Hail Mary Read online

  Hadn’t he?

  Was I wrong? Had I gone against my friend, thinking that she wasn’t in her right mind, only to find out that she had been right all along?

  This was all so surreal that I was having a hard time making sense of it all, and I didn’t know what to think.

  “Marianne was diagnosed with severe postpartum depression,” I found myself saying, my physical body in the room, but my mind had traveled back about two years into the past. “She told me once that she dreamed about killing her baby. Sending him to Heaven where he couldn’t be hurt anymore.”

  The table quieted. “I always assumed that it was her, that it was because she… wasn’t well. I never actually thought that any of it was true. The wild accusations and the way that she had acted… knowing what I know now… I just… well, I feel like I betrayed her as a friend.”

  God.

  I hadn’t believed her!

  “Tell us about the times that you saw her. Was she always scared?”

  Sam’s quietly worded question had me nodding.

  “I met her in the hospital when she had her baby, and we’d hit it off so well that we exchanged Facebook info. Shortly after that, we met for coffee. It just bloomed from there. But every time that Drake would come into the room when I was at their house, she would get all wonky.”

  “Define wonky,” Sam ordered.

  I bit the inside of my lip and closed my eyes as I recounted the first time that I wondered what was up with their relationship.

  ***

  “This coffee is to die for,” I exclaimed, inhaling the aroma that wafted from my cup. “I love it. I would totally box this up just so I could smell it. I’d probably get the same buzz from sniffing it as I would from drinking it.”

  Marianne started to laugh but that laughter quickly died when her husband, Drake, walked into the room.

  I still wasn’t sure what to think about that man.

  He was handsome, in a polished sort of way. I normally found myself veering more toward the rugged, lumberjack type of men. Men with beards and longer hair, and who wore flannel shirts, work boots and faded jeans.

  Drake Garwood was nothing like that, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen him in anything less formal than dress slacks. Today he was wearing black suit pants, and a white long-sleeved, button-down shirt tucked into those pants. He finished it all off with a black belt, black dress shoes, and a burgundy tie. The suit jacket was slung over his arm.

  He didn’t smile when he saw Marianne. In fact, he looked at her almost… indifferently?

  He didn’t say anything as he went to the baby, Raymond, and picked him up out of his bouncer.

  Marianne was practically quivering. But was it in anticipation or… something else?

  I couldn’t tell, but I definitely could feel the tension in the room. What was that all about?

  I opened my mouth to say something, but the words froze in my throat when my eyes lit on the diaper explosion. Raymond had poop from the tops of his ears all the way to his feet. Only, before either Marianne or I could say anything, Drake curved his arm around the baby and cradled him close to his chest.

  The bright brownish-yellow mess smeared the chest of Drake’s shirt along with his hand.

  Drake froze and then turned his angry gaze to Marianne.

  “You let my child sit in this?” he snarled.

  Marianne started to shake her head. “I didn’t…”

  Drake walked over to Marianne, thrust Raymond in her arms, covering her with the baby’s mess, and then glared at her. Just when he was about to start yelling, my presence made his notice, and he hesitated.

  “Clean him up.”

  Then he left.

  “Marianne.” I reached for the baby. “Oh God.”

  Marianne stood and then walked to the kitchen sink where she washed what she could off, then started emptying the sink of its dishes. Once she had that done, I walked over with the baby, and we set him down into the sink, hosing him off as best as we could with the sprayer.

  “You’re not seriously washing him in the sink, where our dishes go, are you?”

  Marianne seemed to tense, her whole entire body freezing as she tried to say something that wasn’t going to make him angrier but ended up not saying anything at all as she waited for him to continue.

  “You are.” He walked up to Marianne’s side, this time in a dark gray shirt, and glared. “That’s disgusting.”

  Marianne’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t say another thing. He just walked straight out of the house without looking back.

  “Ummm,” I hesitated. “He does realize that babies are messy, right?”

  Marianne shrugged. “I’m not all that sure that Drake actually knows anything at all about children.”

  ***

  “And, in all honesty, what he did that time wasn’t all that worrisome. I think any man would’ve been upset about poop on their shirt before they went to work.”

  “No,” Dante disagreed. “I’d give goddamn anything to have my child’s poop on my shirt. Or their throw up. Hell, I’d give anything to walk into the laundry room to get one of my shirts only to find it stained with their crayons that got mixed up in the wash with my work shirts.”

  Nobody said anything.

  “You have other kids?”

  Dante made a sound in the back of his throat like a wounded animal. “No. Not anymore.”

  “I wouldn’t be mad. Not like that,” Max butted in, likely sensing the sudden tension. “I’d be peeved, but not at my wife, and certainly not at the kid. It’s not like that’s controllable.”

  I nodded, feeling weird all of a sudden. “I was a little weirded out by their interaction. But that was just one incident of many. Things like that happened a lot. I remember thinking that it was like he only picked their kid up for show, like he only did it out of obligation maybe. Marianne freaked out whenever he picked the baby up, almost as if she was just waiting for him to hurl the baby across the room. And that wasn’t just once in a while—that was every single time that I witnessed it.”

