Catching Serenity (Serenity #4) (19 page)

“Sayo… Quinn.” Aunt Carol emerges, followed by two nurses and a doctor I don’t recognize. I can just make out Uncle Clay’s feet as he sits next to Rhea on the bed before one of the nurses pulls the door shut. Odd that he’d be here when Carol swore he’d been called in to work and couldn’t be here when the labs came back. Quinn and I are on are feet when Carol crosses the threshold. “You’re both so sweet to wait.”

“Well?” I ask, noticing how tired Carol looks, how the faint lines around her eyes and mouth have somehow gotten deeper in a matter of months.

“She doesn’t have it, fortunately. But since the wing was exposed, I… well…” Carol dismisses the head shake one of the nurses gives her as she passes, then lifts her chin, looking determined, confident. “Look, I realize it may seem a bit of an overreaction, but I still want her quarantined. Clay is staying with her for a little while and then I want everyone else to clear out for at least five days.”

“Five days?” Quinn clears his throat, looking sheepish that he’d lost his composure again. “Well what’s to be done until then?”

“Nothing. I…” My aunt eyes me, looking for sympathy she know I’ll give her.

“This happened before, when Rhea was younger. One of the kids got sick and the staff weren’t that concerned.” I push my hair behind my ear, lowering my voice as one of the doctors passes by us. “Well, it took Rhea a month to get over the flu that time.”

“I won’t have that happen again..” Carol rubs her neck, groaning when it pops.

Next to me Quinn opens his mouth and I can see by the way one vein on his neck pops that he’s gearing up for an argument. One that Carol doesn’t need. Before he opens his mouth, I jab him in the ribs, hoping he will keep silent.

“Won’t she be lonely?” Quinn offers, not bothering to look at me.

“The nurses will read to her. They’ll make sure she isn’t on her own too much.”

My aunt looks behind her to the closed door and between that worried, anxious expression and Quinn’s brewing anger, I offer a suggestion that I hope will alleviate the issue of Rhea being on her own.

“What about her laptop or iPad?”

“I don’t want anything from home in there. The contamination…”

“For feck’s sake,” Quinn says, voice a little loud.

“It’s not her fault, asshole,” I tell him, lifting a finger to shut him up when he looks as though he wants to argue with me. “What about a new iPad? We can at least chat with her, read to her and Quinn can do…” Quinn’s grunt is low, but I ignore it with another hand wave, “whatever drawing things he does with her.”

“That’s not a bad idea. At least she’ll have a way to pass the time.”

Carol reaches into her purse, pulls out her wallet, but Quinn shakes his head, stopping her. “Leave it to me.” And he is down the hall and away from us before Carol can stop him.

We pass the time like this: Rhea looking more like herself, but somehow stronger, happier via the small screen on my laptop. She seemed so much stronger that I went back part time to the library. Aunt Carol even decided to pick up a few massage therapy clients while Rhea was quarantined. Between my work at the library and Aunt Carol getting back into the swing of a light work week, we had time to organize the final details of the fundraiser with Autumn’s help. Uncle Clay too seemed to be keeping more work hours which seemed to annoy Carol but when I asked her about it, she changed the subject.

Quinn and I keep to our schedule, me in the morning chatting with and reading to my little cousin from my library office and Quinn in the afternoons drawing at Rhea’s direction from his phone wherever it is he spends his day. This Rhea relates to me, though she’s still very vague about what it is exactly Quinn draws for her. I do not speak to him or see him but every afternoon when I pass the warehouse on Clemson Drive, that mural gets larger, more detailed.

Then, around the end of the second week in December, Rhea tells me that Quinn’s attitude had surfaced again, this time in front of her.

“Did you and Quinn have a fight, Sayo?”

“I’d have to see or speak to him for that to happen, kiddo.” I move closer to the laptop screen, worried when Rhea’s mouth stretches into a purse. “Why? What happened?”

