Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 Read online

  Contents:

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  A Note From The Author

  Not Looking For Love: Episode 2

  By

  Lena Bourne

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2014 Lena Bourne

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

  or given away to other people in any form or by any means. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER ONE

  We brought Mom home at dawn on Monday. Today's Wednesday and she still hasn't woken up. She has one more day before the two month sentence the doctors passed on her is up. With each gasping breath she takes, each hour she doesn't wake, I have less hope that her end is not very near now. I sleep with my bedroom door open and the lights on.

  A raspy gasp followed by horrific coughs rips through me and I'm at her bedside, wide awake. The fluorescent green numbers on the alarm clock read 5:46 AM, but it's as though I hadn't slept at all, even though I went to bed before eight last night.

  I hold my mom's hand as her chest heaves upwards in her struggle to breathe. Tears are hot and thick on my cheeks, blinding me, but I make no sound, not even a whimper; let alone a sob. I don't know who's shaking harder, her or me.

  Dad comes in and lifts me off the bed so Edna can adjust Mom's IV. The coughs stop, but Mom is still gasping, still struggling to get air into her diseased lungs.

  Dad's eyes are rimmed scarlet and the dark blue bags under them reach down to the middle of his cheeks. I wonder if I look any better.

  "Gail, honey, why don't you take a sleeping pill and get some rest?" Dad asks and I have my answer.

  "No." I shake my head wildly. "What if I miss…"

  Tears seal my throat and I bury my face in Dad's chest, wailing. He smells of whiskey, it's coming from his pores.

  "Come, let's get some breakfast," he says and strokes my hair.

  I let him lead me from the room and lean against him all the way down to the kitchen.

  I gag on the first spoonful of my cereal, already regretting that I came down at all. I can't eat, I can't sleep, all I can do is wait and not think.

  "Edna tells me you haven't left the house all week," Dad says. "Why don't you go visit Kate today, get away from it all for while?"

  He's stirring his coffee but looking at me with worry etched into every line of his face, spraying the table top with brown specks.

  No, Scott might be there, a voice in the back of my head screams, and nausea bursts from my stomach into my throat. I can't see him, I won't. I have to stay away, or his eyes will suck me right back in, make me fall and hurt myself even worse.

  "Kate's away this week," I mumble because Dad's looking at me like he expects an answer.

  Dad pats my hand and stands up. "I'll be home early today. Then maybe we can go for a walk on the beach and have some lunch."

  "We have to stay here."

  "We'll see," he says, wiping his eyes with his back to me and leaves the kitchen.

  I stay seated, stirring my cereal, watching it congeal as it soaks up the milk.

  The grandfather clock in the living room booms to life, making me shake and leap part way out of my chair. Seven dongs. I feel like I've just sat down a minute ago. I keep losing time like this for the last few days, time I'll never get back.

  I leave the food where it is and stumble up the stairs, to my mom's room. It's stuffy in there, the air stale and musty. No wonder she can't get a good breath.

  I draw the thick, purple velvet drapes apart and crack open the window. The wind smells of the sea, laced with a sweet honey fragrance. I close my eyes and lean my face into the wind, but it's not blowing hard enough today, not doing anything to take away my cares.

  Scott is standing by Kate's pool, looking right at me. The sharp pain of longing twists my stomach. He doesn't wave or call out, and I stay perfectly still too. His look is a glare, filled with darkness and shadow. I could go down to him and apologize, but what would be the point? Under Scott's gaze, longing desire snakes through me, kindling my will to live. But it's as though another Gail is feeling those things. This one knows it for what it is now: a pointless, cruel distraction. Feeling good now, will only make the pain worse after.

  I leave the window open but draw the thick drapes back over it, then climb into bed beside my mom. My heart thunders to life with each irregular breath she takes, fear turning my vision black. But at least I'm right beside her now, and I will be able to say goodbye when the time comes.

  "Gail," my mom says. In my dream we're sitting on the broken pier at the beach, watching the sun sink into the sea, the sky lilac, yellow and purple. Her thick, long brown hair, the same shade as mine, is stirring in the breeze and she is laughing, holding my hand.

  "Gail," she says again, then coughing rips through my dream and I jerk awake.

  She's leaning up on one elbow, coughing and gasping. I massage her back, wanting to ease her pain.

  "You're awake, Mom. I'm so glad," I mutter. It's like the last few days never happened, like she's just been sleeping and now she's awake and on the mend. My head is telling me it's not so, that it can't be, but in my heart I believe it completely.

  She stops coughing and manages to sit upright. I pile the pillows behind her so she can lean back. Her gaze catches on the IV needle in her arm and travels up to the bottle suspended from a metal stand. "How long have I slept?"

  "Three days, but you're up now. I thought I'd—" I swallow the rest of the sentence. I have to be strong for her, have to stare this down.

  She turns to me, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Gail. I love you so much."

  I hug her tightly to hide my own tears. "I love you too, Mom," I sob into her shoulder.

  She leans into me and we stay like that for awhile, not talking, not thinking. Then she gasps and the coughs are back.

