Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

I swallowed, forcing the tightness from my throat. “I know.”

“When we were in New York, she swore she has no interest in ever finding someone else. And I actually got really mad at her. We had an argument, and afterward I felt so bad about it. We both did, but…”

“There’s a lot going on, Marge,” I said, my voice soft. “She understands. And she’ll be okay.” If Marge heard me, she gave no sign.

“Do you know what else scares me?”

“What’s that?”

“That she’s going to lose contact with London. She loves that little girl so much… London is a big part of the reason we wanted to have kids of our own. And now-”

“Liz is always going to be part of the family,” I cut in. “I’ll make sure that Liz plays a big part in London’s life.”

“What if London moves to Atlanta?” Marge pressed.

“She’ll still see Liz regularly,” I assured her.

“But you’re only going to have her on the occasional holiday and every other weekend, right? Maybe a couple of weeks in the summer?”

I hesitated. “I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen with London,” I said. Vivian had been more generous, and less volatile, since learning about Marge. But then, she was the least predictable person I knew, and I was leery of making specific promises I couldn’t keep.

She turned toward me. “You have to fight for her,” Marge urged. “London should live with you.”

“Vivian won’t let that happen. And I doubt that the courts will, either.”

“Then you have to figure something out. Because let me tell you something-girls need their fathers. Look at me and Dad. He might not have been the most expressive guy in the world, but I always knew at some really deep level that he was there for me. And look at what he did for me when I came out. We stopped going to church, for God’s sake! He chose me -over God, over our community, over everyone. And if you’re not around for London when she comes to her own crossroads in life, she’s going to feel abandoned by you. You have to be there for her-every day, not just now and then.” She fell silent for a moment, as if winded by her efforts. “Anyway, she’s used to you being the primary parent now,” she added. “And you’re great at it.”

“I’m trying, Marge,” I said.

She grabbed my arm, her voice fierce. “You have to do more than that. You need to do whatever you can in order to remain in London’s life. Not as a weekend or vacation dad, but as the parent who’s always there to hold her when she cries, pick her up when she falls, help her with her homework. To support her when she can’t see a way forward. She needs that from you.”

I stared down at the empty streets below, washed by the halogen glow of streetlights.

“I know she does,” I said quietly. “I just hope I don’t fail.”

On Sunday morning, the Christmas tree was delivered and London and I spent the first part of the day decorating it, stringing lights among the branches and conferring over the placement of every single ornament. When I called Marge and Liz later that afternoon to see if they wanted to come by for some eggnog, Liz answered the phone and said they wouldn’t be able to make it.

“It’s been a pretty bad day,” Liz said. Marge had undergone her second round of chemo on Friday, the day after the trip to the water tower, and I hadn’t seen her since. According to Liz, the nausea and pain were worse than the first time, and Marge had barely been able to leave her bed.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No,” she answered. “Your mom and dad have been here pretty much all day. They’re still here.” She lowered her voice. “Your dad-I think it really kills him to see Marge like this. He keeps finding new things to repair. It’s hard for your mom, too, of course, but she’s been through it so many times that at least she knows what to expect. He’s trying so hard to be strong for Marge, but it’s destroying him inside. He just loves her so much, his girl. They both do.”

I found myself thinking about what Marge had said that night on the water tower, about being the kind of dad who is there for everything, always. Even, it seems, at the end.

“He’s a great father, Liz,” I said. “I hope I can be half the dad he is.”

On Monday, London’s last day of school before winter break, I finally got around to the Christmas list that Vivian had left me. Work had kept me busy most days, and in my binary focus on “clients” and “Marge,” Vivian’s list had slipped off my radar. Luckily, Emily still had some last-minute shopping to do, so the two of us drove from store to store late that morning. With Christmas only four days away, I was worried that some items would be sold out, but I was able to find everything on Vivian’s list.

Halfway through our shopping, Emily and I took a break for lunch. There was a café at the mall and though the food smelled good, I had little appetite. On the scale that morning, I saw that I’d begun to lose weight again. I wasn’t alone; Liz was losing weight as well, and I noted that she sometimes looked disheveled, as if she no longer cared about her appearance. Her hair, often tied back in a careless ponytail, was losing its luster. My mom and dad, too, were suffering. My dad seemed to have acquired a defeated hunch in the past few weeks, and my mom’s face was more deeply lined with worry with every passing day.

But our suffering was nothing compared to Marge’s. Walking was becoming painful for her, and often, she struggled to stay awake for more than an hour. When I visited, I sometimes sat with Marge in her darkened bedroom, listening as she seemed to struggle to draw breath, even as she slept. Occasionally she whimpered in her sleep, and I wondered if she were dreaming. If only, I thought, she could dream the kind of dreams that would make her smile.

Thoughts like these preoccupied me, even in Emily’s company, no matter what the surroundings. When my lunch arrived, I stared at it blankly, picturing Marge’s emaciated face. I took only a single bite before pushing the plate aside.

If Marge couldn’t eat, I guess there was a part of me that felt like I didn’t deserve to, either.

“You need to come by the house,” Marge said without preamble, right after I answered her call. I’d just dropped Emily off a few minutes earlier.

“Why? Are you okay?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question?” she said, with a trace of her old sardonic humor. “But yes, I’m feeling better than I was, and I’d like you to come by.”

“I have to pick up London from school in a little while. And drop off the gifts beforehand.”

“Swing by here on the way and leave the gifts with us,” she said. “London won’t find them that way.”

When I reached her house a few minutes later, I started unloading the bags from the trunk. When I looked up, my mom appeared in the front doorway. Even with her help, it took two trips to unload everything.

“I’m not sure where to put all this,” I said, staring at the mountain of bags on the kitchen floor. Did London really need all this? I wondered.

“I’ll put it all in one of the closets,” my mom said. “Go on in. Marge is waiting for you.”

I found Marge on the couch, wrapped in a blanket as usual, with the living room shades drawn. The lights from the Christmas tree cast a cheerful glow, but in the days since I’d seen her last, she seemed to have aged years. Her cheekbones stood out in sharp relief below the sunken pits of her eyes, and her arms looked ropy and flaccid. I tried to mask my dismay at her appearance as I took a seat beside her.