Wish Upon a Star (14 page)

"I know you've worked very hard at your art."

"Damn right I have." She grabbed her computer and
punched a few keys on her keyboard so hard I was afraid they'd
break. "So I like to look good on stage. Is there anything wrong with
that? Just because I like to wear heels and dress like a woman
shouldn't mean I'm not a serious artist. I mean, Dave Mathews is
always in jeans and a t-shirt, but nobody questions his artistic
cred."

She brought the computer to me and shoved it at my chest.
"Read that."

I eased into my recliner and did as directed. The piece was a
glowing report on last night's festivities. It gushed about how elegant
the setting was. The food was sumptuous. The floral arrangements
were delightful. And despite being in a battle for her life, Cassandra
Lawrence looked stunning.

Staci was mentioned in passing. The fundraiser part was left
out entirely. But Cassandra—her dress, her shoes and even her
bracelet were mentioned.

From my seat, I looked up at Annie. "Good thing the reporter
didn't follow you into the bathroom, or she might have reported on
what color of underwear you were wearing."

She snorted and slapped me on the shoulder. "Lord, you are
such a dork."

The tension broken, I got up and gave Annie a hug.

"I know double standards suck. But the people who know
you know you're much more than a pretty face. Your fans know,
too."

She tried to turn away, but I stopped her.

"Seriously. I won't deny there have been guys at your shows
just because their girlfriends brought them or because they thought
you're hot. But, swear to God, by the end of your shows, those guys
were always the ones saying, 'Damn, she's good.'"

If Annie would have had eyebrows, she would have raised
them. "So were you ever one of those guys?"

I chuckled at the memory. "Yes, actually. I'll tell you about it
as soon as you mark number seven off on the fridge."

With a grin, she went to the fridge. "Drum roll please."

I drummed my fingers on the counter while Annie drew an X
over the box that contained the number seven. With a flourish, she
capped the marker and bowed.

"This story of yours better be good."

"Have I ever told you one that wasn't?"

I grabbed a couple of flavored waters from the fridge and
led her to the patio. We sat and sipped the drinks. The May sunshine
warmed my face. Robins darted among the trees on the other side of
the trail.

The quiet moment gave me a chance to do a little inventory
of my North Star. The cumulative effects of the chemo were gaining
on her. Despite her efforts to maintain her energy level by eating
right and exercising, she tired more easily every day. Dark circles
had taken up permanent residence under her eyes. A shirt that had
once been form-fitting now hung loosely on her. A picture of fitness
before her diagnosis, she'd dropped almost fifteen pounds, very little
of which she'd needed to lose.

While her skin still had the light perma-tan look, it had lost
its sheen. The lip gloss she'd worn last night was gone and a few
cracks in her lips were visible. Annie had insisted they didn't hurt,
but I handed her the spare lip balm I always kept on hand.

She rolled some on and took a drink. There was an
unmistakable wince as she swallowed. Her throat was sore more
often than not these days, and her singing last night couldn't have
helped.

When she returned the lip balm to me, she squeezed my
hand. "I know what you're thinking."

"Oh really?"

"Yep, one of the unintended benefits of cancer. I can read
minds."

"At least ones as simple as mine, right?"

She tried to force a grin, but evidently couldn't and turned to
look out over the trail. "You made it pretty easy, given you were
looking at me the exact same way that Doctor Hill was today. I know
I look like hell—"

"You don't—"

She put her hand up, stop sign style. "E.J. please. The weight
loss, the headaches, the sore throat. I know it doesn't look good, but
the doctor promises me I'm getting better. She can barely feel the
larger tumor and she can't find the smaller one at all."

I let out a long breath. An invisible ten-ton weight slipped off
my shoulders. "That's great."

Annie ran her tongue over her lips. "Yes, yes it is. The next
few weeks may be tough, but I'm almost home. For this part at
least."

"Can I come with you for your final round? It'd mean an
awful lot to be by your side when you ring out."

"You'd better. I'm not ringing out without you. Now, about
this story you promised me."

