Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) (25 page)

I can’t afford the dress; I didn’t even bother to look at the price tag on either of them. It’s going on a credit card, so it doesn’t really matter. I’m not missing my best friend’s wedding because we have medical bills coming out the wazoo, and Moby isn’t missing his brother’s wedding for the same reason. We’ll figure it out later. I force myself to shake off the Debbie Downer mentality threatening to take over my day.

Our measurements are taken and the seamstress places the orders at the counter. Before we can pay the bill, Natalie thanks us for our time and with a promise to call when the dresses come in.

Tucked neatly back in the limo, I wonder if the driver’s been sitting out here since we went in, two hours ago.

Rachel spits out what everyone else is thinking, “When do we pay for the dress? When we pick them up? I didn’t think they’d order them without a deposit of some sort.” She’s louder than normal, as I’m sure we all are. Alcohol tends to do that to a group of women.

“They’re taken care of.” Cam assures Rachel with a casual grace only she possesses.

“Huh? By who?” Jeez Rachel, who do you think?

“Dax and I wanted to do this for you guys. He’s getting the guys tuxes, too. Weddings are expensive, and we didn’t want this to be a burden for anyone.”

She did this for Moby and me, they did. Everyone else in our squad can easily take care of the tux rental or gown purchase. Cam knew Moby and I couldn’t, and she didn’t want us to struggle. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. I fight to keep them from falling. I want to kiss her, but decide to save it for a more private time. And even then I won’t really kiss. Well, I might if I keep drinking.

Sitting back in the limo, I listen to my friends’ laughter, grateful for the women in front of me. It’s easy to overlook their value in my life these last few months, but they’re priceless. I don’t think I could do life without them.

“So where to next?” Charlie asks with another glass of bubbly in her hand. We’re all going to be drunk as skunks by the time this is over.

“Florist. But don’t worry we’re not doing centerpieces and aisle decorations. This is just your individual bouquets. I didn’t know what to pick since I hadn’t chosen a dress.”

We pull up to Pagoda at precisely the same moment. Another upscale vendor only Cam would consider using. I admit, their flower arrangements are stunning, but they’re still just flowers, and they wilt and die. But since it’s not my money paying for this, I keep my mouth shut and a smile plastered on.

“Do they charge extra to put sticks in arrangements?” Rachel bellows out loud enough for every person in the free world to hear as she pulls several from an arrangement on a counter.

Cam scowls at her from across the room. “Shush!”

Rachel stares back at her seemingly unaware of her gregarious faux pas. Cam rolls her eyes turning her attention back to the glass counter she’s standing in front of. Someone finally appears, and I have to say, thus far I’m not impressed with their prompt customer service. With no apology for the long wait past Cam’s appointment time, I’m even less impressed, but she doesn’t seem to be the least put-off. At least, not by the clerk, although I think she’s ready to strangle Sutton and me. She might possibly bitch slap Rachel.

Looking sharply over her shoulder, Cam finds us with flowers in our hair and twigs between our legs, slapping at each other’s ass, while Charlie hoots riotously at us.

“Oh my God, will you two please stop? How old are you? Quit egging them on, Charlie. Jesus!”

Just as she finishes scolding us, Charlie falls over into a pot of twigs, knocking them all to the ground, breaking half of them and scattering the pieces across the floor. Sutton and I can’t contain the roars of amusement. Tears flow freely down my face, my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

“That’s it, you guys are done. Rachel, please take the three musketeers back to the limo and wait there until I’m done,” she orders as she picks up the branches.

I see the agitated look on her face, but there’s a glimmer in her eye. Whether or not she wants to admit it, it thrills her to see us having a good time.

Doing as she instructs, we make the walk of shame out of the florist, back to the waiting driver. The smirk on his face says he saw it all from outside, but his silence speaks to his professionalism. Nestled back in the comfort of the limo cabin the drinking resumes.

Cam is going to be pissed.

A couple drinks in, and our fearless leader joins us.

“Really, guys? You’re acting like teenagers on their first night away from their parents. What’s up?”

None of us say anything, looking at her like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“I want you to have fun, but come on. We’re going to get thrown out of these places.” She can’t say it with a straight face, the corners of her mouth fighting a grin.

“We’ll be good,” I promise. Crossing my heart with a dazed look in my eyes and more alcohol in my hand.

“Did you get the flowers ordered?” Charlie tries to feign interest in the actual task we came here for.

“Yes.” Cam’s eyes gloss over with a dreamy, romantic look. I can’t deny there’s a hint of envy in my thoughts. Part of me wishes I’d done this with my friends, enjoyed the occasion more, celebrated. There’s a piece of me that wants to have those memories to cling to right now since things aren’t great between Moby and me. I chose a different path, one that seemed right for us at the time, but the twinge of sadness sobers me.

