Chapter 1
Time can be an evil bitch. It can go by so rapidly that you beg it to slow down just so you can catch your breath, or in my case, enjoy the last few months you have with your husband and the father of your two young children. From the time we found out Jeremy had cancer, essentially shattering our world into millions of tiny pieces, until the day he took his last breath was only four months. One hundred twenty-two days, to be exact. One minute, you’re asking him to grab milk on his way home from work, and the next, you’re holding your two daughters tightly as the three of you watch the foundation of your family being lowered into the ground.
But the hands on the clock can also move so slowly, forcing you to cover your ears as each and every tick rings through your head like a sledgehammer. That’s what I’m doing when Dr. Moretti enters with my chart in her hand. I watch the pale yellow colored folder as though it has already sealed my death warrant…with scrutiny and a shred of hope that maybe, just maybe, my children won’t lose both their parents to the wickedness that is cancer.
“Mrs. Jensen,” she starts, taking a seat across from me at her desk, and sets the folder down. I want to snatch it up and see what it says, but I twist my hands nervously in my lap instead. “I’m glad you came to see me today. Finding a lump in your breast is a scary thing, and although it may be nothing at all, I would like to do an ultrasound.”
I try to nod my head, but I’m unsure if it’s actually moving. “Okay.”
Her hands furiously write on a piece of paper before handing it over to me. My fingers tremble as I take it from her.
“This is the number you need to call and set it up. Once they do that, I’ll get the results and have you come back in to discuss them with me.”
My legs shake as I rise to my feet and move toward the door. Dr. Moretti catches me right before I reach it and pulls me in for a hug. My head helplessly falls to her shoulders, and despite the tears that are beginning to form, I won’t let them fall in here. I have to be strong. I have no other choice. “Thank you, Dr. Moretti.”
She pulls away, looking at me from an arm’s length away. “Of course, Faith. Anything for you. See you in a few weeks.”
Walking back through the waiting room, I am greeted with dozens of mothers to be waiting for their own appointments, happily caressing their swollen bellies and holding the hands of their significant other. They have the whole world ahead of them. A child on the way and the man they love by their side. I wish I could go back in time and make every moment count with Jeremy, show him how much I loved him and needed him. Tell him to get checked out sooner. Then maybe, I wouldn’t be widowed with two kids who are now fatherless. Unfortunately, I can’t get the thought out of my head that, perhaps soon, they’ll be orphaned.
Chapter 2
The house is quiet when I enter twenty minutes after leaving my OB/GYN office. Dropping my purse onto the antique table just inside the front door, I go and seek out everyone else.
“Henry?” I call out into the dead air, getting shushed as a response.
Turning the corner into the living room, I find the sender of the shush lying on his back across the length of the microfiber khaki colored couch. His work boots are hanging over the arm, and he holds in his embrace the sleeping bodies of a three and four-year-old. I watch as he raises a finger up to his lips, ordering me to keep quiet, and I lean into the wall, taking in the sight before me.
It’s been a long time since the girls have fallen asleep on someone. They used to do that with their dad. Me? I could never get them to calm down enough to lay on me and close their eyes. They were definitely daddy’s girls. He always was their security, and right now, I wish I could curl up next to the three of them and pray this day away.
The thought brings a tear to my eye, and Henry notices. He frowns before attempting to rustle the girls. Knowing they really need a nap, I glide over and gently grab Chloe, my three-year-old, who is across Henry’s legs. She doesn’t wake as I take her upstairs to her room for her afternoon nap. When I walk back into the hallway, I spot Henry carrying Chelsea to lay her down in her own room. We both close the door at the same time before he gestures for me to move down the stairs ahead of him.
My skin prickles with each step we descend, knowing he is going to ask me how my appointment went. I know I can’t keep the truth from him. Even when Jeremy was alive, I think Henry was more in tune with me and my moods and needs than my husband. Always hugging me when I truly craved the contact, making me laugh when I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He’s always been there, and today is no exception.
“Thank you for taking the afternoon off so you could watch the girls,” I say, pulling the fridge open. “It meant a lot.”
As he leans over the edge of the counter, I try not to let his stare penetrate right through me. The trepidation of the day begins to slowly evaporate, and feelings I don’t want to admit to are taking its place. It seems wrong to feel the way I do when Henry is around lately. He was Jeremy’s best friend, and even though my husband has been gone over two years, I can’t keep from chastising myself when those thoughts pop into my head. Right now, I shouldn’t even be thinking about my ever-growing feelings for Henry. He’s been here for us over the past twenty-four months, and I can only chalk up my infatuation to Henry stepping in and helping when I needed him most.
But I can’t help but wonder. He’s always been a truly genuine, nice, sweet, responsible guy and won the lottery of good looks. Almost a foot taller than my five-foot-four stature, his dirty blond hair and penetrating green eyes always earned a double-take from me. His muscles from working as a landscaper encase every inch of his body. The owner of his own company, he never allows his employees to do all the work. He gets right in there and helps them out, which is why he is tanned all the time. Hours in the sun produce a masculine glow.
Those things have always prevalent, but in the past six months, he’s spent hours on the phone letting me cry over my new life of a single income, single-mother family, with the stress of having to leave my girls every day to keep us afloat in the house that Jeremy bought us six years ago. I’m starting to view him as less of a friend and more of the object of my wants and desires. These feelings seep their way into my thoughts and heart, causing me to try and keep my distance, but today, I just needed him, and he didn’t bat an eye to watch the girls.
“Of course, Faith.” His baritone timbre skims over my skin like a cold breeze, creating goosebumps up and down my arms, but it’s his words that have my hands trembling as I set the sweet tea down on the counter. “Anything for you and my goddaughters.”
Goddaughters. That word is like ice water. Yes, Jeremy and I asked both of our best friends to be the godparents to Chloe and Chelsea, never thinking that we’d actually have to use them. Who does that? We chose them because we wished for them to be a positive impact on the girls’ lives. Someone else they could go to if they felt like they couldn’t come to us. Sure, you put the godparents in your will and pray to God that they will never have to take them in, but after today, with Jeremy already passed, my intense fear that I’ll be gone soon is overwhelming. My chest begins to constrict to the point I feel as though I can no longer breathe. The impact of the day is creeping up on me.
What if it’s cancer?
What if I die, too, and leave my girls?
It’s been in the back of my mind since Jeremy left us. This overpowering terror that every time I get into the car, I’ll be in an accident. If I slip on the floor, I’ll hit my head and fall into a coma. If I go on a date, he’ll kidnap and murder me. I can’t help it. The hurt I saw in the girls when they couldn’t understand why their daddy wasn’t there anymore is heartbreaking. I can’t get over this irrational fear. I don’t know how.
“I guess that may come into play sooner rather than later,” I announce, pulling two glasses out of the cabinet and filling them with ice.
Henry, who suddenly appears at my side, places his hand on top of mine. “What is that supposed to mean?”
My chin falls to my chest in defeat. I’ve hidden the lump I found in my right breast for over two weeks now, and the weight of that secret is taking its toll.
Leaving the glasses on top of the granite, I slink to the floor, putting my head in my hands. The tears begin to fall down my cheeks and onto my jeans. Henry says nothing as he drops down beside me and entraps me between his arms, one hand caressing the deep chocolate-colored locks of my hair. It’s exactly what I need.
