Her lumpectomy was scheduled for next week. Mercifully, her friends had found a way to make the looming surgery less frightening. When she told the “wine girls”, as Robbie called them, about her breast cancer, they’d found a way to make her laugh, and then surrounded her with more love and support than a single person could hold. They’d promised to throw a going away party for her tumor at this Thursday’s happy hour. Josie texted her this morning to say she’d composed a poem for the event entitled
Good Riddance: Fuck You Cancer
. Zoey was looking forward to hearing it.
“Decided what you want to eat yet?”
Zoey glanced up at Robbie’s question and realized the waiter was there. She shook her head. “Sorry, can I have another minute?”
“No problem. I’ll come back.” The waiter turned to take the orders of patrons at a neighboring table.
Robbie gave her an understanding smile. “You ready for tomorrow?”
She took a deep breath and nodded. Her parents were arriving. She’d called them a few days earlier to break her news. After consoling her mother and patiently answering her father’s seven thousand questions, she’d agreed they could visit for a little while, but then she insisted that they go back to Florida. While she loved her parents more than anything, dealing with what she was facing was going to be hard enough without their constant coddling. Her mother would hover and nag her about her diet, resting, and God only knew what else. Then her father would hound the doctors mercilessly. She hoped they’d come for a visit, see how well she looked, and then go home to do their worrying from afar.
“I love my parents.”
Robbie laughed. “But Jim and Gladys are a bit more than you can handle right now, right?”
She grinned. She always got a kick out of it when he called her parents by their first names. To their faces, he was very respectful, referring to them only as Mr. and Mrs. Emerson. “They are so much more than I can handle. The only thing that may save my sanity this week is the fact they’re staying with Aunt Jenny, so we’ll have a reprieve during the sleeping hours.”
“Well, hopefully we’re not just sleeping during those hours.”
She rolled her eyes as he winked at her suggestively. He was insatiable. Hell, she was insatiable. Having just discovered mind-blowing, set-the-sheets-on-fire sex with Robbie, she wasn’t willing to give it up for any reason. She wondered if that same passion would remain once the treatments began. She sort of expected it wouldn’t and that bothered her.
“Hey. Are you okay?” Robbie asked.
Leave it to Robbie to read her emotions so well. She tried to put aside her concerns. “Yeah. I just can’t seem to concentrate right now.”
“I know what you mean. Jesus. That was a lot of shit to take in. I wrote down a ton of stuff, but I can’t help feeling there was a bunch more I missed.”
Robbie had walked out of the doctor’s office into the dimming afternoon light and declared they were going out, said he felt like celebrating. When she’d pointed out that a celebration was premature, he’d taken her hand and given her the sweetest, sexiest kiss of her existence. Then he’d rested his forehead against hers and said, “We’re here. We’re together. We’re celebrating.”
They’d gone home, showered, dolled themselves up and now, here they were, sitting in the Brew Pub, one of the nicest restaurants their tiny town had to offer.
Robbie gestured to the menu. “What do you say we both get the biggest steaks on the menu and eat until we’re too full to get out of the chairs?”
She smiled. “That sounds great.” She was perfectly aware of his scheme. The doctor had mentioned protein would be extremely important to her diet. Unfortunately, he also pointed out that the steroids she’d need to take prior to chemo would probably cause some weight gain. Robbie had made her laugh when he’d said, “Good. You’re too skinny.” She wasn’t, but her vanity appreciated his compliment.
When the waiter came back, Robbie placed the order for both of them, adding loaded baked potatoes, Caesar salads and a bottle of wine to the list.
“You weren’t kidding about gorging ourselves.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I told you, darlin’, we’re celebrating.”
Zoey rolled her eyes at his exaggerated twang. “I knew Express Train was doing too many concerts in Texas. You’re starting to sound like a regular cowboy.”
Robbie grinned and told her about the tour. They’d been so preoccupied with her illness—and their newfound joy in sex with each other—that they’d had precious little time to talk about his trip.
All during dinner he entertained her with stories about life on the road, describing some of the interesting people he’d met and the amazing places he’d seen. As the waiter cleared the table and Robbie poured the last of the wine in her glass, she leaned forward and rested her arms on the table. She’d eaten every last bite of the delicious meal. She was full and tired and completely relaxed. She’d been wound tighter than a drum when they’d left the doctor’s office, but once again, Robbie had found the cure.
She reached across the table and took his hand. “Sounds like the tour was a blast. I’m so happy for you, Robbie.”
His smile faded a bit. “There were parts of the tour I loved, but there was even more that I didn’t like at all.”
“Like what?”
“We were in constant motion when we traveled around. There was no time to stop and enjoy anything. All those sights I mentioned were seen from the window of the bus. We ate takeout twenty-four-seven and trying to sleep while riding down the highway at seventy miles an hour wasn’t exactly restful. Chip snores something fierce. I swear to God it’s like a chainsaw was rumbling in my ear for hours on end.”
Zoey laughed. “I guess that would get old.”
“It
all
got old.”
She tilted her head, confused by his last, softly spoken words. “I don’t understand.”
Robbie leaned back. His gaze drifted to the dance floor where a few couples had partnered up for a slow song. “Dance with me.”
She took her napkin off her lap, but made no move to rise. “I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations on that dancing promise has expired. You don’t have to—”
“I want to dance with you.” Robbie stood as he spoke, reaching to grasp her hand and pull her up as well.
She followed him to the floor. She loved dancing. When he turned, she stepped into his arms, relishing the feeling of his hands as they touched the small of her back and pulled her close. Zoey rested her head against his chest, sniffing his shirt. He smelled of soap from his recent shower, and wine. The combination was surprisingly attractive. His heart beat slow and steady beneath her ear, the gentle rhythm luring her even further down the path to complete and utter bliss.
