A Love to Live For Read online

  A Love To Live For

  By: Nikita Heart

  Copyright © 2013 Mark Wallace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Please contact us at [email protected] for any concerns regarding this book.

  Chapter One

  Joseph was dying.

  Over and over, the words played inside my head like a broken record as I rode my green bicycle down Red Maple Avenue towards the town center, and still, I could not bring myself to believe them.

  How could Joseph be dying from brain cancer when just a few days ago, I had seen him working at his sister’s flower shop, healthy as a horse? How could he be dying when he was just as young as I was, only twenty-five?

  The worst part, though, was that I knew it was true.

  I knew it was true because my father himself had said it, and my Dad never lies. Never, not even if it was to shield me from some mortifying fact of life, like when I was five and I asked him if some people ate bugs, to which he replied that many people in different parts of the world ate fried worms and grilled cockroaches. He was the town preacher, after all, and one of the things he loved to preach about was telling the truth.

  He was not supposed to deliver the news, though, his tongue only slipping so that he spilled the news by accident during breakfast. He pleaded with everyone to keep the news a secret, just as Joseph’s sister who had confided in him about it, requested.

  I felt his eyes rest longer on me than my two other sisters as he made his plea, knowing that of all those at the table, I knew Joseph the most, and as such, I would be the most affected by the tragic announcement.

  He had been right.

  At that time, I had only gaped for a few seconds as the initial shock coursed through me, then looked down on my plate and continued to gobble up my herb and cheese omelet as if I heard nothing, feigning indifference in some attempt at proving my maturity.

  As soon as I had left home to go shopping for a few items from the grocery, though, my father’s announcement started to replay in my head and my true emotions surfaced. Suddenly, I felt a sharp stab of pain in my chest, familiar yet new at the same time, and instead of subsiding into a dull ache, it gradually intensified until it became so overwhelming that I had to stop pedaling just so I could try to breathe. Getting off my bike, I took a deep breath, then sat under a tree by the sidewalk and drew my knees up to my chin, wrapping my arms tightly around them.

  Before I knew it, the tears began to fall.

  I didn’t even know why I was upset, much less why I was crying at the side of the road.

  It wasn’t like Joseph was my boyfriend. He wasn’t my best friend, either. In fact, I wasn’t even sure if he was my friend.

  Joseph simply happened to be one of those people who knew me for most of my life, and whom I knew for most of his, mainly because he and I had the luck of being in pretty much the same classes from kindergarten until senior year in high school.

  We might have been close once – no, we were from kindergarten up until second grade, sharing snacks, swapping lunches and playing games together like kickball and tag – but then, I got more interested in dolls and playing dress-up and collecting glittery stickers and he became more interested in his comic books and action figures and watching basketball games and wrestling matches on TV with his father. As a result, I became more involved with the other girls in my class and he got more involved with the other boys. Then, somehow, after that, I became popular and he remained…well, he stayed the way he was, and the two of us just drifted apart.

  We still talked, though, mostly about school and only because we bumped into each other often. He was my lab partner twice, my seatmate a few times, my practice partner in the table tennis club for a year and he even danced with me during prom.

  I guess that made us friends, though not the kind of friends who went to each other’s houses or sat down to exchange secrets or talk about crushes. No, I never knew who his crushes were or his favorite band or what things he hated, just as he did not know mine. I knew, though, that he had an older sister named Bridget and that his parents divorced when he was eleven. I knew, too, that he was good in history, that he liked reading Marvel comic books and wearing two-in-one long sleeved shirts, and that he had a habit of chewing gum and shaking his legs when he was nervous.

  It was not like he told me those things, though, or that I researched them. I simply observed them, not even intentionally, over the years.

  To me, Joseph was like one of those people in the background of a painting, the ones that do not interact with the main figure in the painting but are there just the same, like the tree in your front yard that you often never notice but is there just the same, quietly watching over your house and providing shade in the middle of summer. He was like one of those corner puzzle pieces which the puzzle could have done without but without which it would not be complete.

  Yes, he was a part of my life, maybe not the most important, but perhaps more important than I thought, and I just knew that if he disappeared, I would feel his absence.

  It was true, after all, though sad, that you never knew what you had until it was gone.

  Or until you knew you were about to lose it.