I realize part of the sobriety issue amongst the Fish is none of us has eaten anything other than fruit and a few measly crackers, which has done little to combat the alcohol coursing through our veins. It’s late afternoon, and food is in order.

“Is the caterer next?” I ask, hopeful a well-balanced meal might put Cam at ease, plus calm the rest of us down. We all want to enjoy the day, but not at Cam’s expense. She put a lot of thought and money into the weekend.

Her face lights up. “Oh my gosh, yes! I can’t wait to try it. The restaurant in the hotel flies all their ingredients in from Italy to make authentic Northern Italian food and I don’t mean spaghetti. They’re also doing a wine pairing with each of the five courses.” She meets each of our eyes before adding, “Not that any of you need more alcohol.”

“Damn, Cam, you’re doing a five course seated dinner for two hundred people? You could buy a house for what this wedding’s going to cost.” Rachel can be so gosh.

“We’ve been saving for over a year to pay for everything in cash. I’m only getting married once, and I want to do it the way I envisioned as a little girl. I never wanted a fairy tale, but I always wanted an elegant, classy evening. I’m going to have it. Black tie and all.”

“Do your guests even own black tie attire?” I question with slurred words.

“It’s clearly printed on the save the date cards, so I assume if they don’t, they’ll get it.” She shrugs undeterred.

We arrive back at the hotel, and take our purses to the room before meeting the catering staff in the restaurant. Wandering through the hotel lobby, our already-elevated voices echo off the marble floors. I can’t deny the high I’m feeling hanging out with my besties. I love seeing people’s positive reactions to my beautiful friends whose mere presence draws attention to them.

The food does not disappoint. Just like everything Cam does, it’s superb. The lobster ravioli literally melts in my mouth without so much as chewing. Every course is decadent and lavishly done, the wine complimenting each perfectly. I didn’t know it was possible to have a five-course meal that doesn’t include a dessert but apparently it is, and she’s doing it. She won’t have to worry about anyone wanting to dance; they won’t be able to move if they eat all the food on the menu.

The same restaurant is making the cake, and this is by far my favorite part of the day. The server brings out trays of petite fours and bowls of icing and separate fruit fillings, essentially creating a build your own cake tasting. There must be twenty flavors of cake. Cam opted for three icing possibilities and three fruit fillings.

The group consensus is raspberry cake, white chocolate icing with a raspberry filling, and white chocolate fondant. She elects five tiers, alternating shapes of squares and circles. Fully sated, the cake designer comes out to discuss the actual details of the artwork he’ll do. If everything he promises he can do comes to fruition, this will be the most breathtaking baked good I’ve ever seen.

Finished with the day’s chores, we waddle back to our room. It’s decked out with an enormous platter of chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne. The beds are turned down and donned with little chocolates on the pillows. Music plays softly throughout the suite; the lights are all dim, and fresh flowers adorn the tables.

We all change clothes before tossing ourselves on the master bedroom mattress. We waste the hours laughing and reminiscing about things we’ve done in the years we’ve known each other. It’s hard not to acknowledge things are changing with two of the five us being married in a few short weeks. The bubbly and the fruit make for a lazy night in our comfy clothes enjoying each other’s company.

There was a time when this was the norm for us, hanging out on Friday and Saturday nights, traveling together, our friendships always coming before relationships. It’s hard not to miss that, even just slightly. The more time we put behind us the further away those memories will get. I wonder if Charlie, Sutton, and Rachel will start to do more together leaving Cam and me on the outskirts, or vice versa. I drift off to the sound of my friends gossiping about celebrities and things that make us women.

Waking in the morning, I anticipate a hangover from hell, but am pleasantly surprised by how good I feel. It takes forever for the five of us to shower and dress, but once we’re ready to go, Cam escorts us to the hotel spa for manicures and pedicures followed by a group massage. It all ends too quickly; the weekend over, reality resuming.

The weekend could not have been any more perfect, an escape from the brutal truth that has become my existence. Just thirty-six hours with my best friends in the lap of luxury has me revived and rejuvenated, ready to brave the world again.

Before leaving Cam’s house, I squeeze her tightly. With Dax standing next to her, I hold her hands in front of me. “Thank you. For everything. Both of you. I’m honored to be a part of all of this.” I chew on my lip before continuing, trying to keep the emotion contained. “You didn’t have to do all you have. We would’ve found a way to make it work. But, I’m grateful all the same. So, thank you.”

“Love you, Fish.” With one last hug and a huge smile, I go home.