Zoey closed her eyes and recalled the first time they’d danced together. They’d been juniors in high school and Zoey had convinced him they should attend the Homecoming dance at school. They’d agreed to go with a big group of friends since neither of them had dates. Before they arrived at the school gym, Zoey pulled Robbie aside and made him promise he would slow dance with her if no one else asked because she didn’t want to look like a loser standing alone. As always, Robbie had made the vow.
Nineteen years earlier
The air in the gym was stifling. Obviously the school was trying to save money by not cranking up the air. Unfortunately they hadn’t anticipated just how much heat five hundred dancing teenagers could produce. Zoey swiped at the tiny line of sweat running down her face. At least she was in a lightweight dress. She felt sorry for the boys in long sleeve shirts and dress pants. Most of them—Robbie included—had shed their jackets and ties within moments of arriving. Even so, Robbie’s hair was matted to his head from all the crazy dancing their group was doing.
Zoey laughed when a couple of the guys tried to do the moonwalk as Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” blared from the deejay’s huge speakers. The gym was fairly dark despite the strands of white Christmas lights Mrs. Duvall had draped along the bleachers.
It had been a fun night so far and Zoey was glad she’d talked Robbie into coming. He’d been pretty quiet lately at school. She knew something was bothering him, but no matter how much she tried to coax the answer out of him, he wouldn’t talk about it. She smiled as she watched him dance and play air guitar, laughing with his friends.
“You want to get some water?” Robbie yelled over the music.
She nodded and together they walked to the refreshment table.
“Damn it’s hot.” Robbie rubbed the icy plastic bottle over his forehead.
“You would think they’d turn on the AC or bring in some fans or something.”
“Yeah. At least the deejay is good. He’s doing an awesome mix of new and old stuff. Did I tell you my band is learning some Aerosmith songs?”
Robbie had started a band last winter, his love of music overshadowing almost everything else in his life. She’d actually been jealous for a while because the hours he used to spend with her were now given to practicing with the guys in his garage. With time, she’d adjusted, finding other ways to occupy her time, other friends to hang out with. It wasn’t that she and Robbie weren’t still the best of friends. It was just they’d begun to pursue other interests away from each other.
“Please tell me one of the songs you’re learning is ‘Dream On’.”
Robbie laughed. “We’ve almost perfected that one. Come by the garage tomorrow afternoon and I’ll play it for you.”
“Deal. Hey, are you okay?” She wasn’t sure when she’d be able to get him alone again to ask about his recent moodiness.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I don’t know. You’ve been quiet lately. I was wondering if something was bothering you.”
Robbie glanced around the gym, then focused his attention back on her. “It’s just my dad.”
“What about him?”
“He’s been giving me a hard time about all the hours I spend practicing with the band. He’s still super pissed off at me for not going out for football.”
Robbie and his dad had waged a mini world war at the end of the summer when Robbie informed his dad he was quitting the sport. His father had been the star quarterback at Harrisburg way back when, attending college on a football scholarship. He’d expected Robbie to follow in his footsteps and had blown a major fuse when his younger son balked at the idea.
“I didn’t know he was still mad about that. I thought he’d gotten over it.”
Robbie shrugged. “He keeps harping on how I’m flushing my future away. Says I had a real shot at a scholarship and that music is a one-way street to nowhere. I’m starting to wonder if he’s right.”
“Do you want to play football again?”
Robbie shook his head. “Hell no. I played that sport from the time I was old enough to toss a ball. Hated every minute of it, but I did it because it was what my dad expected. This has been the best fall of my life because I’m not out there on the field. I haven’t missed the game a bit.”
Zoey’s temper piqued. “You’re an amazing musician. Maybe if your dad took the time to stop being an ass and actually listened to you, he’d realize that. Have you played him any of the songs you’ve been writing?”
Robbie shook his head. “He’s not interested.”
“You’re old enough to make up your own mind about this. Do you think you could give up playing the guitar and writing songs as easily as you did football?”
“God no. It would kill me.”
She smiled. “Then there’s your answer. You were born to make music. You’re going to be famous one day. You can’t let your dad convince you otherwise.”
He fell silent for a moment. “You really believe that?”
“With my whole heart.”
“Thanks.”
The music changed and Robbie brightened. “Oh hell yeah. Clapton.”
Excited to hear a song by one of his music idols, Robbie failed to realize it was also a slow song. Zoey glanced toward the dance floor and noticed all their friends had quickly partnered up. She stood there awkwardly wondering if Robbie would remember his promise.
“I guess you wanna dance, right?”
She looked up at his face and laughed. “Of course I do.”
He took her hand and led her to the floor as “Tears in Heaven” played. They found an open spot in the middle of the gym and turned to face each other. Robbie put his hands on her waist and she placed her hands on his shoulders.
“I’ve never slow danced with a girl before,” he admitted after a few moments.
“So I’m your first dance?”
He rolled his eyes with fake annoyance. “You always end up being my first. Guess I need to get out there and start playing the field more.”
“You act like I’m not a girl.”
“I know you’re a girl, but you’re Zoey. You’re like my sister.”
For some reason, his words pissed her off. While she understood the sentiment, she was tired of Robbie looking at her like he looked at the guys in his band. She’d fixed her hair in a fancy style and even put on make-up for tonight’s dance and he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t said a word about it.
Funny how the blindness he suffered in regards to her didn’t impact him noticing other girls. When Barbie Jennings walked into the gym with her cleavage hanging out or when Stacy Barker shook her ass in a mini-skirt so tight, Zoey feared the girl would have to cut it off with scissors, she thought Robbie’s eyes would pop out of his head.