The sunshine and Annie's reassurance settled over me like a
warm blanket on a cold night. The worry that was always trying to
fight to the front of my thoughts was shuffled to the far corners of my
mind. For the moment, at least.

"You know about the night I first saw you in
Who's In
Charge?
Right? Back then, I didn't know you were a musician too.
But from the first time I heard "Rock Awhile," I was an instant
convert to your music. Your first tour included a stop in
Bloomington. I was there. You played The Bluebird and blew my
socks off. You were smokin' hot, and you still are by the way, but
your guitar playing totally hooked me."

I snapped my fingers. "I've got something to show you." I
rushed to the spare bedroom and moved a few things in the closet
around until I found what I was looking for. I sprinted back to the
patio and returned to my seat, breathing heavily from the sudden
exertion.

I flipped open a battered cardboard box and started digging
through it.

"E.J. McCarty, what are you doing?"

"Yes! Here it is." I pulled out a dog-eared and faded ticket
stub and handed it to her. "That's the show. That's the night that
taught me how great of a songwriter and guitarist you are. You didn't
have all the bells and whistles you use on tour now, but Good God,
you were amazing."

She stared at the ticket, apparently lost in her own thoughts.
When she spoke, she shook her head. "I wish I could tell you I
remember this show, but..."

"That's okay. It's one of hundreds you've done over the
years. I couldn't give you the details anymore, myself. I remember
that after 'Rock Awhile', you got the biggest response when you did
'In and Out'."

Annie looked down and rubbed her forehead. "I'll never live
that song down. Do you have any idea how much criticism I've gotten
for it?"

As a member of Cassie's Crew, I was familiar with all of
Annie's songs. What their origins were, where they'd been recorded,
things like that. "In and Out" was, according to Annie, a tongue in
cheek story of a weekend she'd attempted, unsuccessfully, to take
care of a stray cat. She'd turned that frustration into a song that her
detractors had insisted was a thinly veiled nod to a wild, one night
stand.

In defiance of the critics, she'd kept the song in her shows.
Over the years, it had become a fan favorite, to the point that she
couldn't
not
play it. These days, to drive her point home, she
always ended the song by unfurling a giant picture of a fuzzy white
kitten.

"Some people just can't take a joke. Anyway, from that point
on, whenever your name came up, the first thing I'd always talk
about was your song writing. Second was your guitar playing. Third,
your amazing voice. Your looks always came after that. To this day,
I've always thought of you as an incredibly gifted artist first and
foremost."

She looked me, her eyes a little misty. "There you go again,
saying the nicest things."

I shrugged. "Just speaking the truth."

She blinked a couple of times and her lips curled up slightly.
"So is that your creepy Cassandra Lawrence obsession box?"

"Sorry. No such thing exists. I've always kept ticket stubs,
programs, things like that and when I moved here, they all got
thrown in this box. I do have one thing that gets kind of close to the
'I'm obsessed with Cassandra line' though. Care to see it?"

With a grimace, she leaned back. "I'm not sure I like the
sound of this."

I flipped through a few programs and found the CD case.
"It's not that bad. May even clear up a few old rumors."

I handed the collectible to Annie.

She sucked in a little breath. "Oh my Lord. So it's true."

Her eyes were wide with apparent amazement. The CD she
held was one of the legendary copies of
Find Me a Friend
with
her name listed as Cassie Lawrence.

"I've never seen one before. I honestly thought it was a
publicity stunt the record company pulled. I never knew."

"Yeah, well I've only seen two other copies. A guy was
selling one when I was at Bonnaroo a few years back. The other was
in this underground-type record store in Boulder. The place creeped
me out so I didn't stick around long, and when I went back a couple
of weeks later, it was gone."

"The CD or the store?"

"Both." I chuckled and put the lid back on the box. "You can
have the disc if you want."

The old back injury twinged a little when I lifted the box and
headed indoors to put it away. When I returned to the patio, Annie
was staring at the CD.

"Why didn't you tell me you had this?"

"Does it matter?"

"You had to know I was going to ask about it."