I
t’s
a lonely weekend without Piper home. We did the tuxedo thing yesterday afternoon and went out to a bar last night, but when a litany of medications prevents you from drinking, it’s just not enjoyable watching your friends get hammered.

I’ve been sitting here with Phoenix all day, getting up as much as possible to take him out, play in the yard, and for short walks, but for some reason, every joint in my body hurts. It hurts to sit; it hurts to stand; it hurts to walk. I tried a hot bath, I’ve taken Tylenol since I can’t take anything else with all the other medications and blood pressure issues, I’ve tried massaging the aches away, but I can’t escape pain.

The last thing I want is Piper to come home to me on the couch, with nothing done, but I’m literally finding movement difficult. Nothing eases the pain and stiffness in my joints. I had all these grandiose plans to try to get some housework and laundry done. I wanted to start dinner. It was important to me she come home and not have anything sitting here waiting on her but everything I’ve tried to do has taken an enormous amount of effort and created an even greater level of pain.

When she walks in the door, I see the disappointment on her face. There are dishes in the sink, the dishwasher door is open, the laundry’s in piles in the laundry room—not one pile is folded—and the vacuum cleaner sits in the hallway. She doesn’t say anything just goes into action like she always does.

Starting with the dishes, she begins to load the dishwasher. In an effort to explain, I get up to go to her, every step sending jarring discomfort through my hips. I make it as far as the bar in front of the sink before I have to stop to sit back down in sheer agony.

“Piper, I tried to get some of this stuff done…” I begin.

“It’s okay, Moby. I’ll do it.” The resignation in her voice saddens me. I feel like a complete piece of shit unable to do the most basic of chores to help my wife run our home.

“Please stop and look at me.” She does as I request. Her hands still in the sudsy water. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“You don’t have to make excuses, Moby. I’ll do it.” I don’t detect anger so much as defeat.

“Piper, please listen to me.” When she finally makes eye contact with me, her disposition seems to change.

“Moby! What’s wrong?” Apparently seeing the misery written all over my face.

“I don’t know.” I can’t control the tears. They flow in a steady stream down my face. The torment is almost too much to bear. “I woke up this morning, and every joint in my body hurts. I don’t mean like I’m stiff, I mean there’s nothing I can do to relieve the pain.”

“What the hell did you guys do last night?” Her voice fills with panic.

“I didn’t do anything, not even so much as one drink, Piper.” I’m having a hard time speaking through the choking sobs. Her acknowledgment of my situation is validating my affliction.

“Did you take something you’re not supposed to? Do you have a fever? Eat something bad? What Moby? You have to help me here.” I can’t stand the fear I see staring back at me.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. All I know is I can hardly move, and every step hurts more than the last.”

Drying her hands off, leaving the dishes in the sink, she kicks the dishwasher door closed with her foot. “Do you need to go to the emergency room?”

She comes around the counter, the mother hen rearing her head. She puts her hand on my forehead, “You don’t have a fever. Have you taken any pain medication?” She starts to go toward the closet where we keep the Tylenol.

“I’ve taken as much Tylenol as the bottle says I can have in a day. It’s not helping, it’s not even knocking the edge off.”

“I think we should go to the ER, Moby. We can’t take any chances with your health.”

“Piper, slow down. We can’t afford a trip to the emergency room. I just don’t want you to think I intentionally left all this for you. Let’s see how I feel in the morning then I can call the doctor.”

“Do you really think you should wait that long?” The trepidation marking her expression guts me.

“It saved my life waiting to go during the stroke. It’s only a few hours. If it gets worse, we can go in the middle of the night if we have to.”

Pinching her lips together tightly, she reluctantly concedes to my request with a curt nod.

“Why don’t you go lie down on the couch with Phoenix and watch a movie while I try to get some of this stuff done. Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll get it for you.”

“I’m sorry, Piper.” I truly am. I want so much more for her.

“For what?” she questions confused.

“Making this your life. Everything you endure daily because you fell in love with me.” It’s an honest answer. I’m not looking for pity, I sincerely am remorseful and wish I could be what she deserves.

“You didn’t do this, Moby. You didn’t choose any of this.” She lets out a deep sigh before continuing. “I’m not going to lie and say life is easy. It’s not, and frequently I wonder how we’re ever going to come through it, but I love you. For whatever reason, that’s being tested. Hopefully, we pass with flying colors.”

I don’t even want to think about the
hopefully
part of that last sentence. The thought of not surviving this together is more than I can handle. Life without Piper is a life I don’t want to live, but I’m starting to wonder how much more she can withstand. I try to put myself in her situation, and the reality is, I doubt I could stay given the circumstances. That’s a hard pill to swallow. It has nothing to do with the depth of my affection but more to do with my inability to cope.

