The Road Home Page 17

  Gwendolyn chuckles as Lila maneuvers out from under her leg. “You’re hilarious.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve only made you come twice. Not nearly enough for our first time together.” Lila pulls her until she moves from her side to her stomach. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Am I getting a massage?” She laughs, and then she feels Lila’s hands slide between her legs. “Oh…”

  “You’re getting a massage. Maybe not a back massage.” Lila’s words are whispered against Gwendolyn’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”

  She spreads her legs a little wider, welcoming Lila’s fingers as they slide into her already wet center. “Yes, yes, this is definitely okay.”

  “You like being fucked from behind?”

  “Honestly?” Gwendolyn’s breath catches when Lila pulls her fingers almost all the way out and thrusts them back in. She moans. “I love it…I love it so much.”

  “Get on your hands and knees.”

  She’s there in seconds and finds a very slow, steady movement, alternating with Lila’s thrusting. It feels so amazing: Lila inside of her, her other hand wrapped around to her clit. She slips a third finger in, and Gwendolyn practically screams. She’s hitting something on every thrust that is going to make her explode. She looks over her shoulder. “Can you, oh, God, let me turn over so you can put your mouth on me?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely,” Lila says with a laugh. “Turn over.”

  When Gwendolyn is on her back, it takes Lila no time at all to put her mouth on Gwendolyn’s very wet center. Her fingers are still inside, and Gwendolyn feels herself ready to climax within seconds. She has always been able to come quickly, but the speed and accuracy Lila has is mind-boggling, almost as if Lila can sense it. “Lila?” Gwendolyn asks as she’s almost ready to jump off the cliff.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want you to ever stop.”

  Her words are breathless, strained, and when she hears Lila’s gentle, “I promise I will never stop,” she lets go and gives herself completely over. Heart. Body. And soul.

  * * *

  When Gwendolyn awakes the next time, she’s alone. She squints so she can make out the time on the bedside clock. Five in the morning. There’s a slip of a paper next to the clock, so she stretches to get it.

  Had volleyball practice. I had so much fun with you.

  I cannot wait to get my mouth on you again.

  Love, L

  She reads the words again.

  And again.

  Focusing this time on the love. Her heart is racing. Love. There’s no way. It’s only a word. A saying. A sign off. That’s all.

  Gwendolyn flashes back to making Lila scream and moan. To the way she tasted and how she smelled and how the veins in her neck looked when she came.

  Is it possible to fall in love with someone you couldn’t stand at first? Gwendolyn figures it has to be. There’s no way every love story starts with good feelings. And then they morph into whatever the fuck she is currently feeling about Lila Machowicz. Her mother’s other daughter. Basically.

  She rolls her eyes as she sits up. There’s a mirror on the dresser across from the bed. Her hair is a disaster.

  “The freshly fucked look,” she says as she runs her fingers through it. She pulls herself from the bed, quickly makes it, and finds all her clothing. After dressing and leaving a note, she heads to the front door. She finds the dent in the drywall. “Shit.” She runs her hand over it, a laugh bubbling to the surface. “Oops.”

  When she’s safely in her mother’s car, she leans her head back. She glances at herself again in the rearview mirror. There’s a hickey on her neck. “Fuck,” she says with a laugh as she rubs at it, as if it’s only makeup and will disappear with enough friction. “That asshole.” She gives up and starts the car and notices something in her side mirror. Something familiar. A truck that looks awfully like her dad’s. She turns in the driver’s seat. It is his truck. She’d recognize that beat-up, old, red, F-150 anywhere. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  And as if some higher power heard her, the answer is presented. He walks out of the house where the truck is parked, a young redhead on his arm. He kisses her, puts his hands up her shirt.

