One Last Miracle [complete]

XXII

XXII

one month, five days...

Two days after New Year, I find myself at James' house again, picking up a lift with dad as he heads to work that morning. I catch his mum as she heads off to work, reversing her car out of the driveway. The front door is unlocked, so I head right in, leaving my shoes at the door. No one's inside, so I moved towards the back door, where I assume James will be; I know he's here because I texted him to double check beforehand.

"Sorry," says Jeremy, holding up a set of keys. "I was using his car to practice. My test is only a week away." He turns back, to where James is behind the wheel, reversing into a carport. "He saw you, so he knows you're here."

I feel a sudden wave of sadness. At his age, I passed my test, my first time. I was ready for the road, about to buy my first car. Then cancer ruined everything. I force a smile. "You'll pass. Don't stress too much about it."

He nods, sitting next to me. "It helps."

"What helps?"

"James. His disability. He's always there, but he's calm about it all." Jeremy turns to face me, raising an eyebrow. "You have your licence, right?"

"Uh, no." I wince. "Actually, yeah. But my treatment made me so weak—I had orders not to drive by my oncologist."

There's a moment of awkward silence. Then, leaning noticeably further away from me, he says, "Oh. That sucks."

I bring my knees up, resting my chin on them. "Yeah." My voice is wiry.

"Your treatment is over though? For good?"

"Probably," I whisper. "The cancer is stagnant—not getting worse, but not getting better. That could change in the next few years, but my oncologist says everything should get better."

"But there's the chance it won't."

All I can do is nod.

"It scared the shit out of me," says Jeremy. "Cancer. I always knew it was out there—but it never affected me personally. My grandmother had it, but she died before I was even born. Ever since James started dating you, everything has changed. I look at you and my first thought isn't 'cancer.' Yet you have it. And that freaks me out. What if I have it, you know?"

"Just hope it never does. I never thought it would happen to me," I manage in response. "The day it did..."

I don't need to finish the sentence.

Clearing his throat, Jeremy stands. "I'm going to grab something to eat. Go out to James; I'm sure he'll let you drive his car."

In the wake of his departure, the silence is unbearable. Hard as I try, there's always a moment where I think back to the first weeks of chemotherapy—before I became routine. I had nightmares about dying, night after night. There were times where I looked at all the IV's, wondering what would happen if I wrapped the chords around my neck. I cried, constantly, refusing to speak to anyone. For a long time, I didn't believe it—refused to—thinking it was all a sick joke and I was the punchline. When I truly faced my reality, it was even worse—

Forcing away the thought, I stand, resolved. Heading out to James, who's still reversing the car. I weave around the horses, ducking through the gate that acts as a divider. James pauses, hopping down from the driver seat.

Lifting my hands, I sign, Hey.

He signs it back, brushing his hair back. In a Nike singlet and low-hanging track pants, I imagine he's sweltering in the outdoor heat—though if he is, there's no outward indication of it.