“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked, searching his worried eyes that were now filled with so much sadness and pain that it made me feel like I was choking. “I know you’re hiding something. Please, just tell me. Are you okay?”
Mum burst into tears once more as my dad took my hand in his. I knew it was serious because he didn’t even attempt to comfort her; his focus was entirely on me and me alone.
“I’m sick, baby,” Dad said, his voice uneven. “I’m really sick.”
I felt my heart stop with fear.
“What?” I whispered. “What d’you mean? How sick? What’s wrong with you?”
“I . . .” Dad squeezed my hand. “Jesus, how do I say this to my child?”
He wasn’t asking me, or my mum, that question; with his head tilted back and his eyes on the ceiling, I knew his question was put to God.
“Sweetheart.” Dad exhaled a deep breath and his gaze returned to mine. “There’s no easy way to say this.”
“Just say it,” I pleaded. “Please.”
“I have cancer, Noah.”
For a moment, I felt absolutely nothing, then my heart started beating faster and a pain stung the centre of my chest. The throb in my head intensified as my mind screamed in denial of what I was hearing.
Dad squeezed my hand, which was shaking so badly he held it tightly to keep me still. “I have lung cancer, stage two. Don’t you worry about me, I’m responding good and well to treatment. I just knew I’d look very different to you when Doctor Abara mentioned your memory loss. I was diagnosed over a year ago now.”
Inside, I was screaming, wailing and pleading for him to tell me it was all a lie. On the outside, I was barely breathing. Tears fell down my cheeks, and my throat burned as sobs tried to claw their way to the surface.
“Please,” I whimpered. “Please be okay, don’t leave me.”
“Never.” He wrapped his arms around me, and my mum, as gently as he could. “I’m right here with you, and so is Mummy. We’re never leaving you again.”
There was that word. Again. First Mum said she was never letting us drift apart again, and now Dad was saying they were never leaving me again.
“Where’s Elliot?” I sniffled. “Is he okay?”
My parents leaned back, shared a look and I jolted with fear.
“Is he okay?” I demanded, raising my voice. “Is he?”
“He’s fine,” Dad said hurriedly. “Elliot’s okay, nothing’s wrong with him.”
“Then why did you look at each other like that when I asked about him? Please, is he really okay?”
“He is.” Dad nodded.
“Noah,” Mum began with a sniffle. “You and Elliot. You . . . you broke up years ago, honey. Four years ago tomorrow, now that I think of it.”
I felt as if a bucket of ice water had been suddenly poured over my entire body. I opened my mouth to challenge those words, but suddenly a man I had never seen before appeared in the doorway of the room. If I had to guess, I’d peg him at six foot even, and to be around thirty years old. He was lean, with mousy-blond hair and eyes so dark they looked black. He was attractive, but his face wasn’t handsome, it was pretty. He was dressed in jeans, boots and a jacket. He was breathing heavily, but his eyes were locked on mine. He seemed to know me, as his face broke out into a wide smile, but I had no idea who he was.
“Anderson,” Dad said, his voice firm.
My father stood in front of me as if he were protecting me, but I asked him to move aside, which he did reluctantly. I blinked as I stared at the stranger who looked so happy to see me.
“Noah.” He took a few rushed steps forward. “Baby, you’re awake.”
Baby? I thought to myself. Who is this man to call me baby?
I looked from this Anderson stranger to my parents, then back to him. My head thumped as it tried to understand what was happening to me. I couldn’t take any more surprises. I just couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, mister . . . but who the hell are you?”
“It’s me, Noah.” The man frowned deeply as he took another step forward. “It’s Anderson . . . I’m your husband.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ELLIOT
“I’m sorry for your loss, son.”
I nodded in the direction of the man who was offering his condolences to me.