She started to backpedal. “It’s not that big of a deal,” she stammered. “They don’t talk that much. Not anymore.”
“Then why’d he come back to Tucson?” I asked. “What circumstances were you talking about?”
She looked away. “It’s not my place, Paul. You should hear it from Vince. Though you only have to turn on the news to know.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Sandy whispered.
“What?” I asked, looking back at him.
He looked miserable. “It’s his mom,” he said. “It’s been in the news for a while now.”
“What has?” I racked my brain, trying to remember anything I might have heard, but nothing came to mind.
“Paul, she has cancer,” he said. “They tried to keep it quiet, but it got out. She has cancer, and she’s dying.”
Chapter 12
I’m Sorry About Your Mom. Here, Have A Bike.
PLASMA cell leukemia. Apparently it’s a rare type of cancer involving white blood cells called plasma cells. It’s extraordinarily aggressive and results from Kahler’s disease, in which the infected white blood cells accumulate in the bone marrow where they interfere with the production of normal blood cells.
Or, at least that’s what Wikipedia told me on my phone as Sandy drove us home.
“That’s what he’s probably doing today,” I said as we neared my house. “He told me that he had to go visit someone and that he’d call me later.”
Sandy just nodded.
Lori Taylor came out publicly with her fight against cancer last year, but only after it somehow leaked to the press. She had smiled in an interview with the local media, laughing off the rumors of her failing health, her husband by her side. She looked healthy, if a bit thin. She did admit that while traditional avenues like chemotherapy hadn’t given the results they’d hoped for, she was optimistic about her chances and would continue to fight as best she could. She looked so much like her son when she laughed that I had to look away from the screen on my phone to be able to hold myself together.
I remember one question catching my attention. The reporter said, “There was a bit of a public fallout with your son, who is openly gay. How is he doing with all of this?”
They were good, the both of them, his mother and father. Nothing was given away that they didn’t want anyone to see. “Vincent has always been strong-headed,” his father said. “But he knows that this is a time for family and that any other issues we may have are not as important as this.”
“He’s a good son,” Lori added, patting her husband’s hand.
The latest reports I could find were from five weeks ago, when inquiries were made into her health. The mayor’s office released a statement asking for respect and privacy during the difficult time, and once any further information was known, it would be released.
“Let him come to you with this,” Sandy told me before he left. I stood at the door to his car, looking down at him. “He obviously didn’t bring it up for a reason, so it wouldn’t be good to say anything. You might put him on the defensive.” Vince and I were going to meet up with Sandy at the bar after we finished at Nana’s house so that I could help him with the show. Vince had also said he wanted me to meet some of his friends and asked to meet mine. I didn’t have it in my pathetic heart to tell him he’d met Sandy and Wheels, and that was pretty much it.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “We haven’t really had the time yet for the whole ‘my dad’s a fascist prick and my mom is dying’ heart-to-heart yet. I was hoping that we could do that next week.”
Sandy reached out his car window to grab my hand. “You need to be careful with this,” he told me quietly. “I’m not saying this to be an ass, but you already sound like you’re making it about you. You can’t do that, Paul. Not with this. This is obviously a contentious situation as it is, and it’s got to be hurting him quite a bit. You can’t get pissed at him for this. You can’t. Do you understand me?”
And as much as I sort of hated him right then, I knew he was right. I didn’t feel a bit of indignation that Vince hadn’t told me who his jerk of a dad was. It wasn’t like he’d lied to me, and it wasn’t as if he’d held anything from me… not exactly. I had to remind myself again that we’d only known each other a week (well, a week that we’d seen each other, five days since we’d first spoken). It felt like much longer.
“I know,” I sighed. “It just sucks. I’m still sort of pissed, but only because I feel like I should be mad, not that I actually am. Anything that I’m feeling has got to be a billion times worse for him.” I didn’t know how much longer I would last without talking to Vince about it, not knowing what I did now. All I wanted to do right then was chew him out a little bit, then hug him until all the problems of his world went away and left him alone. It was an odd feeling, this protective one. I didn’t know what to do with it, and it was twisting me up.