  Gwendolyn wants to throw up. She opens the door and narrowly misses the interior of the car as she gags. She stops after a few moments of talking herself down and closes the door again. She can still see them in the rearview, so she puts the car into drive and pulls away as fast as she can. Maybe there are questions she really doesn’t want the answers to.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The floral scarf Gwendolyn’s mom wears around her head really brings out the pink in her cheeks. Unfortunately, the pink isn’t caused from a tan or being flushed or even from rouge. Although the steroids were helping her appetite and her energy level, her cheeks were rosy and round from the drugs. It was common, and her mom complained about it on more than one occasion. Leave it to Carol Carter to have cancer and be concerned about her looks even in the oncology infusion center, where no one is concerned with beauty, and everyone is scared shitless about dying.

  Gwendolyn takes her mom’s hand as she snoozes, and the third round of chemo drugs are pumped into her. She smooths the soft skin. Her mom’s nails are longer than normal from not being able to help during volleyball practices, which has been driving her nuts. She’s said more than once how eager she is to get back out there, “So this fucking poison better work.”

  Learning volleyball is one of Gwendolyn’s very favorite memories. Four years old, barely tall enough to touch the bottom of the net, and she was learning the proper footwork to pass. For the first few months, she could have sworn her name was, “Move your feet.” Those were the days when life was simple, and all she had to do in order for her mom to love her was smile and laugh.

  Times changed so quickly. Life was never easy. And learning how to survive in the shadow her mom created was hard for someone as insecure as Gwendolyn. She hates how much she disliked herself growing up. She was too tall, with big thighs and feet, horrible acne, and no idea how to style her hair. Of course, looking back in a yearbook now only proves that no one knew how to do their hair in the nineties. And everyone struggled with zits, and did anyone really have fashion sense?

  She wants to yell at her mom when these memories flood her mind. She wants to tell her how horrible she felt, how insignificant, how small. She wants to cry and hit something and make her mom see how fucked up she is because she wasn’t loved for the person she was becoming. She was forced to be something she wasn’t, and now look at her.

  Years and years and years of therapy only to still be struggling. Will she ever get out of the hole she was buried in, or will the dirt of horrible self-esteem finally cover her completely?

  And why does she have such a horrible view of herself when her mom’s self-love was always amazing? Her mom, who has always had impeccable skin, cheekbones, body. She is so smart, so classy, and everyone loves her. She might as well be a local hero with as many volleyball championships as she’s brought to Vale Park. She is damn near perfect, honestly, so why the fuck does her father want to cheat?

  Gwendolyn tries her hardest to get the image of her father with his tongue down someone’s throat out of her mind, but try as she might, she keeps coming back to the scene. The familiarity, the closeness, the way he was holding her. That was not a casual hookup. There was passion there. Love. Which means none of it is new. All of what they shared in the minute and a half is built on more than a fling.

  She’s always known her father isn’t perfect. He was as hard on her as her mom was, but it was always different. He had a gentle way of correcting her instead of making her feel horrible. He would constructively critique instead of harshly criticizing. He would find a way to point out a flaw with a great deal of consideration. Never did he make her feel small or insignificant.

  Until now.

  Now she feels less than insignificant, if that is even a possibility. Not only does h
e not have the common fucking decency to help with his wife’s illness, but he’s also fucking around? Jesus, why did it feel like he’s fucking around on her? The thought makes her shudder. She knows it’s not the case, but goddamn, she’s angry. She wants to know why. She wants to know why the hell he would do this now. Of all the times in the world, he chooses now to sow his severely-past-their-shelf-life oats?

  And her mom. God…her mom will be so devastated. She has been the epitome of a perfect wife. She takes care of him. She does all the laundry and starches his shirts and even cooks dinner after being gone all day long coaching and teaching. Oh. And now she has fucking cancer.

  And the home-wrecking asshole he was kissing wasn’t even pretty. She looked half his age. Of course.

  Midlife crisis, party of one, your affair is ready.

  How does a man she has looked up to her entire life turn out to be such a shitty excuse for a human being?

  She is so lost and confused. She wants nothing more than to talk to Lila. To tell her everything. To ruin the image of the man Lila has also looked up to for a good portion of her life. Lila will be as upset as she is, if not more. Her bond with Gwendolyn’s mom is strong. Even stronger than Gwendolyn’s, as much as it pissed her off in the beginning.

