Empty Promises (The Promises Series Book 3) (13 page)

I stand and splash cold water on my face, letting the coolness ease the heat behind my sore eyes. This isn’t me. Emily Wilson wouldn’t be caught dead crying in the school toilets.

He answers on the second ring. “Geez, you’re eager.” The snap to my voice is unintended. There’s a moment of silence that lasts a beat too long to be comfortable and I feel awful.

“How long do you have for lunch?” Lucas asks quietly and it does nothing to make me feel any better.

I sigh. I know I should stay at school, but I just can’t. Today has lasted too long already. “I’m about to leave for the day now, so as long as I want, I guess,” I’m careful to add a much lighter-hearted inflection to my tone of voice. I wait patiently for Lucas to answer. He’s taking his time but I know he’s still on the line because I can hear him breathing.

“I’m driving by your school now. Would you come and have lunch with me?” the hopefulness in his question is enough of a deterrent for me to not decline his offer.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks and to take your order,” a busty older lady announces, and I notice the wiry yellow hair shoved under her hat as she shows us to our seats. We’re at Pete’s Place, a small diner fifteen minutes from school. I like this place; it’s retro. There’s a huge Wurlitzer jukebox standing in the corner playing
Johnny B. Goode
while we decide what to eat. I couldn’t face breakfast this morning, and I know it’s not sensible to skip lunch, too, as it will only increase my lethargy, but I have zero appetite. I order food I don’t want and hope I can stomach it when it’s delivered.

“You think maybe we should address the giant pink ass elephant in the room and get it over and done with?” Lucas asks, looking at me so intently I feel his gaze on every part of my body. Not in some weird, sexual way, but more like if I asked him to close his big chocolate eyes right now and quizzed him on what I’m wearing, if I have freckles or what wrist I wear my bracelets on, he’d know. I have no doubt about it because when he looks at me, he pays attention.

I’m carefully folding my napkin into a tiny square, making it as small as I possibly can. “You mean, you want to know what it is about me that’s complicated?” I ask, setting the napkin down and watching it spring open and unravel.

“I think I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities,” he says, watching carefully for my reaction. “You either have a boyfriend—”

I cut him off with my scoff and it’s loud enough to have the couple sitting in the next booth looking over at us. “Trust me, Lucas, I most definitely do not have a boyfriend.”

His shoulders drop ever so slightly in relief and it makes me smile. “Thank fuck,” he sighs and the couple’s heads turn back to us once more. I want to tell them it’s rude to eavesdrop, but I suppose we are the ones dropping f-bombs. I swiftly wish he wasn’t so relieved because the truth is so much harder to deal with than warding off a little male competition.

“Your second theory, Mr.…” I have no clue what his surname is.

“Wade,” he says, filling in the blank. He shuffles around in his seat and then looks up from his clasped hands. “I’ve come on too strong and scared you?” I can see the remorse in his features and my chest tightens.

“That’s not it either, Lucas. Believe me, I wish it was.”

“So, what is it then? Because I know this is full-on but I like you, Emily, and yesterday you did a pretty good job of acting like you maybe like me, too.”

My pulse is racing. I can feel it as my mind frantically scrambles to figure out what to say to him. The truth really sucks sometimes.

“I’m sick, Lucas.”
God I hate this.

“I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten, Emily, but I met you in the oncology ward common room while we were both hooked up to IV’s. I know you’re sick. So, what is it?”

I chew on my cheek and then answer him. “A.L.L.” He nods knowingly. Most people don’t know what the acronym stands for and unaware it’s cancer till you tell them it’s Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.

“And?”

I know what he’s asking and I almost choke as I answer, “Terminal.”

Silence…

When he finally manages to look up from the table and acknowledge my response, his voice sounds flat and much quieter. “How long? I mean, do you know?”

I smile sadly because if I don’t concentrate on trying to hold the fake grin in place, I’m scared the tears will come again. “Initially, six months. I’m on month four.” I don’t want a response, so I ask quickly, “What’s your reason for hanging around in the oncology unit on a Saturday night, except to try pick up girls?”

A small chuckle escapes and he shifts, squaring his shoulders and focusing his full attention on me. “Tumor. Brain Stem Glioma. It’s at the base of my brain,” he tells me as I’m frozen in place. “It started off as a grade two, but because of where it is, surgery to remove it wasn’t an option. Radiation therapy helped for a while, improved my chance of survival by slowing the tumor growth, but then it stopped working and it’s on the increase again. I guess I'm what you could call fucked.” He laughs, and there's actual humor to its lilt.

He’s completely genuine, it’s not a fake laugh that’s laced with sarcasm, or one of those exasperated outbursts you do when the situation’s too screwed to properly comprehend it. “I have a loaded gun lodged inside my head, and it’s anyone’s guess as to when it will fire.” He’s so matter-of-fact that it takes a minute for his words to sink in. “So, yeah, Emily, I understand complicated. But, you know what? Don’t let something as minor as the fact that we’re both on a timer bother you. Everyone is, when you think about it. No one lives forever. We’re just a few rungs up on the ladder.”

