"Alright, young man, you're all done!"
The nurse couldn't have been more than 5 years older than him, so her phrasing made him smile. But in a way, it made sense; the other three patients in his pod were well over 60.
He tucked the tubing from his central line underneath the collar of his shirt, thinking back to his first encounter with the "chemo compadres" as they called themselves. They'd all acknowledged him that first day with pitying glances and hushed condolences of "what a shame" and "you're so young". Jo had wondered why his age made his ordeal any worse than theirs.
"See ya later, kid."
Homer leaned forward to pat Jo on the shoulder, and Jo, after nine weeks, managed not to flinch. Homer was ancient, with less teeth than he had fingers and wrinkles in heaps. He was the quietest of the group and rarely smiled, but when he did, it was always for Jo.
"Go to Billy's and eat a burger for me, huh? You need some meat on your bones."
Jo returned his smile.
"Maybe I will."
"Take your wife along, honey," Alice added. "You two need some time to yourselves, you know."
Jo smiled at the white-haired dear, not bothering to correct her. Besides, the thought of Rachel as his wife was too enticing not to entertain for a few moments.
He thought about it on the ride down the elevator. He thought about it as he waited for the receptionist to finish her phone call. He thought about it as they scheduled his next appointment.
The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it.
Things had been great between the two of them. She was so easy to be around and they had fallen into a pattern of being together and raising the boys as a couple. There had been misunderstandings, of course; Jo knew he wasn't the easiest person to live with. But they were always worked out, and each time he'd learned something more about himself through the process. She was good at that: seeing past his reactions to their cause. In some ways, she was a lot like his therapist.
Marriage made sense, he supposed. There wasn't much point in dating if the possibility of marriage wasn't a least a thought for the future. So much had happened to them in their short time together that he'd never had a chance to think too far ahead, but now that he had...he wanted her to be his.
He'd never wanted something so much in his life.
If he was honest, he'd never really wanted much for himself. He'd hoped the boys would grow up strong and healthy. That they'd graduate from high school and college and land their dream jobs and have families of their own. That they'd be happy. Never in his life had he considered what he wanted for himself. But now he didn't have to consider it.
He knew.
A wild image ran through his head. Rachel. In a simple, white dress. Walking toward him.
Toward him...
"Move, asshole!"
He was startled from his thought train as a one-legged man in a wheelchair pushed past him angrily. Jo, however, remained frozen in place.
"Move!"
He was pushed into the room, his bruised knees connecting with the concrete floor.
"Don't worry, Vin. I'll knock some sense into him."
"I thought I already had..."
The door slammed, leaving him alone with the man. He didn't have to glance up to know it was one of his regulars. He trembled, partly from the cold, mostly from knowing what would come.
"You know, we could skip the whole knocking-you-senseless bit if you'd just do what you're told, boy."
He studied the dried vomit beneath his knees, trying to remain upright. This was his third "client" of the night. There would be more. Dizziness, nausea, and pain tore through him like voltaic currents, and he felt himself falling.
"Whoa! You alright there, kid?"
Jo jerked weakly from the hands grasping his shoulders.
"Hey, it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. You just looked like you were gonna fall over."
You're not there, he told himself, struggling to force air in and out of his already strained lungs.
"That's it. Breathe. Good."
Jo glanced up at the stranger who'd caught him. He had kind eyes. They reminded him of Tim's.
"You gonna be alright?"
Jo nodded, not trusting his voice.
The stranger looked uncertain. He glanced over his shoulder.
"You sure?"
Jo nodded again.
"Chemo," he managed to grind out.
The strangers eye's softened.
"That's no fun, huh? Hang in there, bud."
Jo wasn't sure how long he sat on the bench outside the cancer center. Thoughts, desires, and fears came to blows within his brain. He was fighting the urge to slam his head against the wall when Rachel's gentle voice penetrated the fog.
I know you have secrets. But that doesn't change anything. I've only known you for a few days, but I've seen enough to know who you are. You're a good man, Jo.
You're a good man.
Those might not have been her exact words, but her faith in his character shook him as it did then. She'd seen past the mess from the very start. She'd seen past the scars and the skittishness.
She seen him.
She hadn't run.
She deserved the truth.
_______
"Hey, kid, I'm running a little late. Sam stayed for basketball practice so I'm on my way with the rest of 'em. You're turning me into a damn soccer mom..."
"Uh, Frank, could I ask you a favor?"
"Anything, kid."
"Just take the kids home. I'm gonna wait for Rachel to get off work and ride home with her. She gets off early on Wednesdays."
"You sure? That's still a long wait."
"Yeah. I need to talk to her about something."
"Ah. Well in that case, take your time. Between Drew and me, we've gotcha covered."
"Thanks, Frank."
Jo ended the call and leaned his head against the brick wall. The pit in his stomach grew until he wanted to vomit, and this time it had nothing to do with chemo. He wasn't just nervous, he was terrified. His resolve slowly began to crack, and as it did, his dad's voice crept nefariously back into his head.
You can't do it. She won't want you when she knows. She'll leave. The boys will grow up and leave. You'll be alone. No good to anyone. Hell, you might as well go back to hooking, boy, 'cause that's all you're good-
"No."
His sudden declaration scared the wits out of the young woman waiting at the next bench over. She stood and walked away, staring at him like he was crazy. Maybe he was. But he was sick of the words, sick of that voice. He'd survived that man, and all the other men for that matter.
He didn't have to listen anymore.
Picking up his phone, he called the one person who knew it all and still cared.
"Jo?"
He fought back tears as the gentle voice crackled through the phone.
"Hey, Tim... Um, sorry to bother you..."
"You're never a bother, Jo."
He smiled, blinking back the stupid dampness on his eyelashes.
"I need...damn, I don't know what I need. I just..."
Tim waited patiently as Jo took several deep breaths.
"I need a pep talk."