  She can’t tell anyone. At least not until things calm down. Her poor mom…practically killing herself, and for what? Not for her husband, who doesn’t have the decency to wait until she’s cold in the ground before finding a hole for his dick.

  Gwen. Stop. You’re being awful. So very awful.

  “Gwendolyn, hello.”

  Her head snaps up at the sound of her name. Dr. Wynn is holding a clipboard and wearing a smile. She’s an elegant woman with long, pitch-black hair. She’s pulled up the sides with a barrette today, and wears nothing but blush and eyeliner. No mascara. No foundation. And she looks wonderful. If Gwendolyn had any sort of decency, she wouldn’t be looking at her mom’s oncologist like this, but Gwendolyn’s a lesbian in her prime, and honestly, she’s only human. “Dr. Wynn.”

  “Her numbers look okay.” She places the chart back in the holder on the side of the recliner. Gwendolyn cringes at the word because it implies relaxing, and nothing could be further from the truth as poison is pumped into her mother’s body.

  “She’s been very weak.” She clears her throat. “Very, very weak.”

  “The steroids should help with that.” Dr. Wynn motions to the headphones her mom is wearing.

  “Audible. Some romance author she loves.”

  “Ah.” She moves around to the empty chair next to Gwendolyn. She sits, and the air she brings with her smells sterile. Even more so than the norm. “How are you holding up?”

  Gwendolyn pulls her head back. “Me?”

  “Yes. You.” Dr. Wynn smiles as she moves her long hair over her shoulder. Her coat is so white against the black. It almost hurts Gwendolyn’s eyes to look at the stark contrast. “Part of being an oncologist is talking to the family. Sadly, the patient is not the only one going through this.”

  Going through this. The words cause a bubble in Gwendolyn’s throat. She swallows and nods. “I’m okay.” She means to say it with a bit more authority, but it comes out weak and unsure.

  Dr. Wynn tilts her head. She’s sitting on the edge of the chair, her nylon covered knees very close together. She’s wearing a skirt and sensible clogs, and Gwendolyn wonders what her personal life is like. Is she married? Has she lost anyone to cancer? Does she have children? Does she understand what the death of a mom does to someone?

  Dr. Wynn adjusts her dark glasses. “Okay is not…ideal.”

  “I’m okay.” Gwendolyn motions to her mom. Her eyes are still closed, but she does look more at ease than she did five minutes ago.

  “How is your father handling things? I haven’t seen him yet.”

  He’s is a lying, cheating, egotistical asshole. “I think he’s holding up fine.”

  “Have you been sleeping?” She slips her hands into her pockets, tilts her head, and seems genuinely interested.

  “Yes,” she says without more prompting. She hasn’t really talked about herself in a while, what she’s feeling or going through, so to be asked feels foreign. But she knows it’s good to communicate. Or at least, it’s supposed to be good.

  “If you need something, I can refer you to a doctor here at the clinic. A family doctor.”

  “I’m sure I can get in to see Dr. Myers.”

  Dr. Wynn laughs.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “He’s been retired for years.”

  Of course he has. She’s been gone for so long, and the last time she saw him, he was probably in his sixties. After thinking about it, she’s surprised he’s not dead. “I didn’t even think about that.”

  “It’s okay,” Dr. Wynn says softly. “Just keep the offer in mind. You might need something eventually.”

  “I’m okay. For now. I promise.”

  “Well.” She looks away, and there’s something about the way she purses her lips before she starts again which gives Gwendolyn pause. “This next round will be very difficult. She is already weak and will not handle it well. But she is a fighter.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “She mentioned having more issues swallowing. I have a mouthwash she can try. It should help a little. Nothing crazy. Make sure to keep up with her pain meds.”