  I release her, but hold onto her hand.

  "I feel better," she croaks. "I'm sorry I scared you."

  "I know." Tears slither down my face, and I wipe them away. "As long as you're better, that's all that matters."

  It can't last and it won't, but right now my mom feeling better is all that is and all that I care about.

  Her eyes are already fluttering closed and I ease her back to the bed. "Rest now. I'll get Edna to remove the IV, and we can have a proper lunch today."

  I don't know if she heard me, but I imagine she did. I'm careful not to upset the needle in her arm as I draw the covers over her, before slipping out of bed to go in search of Edna.

  My phone rings just as I'm closing the door. It's Phillipa, my roommate at Yale and best friend, and I don't want to answer. But she should know I'm not coming back to school just yet, and this is the third time she's called this week.

  "How are you, Gail?" There's no trace of accusation in her posh London accent
, but I feel guilty anyway.

  "I'm, you know, not that well at all." My voice cracks and hot tears sting my throat.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, Gail," she says, "Your mother, she's still the same?"

  "Worse," I manage to choke out. "I'm staying with her for now. Not coming back yet."

  "I understand. If there is anything I can do you just have to ask, you know that."

  It goes without saying, but I'm glad she said it.

  I close the door of my bedroom and crumple down on my bed. "I'm barely holding it together, Phillipa. Most days I don't even want to get out of bed, but I can't sleep and I can't eat. I'm acting so weird I don't even recognize myself anymore. I miss my mom so much and she's not even dead yet."

  Sobs overtake me and I'm gasping for air, a cramp intensifying in my chest.

  She sighs. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Gail. What you feel is normal, it' is what you are supposed to feel and there is nothing wrong with you." She's majoring in psychology so she must know what she's talking about. But all I know is how this actually feels, not how it's supposed to.

  "Try to find something that makes you happy, makes you glad you're alive and hold on to it," Phillipa continues. "You will survive this and you must believe that."

  Scott's face, with his deep, mysterious eyes, flash through my mind at her words, bringing with it physical memories of warmth and pleasure. I shut it out. He's not the answer. Never was and never will be.

  "Do you want me to come visit you?" Phillipa asks.

  I shake my head as though she can see me. "No, that's OK. Class starts tomorrow and…"

  "It would be no problem," she urges, but just knowing she's there, holding a place for me in my life that is miles, oceans, worlds away from this one, is enough for me.

  "I'll call you later," I say, and stand when I hear Edna greeting Mom. "My mom is awake now. Thank you, though, for offering."

  "Go to your mother then," Phillipa says, and waits for me to hang up first.

  I spend the next half an hour with my mom, sipping my own bowl of watery soup as she does the same. After Dad comes home I slip out of the room and let them have their time together. The bags under his eyes are only marginally lighter than they were this morning, but his eyes are clear, and the boyish glee in them once he sees Mom awake rips through me like an electric saw.

  Scott's truck is still parked in Kate's service driveway, but I dial her number, thinking maybe she's home already and up for coming over.

  "I'm still in the Hamptons, sweetie," she informs me. "But me and Mark are coming back later tonight. I can call you then."

  "No, that's alright. I'll call you tomorrow."

  Outside the winds are picking up, sending the trees flailing. I step outside on the patio, and keep walking until I'm in the middle of the lawn, where nothing protects me from the wind. The gusts have a sharp, cold center, but the edges are soft as they caress my bare skin. I turn my face to the sky, letting the wind cool my skin. It's only the beginning of September, but somehow autumn is already here. Nothing makes sense anymore, not even the weather.

  "Gail," Scott calls. I open my eyes; sure I'd just imagined it. But he's in the oak tree on Kate's side of the fence, untangling a paper lantern left behind from one of the parties. "How are you doing?"

  I can't believe he's even talking to me and I can't believe how much I want to talk to him. But the image of my dad holding my dying mom's hand flashes before my eyes, so real it's as though I'm looking at it right now.

  "Leave me alone, Scott," I yell, and run back to the patio, hugging myself tightly.

  When I look back he's still in the tree, staring at me, his gaze pulling me back, sucking me in. It takes real strength to look away, and I don't know where I pull it from.

  "Come in. You'll catch a cold," Dad calls from inside the house.

  His shoulders are slumped and he's already holding a glass of whiskey. There's no trace of glee anywhere on him now.

  "I'll come in soon," I say, then turn back to the wind, letting it fill my body and mind, and consume me. But I keep my eyes closed so I won't see Scott anymore.

  Dad's already working at the dining room table when I come in. The clock is chiming again, five o'clock this time. I'm not sure who wound it, but the noise annoys me so I walk toward it to remove the weight.

  "No, leave it, Gail," Dad says.

  "Why?"

  "The noise keeps me from falling asleep too deeply during the night," Dad explains, and a heavy stone settles in my stomach.

  "I think I'll go lie down for a bit," I tell my dad, willing the tears to stay away. "Come get me, if Mom wakes up again."

