Unforgettable: Always 2 (15 page)

“Today is one of those days?”

Parker sighed. “Yeah.”

“I'll gladly join you in the holy throttling, if you want?”

He gave me a sideways look and then grunted out a laugh. “I'd hate to be at the end of one of those delivered by your hands. Think God may have bitten off more than he can chew taking on your family.”

I didn't expect it to be possible for me to genuinely laugh, given all the crap I'd been coping with, but I did. Parker smiled. And laughed as well, the sound at once sad and companionable. I think we humans are capable of coping with so much more than we believe we can, when we have people around us who care about us, even in the most platonic, professional way.

The purchase of two coffees and two jelly donuts later – “They're for me,” Parker pointed to the donuts. “You can't afford the calories.” – we settled into our seats at a table.

Watching Parker spoon his third sugar into his coffee, I thought of his current uneasy state and his obvious warmth and affection for Tanner. I didn't doubt he shared the same level of connection with his other patients and their families. What must it be like, to stare down death over and over only to have it defeat you and take from you someone you cared about?

I was already close to dead inside at the possible future ahead for a son I'd known less than a day. Parker had known Tanner for longer than me, and was fighting alongside him, just as he must with all his patients. How did he cope?

“May I ask a question?” said Parker.

I raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“You went to Amanda's first?”

I rotated my paper coffee cup on the table in a slow circle. “I did.”

“And you told her?”

“I did.

“And she's not here?”

I swiveled my coffee cup again. “It's complicated.”

Yeah, I said it again.

“Is
complicated
code for Robert Aames? Or Charles Sinclair?”

A dry snort escaped me before I could stop it.

Parker took a sip from his coffee. “Thought so. Going to do anything about it?”

I opened my mouth to say … something. I don't know what. I closed it again when Amanda slid into the empty seat beside us.

Robby, I was childishly happy to see, was absent.

“Hi,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling at us both. Sadness tainted the action, but also a determination I hadn't seen in her since I arrived. “Let's talk about our next move.”

Parker regarded her for a moment. Behind his glasses – still askew, I noticed – his eyes were contemplative. “We continue to search for a match,” he answered. “There is one out there. Tanner responded well to the chemotherapy, which gives us a little more time to find them.”

I frowned. “What about Robby Aames being an
almost match
?” As much as I didn't like the idea of Robby and his Rolex saving our son, I wasn't so ruled by my ego that I would refuse his help. I'd even shake his hand afterward. “Is this something we should be seriously looking at now? I kind of got the feeling it was time for desperate measures because I wasn't a—”

“An
almost match
is very much a last resort, Brendon,” Parker said, scooping a fourth spoon of sugar into his coffee. The health student and personal trainer in me winced. The emotionally drained parent understood all too well – you do what you have to do to keep going.

“And Tanner has time.” Amanda moved her hands over the tabletop and closed them around mine.

I dropped my gaze to our interlocked fingers. Her skin was soft and warm, her grip gentle but firm. I should have pulled my hands away, but I didn't. Couldn't. As I said, you do what you have to do.

“What about my mum and dad?” I asked, looking back at Parker. “Can they be tested in Australia? Is that possible?”

“It is possible.” Parker took a sip from his paper cup and then pulled a face. “Goddamn, this is sweet.”

I bit back a chuckle. “I can call them,” I shifted on my seat, digging in my back pocket for my phone. “They'll both be at work now, but I can leave a message.”

Parker waved a steadying hand at me. “Slow down.”

“I don't want to slow down,” I answered. “I want to help my son.”

“You
are
helping your son, Bren.” Amanda squeezed my hands. “By being here. By wanting to be in his life.”

“But I can't get rid of his leukemia. Everything I know about the human body, every conceivable way to keep it in peak physical health, and I'm sitting here doing nothing.
Nothing
.”

“Brendon,” Parker said, his tone stern enough to make me turn to him. “Can I speak out of turn for a second?”

