I watched his mouth get tight.

Then he warned low, “Don’t go there, babe.”

I turned off the burner and grabbed the saucepan, moving to the bowls.

While I poured, I whispered, “It’s go time, Brock. You need to jump off that fence and land on one side or the other. You don’t miss much so I’m guessing you can take one look at your father and know where this is heading. The destination is uncertain but the path is not and it’s an ugly one. You no longer have the luxury to sit on that fence. You need to make a decision.” I put the saucepan back on the burner and my eyes went to his. “Is he in or is he not? You’ve got ten seconds to decide while I take him his food. You walk out the door, that’s your decision and I’ll support you on that but you need to know my support will not include me not kicking in to help Jill and Laura with Cob. If you don’t walk out the door, I’ll make you a bowl and we’re hanging with your father to make sure he keeps his dinner down.”

Then I grabbed a spoon, put it in Cob’s bowl, took the plate and walked into the living room.

By the time I got back, Brock had moved. He wasn’t standing at the stove. He was standing at the kitchen window, his weight leaning heavily into one hand set high on the window frame. His eyes aimed at the flurries now falling outside. His mood filling the room now, the weight so heavy, it was suffocating.

His jaw was clenched.

But I knew his decision was made.

And the decision he made made me love him all the more.

I pulled in breath and walked to him.

Then I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my front into his back.

I held him for awhile then whispered, “Snow keeps up, will you take me to your place and bring me back to my car tomorrow morning? I don’t like driving in it.”

He didn’t answer for several long seconds.

Then he said to the window, “Yeah, babe.”

I pressed my forehead into his back.

Then I lifted my head away but pressed my body closer and carefully said, “He’s not taking his nausea medication. You need to talk to him about that.”

I looked over his shoulder at his profile and saw a muscle in his jaw jump. He made no verbal reply but I knew he heard me and he’d do what he could.

Then I gave him a squeeze and kept whispering. “Take that plate, honey, and go sit with your Dad. He’s got the game on. I’ll make another one for me and be out in a minute.”

He nodded to the window.

Then his body moved, I let him go and he walked to the bowl. Then he looked at it and walked back to me. Then he lifted both hands, cupped my jaws and tilted my face up to his so he could touch his mouth to mine.

When he lifted his head, I whispered, “He loves you.”

He closed his eyes, that suffocating feeling suffused the room before he opened them and whispered, “I know.”

“I love you too.”

His eyes got soft, the weight in the room lifted. Then he repeated his whispered, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” I promised.

He didn’t look like he believed me and he didn’t repeat himself again.

“Go eat, it’s getting cold,” I ordered.

His eyes held mine a moment before he let me go and walked back to his plate.

I made my own, took it out and watched the Nuggets game with Brock and his father.

Cob held down the soup, crackers and one of the cupcakes his granddaughter baked that I ran out to my car to bring in.

The Nuggets won.

Chapter Eighteen

Somewhat Good for Now

“Gonna swing by Dad’s with this TV then I’ll be over.”

I had the phone to my ear, Brock on the line and I was sliding a chicken into the oven.

It was Thursday and it was a Thursday after Brock called his sisters to get them to put him and me on the Cob Rotation. It was also a Thursday after Brock found out that Cob had only one TV and it was in his living room. So, lastly, it was a Thursday after Brock swung by Best Buy to get his Dad a TV for his bedroom so he had something to do when he was feeling double extra shit and didn’t want to leave his bed. Brock had even called the cable company to add an additional set and he’d laid it on thick about his father’s illness which meant the wait was not seventy-two hours but twenty-four. They were showing tomorrow and they’d thrown in a couple of months of free premium channels just because.

Brock, clearly, did not mess around when it came to TVs or cable; he pulled out all the stops and got results.

So, nothing new.

“All right, honey,” I answered. “Dinner’ll be done in an hour and a half but it’ll keep warm if you aren’t home.”

“I’ll aim for that,” Brock told me then, “Later, babe.”

“Later.”

Then he was gone.

I hit end call then sent a text to Martha in return to hers. She was planning a girls’ night in at her place for the weekend after this one, being cool about planning it when Brock had his boys so I could finagle some time for the boys alone with their Dad without Brock (hopefully) cottoning on.

And I was at odds, as I usually was, with how I felt about Martha’s girls’ night in. This was not a new concept for Martha but it was a crapshoot what you’d encounter when you arrived. She would either be in the mood to experiment with a variety of recipes she’d totally made up, none of them successful, all of them you at least had to try or she’d fill her house with junk food and unearth all her vast collection of romantic comedies.

I was hoping for the latter.

My text to Martha started a flurry of texts that included Elvira, Gwen, Camille, Tracy and even Shirleen getting in on the act. I fielded them all while dealing with the rest of dinner and felt great relief when Elvira firmly took charge of food preparation and stated in a way even Martha couldn’t protest she was making her “boards”.

I didn’t know what Elvira’s boards were but whatever they were they had to be better than fried celery.

Celery as celery was bad. Celery fried was the work of Satan.

The texting frenzy died down and I was basting the chicken for the last time when another text came through right when my landline rang.

I glanced at the screen on my cell to see it was Brock saying “on my way” then I went to my landline, grabbed it out of the receiver, hit the on button and put it to my ear.

“Hello,” I greeted.