  “Why did you think she had postpartum depression?” Jack asked. “What, other than what you’ve already told us, put all these red flags in your head?”

  I tried to think back to an instance in time, and I couldn’t pinpoint one.

  “Mostly it was due to the fact that she said she had it, that Drake said she had it. Then, when the baby was younger, maybe about two months old, she told me about wanting him to go to Heaven. After that, it was like she almost stopped… loving him.”

  Dante hissed in a breath.

  “What do you mean she stopped loving him?”

  “The kisses,” I said. “She used to give him kisses all day, every day. She’d dote on him. But, after she told me about that dream, it was as though she started to distance herself from him. I’d come over, and the baby would be crying. I’d arrive for coffee, and she’d hand him over, almost as if she couldn’t get rid of him fast enough.”

  Nobody knew what to say to that.

  “Maybe she was distancing herself because she knew he wouldn’t be here much longer.”

  That was Janie.

  We all looked in her direction.

  “What?”

  Janie flushed at Rafe’s quiet question.

  “Maybe she knew what was about to happen.”

  “You mean, maybe she knew that Drake would kill her child, and she was trying to minimalize her feelings so it didn’t hurt as much?” I offered.

  Janie looked at me and nodded gratefully. “Yes, exactly.”

  “Maybe,” I murmured, looking down at my hands.

  The room was silent after that, almost as if no one knew what to say.

  “Well,” Jack muttered. “I haven’t heard back from Winter yet. Once I do, I can give you the number on those boxes… do you mind if I keep this?”

  Dante waved his hand away.
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br />   “Fine.”

  Jack grunted his thank you, and I looked around.

  Was this where we left? We didn’t know anything more than when we arrived.

  Well, kind of.

  I now suspected that Drake was a terrible person who had a hand in killing my friend. She may not have died from anything that he could be convicted for, but he’d certainly played a part in how her treatments were handled.

  Shit.

  “Do I kick him out of my house?”

  “I think you should tell him that you’re selling it,” Rafe piped in. “Tell him that you’re strapped for cash and that you have no choice. If you want, I can be the go-between.”

  I looked at the man across the table.

  “That makes sense,” I muttered as I turned my eyes to the table, trying not to stare at the man.

  Rafe—Raphael—was beautiful. So, so beautiful.

  Normally, he would be the type of man I would go for. Tall, dark, and dangerous. But there was something about Dante, though, with his brooding good looks, and his anger that was almost palpable, that really had me gravitating toward him.

  “If I tell him that I have to pay for cancer treatments, he’ll understand,” I muttered almost to myself.

  The table went silent.

  Sam, who was shuffling his papers into a neat stack, froze. Jack stopped repeatedly clicking his ballpoint pen. Janie, who’d been absently spinning in one of the chairs, stilled. And Max stopped tapping his fingers against the tabletop and stared at me.

  Dante, who’d been at my side absently cracking his knuckles, was the only one who continued to do so.

  My eyes came up, and I found myself staring at Rafe again, who looked considerably more interested in me.

  “You have cancer?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but Dante beat me to it.

  “Yeah, breast cancer. She says she’s not doing anything for it, though.”

  I turned a glare on the man at my side.

  They seriously didn’t need to know that.

  Rafe grunted.

  I looked back at him, and he was scrutinizing me with a gaze that I was sure took in every minute detail, down to the tiny hairs that I probably had growing on my chin.

  “I once thought I had testicular cancer, but it turns out it was an infection.”

  I blinked.

  “You did?”

  My eyes automatically went to his pants, where his testicles would be, causing him to laugh.

  “If you’re wondering, I lost one of the boys,” he expounded.

  “That’s why we call him Uniball,” Sam muttered, and he, too, was looking at me.

  “Rafe will be a good fit for this, don’t you think?” Jack asked, I assumed, Sam.

  Rafe sat back in his chair and continued to study me.

  “I have to go overseas in a few weeks, but other than that, I should be free,” Rafe added.

  Sam grunted and stood.

  “Sounds like a plan.” He handed the stack of papers back to Janie. When he’d taken them from her, I didn’t know. “Make a copy of those and give the duplicates to Dante in case he needs what we have. Dante,” he turned to study the man at my side, “when we get more info, I’ll let you know. For now, Rafe is free to use as you please. If anybody asks, though, make it sound like you’ve hired him. We don’t want anyone thinking he’s working with us due to liability reasons.”

  Dante grunted. “Considering I’m already paying him…”

  “I’m a Jack of all trades.” Rafe laughed.

  “You’re a pain in the ass,” Dante said as he stood. “Thanks for the help.”

  Then he shook all the hands in the room, including Janie’s, but excluding Rafe’s.

  “I expect you to let my brother know that you weren’t on the clock today,” Dante grunted.

  Rafe laughed then.

  “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  Then Rafe left.

  “Janie, you got those papers?”

  Janie jumped and turned to look at Sam guiltily. “Uhhh, yeah. Sorry. I’ll get them right now.”

  Then she was gone, disappearing less quietly than Rafe had.