I nodded.

He took another sip of his coffee and then smiled, first at Amanda and then at me. “I've known Amanda for over a month now. Since the day she and Tanner walked into my office. Tanner had a Mohawk and a grin wider than the Mississippi. But I recognized the telltale signs. It's a kick in the guts every time I see a little kid who's only just started life present with symptoms, and it was no different with Tanner. But I saw a fighter as well. Not just in the little boy hugging an Optimus Prime toy, but in the young mother holding him. Despite what Amanda knew – and at that stage it was only enough to scare her witless – she was strong. But I didn't see her smile, not with her eyes. Parents of kids with a life-threatening illness rarely smile with their eyes. Their eyes tell the real story, the real pain in their heart. I've seen Amanda every day since that first morning consultation, and earlier today, when she introduced me to you, was the first time I've seen her smile reach her eyes.”

It's not often the man responsible for your dying son tells you that you make the woman you're determined not to love again smile in her heart, but there you go. That's what Parker Waters had just done.

“So …” He reached for his overly sweet coffee again, half raised it to his lips, and smiled at me over its rim. “… what I'm saying in a very bad way, is you
are
doing something, being here. You're helping Amanda find the smile in her heart. And as medicine for Tanner – and Amanda – that is one of the most profound things you can do.”

I stared at him.

“Now, if you'll excuse me,” he said, getting to his feet, “I need to go talk to our Head Administrator about the process required for getting tests conducted in Australia. I'll come and find you both in Tanner's room in a while, yes?”

“Thank you, Parker,” Amanda's husky voice stroked my senses. “We'll see you then.”

He left us, taking his coffee and the plate of jelly donuts with him.

Amanda's hands grew tighter on mine. “Bren?”

Head thrumming, I turned to face her. “Who's Robby Aames, Amanda?” I hadn't intended to be so blunt. “Because he introduced himself to me as your boyfriend.”

She grimaced. “Robby's
not
my boyfriend. We've … we've gone out a few times. But he's never … we've …” She withdrew her hands and began pinching at her thumbnail. “We've never had sex. I told you before, there's been no one since you, and I wasn't lying about that.”

“About that,” I echoed.

“Robby is kind and sweet to Tanner,” she said, slumping in her seat. “He's never complained about a poopy diaper change spoiling our dinner, or that the only DVDs that ever get played in my home are
The Wiggles
,
Blue's Clues
and
Little Einsteins
.”

“He wants to get into your pants,” I pointed out. “Of course he's not going to complain.”

She looked up at me and frowned. “What he wants and what he's going to get are two different things. I wanted you to be a bone marrow match for …” She pressed her hand to her mouth, horrified disgust filling her eyes.

I didn't move. In my chest, my heart was doing its best to turn into an out-of-control wrecking ball.

“Oh my God, Brendon,” she gasped into her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have said that.”

Closing my eyes, I rubbed at my face. Where was the smile in her eyes Parker had spoken of now? What were we doing to each other? Were we trying to self-destruct the fragile relationship we had? Was it a defense mechanism against the future we both feared – a future where we didn't find a perfect match for Tanner, where his body rejected Robby's
almost match
, and he died?

Or were we both aching for something once there, that had no hope of being there again, because the people we were then were no longer the people we were now? Or were we just never meant to be in the first place?

“Bren …” She reached for my fingers again. And again, I let her take them. I had no answer for what we were doing, but I knew I'd never pull my hand away from Amanda when she tried to take it again. Regardless of our relationship, regardless of whose bone marrow matched our son's, regardless of who was in her bed, if Amanda needed to hold my hand, I would be her strength and let her do so.

“I'm sorry,” she repeated. “Please don't hate me.”

I let out a choppy laugh, shaking my head. “I don't hate you, Mandy. I have, I can't lie about that, but I don't now. I'm just … all over the shop.”

“I understand.”

“Just tell me two things,” I said, tugging her hand a little closer to me, my pulse wild. “Two things, okay?”

