Wander and Roam (Wander #1) (20 page)

“See you soon?” Sage asks.

His voice sounds so hopeful, I can’t help but answer, “Of course.”

T
HE NEED
to flee from the hospital stench overwhelms me. While Sage is poked and prodded, I find the elevator and escape to the main floor.
What kinds of tests are they doing? What could be wrong with strong, healthy Sage?

A small café sits off to the side of the main lobby. Perfect. I order a peppermint mocha then sink into a soft armchair in the café’s most isolated spot. The rich coffee aroma blends with the sharp, fresh scent of peppermint. I lower my face to the mug and inhale deeply.

Finally, the reminders of the hospital—of Robbie’s last, terrible months—fade away. But my worries about Sage remain. People don’t just fall on the ground shaking for no reason. Even worse, he
knew
something was wrong. But never told me.

I don’t talk about my future.
Sage’s words haunt me. This must be why. The “something wrong” must be
so
terrible, so absolutely awful, that he can’t allow himself to think of it.

I can’t lose someone else I care about.

All day long, I held it together. I had to, for Zachary. But here, in this café, the tidal wave of emotion cannot contain itself any longer. Tears well then plop one by one into my coffee.

I
care
about him. After all these years of being so loyal to Robbie, I have finally let myself fall for someone else.

When I finally build up the nerve to return to his room, Sage sits upright in bed, supported by pillows. He smiles when he sees me reenter and waves me over to his bed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come back,” he says. “Bad memories and all.”

“I never told you how much I hated hospitals—”

“I guessed.” Sage looks away for a moment. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I was hoping you’d never be in this position—here, in a hospital room, watching me grow sicker and sicker.”

Sicker and sicker. His words confirm my suspicions. Something is terribly wrong with Sage. Silence fills the tiny, sterile room. Sage studies a tiny spot on the upper right wall, while I examine the linoleum floor.

“Is that why you avoided me for the last week?”

He scoots to the edge of his bed and pats the empty space next to him. I stare at it. All I want is to be wrapped in Sage’s arms again. I cannot resist the temptation. I climb into the narrow bed, lay my head on his shoulder, and place my arm around his waist.

His lips brush against my hair; he holds me even closer and caresses my waist. For a moment, we enjoy the sanctuary of the present, avoiding any talk of past incidents or future worries.

“When you first showed up at Susan’s, I figured you were escaping a bad breakup,” Sage finally says. “Since you were always writing to Robbie, I assumed you were hoping to get back together when you went back home.”

“I was so wrapped up in my grief, I never even wondered why you avoided the future.”

“At first, it just seemed like a fun flirtation. But the more time we spent together, the more
real
my feelings became.”

I lift my head slightly.
He had
feelings
for me?

“When you broke down in the cemetery, it tore me up to see how much you were hurting. At first, I just wanted to make you feel better, but—” Sage studies the wall again.

“But?” I wish he would just reject me instead of drawing it out. It’s torturous to wonder about all the reasons for his rebuff.

“I couldn’t bear to hurt you all over again. I care about you too much to put you through all that.”

He wasn’t rejecting me due to lack of interest, but because he wanted to protect me. I lower my head back down to his shoulder, as his words really sink in. Whatever is wrong with Sage must be bad. Really bad. So bad, he thinks I’ll end up losing him, too.

“What’s wr—” I stop myself before I can ask. I’m not ready to know what’s wrong. I’m not sure I can bear it.

“Abby, these weeks were really special to me.” He leans down just enough to place a gentle kiss on my cheek. “I’m going to remember them.”

“What if I’m not ready to say goodbye?” I finally find my voice. Sage may be sick with some mysterious illness, but I can still stand up for myself. “You did the impossible. You helped me to find closure, to
care
again.”

“Care?” His voice cracks, gruff with emotion.

“You awakened something I thought was dead forever. I never believed I could care about someone again. I never imagined I could want anyone again.” I raise myself up on one elbow, stroke the side of his face, and lower my lips to his. After a long, tender kiss, I snuggle against him once more.