  “I know,” she says softly. “I was so scared on the Fourth of July when I had to bring her in.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. And besides, she was able to get some blood, which helped with her energy. In about a week, we’ll have to give her a few more bags.” Dr. Wynn pushes the prescription pad back into her pocket and comes out with a pen. She starts to click it as if it’s some sort of safety blanket for whatever she’s going through. Or whatever she’s going to say. “In six weeks, we will evaluate with a PET scan. I have to remind you how rare this cancer is.”

  Gwendolyn pulls a breath into her lungs and holds it. She nods, closes her eyes, and continues to hold her breath. When she finally lets it out, she opens her eyes. “Are you preparing me for the worst?”

  “I think we should be prepared for everything.”

  “She was having regular checkups after her last cancer scare. What happened to those?”

  Dr. Wynn pulls in a breath, similar to how Gwendolyn did moments earlier. She pulls her glasses away and answers with, “It’s a very fast cancer. She had a checkup a year ago. She showed no signs of being sick. She was active and healthy.”

  “Is that a cop-out because someone missed it?”

  She smiles, a half-assed smile, one she doesn’t seem comfortable with. Her eyes are filled with sadness. “I’d love to say yes because at least I could blame myself. But I can’t. It’s—”

  “Luck of the draw,” comes her mom’s groggy voice. She’s no longer wearing the headphones, and she’s smiling while she straightens the scarf. “It’s all luck of the draw. No one to blame.”

  Hearing the truth doesn’t make it any easier to handle. “I’d like to blame someone,” Gwendolyn says with a shrug and a smile.

  “Trump. Blame him.”

  “Gladly,” Dr. Wynn says with a laugh. Gwendolyn glances at the welcome sound in the all too real circumstances. “You have some color. You look good.” She moves to the recliner while removing her stethoscope from her neck. She places the earpieces in her ears and breathes on the diaphragm to warm it. She slides it under her mom’s shirt and listens, listens, listens until she’s satisfied. “Your lungs sound clear, too. We do not want you getting pneumonia, so please take it easy.”

  “Gwen barely lets me out of the house these days. Not even to volleyball practice.”

  Dr. Wynn chuckles. “She’s a good nurse. Maybe you missed your calling,” she says as she glances at Gwendolyn.

  She smiles, tries not to focus on the sadness of the situation, on the truth of the matter, which is that she’s watching cancer kill her mother. The tears
are sliding down her face before she realizes it, and one splashes on the hand resting in her lap. She wipes the wetness away before her mom can notice and says a prayer to a god she isn’t sure she believes in.

  Please don’t let her die. Please, please don’t let this be what takes her.

  * * *

  “It’s sort of weird being on both sides of this budding relationship.”

  Lila throws a handful of popcorn across at Bella, who is sitting cross-legged on the couch, her own bowl between her legs, and her mouth full of half-chewed buttery goodness. “Probably not something we should talk about, then. I’ll let Gwendolyn have you as a confidant. I’ll keep everything to myself. All locked up. Should be healthy for me.”

  Bella laughs. “You’re a dick. You know you can also use me.”

  “Oh, I know. But you enjoy it far too much.”

  “I don’t gossip. You know that. I like knowing all the things, not talking about all the things.” She takes a long drink from her Corona Light and places it back on the side table. She waves a hand at the front door. “Did someone break into your house?”

  Lila swallows. “No. Why?”

  “Strong wind catch the door and blow it open?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Oh, so that dent in the drywall appeared out of thin air?”

  She nods, very embarrassed by the truth.

  “Mm-hmm.” Bella shovels another handful of popcorn into her mouth and while chewing says, “You know she already told me, right?”

  Lila’s mouth falls open. “I hate you both.”

  A laugh spills from Bella’s mouth after she swallows. She shrugs. “Does it help if I tell you she said it was the most amazing night she’s ever had with anyone?”

  “Ever?”

  Bella nods.

  “Seriously?”

  Another nod.

  “Really?’

  “My hand to God.” Bella grabs her beer, tilts the bottle so it’s pointing at Lila, and smiles. “You apparently know what you’re doing.”

  “You had doubts?”