She nodded, apprehension in her eyes.

“Why didn't you tell me about Tanner's leukemia the day you found out, before your father held his health to ransom to keep me out of your lives. Why didn't you tell me then?”

“I was petrified. There was no way I could know how you'd react to this, although I fantasized every day after the diagnosis how it would go. How you'd swoop in, your optimism, your
Brendon-ness
, infecting us all. How Dad would welcome you with open arms. That was my fantasy, but life isn't a fantasy, and I'd done you such wrong. I know that, Bren. I'd done you such wrong and I couldn't just drop you into Tanner's life without knowing where
we
stood with each other. I had planned to tell you, though. As soon as he was in remission, I'd planned to tell you. It wasn't fair to dump a sick son on you, that's what I thought. So I was going to tell you when he was well again. I knew I couldn't keep him from you any longer, that I was denying him just as much as I was denying you.”

A wry laugh fell from her lips. “I had this whole scenario planned out in my head: I'd call you, tell you I was coming to Sydney, ask you to meet me at Bondi Beach. I was going to make sure we got there on the day you Aussies celebrate Father's Day. And when you got to Bondi, there we'd be, me and Tanner, sitting on a blanket with a picnic laid out, and a Happy Father's Day present waiting for you.”

The image, her fantasy, filled my head. I could see it, so clearly. The sun was high, the sky a cloudless blue. On the blanket was a basket full of my favorite food – prawns, fresh tropical fruit, pasta salad – and beside the basket sat Amanda. She wore a black bikini that showed off her gorgeous body, a body all the more gorgeous for the
new
curves being a mum gave her, and on her lap Tanner giggled and waved his chubby arms, Optimus Prime in one hand, a mushed-up Vegemite sandwich in the other.

Fuck, I could see it like I was there.

“I know it would have come as a shock,” she said, and I shut the image down to focus on her face again. I can't tell you how much it hurt to turn my mind away from that image though. I don't have the vocabulary. “But in my fantasy, you smiled at us, said it was all good, said it was gravy, and we all lived, as they say in the fairy tales, happily ever after.”

And we all lived happily ever after.
What every creature with a soul wants.

We stared at each other for a long stretch. Finally, I let out a sigh. “It would have been wonderful to get to live that fantasy,” I murmured. “Almost as wonderful as it would have been there to be with you when Tanner was born.”

She closed her eyes at my gentle reproach and nodded. “What's the other question?” she asked.

The other question. I didn't want to ask the other question. It was a high school question, and yet, it weighed on me with mocking, contemptuous force. As did the answer I knew would follow. “Will your father ever accept I'm good enough for you?”

I saw the answer in her eyes, in her face.

A dry laugh tore at my chest. “Yeah,” I said, before she could utter what I knew might be the lie that destroyed any chance of us completely. “I thought as much.”

She closed her fingers around mine with greater pressure. “I'm sorry, Bren,” she whispered.

I shrugged. “In the grand scheme of things, babe, what he thinks of me means nothing.”

“Does that …” She searched my face for her own answers. “Are we … you and me …”

Smiling, really smiling, I rose to my feet and pulled her to stand. “C'mon,” I said, threading my fingers through hers. “Let's go see our son.”

There’s a story, an analogy, that goes something like this: two Buddhist monks were on a pilgrimage. One day, they were walking along the side of a deep river. At the edge of the river sat a young woman, weeping because she was afraid to cross the river without help. Seeing the two monks, she begged for them to help her cross. The younger monk turned his back, for the members of their order were forbidden to touch a woman.

But the older monk picked up the woman without a word and carried her safely across the river. He put her down on the far side where she thanked him and hugged him for his help. He then continued on his journey.

The younger monk caught up with him, horrified and angry at what the older monk had done, and scolded and criticized him for breaking his vow. He continued for a long while, constantly berating the older monk for touching the woman.

