does everything for everyone and nothing for himself.” Lauren points to him working in her kitchen. “Case in point.”
“I heard that.” Slade’s head is buried in the refrigerator as he reorganizes things to fit all the new groceries.
I look away quickly, trying not to stare at the view of his back end, even though it’s exactly what I want to do.
“He’s very kind,” I offer. Not going to say more. A mom can tell when a girl has a secret crush on her son. I’m going to hide it if it’s the last thing I do.
“Tell me about you, Marin. What brings you to Sheridan House?” Lauren asks.
“Tell the truth, Marin. The whole truth and nothing but,” Slade says from the kitchen. The design is open concept, the kitchen effortlessly merging with the living room.
“Stop eavesdropping, Slade. It’s rude,” his mother scolds.
He splays his hands. “I’m right here. What do you want me to do? Use earplugs?”
Lauren flashes him a look of disdain. “You politely pretend you can’t hear a thing.”
“But I can. Why would I do that?” Slade replies, clueless.
I smile at the friendly banter between him and his mom. They’re cute together, with typical male/female differing viewpoints.
Lauren studies me, waiting for my answer to her question.
I warm up to her immediately. She feels like an old friend. “Well, it was my wedding day and…”
I tell her the entire sordid story, including how my car broke down right behind Sheridan House. She laughs when I tell her about my appearance. I laugh with her. I hear a chuckle or two from Slade as well. I’ll never live that down.
She takes a deep breath when I’m done. “Wow. Not what I was expecting to hear. You poor thing. Such a horrible experience. I’m so sorry you had to go through it, but I’m glad you’re taking this time for yourself. You need it, sweetheart.”
I love when mothers usesweetheartas an endearing term. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like I’m a kid again, basking in my mother’s love.
“Yes. I suppose I do.” No doubt about it. “I hope you don’t mind, Slade told me about your ordeal. How are you feeling?”
Lauren slumps in her seat for a moment, looking a little defeated. “I never know how to answer that question. Fine is a big fat lie. In truth, no one really wants to hear the whole story when they ask such a loaded question.”
“I do,” I tell her quietly. She has my complete attention.
An expression of satisfaction shows in her eyes. “Okay, you asked for it. This is your last chance to back out.”
“Not happening.”
The sudden animation in her features tells me she’s pleased by my interest. I wonder how many people visit, yet have no interest in hearing the gory details of her experience. After surviving it, I figure she has the right to express whatever she wants.
“I’m exhausted, I’m weak, my legs shake when I stand, and I feel like I could sleep for a year. My bones ache something fierce, my fingers and toes tingle from neuropathy, and the headaches can only be described as severe. I’ve experienced nausea like I’ve never known and never want to know again. The skin on my chest is bright red and hurts like heck. No amount of cream takes the burning away. During chemo, I lost so much weight, when I looked in the mirror, I was reminded of a Nazi concentration camp prisoner. The bald head contributed to those feelings. I’m thankful to have hair again, but it seems like the least of my worries. I’m scared, I cry a lot, and sometimes I’m angry. But I’m finally realizing I might actually live through this nightmare. There were times I didn’t think I would. But here I am, at the end of my treatment. Still kicking.”
