Page 280 of Devil’s Disciples

Abby

I sat in the waiting room of the cancer center with my purse in my lap and my heart in my throat. I’d give any amount of money to fix Porter’s condition, but I had no idea what it was or what he needed. He never spoke of the doctor, of his appointments, or of his recovery. He hated going to the meetings, and over the course of the time that we’d been together, had only gone to two.

During a visit to his doctor two days prior, they scheduled another appointment at once. I was all too familiar with the research center, and knew if his appointment was there, that his condition wasn’t as good as I hoped it would be.

Over the last seven weeks I’d told myself he was getting better. I convinced myself of it. In my mind, if he said nothing, it meant things were improving. I now felt like an ostrich that had buried its head in the sand.

The unique smell of the research center brought back memories of my frequent visits. With them came a flood of recollections from my lengthy recovery. Losing weight until I weighed eighty-five pounds. Being covered in bruises. Vomiting day in, day out. Losing my hair. Praying. Losing my faith. Praying some more.

Flushing the toilet twice became a habit that was difficult to break. I feared the chemicals would remain in my body forever. Then, after deciding I couldn’t go another round of therapy, I was told I had beaten the dreaded disease.

I was a true survivor.

My father said it’s not the dog in the fight, it’s the fight in the dog. My mother agreed, telling stories of how I was stubborn, even as a toddler.

Now worried sick, I clutched my stomach and waited for Porter to return. I decided no matter what, he was going to have to start confiding in me exactly what his condition was. I was not going to allow him to shelter me from the truth any longer. We were a team, and we were going to get through the treatments together, regardless of the outcome of each visit.

Just like George said, deception was the same as a lie. Porter not telling me about his doctor visits was the same as telling me an untruth. If he loved me – and I was sure that he did – he could tell me everything. He needed to tell me everything. If he did, as a team, we could get through anything.

I clutched my purse, closed my eyes, and drew a deep breath.

It’s me again, the girl with the potty mouth. I need another favor. I don’t ask for much. In fact, I’ve asked for nothing since I was in this room last. Considering what you did for me, I need to ask that you consider doing something for the man I love.

He’s not close to you, and I know he won’t ask for anything. That doesn’t prevent me from asking that you bless him. I’d give anything to have you place your healing hand on his shoulder.

Anything.

If you’re able, and if you see him as fit for a better life on earth than in heaven, please consider blessing him with the power of healing. Despite some of the choices he’s made in life, he’s a good man.

If you choose to answer this prayer, I reserve hope that it gives him the faith he needs to become closer to you.

In your name I pray.

Amen.

I opened my eyes.

I watched the minutes on my cell phone’s clock tick past, until another hour had passed. I checked the status of the purse I’d ordered online. I scrolled through my recent Instagram posts. I Googled brain tumors and read data until I was sick. I looked on Amazon for a new bicycle. I picked the sand out of the split soles of my beloved Converse. I twirled my hair. Just when I was on the verge of breaking down, the door beside me creaked open.

I looked up. Porter stepped through the threshold and into the room. Glassy-eyed and expressionless, he pulled the door closed behind him. His eyes met mine.

A tear rolled down his cheek.

I stood and turned to face him.

His upper body fell against the wall. He began to cry. “I can’t get my legs to work.”

I joined him, blubbering for what I knew not. I knew, however, that I must remain strong for him. I somehow managed to walk the few steps that separated us. With tears rolling down both cheeks, Porter fell into my arms.

While I held the man I so dearly loved against my chest, I said one more prayer. Not for healing, or for a miracle, but for strength.

Strength that I knew he’d require to do something as simple as take a single step.

After the quick prayer, I motioned toward the door. “Come on, sweetheart. We’re going home.”

104

Ghost