I don’t buy the shrug or way my cousin exhales like she’s worn out. “I don’t know. He got all funny when I told him they’re letting me come home for Christmas since my quarantine will be over. He just, I don’t know, got really quiet and didn’t talk too much.” She leans in, tilting her head. “Why would that make him mad?”

“I’m sure it didn’t, sweetie. Maybe he’s just a little bummed he can’t see you for the holidays.”

“But he can. I’ll ask Mama.”

I couldn’t tell her that Quinn wouldn’t likely be welcomed. Aunt Carol was particular about Christmas Day. She and my mother had always kept to their husbands and kids the day of Christmas and reserved the day before or the day after for dinner with the rest of the family. I couldn’t see Carol changing that tradition just for O’Malley. Besides, my aunt and uncle knew how precious Rhea’s time was. I suspect they’d want to keep her to themselves for that day at least.

“You do that and I’ll be sure to ask him why he’s mad tomorrow at the fundraiser.”

“Okay, Sayo. Tell him not be so fussy next time. He’s never like that and it sort of hurt my feelings.”

A smile is all I manage to give her. Hurt like hell biting my tongue, but Rhea didn’t need to know that the sweet, funny man drawing for her is not the same person he is to everyone else in the world. She’d never seen the asshole Quinn O’Malley generally is and if I had my way, she never would.

NOTHING IN CAVANAGH
was subtle. Not our rugby matches, not our St. Paddy’s Day celebrations and definitely not fundraising, especially for an eight-year-old cancer patient. Autumn, with some help, has utterly out done herself.

The main courtyard on campus has become something of a winter wonderland. Cobbled sidewalks and pathways have been transformed with faux snow and the glittering brilliance of fairy lights, streamers and Christmas trees of every conceivable size and color on each corner of the two block area. There are swags of white lights streaming from four large temporary poles and draped in several rows to the crown of a large tent covering a carousel in the center of the court yard. Carnival rides and games, Santa Claus taking pictures with kids, raffles and live bands all make up the cacophony of sound and chaos as I walk through the court yard unable to keep my gaze from all the lights and activity.

“My God,” I say to myself, mesmerized by the magnitude of the miracle Autumn has conjured for my little cousin. I knew she’d taken care to facilitate her charm, garnering the support of nearly every shop and business in the downtown district. I knew there had been donations of cash and necessities required to pull this off. I just had no idea of how capable Autumn actually was.

The weather has turned and I huddle against my leather jacket, tucking my scarf beneath the collar as I nod greetings and smiles at people I know in the crowd, some that know me. The air fills with the smell of ozone burning off all the white lights and the deep fried scent of funnel cakes and donuts, while kids run all over the place, cotton candy and lollipops in hand, stuffed elves and reindeers dragging behind them as they make a beeline for the carrousel in the center of the courtyard.

It is remarkable.

I only wish Rhea could see it, that the doctors had been convinced the danger of her getting sick has passed. But I understand why they are overcautious. Stage four cancer, for anyone, is no joke. It’s especially not something to take for granted with an eight-year-old.

Overhead a streamer catches my attention, swaying against the breeze that ruffles my hair. Glitter from its the oversized lettering cascades around me, showering me in gold and silver. For just a second, I revert to who I once was, to who I believe Rhea would have been had her childhood been happier, freer of worry and fear. With the wind brushing around me and glitter dusting my face, I close my eyes, wanting to keep myself in the wonderland around me. For a moment I am a kid again. I have no fears, no worries that weigh me down. There is no illness, no need for fundraising because everyone I love is happy, healthy. Everyone is free. My heart fills, expands and I breathe in the scents around me, overcome by the generosity of my hometown, But in the next moment I realize that I would trade a million wonderful moments for one great one, one impossible one. That one I’d gladly hand over to Rhea.

It’s her face I think of, that beautiful smile, the hope in her eyes, the laugh that I don’t hear often enough. But then, as I open my eyes and am thrown back into reality, what do I see across the court yard but, Quinn’s focused gaze staring directly at me.