Finally, at the end of the day, the older monk turned to the younger monk and said, “I only carried her across the river. You have been carrying her all day.”

I remember reading about these two monks years ago, when I was still a teenager. The message behind the story struck a chord with me and has stayed with me ever since. Like the monks in the story, life often presents us with situations that are difficult to navigate or respond to. However we chose to deal with these situations, it’s important that
after
making the decision we let things go, instead of carrying the negative “if only I’d done” or the “it should have been”.

I sometimes think the writers of that song from
Frozen
that damn near every person on the world has heard more than once – “Let It Go” – were familiar with the Two Monks story. They introduced into the world an important Taoism in the guise of a catchy song: don’t hold onto negative thoughts and judgments from your past, because it will only damage your future.

As I’d listened to Amanda tell me why she hadn’t called me when she learned Tanner had leukemia, I began to realize I was very much carrying my anger at her previous behavior with me. I was holding on to it. I’d even started to redirect it toward Robby. I’d failed to see, or refused to see, how hard it had been for Amanda to admit she’d done the wrong thing and call me.

Her father’s disdain for me was another issue, but I wasn’t going to pile it on top of what we were already dealing with. Nor was I going to dwell on Robby and his Rolex and his obvious interest in Amanda, no matter how much I enjoyed a challenge.

Robby was an issue for another day. For now, it was time to let go of what I’d been carrying around about Amanda’s actions, and mine.

Now I’m not saying I’d completely moved on. Holy crap, it hurt like hell. She’d betrayed me, she’d betrayed my love for her, my trust in her. That was going to take a hell of a long time to recover from, was a hell of a lot of resentment to deal with, to work through, but I recognized in that moment that I had to let it go. I had to own the decision. I
did
own that decision, the decision to move on, to forgive and not dwell on it any more.

Speaking of letting it go, I’m now going to take a moment for you to get that song out of your system. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Feel better? Good.

Our fingers threaded together, Amanda and I left the cafeteria and made our way to Tanner’s room, stopping on the way to add me to his Partners-In-Care list. The fact I was only the fourth name on his list after Chase and Amanda’s parents made me feel … special. Stupid, I know, but that’s the way it was.

The feel of her palm against mine was nice. In my opinion, the word
nice
is a double-edged sword. So many times it can be used as a passive-aggressive insult. Other times it perfectly describes a situation or sensation. Holding Amanda’s hand as we walked through the hospital, the connection of her palm with mine, the interlacing of our fingers … it was nice. Companionable without any overt sexual tension or expectation.

I wondered for a moment if this is what my parents felt on the few occasions I’d caught them walking hand in hand through our local shopping center, or along the beach. Two people in their fifties, who’d lived a life together, who were
still
living that life together with no plans to change the status quo.

A warm sense of happiness rolled through me at the idea, because the
nice
I was feeling right now was pretty bloody wonderful, and the thought of Mum and Dad feeling it as well made me happy.

It seemed I was back. Brendon Osmond. Back.

Even in the face of a possibility too traumatic to contemplate, I was okay. Amanda and I were going to be okay. Together. In whatever capacity that togetherness meant, we were going to be okay. I would make sure of that.

Tanner’s face split into a wide grin as we entered his room. The oxygen tube in his nose this evening was fluro blue. “Mommy!” he cried, wriggling about on Chase’s lap, whacking her on the cheek with Optimus Prime.

“There you are, my tough guy.” Amanda hurried to him, scooping him up from her sister’s lap and cuddling him with gusto. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He giggled again. “Here,” he answered before cupping her face in his small hands and giving her a smooching kiss. “Aunny Chase.”

I looked at Chase. Her electric-blue dreadlocks were pinned up on top of her hair like a whale’s spout, her lips were painted the same color. In one hand she held a Spiderman soft toy, in the other, her smartphone.

“We’ve been Instagramming, haven’t we, Tanner?” she said, smiling at her nephew.

