Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) (4 page)

“I don’t think you strategize for any of it. This isn’t like a courtroom, this is just life,” I offer. “Sometimes what we thought was up is down and what we thought was down is up.”

Shelby takes a couple bites of her hamburger before she answers me, “That’s all nice and philosophical and all, but here’s my reality: I managed to strategize myself right out of a place to live, a job and virtually everything else I own except for the clothes on my back.”

My surprise must have shown on my face because she continues with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m a college graduate now I can make plans without a single thought to contingencies. Aren’t I just flippin’ brilliant? I don’t have a place to live, I don’t have a job, I don’t have a way to get to my medical appointments… I just turned twenty-eight — and now I’ve got an appointment with the Grim Reaper and there isn’t a single soul in my life left to care. If that isn’t a pathetically sad commentary on my life, I don’t know what is.”

“Okay, I tend to be a little analytical about these problems, call it an occupational hazard. Let’s work this through backwards — you know like an equation.”
 

“I’m a math teacher,” she responds skeptically. “That makes me abundantly qualified to tell you that there’s no way to solve my life like an equation.”

I smile at her as I reply, “As much as I highly respect brilliant women, just humor me here.”

“You do know that you wouldn’t work the equation backwards?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

I chuckle lightly. “Yes, I think I remember that. I might make my living with words, but I still remember rudimentary facts about pre-algebra,” I reply. “Just for the sake of argument—”

“Oh, good gravy, I should’ve remembered you were one of those fancy lawyer types before I started this conversation—” Shelby grumbles under her breath.

“I did try to warn you that I have several occupational hazards,” I tease.

Shelby pops another French fry in her mouth as she leans back in the wrought iron chair and crosses her arms and waits for me to speak. “I’ve got to hear how you think math is going to save me from skin cancer,” she challenges.

“I don’t know that math is going to do any of that. However, breaking your problem down into small pieces might make it easier to handle. For example, you said that you don’t have anybody in your life that cares about you. I happen to know that that’s wrong. Jade and Rogue are very concerned about you. Come to think of it, so am I. By my count, that makes at least three of us and I bet by the response that you got a few weeks ago at the shop that there are probably several more people who care about you. That number doesn’t even include the people that you went to school with or the people that live near you, or the people that you’ve worked with —”

“Mark, what kind of person you do think I am?” Shelby exclaims shaking her head in disbelief. “I can’t take advantage of people like that. I don’t know these people. I just wandered into Ink’d Deep a few weeks ago to get a tattoo. These people don’t know me from Adam. They certainly don’t owe me anything,”

“What if they want to help?” I argue.

“Why would they want to do that?” she counters. “People just aren’t that nice — unless they want something.”

“What if they were?” I press.

Shelby grows quiet for a moment before she answers, “I don’t know that I could trust that.”

“Shelby, I know you don’t know me very well, but I have reason to believe that we have many connections between our souls. Can you find it in yourself to trust me?”

I inwardly cringe as the words come out of my mouth, I don’t know what I’m actually saying, but that doesn’t stop me. I watch as an expression of disbelief crosses her face and then something akin to resignation follows.
 

Finally, she’s slowly nods as she responds, “I don’t know why I’m even saying this, but I think I can trust you.”
 

I’M STILL NOT SURE what happened to me that night. One moment I was having an existential meltdown next to a couple smelly dumpsters, and the next minute my life was being systematically put back together by the singularly best-looking man I have ever seen in my entire life. He didn’t even seem to notice that I was a sniveling mess of snot and tears. How he could’ve missed that, I’m not exactly sure. In retrospect, I’m just glad he didn’t make a big deal out of it.

It was the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen in my whole life. I went inside Ink’d Deep to wash my hands and by the time I was done, it appeared that several people had a committee meeting about me and essentially sorted out my entire life. Some people might have taken exception to that level of planning — but at this point, everything is out of my control and I am grateful that anyone actually cares enough to step up and do something to help me.

Apparently, Jade’s parents want to do some traveling and they would like someone to live on their property. They’re willing to let me live there in exchange for me keeping an eye on their pets and plants while they’re gone. It seems almost too good to be true — there must be a catch. When I ask Jade about it, she just quietly smiles and says, “I went through a dark stage as a teenager. Some of the posters are pretty creepy, you’ll probably have to redecorate my room.”

If that weren’t enough, Jade’s mom, Diamond, told me about some volunteer opportunities at the library where I would be able to use my teaching degree. When I expressed concerns about my ability to work consistently because of the cancer, Diamond just hugged me and said that they would work around whatever schedule I was able to work. It’s not the job that I wanted, and it’s not a paid opportunity, but it’s better than moping around at home watching game shows and soap operas. It’s the first time since I got my diagnosis that I have hope that I might have some semblance of normalcy in my everyday life.

I look across the car at Mark as he weaves his way through traffic. “You didn’t really have to do this, I could’ve caught the bus or something,” I comment. “I thought you had a trial today.”

“I did, but the docket got rearranged because the other side is bringing in an expert witness and they weren’t available.”

“What happens when I have an appointment and your schedule doesn’t get conveniently rearranged?” I challenge.

“I’ll figure something out,” Mark answers with a shrug. “I have to do that all the time with Ketki. It comes with the territory of being a single dad.”