But I quickly forget about him and his brooding looks when I spot Aunt Carol standing next to Autumn, wiping her face dry.

“What is it?” I say, running toward her, my stomach twisting like a spring. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dear.” Carol pats my hand, smooths her fingers over my face as I reach for her. “Autumn and your friends, oh Sayo, they’re just too much.” And then Carol can no longer speak, too taken by her tears and the emotion behind them.

“What is going on?” I ask Autumn when she steps next to my side. “What the hell happened?”

“The fundraiser,” my best friend says, shrugging like all the magic she worked had been simple and hardly a bother at all. “Carol’s just very pleased.”

“You raised enough for the treatment?”

“Oh, we raised plenty, but the thing is, Carol told me this morning when we first got here to set up, that her bank had called yesterday afternoon about an anonymous donation to the benefit account.”

“And?” I hate when Autumn goes all cryptic. It’s annoying.

“And…” she says, walking with her arm locked with mine as she guides me toward the tent that houses the carousel. Under that tent Mollie, Layla and Vaughn are huddled in front of a portable heater and Layla waves to me, tipping her large cup of something that pushes out steam in the cold air.

“Technically speaking,” Autumn continues, “the fundraiser wasn’t necessary—the donation was that big. At first she thought Declan and I had done it, but it wasn’t us.”

“Then who was it?”

Autumn shrugs. There would be no one else that I could think of that would be willing to part with that much cash. Ava and her academic friends could have raised some of the cash, but eighty thousand dollars was pretty much out of most folks’ price range.

As I walk towards my friends, I get the sense that I’m missing something, something niggles at the back of my mind; something that tells me I wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

But before I could figure it out, and before I reached the welcoming crowd of friends and rugby players, I see Quinn standing on the other side of the courtyard, watching me as though he wants my attention. I return his gaze, wondering which Quinn I’d get this time. Would he be combative as usual? Would the days away from Rhea, forced to visit with her from the tiny screen on his phone, somehow have made him more appreciative? Kinder?

Nah. I doubted that was possible.

Still, I walk toward him, staring at his face, thinking that maybe he’ll be nice. We are in this together, regardless of whether we like each other or not. Rhea has connected us and as I walk toward him, it’s her, the connection, that I keep in mind.

Then an idea comes to me—maybe the big picture hasn’t made sense yet because I haven’t factored Quinn into it. Maybe his fondness for Rhea is more than skin deep. Suddenly, I have questions I need him to answer, and my steps toward him become more purposeful. But before I can reach him, Sam, my ex, steps into my path.

“Sayo. Hi. Um… hi. Wait, I said that.” Autumn had given Sam the nickname Thor because he was so large, and because his complexion and hair reminded her of a Viking. That hasn’t changed much in two years since we stopped dating. Neither has those sharp blue eyes or the dimple in his left cheek when he smiles. For a second, I forget that we’d broken up because of my loyalty to Autumn and his to her ex, Tucker. We couldn’t accept the other’s friendship with either. Sam thought Autumn was spoiled and selfish. I knew Tucker was an asshole who liked to manipulate people to get what he wanted.

I was right and gave Sam the toss.

But that had been two years ago. So why is he stopping me now? Why is he so nervous, repeating himself and rubbing his neck like he can’t quite figure out what to do with himself as he waits for me to speak?

“Hi.” The word comes out bland, a little curt, but I don’t much care. “Something I can help you with?”

“Ah, no. Not really.” Another side step and Sam starts looking over my head, to the crowd, then back to me. “I just wanted…
shit.
” He exhales, stretching his neck once before he keeps still and looks right in my eyes. “I realize I was a shit to you with the whole Tucker thing. He showed his true colors just like you said.” Sam waits, I guess to see if I’d act smug and pat myself on the back for being right. When I don’t, he continues. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for how everything went down.” He steps closer and I’m too shocked to move away when he reaches out to take my hand. “I’m also damn sorry to hear about Rhea. I know how close you two have always been. I just wanted to let you know that if there is anything at all I can do for you, just say the word.”