I’ve never had to deal with much in my life. School, sports, work, it always comes easily for me. The toughest thing I’ve ever been through prior to the stroke was losing Jeremy, but compared to Dax’s pain, mine was nothing. But grief is different than disability. There was no amount of work or suffering that would bring him back from death, it was more about accepting the loss and learning to move on.

It was hard to see Dax and Cam go through her ordeal, but again, I hated their situation, but it wasn’t mine to face. All I had to do was love them through it.

This. This is my problem, and no one is going to love me through it. I have to fight like hell to come out on the other side, and I have to face reality—the other side might not include Piper.

Watching her move through the house, I ponder what life without her around would be like. Everything about that scenario scares me, terrifies me even. I don’t know how to cling to her without strangling her and killing her spirit in the process. In the months since the stroke, I’ve seen so much change. Her once-vibrant personality is now lackluster; her exuberance for life is now tainted by the harsh realities of existence. Weary eyes and overtly apparent exhaustion hide her quirky sex appeal. My presence in her life is killing the woman I knew, the one I married.

I should let her go, I really should walk away from her, giving her everything, but I’m a selfish bastard. I claimed her the day I put that ring on her finger. She committed to me the day she walked down the aisle. I may lose her in the end, but it won’t be because I was the better man and allowed her to go.

As if she can sense me thinking of her, she stops vacuuming, appearing around the corner to check on me. “Feeling any better?”

“I’ll be okay until morning. I’ll call Dr. Murdock then.”

My lie must have been convincing as she resumes her housework without nagging me about a visit to the ER. As nightfall comes and the light in the house wanes, she brings me a sandwich, not stopping to cook. Finally finishing all the chores left undone when she arrived home she collapses in bed around ten without a word. I find her still fully dressed from the day and do my best to cover her with a blanket before joining her.

* * *

T
he following weeks
bring more of the same. Once again, Piper’s back to essentially being a full-time caregiver. We’ve been to countless doctors, specialists, internists, rheumatologists, and nutritionists; at last count, we’ve seen seventeen unique doctors or homeopathic specialists in three cities, all with the same result. None of them has a clue why I’m in such debilitating pain, and none have been able to relieve it longer than the narcotic lasts.

Initially, I worried I’d become addicted to the painkillers. Now I’m afraid I’m going to die before someone can diagnose the problem. Once again I’m confined to a wheelchair, unable to walk because the pain is so severe. My wife helps me to the bathroom, bathes me, dresses me, feeds me. Every movement is more painful than the last.

My rehabilitation process has completely halted since I can’t do any of the work. None of my therapists have ever seen anything in a stroke patient like I’m experiencing. Piper has an obsession with finding an answer and a solution. If she’s not at work, she’s on the phone with an expert in one subject or another, researching on the Internet, Googling people with similar experiences and symptoms. I think it’s the only way she can cope with my drastic downward spiral. I’m in far worse shape than I ever was after the stroke.

When she left for work this morning, I begged her to let me stay home in bed. I couldn’t bear another day in her office watching her work or listening to her talk on the phone. I know she’s afraid to leave me but I have a phone and am still capable of pressing buttons. Nine-one-one only requires me to press three. I’m sure I can manage. She didn’t appreciate my sarcasm, but relented, leaving me with a urine container so I don’t have to try to get up as frequently. It’s disgusting, but this is my life.

I spend my day answering her calls to check on me and watching countless reruns on Netflix. I haven’t heard from her in the last couple hours, which means she’s busy. By the time my phone rings I’m in so much pain I can’t reach for it lying next to me on the bed. When I don’t answer, she waits for a couple minutes and calls back. Ringing again, I force myself to roll over, touching the speaker button.

“Hello,” I muster.

“Everything all right? I was thinking about stopping to get pizza for dinner. I’m too tired to cook.”

“Okay,” I croak out, my voice breaking on the second syllable.

“Moby?”

“I’m here,” I say through the distress.

“Do I need to call an ambulance?” The peace in her voice when I first answered the phone no longer remains.

“No. Just come home. Please.” I can’t hold back the tears. I sob into the phone, “Please come help me, Piper. I can’t bear the pain anymore.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.” The line disconnects and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, my wife is calling for reinforcement.

* * *

“
M
oby
,” I hear someone calling my name, but they’re so far away I don’t recognize it.

“Moby.” Their insistence is beginning to irritate me. There’s more than one voice, but I’m unable to distinguish who they belong to over the hum of the television.

The fingers on my face smell like the lavender soap in the bathroom. When they pry my eyes open, there stands a blurry Dax, with Brooks and Landis in the background. Unable to focus on them, they allow my lids to close, or maybe it was my inability to communicate with them. Inability or unwillingness, I’m unsure which.