  He nods, blinking at me like he doesn't really see me. And maybe he doesn't, maybe this time the wind finally blew me away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I sleep clear through the night, and don't wake up until nine the next morning. Mom's still asleep so I take my coffee up to her room and get in bed beside her. Her rasps jar me each time she takes a breath and my hands are shaking so hard I dare not even drink the coffee, sure I'll spill it all over the sheets. What if she suddenly just stops breathing in her sleep? What if I never have the chance to say goodbye?

  I concentrate hard on the band of light extending from the crack in the heavy drapes almost to the bed. Maybe this is the light of Heaven coming to collect my mom, inching closer, almost here. Almost time. I bite down on my hand, wanting that pain to erase the stupid thoughts from my mind. Even if I believed in Heaven, I wouldn't want my mom to die. But I hope there is one, for her sake.

  Edna pokes her head into the room. "I'm just going down to the pharmacy. Do you need me to bring you something?"

  I shake my head. "Hurry back." If my mom woke up, I wouldn't be able to give her any medicine, because my hands are shaking too much.

  She smiles softly. "I won't take more than fifteen minutes."

  Edna leaves the door open slightly so another sliver of light is now snaking into the room. Soon they'll meet in the middle, right on my mom's chest. I can't let that happen, I can't let the lights meet. When they do, she will die. My heart explodes in longing, making tears gush from my eyes, and I know I'm being silly, somewhere way in the bottom of my thoughts I know it. But I still climb out of bed to secure the drapes more tightly.

  The doorbell echoes downstairs just as I'm closing the door.

  Thinking Edna must have forgotten her keys, I rush down the stairs and open the door wide. But it's not Edna, it's Scott, wearing a grass and soil stained white t-shirt.

  "What are —?" I say and stop, not knowing what I was going to ask. There's nothing I want to say to him, nothing that will lead to anything good. Not in the long run.

  "I just wanted to see how you were?" he says. His eyes are deep, calm blue lakes and I want to jump right in. "And to say I'm sorry I called you a bitch. I didn't mean it."

  "Yeah, well, you were right," I say. "And now we're through."

  He smiles and it spreads into his eyes, making them sparkle. "We hardly even began."

  He smells like freshly mowed lawn, the breeze from the sea, and Scott. What I really should do is lean against him and let him hold me. But that won't lead to anything good, not in the long run. And I can't start anything with him, because only days from now my heart will break completely.

  "Which is how it will stay. Goodbye, Scott. Don't come back, I don't want to see you ever again."

  I slam the door shut, and run back upstairs, back to my mom. It's for the best. He'll give up now. But the sadness bringing tears to my eyes now is of a different quality, softer but still relentless.

  I stay beside my mom until nightfall, and then let Dad take my place.

  In my dream, I'm walking beside my dad, my mom's casket gleaming in the piercing white rays of the sun. Every step I take sends a shooting pain through my feet right to my heart. I can't stop walking. There's a hole in the middle of my chest that the pain can't touch, a void, like a piece of me is missing. It's only me, my dad and the casket in th
e whole cemetery and now the casket is descending into the ground. I want to hold it back, scream, tell my mom to wake and come back. But I'm frozen, unable to move, unable to make a sound. Darkness covers the cemetery, and I'm standing at the edge of a grave in which earth churns, rolls and swallows my mom. It's too deep; I can't reach down and pull her up. I lose my footing and then I'm falling into the terrible, roiling, bottomless darkness, soil filling my mouth and my nose.

  I jerk awake, my cheeks wet with tears, my head where my feet should be, the bed a mess. My heart stops and I hold my breath as I listen for my mom's breathing. A gasp comes, followed by coughing, and I finally inhale.

  Outside, the sky is an inky blackness, covered by speeding grey clouds. The house is quiet except for my mom's gasps and the silence presses on me with a physical force. The image of my mom's open grave below my feet is still vivid in my mind, so clear I can smell the rotting earth.

  I pull on my jeans and grab my jacket, my only thought escape. The numbers on the dashboard of my car flash to 00:00 AM as I speed out the garage. I should just drive to the beach, but the waves and the sand will not make the world stand still, will not fill me with warmth even for just a little bit.

  The windows of Scott's apartment over the bakery are dark. My legs shake as I walk down the alleyway and let myself in through the side door on which the lock is still broken. I bang on the door loudly before my courage fails and I have to return home. There's no indication anyone's home. Maybe he's just asleep. I bang louder still, but nothing moves in the apartment. He's not home, I realize. I don't feel him anywhere.

  I sit on the top stair and lock my fingers around my knees, trying not to rock back and forth. I should just go home, forget all about him. But it's after midnight; he's bound to come home at any minute. He has to work tomorrow.

  The silence is not as oppressive here, without my mom's labored breathing. A flash of guilt shoots through my heart, and I check my phone, making sure it's on and fully charged. I can be back home in fifteen minutes if Dad calls. The numbers on my phone flash by, and at 1:00 AM the door downstairs finally opens and a moment later I hear Scott's heavy footsteps on the stairs.