Shadow in the Garden

The last time Sam had seen his brother, Adam, the latter had warned him about the dangers of love and trust.

“It’s not about going through life guarded,” Adam had said, “but don’t give away like candy. And always make sure the trust is there before you even entertain the idea of love. That way, you won’t find yourself struggling to let go when you find out things you didn’t know.”

As Sam stared at the letterman jacket that had been buried in the back corner of the closet, Adam’s words a neon sign of his own stupidity.

That, or a gross overreaction driven by his fanatical fandom.

After all, it was just a letterman jacket from the toilet bowl of a school. His alma mater’s biggest rival. Sam knew he tended to take sports a bit too seriously at times and he couldn’t deny that his visceral reaction may have been more about that than Ellie hiding anything.

Especially after last year’s debacle. Thinking about that loss always made Sam feel as if he was going to break out in hives.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled the jacket from its hiding spot, ignoring the shiver of disgust that touching the dreaded crimson colors gave him. He could make a nice laugh of it—maybe even get some ‘action-time’ points for it by putting a fuss up about her ‘rival infidelity’.

Holding the jacket out in front of him like the wretched thing it was, Sam stepped out of the closet and nearly missed the paper that drifted to the floor. Likely a receipt Ellie had forgotten in one of the pockets, he was ready to stuff it back into the pocket when he caught sight of the letter head: St. Peters Cancer Center.

All levity fled and he grew cold at that six-letter word; a demon that had taken so many lives, including his father’s. Almost against his will, Sam dropped the jacket and unfolded the paper. He scanned the text and when he was done, stormed through the condo in search of his wife.

Ellie was outside on the five-by-five patch of grass she’d turned into a garden. She knelt before her flowers, her cutup jean shorts and yellow tank covered in dirt. A plain white ballcap and gardening gloves completed the ensemble. Her sandals nowhere to be seen; shoes and socks were an anathema to her and she’d forego wearing both whenever possible. Despite his warring emotions—of which, anger was most prominent—Sam couldn’t help but watch as she lost herself tending to their fledgling garden. Though not exactly a green thumb, Ellie loved life, and that meant the care for all living things. Hell, she even volunteered at a no-kill animal shelter. Had for more than a decade now and, when they first met, that had pretty much cemented her status as a good person, well worth getting to know. Eight years later and she’d only solidified that particular theory.

So lost in thought, Sam didn’t realized she’d stopped gardening and was staring at him, green eyes sparkling with mirth until her cough snatched him back into the present.

And heartbreaking revelations.

“You just gonna stand there while I do all the work and not even offer me something to drink?”

He stared at her, the anger evaporating like mist as his eyes danced over her kneeling form. A shroud of melancholy and fear took its place and, almost regrettably, he pulled the paper from behind him and showed it to her.

“Found this in the closet.” When he’d run this through his head the last five minutes, his tone had been combative, accusatory, and self-righteous. Now, it was lifeless, lacking any emotion. Even to his ears, it sounded robotic. Detached. Her eyes widened at the same time her beautiful smile collapsed into lines of sadness, shame and, worst of all, fear.

“Sam…” Her voice caught and before he knew it, Sam dropped to his knees and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug. She didn’t complain. She held him tighter. Seconds later, the first of her tears touched his skin. There were no sobs or wails of heartbreak. That wasn’t her; that wasn’t his Ellie.

Time lost all meaning as they knelt in the newly tilled soil of the garden, their chests rising and falling against each other’s in rhythmic timing.

Although he wanted to move, to adjust his body, Sam remained still, unwilling—or unable—to break the purity of the moment. Ellie moved first, gently pushing him away and, in the same motion, getting to her feet and walking into the house. He watched after her and stared into the open door for several minutes before summoning the courage to follow her.

She was in the kitchen, an open bottle of vodka on the island counter as she stared out the window above the sink. Her arms were crossed by Sam knew she had her Scooby Doo tumbler in one hand and her dad’s lighter in the other. She never smoked, but the opening and closing motion of the zippo was a balm to Ellie; her own personal fidget spinner, with memories like his; a parent gone too soon.

Sam walked up to the island and sat in one of the bar stools. He glanced into the living room. Gus, their eight-year-old Maine Coon lay in a heap on the couch, tangled in the throw. Simon, their ten-month-old orange tabby, was likely lost somewhere under Gus’s fur, the blanket and pillows. They were Sam and Ellie’s ‘kids’, the family before the family.

A family that, if the paper was accurate, would be all they ever had.

“How long have you known?”

He watched her shoulders slump. She leaned against the sink and continued staring out the window. “Three weeks, five days and four hours.”