Tanner nodded. He twisted in Amanda’s arms, giving me a curious look. My chest tightened a bit. Did he remember me?

Amanda shifted so she could look at me as well, and gave him a little jiggle on her hip. “Can you say g’day, Daddy?”

Tanner regarded me silently, one hand clutched into a fist in Amanda’s shirtfront. I smiled at him, even as my brain registered the ashen pallor of his skin and the bruises on his arms and legs that hadn’t been there that morning. I knew enough about leukemia – thanks to Hollywood and my mum’s addiction to television medical dramas – to know the bruises were a symptom of his condition, but at the sight of them my gut clenched and a heavy lump settled in my throat.

Cancer sucks. Cancer in kids? That more than sucks. The only bruises any kid should bear are the bruises of discovering the joy of running and climbing and adventuring.

Pulling a steadying breath, I stepped deeper into his room. “G’day, buddy,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice low and calm. “Remember me?”

He grinned. Was it my voice that he recognized? My very Australian accent? “Oppimus! Tuck!”

I laughed. Hey, it was a start. “Yep. Optimus.”

He patted Amanda on the cheek and smiled at her. “Oppimus da!”

She burst out laughing. “He’s that good, eh?” She flicked a grin at me. “Hear that, Daddy? You’ve made the Optimus grade.”

Tanner wriggled in her arms, trying to show me the toy in his hand. He clocked Amanda on the back of the head a good one in his efforts, the dull
thunk
of the collision of skull and plastic robot making her chuckle out an
oww
.

“Da,” Tanner said, finally getting Optimus over Amanda’s shoulder. His arm and the toy got snagged in his oxygen tube and, for a moment, my heart stopped as a frustrated frown creased his forehead and he grabbed the blue tube with his free hand. “No tube. No.”

“Hey hey hey.” Amanda circled his wrist with gentle fingers and jiggled him on her hip again. “Slow down, tough guy.”

I moved closer, tapping Tanner’s shoulder with a soft touch before helping him get his hand – and Optimus – free of the tube. “There we go,” I said, as he grinned up at me.

“Da! Tuck!” he crowed, waving the robot about in such as way Amanda had to dodge another blow. “Tuck.”

“Y’know, sis,” Chase said from where she stood behind us, “he’s never shared Optimus with Robby.”

I looked at her. For some reason, her statement made my heart pound faster.

She arched a pierced eyebrow at me, blue lips twitching. “Maybe the Wonder from Down Under isn’t that bad after all.”

Pulling a face of mock disbelief, I pressed my palm to my chest with an obvious thud. “Did you just compliment me, Chase?”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s it. I’m outta here.”

I grinned. She narrowed her eyes at the three of us standing there together, and then, without a word of warning, raised her phone and snapped off a photo.

“You going to Instagram that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe. Depends. Can you say hashtag Happy Ever After?”

My breath caught in my throat. I turned to Amanda and Tanner, gazed at them for a second, and then turned back to Chase. “Hashtag Happy Ever After.”

A smile stretched her lips. When Chase wasn’t snarky with the world, her smile could – as the song goes – light up New York City after dark. “Consider it Instagrammed,
Daddy
.”

“Da,” Tanner echoed, grabbing at the sleeve of my shirt.

My own grin splitting my face, I turned back to Tanner. “That’s me.”

He pulled my sleeve again.

Amanda laughed. “I think he wants you to take him.”

I agreed. Sliding my arms under his armpits, I took his weight and repositioned him onto my hip.

“I’m just going to walk Chase out,” Amanda murmured, her hand on my biceps. Damn it, I liked the way it felt there. It was … nice. “Fill her in on the results.”

I don’t know if she kept her voice low so her sister couldn’t hear, or if she didn’t want to crack the happiness of the room with the bleakness of my failed match. Whatever the reason, I nodded and held Tanner closer. “No worries.”

Australians say
no worries
a lot. It’s a bizarre term to use sometimes, because often we say
no worries
when all the worries of the world are crushing down on us.