“But… Mark …
argh
,” I sputter with frustration. “I’m not your kid. I’m some random stranger you literally picked up off the ground, you don’t have to do all this for me,” I argue.

“Shelby, I can’t explain it, but I need to be here. Since the first time I saw you at Ink’d, I knew you’d be in my life.”

I curl away from him and face toward the door. His words frighten me — they are too much like the words Josiah Frachcett used to lure my parents away from reality. I know that too many sweet words, charm and charisma can cost lives. I might be deathly ill, but I’m not stupid enough to fall into that trap. I won’t be gullible like my parents; I’ve come too far. I’ve worked too hard. I
cannot
be like the little girl I once was.

Just then, the car ahead of us abruptly stops. Mark throws his arm out to shield me from the dashboard. It’s a sweet gesture but, completely unnecessary. I am a compulsive seatbelt wearer. I spent too many years being bounced around in the back of a bus to forgo the luxury of being secure in my seat.

Mark takes a good look at me after we are stopped in traffic. “What’s wrong? You’re extremely pale — are you feeling ill?” he asks, his voice laced with concern.

It’s a funny thing about living on the edge of not knowing whether you’re close to dying. You get a little braver and tend to say the things that you might not otherwise say.

I blow my bangs out of my eyes as I respond, “I guess you can say an unhappy trip down memory lane caught up with me for a second.”

“What do you mean?” asks Mark.

“I’d tell you, but I think we’re probably almost to the hospital and it’s going to take more time than that.”

Mark sits up a little taller in the driver’s seat and cranes his neck. He turns to me with a frown as he reports, “I hate to break it to you, but I think we’re going to be here for a little bit.”

“Oh no, what about my appointment?” I fret, as I nervously shake my Diet Mountain Dew. The ice melted long ago. Now I’m just fidgeting.

“As backed up as the freeway is, I suspect that the personnel at the hospital already knows. You can call them and let them know to be sure.”

“I think I’ll do that,” I offer. Unfortunately, when I try to call the doctor’s office, I hear nothing but a busy signal.

Mark sees my frustration and he just takes my drink from me and makes a motion for me to hand him my phone. “Relax, no one is going anywhere fast. I think we’re going to be here for a while. They will understand; if you’re late, chances are, some of the doctors are going to be late too. I wouldn’t worry about it; If you can’t get through, you can’t get through.”

"The last thing I can afford to do right now is pick up charges for an appointment I don't attend.”

“Look at this place. It’s like a parking lot. If the hospital tries to bill you, perhaps a letter from Hunters Crossing will set them straight. It’s likely that dozens and dozens of people won’t be able to make their appointments. You won’t be alone. If I had to guess, I would say that a fair amount of staff won’t be there either.”

I run my hands through my hair and take a sip of my drink before I turn toward him and try again to explain, “See, that’s just it Mark. You can’t fix this with poetic, charming, powerful, preachy words. This is
cancer
. Today, I take one more step toward figuring out whether this crap is going to kill me. Do you get that?
Kill me
. As in dead, d-e-a-d, dead. You can’t sweet talk my cells into behaving. The damage is done. All those idiotic trips to the tanning beds and the time I spent baking myself on the beach — don’t you think I feel stupid now? All I wanted to do was fit in as a teenager and now there’s a really good chance I’m going to die for my choices.”

“Shelby, how many opinions have you gotten, does this guy even know what he’s doing? Have you consulted the top expert in the field? You can’t know this yet. Maybe he’s a quack. You have to think positive about this. I know Jade’s mom has worn through a set of rosary beads praying for you.”

“Sorry to break it to you, Counselor, but for me the jury is still out whether I believe in church or in prayer and all that jazz. All I’ve seen it do is create death and destruction. If other people want to believe in all that stuff, more power to them. I’m not sure all that stuff is for me.”

It’s clear that Mark isn’t prepared for the tone of my voice. His eyes are wide and he just blinks as he absorbs the pain and vitriol I’ve been storing up for days.
 

I’m on too much of a roll to stop now, so I continue, “As far as whether I believe the doctors about the diagnosis; just look at me compared to you. Do you see what I see? I am a walking poster child for risk factors for skin cancer, from my light hair and eyes to my skin, which is
several
shades paler than yours. When I was younger, I never used sunscreen. My parents didn’t believe in it. They thought that it blocked the vitamins from the sun and when I became a teenager, I actually thought that getting a ritualistic burn at the beginning of every summer was a good thing because it would encourage me to tan later. In high school, my friends and I would use baby oil to increase the chances of burning ourselves.” My speech trails off as I run out of steam.

“I’ll admit that those factors don’t sound ideal, but you don’t know the whole picture yet. Cancer treatment has come a long way in recent years,” Mark argues. “You’re young and otherwise healthy, right?”

I groan as I respond, “Thanks for reminding me. I just turned twenty-eight last week. I’m not even thirty years old yet and I might have to plan my own funeral. Doesn’t that just suck monkey balls?”

“Oh, look at you..still in your twenties. I feel positively ancient. I just hit thirty-five a couple months ago. Everybody in my office wants to throw me an over-the-hill party,” he teases, before growing serious. “Actually, it does really suck. Cancer is terrible, regardless of how old you are. I’m sorry that you’re even having to deal with this. We should be having a huge graduation party for you, not heading to the doctor.”