Logan
“This is where he lives?” my Rose asks me as she slips out of the car. I have my hand held out for her, and although she rests her small hand in mine, she doesn’t put her weight in it. I wish she would. I wish she wouldn't walk on eggshells around me.
It was better when I’d kept it hidden. When she didn’t know about the cancer, and was blissfully unaware.
Things are different between us, and in some ways I hate it. Like this moment, when she didn’t even want me to drive. Others are sweeter now that her walls have fallen down and she doesn’t hide a thing from me. Those moments make it all worth it.
I stretch out and even though it’s brisk in the early morning, the chill feels refreshing.
“Yes, it’s been… nearly seven years now.” I answer her question as she takes in the ancient stone building. I shell out a pretty penny for my father to live here, but it’s the best service and quality that any place has to offer for him in his state.
My heart pains in my chest at the thought; I almost had myself admitted to a similar environment.
I close the door with a heavy heart as Rose’s heels click on the sidewalk and a breeze lifts the dried leaves off the ground, causing a soft rustling to fill my senses.
My body did not take the first week of radiation well. I was constantly nauseated and fatigued. And worried that the inevitable was going to happen. I wanted to send Rose away. I did try though, several times, and had I been well, she would have beat the shit out of me.
Five days on and two days off. That weekend I recovered well and Rose stayed by my side the entire time and told me to fuck off when I tried to send her away.
The thought brings a smile to my lips as I look up and watch her walking up the rough stone stairs of the building in her heels. She’s gripping the railing and I’m quick to make my way over and hold her waist, helping her to balance.
She smiles sweetly, the chill making her cheeks flush a beautiful shade of pink. Her engagement band clinks on the metal railing as we walk up together, and the sound fills me with pride.
She’s my wife.
I’ve never been so proud. I have yet to tell my father though, and Rose hasn’t told a soul.
Legally we’re married, but as far as everyone else knows, we’re engaged.
She wants it to stay that way.
I open the door for her and she looks at me with exasperation. It's a heavy door and just climbing those stairs took a lot out of me, but I’m not going to just stay in bed everyday until I die. I want to be me. I want to live my life, and that includes opening doors for my wife.
It hurts me that she doesn’t want to tell people. At first I thought she was ashamed. But she’s scared of what they’ll think.
She doesn’t want the will changed either, but she has no fucking choice in that matter. That’s already been done.
The warmth of the building cocoons us as we walk in. The front hall is open and spacious.
The deep red oriental runner placed down along the length of the hall muffles the sound of Rose’s steps as we move from the stone floors to the rug.
She slips her coat easily off her shoulders and I move to take it. She looks up at me with worried eyes.
“It’s only a coat, Rose; I think I can manage.” There’s a hint of admonishment in my tone and she purses her lips. She doesn’t argue though, she doesn’t like to as much now, knowing that I’m not well.
An asymmetric grin pulls to my lips at the thought; that is one benefit of being ill, I suppose.
“Logan,” I hear my father’s rough voice call out to me from the sunroom to our left, before we make it to the welcome desk. I lead Rose, splaying my hand on her back.
The sunroom has several tables and comfortable chairs. The stone fireplace is lit, and the heat feels welcoming.
As we get closer, I notice how my father’s eyes are solely on Rose. She’s walking a bit slower with her hands clasped in front of her.
Anger stirs in my chest.
I didn’t bring her here for him to make her uncomfortable.
I wanted them to meet at least once, just in case, but I won’t let him make her feel unwelcome. She’s my bride, my wife, the love of my life. And he had better realize that and respect it, or we’re going to have problems.
“Mr. Parker,” Rose says in a professional tone I recognize from all of our meetings and presentations. She has an amazing ability to slip into a mask of ease when she’s uncomfortable. I fucking hate it.
“Father, meet my wife, Charlotte Rose.” I introduce them while staring hard into my father’s pale blue eyes. They widen slightly, and his mouth falls open with surprise.
“Wife?” he asks with raised brows. Before I can answer he replies with disbelief, “I never thought I’d live to see the day.” He looks at her stomach before reaching Rose’s eyes.