I catch Cash giving his mom a side glance, wondering the same thing as me. Who knows? Maybe she’s planning a surprise or something?
I driveQueenie to Stan’s Butchers; well, he owns the farm with a butcher’s and fruit and vegetable store at the front. I park up and unclip my belt, ready to jump out of the truck, when Queenie grabs my wrist, halting me. I look at her, and for the first time in the years I’ve known her, I see fear that immediately has my hackles rising.
“Queenie, what is it?” I ask.
She gives me a small smile as her eyes fill with sadness. “You know I won’t be around forever,” she starts.
“Queenie, don’t talk trash. You will outlive every single one of us,” I state, cutting her off.
“I’m seventy,” she argues.
“Well aware, Queenie. We will throw you a kick-ass party. Plus, you look like you’re in your fifties. Act like it, too,” I point out.
“Star, listen to me,” she pleads, her voice cracking.
I blink, hating that tone in her voice. She sighs and looks out the window. “I asked you to come with me because I’m not ready to tell Cash yet. I want to enjoy Christmas, but there may be a time when I’m not feeling myself and I will need help. Not in taking care of me, but in making excuses for me. Say I’ve drunk too much. Anything.”
“Queenie, you are scaring the crap out of me now.”
“I found a lump.” Those words hit me harder than a two-tonne truck. My breath catches in my throat, unable to form words from the pain in my chest. “It’s cancer. They think they’ve caught it early enough, and I have tablets to take. Chemo tablets.” She pauses. “I’ve only just started them, and I’m not feeling too bad right now, but I can feel it. The tiredness, the nausea…”
I reach for her hand and take it in mine. “You need to tell Cash.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. Not yet. After Christmas.”
I purse my lips, wanting to argue, to convince her to tell him, but instead I back down. “So, what happens now?” I ask.
“Well, I take these tablets, then I go back, and they will see if they have worked. If not, then I will have to have more aggressive treatment. Maybe tablets and chemo or radiation? I don’t know. I kind of zoned out when they told me. I just know I’m not young. I’m old. Which means they ain’t going to try as hard to save my old ass, especially when there are poor young ‘uns with it. And I’m okay with that. If I can’t fight it, then I don’t want to. I don’t want my final years to be ones filled with pain, not living. Not seeing my family grow.”
“Don’t know why you say it like that. Maggie ain’t having any more, and like hell am I,” I joke.
Queenie chuckles a laugh. “I know, but I want to be around to see Hendrix grow. I want to see him cause his daddy hell, to see him fall in love. I want to see him graduate. I want to see all the babies grow up. Hell, I want a front-row seat when little Storm starts dating. I can’t wait to see Ghost deal with that.” She laughs. “If I’m constantly in hospital, fighting this, then I will miss all of that.”
I fight back my tears. Crying won’t do her any good. She has confided in me, and I need to be strong for her. “If this is someexcuse to get out of cooking Christmas dinner, then I have to say I think you’re taking it a little far,” I joke.
Queenie bursts out laughing before pulling me into a hug. “I love you like a daughter, you know that, right?” she says, pulling back and cupping my face in her hands. “Cash is my son, Maggie is my daughter-in-law, and Hendrix is my grandson, but you… Hell, all the ol’ ladies and the Black Hearts are my family, too,” she adds.
“We love you, too,” I choke out.
She sits back and sniffs back her tears, clearing her throat. “Right, come on. Let’s get the food, or Christmas dinner will be ruined,” she orders, patting my leg and jumping out of the truck like she hasn’t just thrown an emotional bomb at me. No, it feels more like a fucking nuke.
CHAPTER EIGHT
STAR
THE EVE OF CHRISTMAS EVE
With the cabinonly being a couple of hours away, the journey wasn’t too bad. We only had two arguments and one stop for a bathroom break.
Once at the cabin, we unload. “Mom, there is no tree!” Enzo protests.
“And no signal,” Oliver adds, holding up his cell.
“Who are you going to be talking to over the holidays?” Rhea asks as she puts things away in the refrigerator.
“No one,” he mutters sheepishly.
“Oh, Oliver, is there a girl?” I ask with a smile.