He holds me close for a moment then moves away until he presses against the metal bed rail. “I promised myself I wouldn’t be selfish. As much as I want to wrap you in my arms and never let go, it wouldn’t be right.”

His rejection isn’t nearly so painful this time, because I can hear the regret in his words. “Because you’re sick?”

“Really sick,” he whispers.

“As much as I hate hospitals, I’ve forced myself to tolerate them in the past.” I reach out until our fingertips touch. “I can do it again.”

“I won’t let you grow attached only to lose someone again.” He sighs. “The more time we spend together, the harder it will be.”

Lose somebody again. Lose
him
, he means. Sage thinks he’s going to die. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s
that
bad.”

I can’t help thinking if we don’t give a name to whatever’s wrong, if we just go on as if it doesn’t exist, it can’t intrude on our lives. I weave my fingers between his and grip his hand. He freezes for a moment then draws me closer. We lie upon the thin, hospital-regulation pillow, so close our noses nearly touch. We stare into each other’s eyes. I can’t resist any longer. I bring my lips to his. I’m not going to leave him alone in this hospital. For tonight at least, I’ll stay with him.

“I
TOLD
you this was a terrible idea!” The slamming door breaks the peace in the tiny room.

“Mom? You flew all the way here? How did you arrive so quickly?”

“I booked the first flight after Susan called,” the woman’s voice says.

My sleep-muddled brain processes the conversation as I struggle to fully wake.
Mom? Sage’s mother’s here?
As the metal rail presses into my back, I realize we are still in the hospital. I fell asleep next to Sage. I have sleep-infused memories of a nurse trying to force me to leave. Sage sweet-talked her into letting me stay, after sharing how he was all alone in a foreign country without any family to help him.

My eyes shoot open. I am cuddled up to Sage, in his hospital room, looking into his mother’s curious gaze. Talk about first impressions.

I try to sit up, move off the bed, and run my fingers through my mussed hair at the same time. Sage grabs my hand before I fully descend. “Abby, meet my mother.”

She nods at me before turning back to Sage. “You haven’t taken this seriously since we’ve gotten the diagnosis. I said it the first time you made your plans, and I’m saying it again. Flying to the other side of the world instead of having surgery was foolish.”

“When I have the surgery is my choice,” Sage responds calmly. “I wasn’t going to risk it without having lived a little.”

I stand against the closest wall. This is a private conversation I probably shouldn’t be hearing.

“So you pretend like everything’s normal?” His mother shakes her head, unable to hide her look of disgust. “Farming, romancing girls, and all the while, the tumor’s growing bigger.”

Tumor?
My breath catches.

“The doctor said it was slow-growing. She said I had time. She even agreed that it might be a good idea, given the… circumstances.” Sage gives me a nervous glance. He hasn’t forgotten I’m here, privy to this very personal conversation.

I edge toward the door.

“I know Dr. Ellington is a top-rated oncologist, but I never agreed with her decision.” His mother gestures to the hospital bed. “Look at you, three months later, recovering from a major seizure. Who lets a tumor just grow in their brain? What’s going to happen in three more months?”

The words circle around in my head.
Tumor. Oncologist. Brain.

I flee the room. I was right. As soon as Sage’s unnamed illness received a title, it became too real for me to handle. Cancer. The headaches, the seizure—it all begins to make sense. Sage has brain cancer.

His refusal to talk about the future makes sense, too. He must think he doesn’t have one.

When I stumble back into the waiting room, I’m a mess. My nose runs, tears leak down my face, and my hands shake.

“Abby!” Susan rushes over to me and helps me to the nearest chair. “Are you okay?”

“Am
I
okay? Sage has freaking brain cancer, and you ask if
I’m
okay?” I hide my face in my hands and allow myself to sob.

Susan rubs my back with her callused hand while I cry. “You didn’t know.”

“He never said a word. All that talk about staying in the ‘now’ so he didn’t have to say a word!” I pick up the closest magazine and chuck it across the room. My anger surprises me. When Robbie was ill, I never got angry. Don’t get me wrong. A ton of other feelings inundated me; guilt that I was so healthy, and fear over losing him. Never anger, though.