Amanda regarded me for a lingering second, and then, hand still on my biceps, reached up onto her tiptoes and brushed her lips over mine. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Eww,” Chase complained, although there wasn’t a hint of disdain in her voice.

Tanner snagged his mother’s hair and pulled her to his face for his own kiss.

“C’mon, sis,” she said with a laugh, extracting herself from his grip. “I need a coffee. You can buy me one on your way out.”

“What?” Chase responded, voice comically louder as she walked past, head shaking, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you. Sorry, I’m deaf.”

A heartbeat later, it was just me and Tanner.

“So …” I asked, pulling a melodramatic confused face. “What are we going to do?”

He mimicked my expression, shrugging. “Tuck?”

Laughing, I moved to the bed and sat in the middle of it – me cross-legged, Tanner resting in the hollow the position made. I don’t know how much time passed as we played with Optimus, but they were gloriously wonderful minutes. Tanner spoke to me at length about the robot – and by now, I’m pretty certain you’re aware the words
tuck
and
Oppimus
featured often, also the occasional
Pime
(translation: Prime), more than one
Da
, and a lot of
Mommies
.

It was when he started to squirm about and then became very still, I realized I was about to get my first experience with one of the more … sensory aspects of being a parent.

“Pooey,” Tanner complained, twisting in my lap to frown up at me.

A distinct smell followed his irritated declaration.

“Pooey, da.”

I sat frozen for a moment. “Really?”

Confession time. I’ve never changed a dirty nappy, or diaper, as they call them over here. I’ve never changed a nappy, period. I was struck immobile by the very thought. Glancing at the door, I wondered where Amanda was. Laugh all you want, but panic had kicked in.

Tanner patted me on the chest, his frown now one of distress. “Pooey, da,” he repeated.

“Err …” I answered back.

Twisting about on his bed, I looked for the buzzer to call the nurse and pushed it. Pushed it hard.

“Pooey,” Tanner stressed, now trying to pull at the back of his PJ pants.

I’d just climbed from the bed, Tanner on my hip, his rather full nappy mashing against me, when a nurse strode in the room. She was familiar. A part of me was dismayed it wasn’t Carla. The rest of me was relieved I’d been saved.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“G’day,” I said, giving her a sheepish grin. “I think Tanner’s filled his nappy.”

She frowned. “His what?”

“Diaper,” I blurted, remembering where I was. “Sorry. I’m Australian.”

“Ahh,” she said. I couldn’t miss the amusement in her eyes. Whether it was at my predicament or at my unnecessary declaration of nationality, I didn’t know. “Let me get you what you need.”

She pivoted on her heel, went to a cupboard in the corner of the room and withdrew a folded disposable nappy, a packet of baby wipes and a bottle of what looked like lotion.

“Pooey,” Tanner reiterated on my hip.

I stared at the nurse as she moved from the cupboard to a baby change table I’d never noticed before.

“There you go.” She placed the items on its surface and offered me a smile.

I didn’t move. Oh boy …

Her smile grew wider. I swear I saw a flash of mischief in her expression. It hit me why she looked familiar. She was the very first nurse I ever met here – Julie, I think Amanda had introduced her as, the nurse who looked after Tanner when Amanda wasn’t there.

Tanner continued to pat my hip. “Pooey. Pooey.”

The air hung heavy with the smell of … well, you know what it smelled like, I’m sure.

“Ever changed a diaper before?” Julie asked, eyes twinkling.

I shook my head, relief rushing through me. Hey, ask me to cold bench-press two-hundred kilograms and I’m gravy.

Julie raised her eyebrows and patted the change-table mattress. “Then this will be your first.”

Whatever the expression was that filled my face, it made Julie laugh. Tanner joined in.

I pouted at him. “Hey, no fair.”

He giggled and squirmed on my hip some more.

“Yeah, you work that into all the creases and cracks, buddy,” I admonished with a chuckle.