Nicholas Sparks - Two by Two

“Did you ever think it might just be a dream?”

“Do you have the same dreams twice?”

“I have no idea. I don’t remember most of my dreams. But I wouldn’t read too much into it unless you’ve actually noticed something amiss with Dad.”

She looked at me with a mournful expression. “ The cancer sometimes doesn’t show many symptoms until it’s too late.”

“So you’re saying that because he feels fine, he might be sick?”

She crossed her arms. “Explain to me why I dreamed it twice .”

I sighed. “Do you want me to talk to Dad again?”

“No,” she said. “But I do want you to keep an eye on him. And if you see something, I’ll need your help getting him to the doctor.”

“I’m not sure I’d even know what to look for,” I protested.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

“Did Mom waylay you about the cancer ?” Marge asked, pouring herself a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher on the table.

I’d just joined her and Liz on the back porch, after sending London off to help my mom in the kitchen. As usual my dad was in the garage, probably lifting an engine out with his bare hands.

“Oh yeah,” I said, holding out a glass of my own for Marge to fill. “It’s been a few months since she last brought it up, so I guess I should have expected it.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I hope I never get like that.”

“Like what?”

“Living in fear all the time.”

“She has good reason,” Marge said. “ The cancer knocked off her entire side of the family. Don’t you ever worry about it?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had time to worry about it.”

“I think about it,” Marge said. “I don’t worry, but it does cross my mind from time to time. But I have the sense that if Dad ever starts to develop cancer, the healthy cells will strut over, tap the bad cells on their shoulders, and then proceed to beat the crap out of them.” The afternoon sun played across Marge’s amused expression, throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief.

“Hey, you’re looking good, by the way,” I remarked. “You’ve lost some weight.”

“Thanks for finally noticing,” said, preening a little bit. “You didn’t say anything yesterday.”

“I’m paying attention now. Are you on a diet?”

“Of course. I’m going on vacation-meaning, I’ll be hitting the beach, and a gal’s got to look her best. Besides, with all that running, you were starting to look better than me and I just couldn’t have that.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to Liz. “And how are you doing, Liz? Marge said you’re drowning at work.”

“Yeah, I’ve been covering for another therapist who’s been on leave. Lately I spend most of my free time fantasizing about our getaway to Costa Rica. I’ve even been trying out some Latin American recipes, but Marge won’t eat any of it because of the carbs. I keep reminding her that people in Costa Rica aren’t as overweight as they are here in US, but to no avail.”

“I know my body,” Marge countered. “And it helped that I was sick, since my appetite was nonexistent. On a more interesting note, though, did you see the fair Emily today? At art class?”

I pointedly turned to Liz. “Do you know what I like about you?”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t seem to feel the need to pry into my personal life every time we talk.”

“She doesn’t have to pry,” Marge said. “As a general rule, you blurt out everything you’re thinking or feeling without prompting.”

Marge probably had a point, but still. I sighed. “I not only saw her today, but we also went to the aquarium last night. With the kids. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“And you probably haven’t even noticed how pretty she is, either.”

Liz laughed. “Whatever the reason, I’m happy for you, Russ. You seem to be in a much better place these days.”

“I am,” I said, surprising myself. “I really am.”

After Vivian FaceTimed with London, I asked her to call me back to discuss London’s upcoming birthday party. When she did, her tone was markedly icier than it had been over the previous weekend.

“I’ve already made all the arrangements,” she said. “I’ve rented one of those bouncy houses to set up in the backyard, I’ve set up the catering and I’ve ordered a Barbie birthday cake. I sent out email invitations as well.”

“Uh, okay…,” I said, caught off guard by her chilly demeanor. “Can you tell me what time the party is going to start?”

“Two.”

Nothing else. She seemed to be trying to make me feel purposely uncomfortable.

“All right,” I said slowly. “I assume you sent my parents and Marge and Liz an Evite, but I’ll confirm with them just in case.” When she didn’t answer, I went on. “And you’re still planning to stay in the guest room, right?”

“Yes, Russ. I’m staying in the guest room. We’ve already talked about this.”

“Just making sure,” I said before she abruptly ended the call.

I let out a long, slow breath. Despite the truce of the previous weekend, it seemed that all bets were off again.

As a kid, I always loved thunderstorms.

Marge thought I was a kook, but when thunderstorms approached, I would feel an electric sense of anticipation, akin to what my dad felt before the World Series. I would insist on turning out all the lights and would move the armchairs closer to the big picture window in the living room. Sometimes, I would even toss a bag of popcorn into the microwave, and, together, Marge and I would snack while we watched the “show.”

In the darkness, we would sit riveted as lightning split the sky in two or flickered in the clouds like strobe lights. During the best storms, the strikes would be close enough for us to feel the static electricity, and I would notice Marge gripping the armrest of her chair. Always, though, we would count how many seconds passed between a flash of lighting and the thunder, tracking the progress of the storm as the center drew near.

In the South, thunderstorms don’t usually last very long. Typically, they would pass in thirty or forty minutes, and when the last rumble of thunder faded away we would reluctantly rise from our chairs and turn on the lights, going back to whatever it was we’d been doing before.

Hurricanes were a different story, however. My ever-cautious dad always boarded up the big picture window, so we couldn’t watch the full extent of the spectacle. But I remained fascinated by the apocalyptic winds and torrential rain… and especially the approach of the eye-that surreal moment when the winds abated entirely and it was sometimes even possible to see blue skies overhead. But the calm is only temporary, for the back half of the hurricane still lies in wait and with it, sometimes even greater destruction.

Which, I wonder, is more analogous to life? Or, rather, to my life that terrible year? Was it a series of violent storms, bursting in quick succession? Or was it a single massive hurricane, with an eye that lulled me into believing I’d survived intact, when, in fact, the worst was yet to come?

I don’t know.

All I know for certain is that I hope never to experience another year like it, for as long as I live.

London loved her birthday party. The bouncy castle was a hit, she clapped with delight when she saw the cake, and she had fun playing with her friends, especially Bodhi. Emily brought him by, but didn’t stay, claiming that she needed to meet with the gallery owner to finalize some things for her upcoming show. Another one of the kids’ parents had already promised to bring Bodhi home. She apologized for not sticking around, but I think we were both eager to avoid any awkwardness with Vivian.