“Cheeseburger, no mayo,” the waitress says in a bored, mechanical voice. The button on her shirt reads, ‘Hi I’m
Brenda
, can I help?’ I stare at it a moment as Lucas claims the food.

“Hawaiian burger,” she monotones and I place my hand up. I don’t trust my voice. My eyes fix on Lucas’s and I want to say something, anything, but there's nothing there. No words. He picks up the ketchup bottle and starts squeezing it over his fries and I watch him act like we’ve not just discovered that we’re both well and truly screwed.

I don’t want to fucking die, and now my heart hurts because I don’t want Lucas to die, either.

September 17
th
,
2013

(*3 Months)

Dear Diary…

I think I’ve exhausted every article I could find on the Internet about Brain Stem Glioma. It’s funny how I won’t type ALL in to the search bar. I’ve been taught that the Internet is not a reliable source of medical information. My doctors, parents, even Blair warned me to stay away from researching it online. Just stick to the information that the hospital provides, they all agreed. I’m assuming this is the norm for most cancer sufferers; they’re warned away from the web and the countless sites offering false hope in the form of untested, highly expensive miracle drugs. I know all this, but despite it, as soon as Lucas gave me his diagnosis, I jumped online at the very first opportunity.

I read through a comment thread in one forum that’s had me in tears for two hours straight. Some of the entries were from the patients themselves; others by family and loved ones. I can’t help wonder if anyone I know has done a similar thing and asked questions about what to expect and how to cope when I’m gone. The thought turns my stomach.

I don’t know what it is I’m looking for, reading all these articles. Maybe I'm just grasping at straws and searching for a miracle.

I spent most of the day with Lucas before my little cyber binge. We talked for hours about everything and nothing. I told him about my list. Well, actually, I showed him the copy I have on my cell. He’s the first and only person that knows of its existence. His eyebrows almost shot through the roof when he saw the virginity check box, which then prompted a bunch of questions. I told him all about Ethan and the fact that he doesn’t seem to know I exist. I think his response was, “If the guy hasn’t noticed you, Emily, then he’s clearly got some heavy stuff that’s distracting him. And if not, he’s clearly gay, which means you should change the name on your list and refocus your attention on me.” I laughed, but I'm not convinced that he wasn’t being serious.

He couldn’t understand that I’d never slept beneath the stars; I explained that I’d been camping before, but never just slept under the night sky. He insisted that he’s picking me up tomorrow night and taking me to do just that. I told him I’d think about it. I want to, but I'm not sure that I dare. Sharing that with him might be too intimate. I don’t know.

I guess he just scares me because he makes me hope, and there’s no room for that in the time I have left. I’m not scheduled for a happy ever after, and I’d finally put myself at peace with that. But now here he comes along, like Prince Charming’s sexy pierced brother, and something’s shifting.

I’m scared.

“The girls are here!” Mom shouts, seconds before I can hear Brie’s voice operating at a mile a minute. I'm on my bed, too tired to get up and greet them, but I know they’ll soon make their way to me. Blair is the first to pop her head around my door.

“Hey, Em, room for a small one?” she asks, proceeding to climb up onto my bed and lie beside me on her back.

“No,” I deadpan jokingly and she twists her head to look at me in mock offense.

“Tough, I'm not budging. I'm too comfy.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out at me like a bratty kid, and Casey and Brie barrel into the room, jumping up on my bed, too.

“Oh my gosh, you guys,” Casey begins with the widest grin I’ve ever seen her sport. “Brie is about to make your day. Listen to this!”

“Gee, thanks … friend,” Brie groans out unenthusiastically, blowing a strand of her long blonde hair out of her face.

I look at Blair for some sort of clue as to what’s going on but she looks as lost as me. “What’s happened?” I ask, sitting up and crossing my legs, poised for gossip.

“You know the—”

“Um, excuse me, Casey! I thought you wanted me to tell them,” Brie says, giving her a look that clearly means ‘shut the hell up’. Casey smirks, and Brie rolls her eyes.

“You know the barista guy from The Grind who I had a date with?” Blair and I nod while Casey’s grin stretches even wider. She obviously knows this story.

“The one you won’t talk about to anyone?” I confirm and her head drops a fraction.

“That’s the one,” she says flatly. “Well, I'm only telling you this now because I got drunk at one of TJ Conner’s parties this past weekend, and apparently told everyone on the volleyball team, so I guess you’ll hear a blown-up version of it at school this week. I met Marcus, you know the Barista Babe, the next day at The Grind like he told me to.”

“Um, yeah, after telling all the girls on the cheer squad she was dating him already, before she even showed up to their first date!” Casey squeals and I swear I see murder flash over Brie’s face.

“Oh my gosh, Case, let me finish! So yeah, I went to meet him after telling the team I was already dating him because I thought it was a given. Anyway, I show up and he’s sitting at a table with this insanely good-looking guy. Like seriously, the two of them looked like a pair of Abercrombie models. I walk over and Marcus stands to greet me, gives me a kiss on both cheeks, you know, like they do in Europe, and he introduces his friend, Paulo. Paulo does the whole two kisses thing and motions for me to sit down and join them. At this point, I’m thinking Paulo will be leaving soon and Marcus and I can get to the date part. Well, that didn’t happen.”