In his mind, Sam screamed and hurled everything he could find. The satisfaction of shattering glass or dented metal or chipped dry wall were a salve to the more mercurial aspects of his persona. Or had been. B.E.

Before Ellie.

What would he be after her? What could he be without the love of his life?

“Three weeks?” Though his voice still rang hollow, some dormant part of Sam stirred with that first spark of rage.

“And five days, four hours, and a handful of minutes. Can’t forget those.”

Sam bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. “Ellie; don’t be flip about this…” After a pregnant pause, he added “please”.

She whirled on him, one hand loosely holding the tumbler, the other squeezing the lighter in a death grip. Tears streaked down her face and though the sadness was there to see, it buried under a monstrous wave of anger and defiance. It was the face he’d seen once or twice. It shouted ‘take another step, I fucking dare you. Cross this DMZ, and see what happens’. The last time he’d seen it was after a drunken bar fight had landed him in jail. It was not a good time. Sam knew he deserved it then, but this? No, he wasn’t going to take the blame for her duplicity.

Sensing his resolve, she slapped the hand holding the lighter against the island. “What do you want me to say, Sam? Tell you I’m sorry for keeping this to myself? For wanting to spend the last few weeks in relaxing bliss with you instead of hashing out the details of what comes next for me? Would you rather me curl up into a ball on the couch and cry my eyes out and you save the day with your strong arms and gentle words on how everything’ll be alright? How we’ll get through this and to the other side?”

“That’s not fair…”

Sam jumped when she hurled her half-empty tumbler onto the floor. “Do you think any of this is fair, Samuel? It’s not fair when people in their eighties are chewed up by it. It’s not fair when it’s kids that haven’t even lived. And it’s not fair when someone like me gets it. It just ‘is’.”

“No it’s not,” he admitted. “But that justify you not telling me. This is not something you get to decide to do and expect me to be okay with it.”

She was around the island and in his face in three steps. In the ten years he’d known her, Sam knew Ellie could be somewhat combative when she felt her back against the wall. Combative but not violent. Never that. And yet she vibrated with barely contained fury. He didn’t think she would lash out but the thought of it, of what she must be feeling, sobered his anger. Grabbing her wrists in a gentle but firm grip, he said, “Eleanor. Please.”

It was like a balloon bursting. The fight and energy left her and Sam wrapped his arms around her as they both collapsed on the floor. This time, when she cried, she did so with every fiber of her being.

“I’m sorry.” She said it in a whisper but as focused as Sam was on her, it was every bit as good as a shout. Her sobs had lasted for the better part of twenty minutes before trickling to a halt. It took another ten minutes for her to fall into stillness and easy breathing. Sam had figured the emotional exhaustion had dragged her into unconsciousness. Hell, he hadn’t cried yet and felt completely wrecked.

“I know, honey…”

She shook her head and looked up at him, determination in her eyes. “Just let me say this.” He took a deep breath, inhaling the lavender and peach scent of her mixed with earth and flowers and the smallest pinch of sweat.

“I should have told you the second I thought something was wrong. Even before the tests. I was a coward for hiding it. We’re supposed to be a team and what I did…” she dropped her head and shook it. “You should be furious.”

Sam paused for several breaths, knowing that she was right. Too often he’d drop the ‘it’s okay’ or ‘it’s fine’ when he had every right to his indignation. “I am mad. You know what happened with my dad; my parents kept it all from me and Adam. They didn’t take care of themselves and only told us when it was too late. I couldn’t help think if the same thing happened with you …”

Ellie’s hand cupped his face. The gentleness of the gesture stopped him cold and when she brushed her thumb across his cheek, he realized a single tear had escaped his otherwise stoic demeanor.

“I wouldn’t have done that. As much as I wanted to tell you, telling you would have made it all real and…and I didn’t want it to be. Not then. I just wanted us to have another summer of us, doing what we do best.

She extricated herself from his arms and sat on her haunches. “I told myself I’d tell you next week, when August came round. As if a few weeks in July would make any difference. I just didn’t want our life to get taken over by everything that’s coming.”

“Eleanor,” he said and put a finger under her chin. “Understand me when I say it doesn’t matter what’s coming; I’m going to be there by your side every step of the way. Come Hell or High Water…”

The sound she made was part laugh, part sob but dissolved behind her lips pressing to his. After the kiss, she rested her forehead against his.

“Just promise me that we’ll live. That, no matter what happens, bad or worse, you make sure that we live the way we’ve been living together. No regrets. No hesitation. No fear. Just fight and love and appreciate the life we have…”

He kissed her then, the act all the promise she needed.