"To be completely honest, I didn't want to scare you. Was
kind of afraid you'd think ownership of that might cross the
obsessive line."

"So why tell me now?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Just thought you might get a kick
out of knowing the legend really is true."

She started to laugh, but ended coughing instead. After a
drink of water, she patted her chest. "You having this disc doesn't
scare me. I've had to deal with overly obsessed fans a few times, and
you're plenty far away from the line.

"Something else has me scared though."

I raised my eyebrows and fought to keep any panic out of
my voice. "Oh?"

"I've lost another three pounds and after last night, I've been
exhausted all day. I know the doctor said the tumors are shrinking,
but what if..." A single tear ran down her cheek. She rubbed it away
with her thumb.

She got up and leaned against the wrought iron railing.
"What if it's progressed down the lymph nodes? What if it's popped
up someplace else? What if..." She wrapped her arms around herself
as a shiver ran through her.

"Don't think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me a
little bit ago. You weren't checking me out. You were assessing me.
And without the glamour make up and designer clothing, I know it's
not a pretty sight. I'm out of control, E.J., completely helpless."

She looked toward the clear blue sky and took a long
sniff.

I went to her and wrapped her in my arms. Her breathing
was ragged and she was cold to the touch. I held her tighter and
rested my chin on her head, trying to transfer some of my body heat
to hers. She didn't move, so I didn't either.

A cardinal's call from a nearby tree brought Annie back from
wherever she was. "You're warm."

I kissed her head and took her indoors. Once she'd gotten
settled on the couch with a blanket, a mug of hot chocolate and the
TV remote, I headed back to the garage with a promise that I'd make
dinner as soon as I was finished cleaning up.

My mind wandered as I put the tools away. When I was
wiping the end wrenches down, I glanced to my right and noticed
Annie's bike. A few cobwebs had crisscrossed the handlebars. The
blood in my veins turned to ice. I closed my eyes and shook the
terrible vision away.

The rubber band feeling was coming back. Annie had been
in such high spirits and had seemingly felt so good on her birthday
that I'd felt like after miles of chasing, I'd finally caught the tail end of
the pack and could sit up and rest a little.

Now, after her revelation, the pack was slipping away again
and try as I might, I couldn't keep pace.
This can't be
happening.
I leaned on the workbench and took long cleansing
breaths. Strength is what Annie needed from me, not panic.

Or fear.

Problem was, I had lots of fear, and plenty of panic, but not
much strength. The tight, burning sensation in my chest that had lain
dormant for weeks returned.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" I pounded my fists on the
workbench once, twice, a third time. Annie needed me. I needed to
be stronger.

My knees grew weak and I slid to the floor, my back against
my car's front bumper. In an attempt to regain some composure, I
started counting back from one hundred.

I was at thirty-four when my phone buzzed. It was a text
from Miranda asking about Annie. When I responded that she was
feeling discouraged, the reply was to the point.
I'll be there at ten
tmrw.

I breathed deeply as a small sense of relief washed through
me. We weren't alone in this fight. I needed to remember that.

Between her seventh and eighth chemo treatments, Annie
spent almost all of her time either in bed, on the couch or on the
patio. It was if the Taxol had realized its days inside Annie's system
were numbered, so it wasn't going down without a fight. The
crippling bone pain would join forces with waves of nausea to send
Annie scrambling to the bathroom. Once there, she'd spend the next
hour or so with her guts turning inside out.

Not even massive doses of anti-nausea meds helped at this
point.

After the third such episode, I established a routine. Once
Annie stumbled off, I got an ice pack from the freezer and wrapped it
in a dish towel. I'd wait outside the closed bathroom door until the
toilet flushed. At that point, I'd enter, help her lean back against the
tub and place the cold pack on her forehead. I kept it there until she
was able to hold it herself.

Once the goose bumps showed up, I covered her in a
blanket. I'd give her a few minutes to warm up. After that, I'd escort
her to the bed. Then I'd leave her in the darkened room and wait for
a text from her, letting me know the worst had passed.