  “Gonna be a problem.”

  I looked over to see Jack talking to Sam.

  Sam grunted. “Don’t start.”

  “It’s gonna happen,” Max said.

  “What’s gonna happen?”

  All the men looked at me, and Sam grimaced. “Janie has a small crush.”

  No, Janie had a big crush. One that was going to get her in trouble, apparently. But, if I was a woman that looked like Janie, I’d have a crush on the bad guy, too.

  “Hmm,” I muttered, then smiled. “Thanks for helping us!”

  I offered my hand to each man, and every single one of them squeezed it lightly, like they were afraid to break me.

  I grimaced.

  Yet another thing that I didn’t like about having cancer. Once people knew you had it, they treated you differently.

  Before, they might’ve just given me a handshake. Now they were looking at me like I was about to die any second.

  Guess I had a whole lot more of that to look forward to, didn’t I?

  Chapter 9

  There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who put their ketchup on the plate, and the weirdos who squeeze it directly onto their fries.

  -Sincerely, Cobie, a fellow weirdo

  Cobie

  “I want you to make me a promise.”

  My brows rose as my hand stilled on the handle of the truck door. “What?”

  My eyes met his, and I could practically feel the energy that he was trying to keep contained.

  “I want you to call me if you think he's putting any pressure on you whatsoever.”

  I pursed my lips. “I don't think...”

  He shook his head and held up his hand. “I don't live here. I have no clue if anything is wrong unless I come up here. You’ve already said you weren't leaving. You've also said that you're not giving up this house, and I understand that. Respect it even. But I have no way of knowing if you're in trouble if you don't tell me. Help me keep you safe.”

  I groaned. “Fine.”

  I pushed the door open, but he stopped me with a hand on my thigh.

  I froze.

  “One other thing.”

  I waited.

  “Give the treatment a chance.” I opened my mouth to say something, but he squeezed my thigh lightly, telling me without words that he wasn't through. “The world would be a lesser place without you in it.”

  ***

  Three days later

  “The world would be a lesser place without you in it.”

  I replayed those words over and over again in my mind as I made my way into the office.

  This place literally scared the crap out of me.

  I'd spent some of the roughest months of my life here.

  Cried here. Sweated. Cursed. Moaned and groaned.

  This was also the place where I was set free again but where Marianne lost her battle.

  Well, not at this exact office building, but this was the place where Dr. Todd told her that she wouldn't make it out of this alive. The same place that I’d left just a week ago, telling myself I'd never be back.

  Yet, here I was.

  The world would be a lesser place without you.

  Dante's words replayed through my head during check-in as I played the waiting game in the waiting room, and all the way up until the moment when Dr. Todd came into the room.

  He looked happy to see me, and I immediately felt like an ass for leaving the way I did last week.

  “Cobie.”

  I gave Dr. Todd a smile.

  “I'm glad you came back.”

  I shrugged. “I gotta be honest with you. I wasn't planning on it. But a friend gave me a few wise words, and I knew he wouldn't be okay if I didn't fight.”

  “Dr
ake Garwood?”

  I shook my head. “No. His name is Dante.”

  Then I blushed.

  Dr. Todd smiled. “Like that, is it?”

  I opened my mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Dr. Todd's smile widened.

  I blushed harder.

  He started to laugh, and I did, too.

  He sobered a few moments later, and then he pulled out a computer, which he hooked up to a cord.

  A picture of what I guessed was my breast flickered to life on the screen.

  “Here’s your left breast.”

  I nodded.

  “This is the cancer. However, with as close as it is to this lymph node, we’re going to offer two suggestions.”

  I listened as he explained what he thought I should do, and then I looked at my fingernails.

  “You can do a lumpectomy, where we’d just remove the tumor and the surrounding tissue,” Dr. Todd began. “Or, you can opt to do a modified radical mastectomy, which means we’d take the entire breast, including the nipple, the breast tissue, as well as the surrounding lymph nodes.”

  I swallowed.

  “I agree with doing the radical mastectomy,” I started. “But this could happen again, right? In the other breast?”

  “Yes. Even if we do the full mastectomy on the first breast, there is a possibility that it’ll recur in the other breast,” he agreed. “But after we do the surgery and the chemo treatments, we’ll keep an eye on it quite closely for the first year. After that, we’ll monitor you with bi-yearly mammograms to keep an eye out for any changes, and I have hope that should it recur, we’ll catch it early so it won’t get to this stage again.”

  I didn’t like that answer.

  “Why not do both at the same time?”

  Dr. Todd nodded his head. “Considering your history, this is an aggressive preventative course of action. Many patients in your shoes opt to go this route. Only you can make this call, though.” He stood up and walked around the desk, leaning against it and crossing his feet in order to be closer to me. “There are other types of surgeries we can do where we leave the skin and the nipple in place, that way, later on when you have reconstructive surgery, it’ll be more natural looking.”

  I grimaced.

  I hadn’t much thought about any of this.

  “Is that more of a risk?”

  “Anything is a risk.” He hesitated. “But, there’s less of a chance without the breast tissue there.”