  At the memory of Joseph and I laughing as we shared a packet of fries under my umbrella one rainy afternoon after table tennis practice, I smiled. At the same time, though, I felt a large teardrop from the corner of each eye roll down my cheeks.

  Why? Why did Joseph have to die so young?

  It was unfair. Then again, life in general was. Either that, or everything was fair, happening as a prerequisite towards some incomprehensible greater good, which was what my Dad believed, saying that God had a good reason for everything, even the things that seemed tragic, and that I should simply trust in His wisdom, be more thankful and complain less.

  Suddenly, a realization hit me and I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, gave one last sniff and got back on my bike.

  My Dad was right. Whining and complaining right now wasn’t going to do any good, but I knew what could.

  Inspired, I pedaled faster, but still within the safe limit. When I got to the town center, I went to the grocery first so I could get my errand out of the way, buying the olive oil that I needed to make dinner, my older sister’s favorite peanut butter, which she had just discovered she was almost out of – a crisis to be sure – and my younger sister’s conditioner, as well as something that wasn’t on my list – a pack of gummy bears, which was one of my comfort foods, just in case I still needed comfort later on.

  After paying for them, I drove to the diner just around the block and bought fries and a shake. Then, I headed to the Bundles of Blossoms flower shop just a few shops away, saying a quick prayer that Joseph would be there.

  Yes, I wanted to talk to Joseph, more than I probably ever had in my life. I wanted to tell him how glad I was to have spent half of my life with him and how thankful I was for everything he had done.

  Just outside the flower shop, though, I stopped. Joseph was there, alright, trimming the stems of a few flowers, filling me with relief. At the same, though, I was suddenly nervous. Although I had stu
died with Joseph from kindergarten to senior year, I had not really seen him since I went away to college, after all. I mean, I had seen him in church and here, at his sister’s shop, but I had never really had a conversation with him.

  For a moment, as I debated whether or not to push through with my idea, which now sounded a little silly and not at all as perfect as it was when I had first conceived it – sometimes, the more you think of an idea, the worse it seems, which was why I supposed ideas were meant to be put into action, not imprisoned in one’s head – I simply watched Joseph at his task.

  He was working diligently, but not too seriously since he was still humming a tune as he worked, although I could not recognize it. Now that I thought about it, he was also much thinner than when we graduated high school, making me wonder if it was because of his illness or a stringent workout routine. It had a positive effect, though, making him look more fit. He was much taller, too and somehow, his hair looked a darker shade of brown than it was before.

  “Rebecca,” an enthusiastic voice suddenly broke into my thoughts.

  I turned my head to see a woman walking towards me, walking her powderpuff Chinese crested dog, and my lips curved into a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Winters. How is Buttercup doing today?”

  “Good,” Mrs. Winters said. “She seems to be in a good mood these days. Your father’s sermon yesterday was very good.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll tell him that.”

  “Oh, are you going to buy flowers?” Mrs. Winters looked at the front of the flower shop.

  “N-no, I was just…” I stopped, unable to find the words to say. “I was just…going to look at them.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Mrs. Winters patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sure one of these days, you’ll find a man to give you flowers.” She leaned closer so she could whisper in my ear. “If you ask me, there’s a man right there who’s likely to give you flowers everyday, and he’s not bad looking, too.”

  My jaw dropped. “Mrs. Win--”

  “Tell Joseph I said hello,” she interrupted me, winking as she walked past me.

  I watched her go, still gaping, then, after a while, I closed my mouth and simply sighed. Mrs. Winters would always be Mrs. Winters, after all, which meant she would always be delving into other people’s lives a little more than she ought.

  Still, I wished my life wasn’t her current target, and for the nth time, I wish I wasn’t the preacher’s daughter just so I could have a little more privacy in a town that already had that particular item in a limited quantity.

  “You’re not going to be standing out there forever, are you?”

  Again, my thoughts were interrupted by someone else’s voice. This time, though, I knew exactly who the voice belonged to and I took a deep breath, gathered my confidence and mustered a smile as I turned my head.

  “Hello to you, too, Joseph.” I parked my bike, retrieving the bag that contained the fries and shakes from the basket.

  “So are you buying flowers this morning?”

  “Can’t a customer look around without any pressure to buy anything?” I answered.

  “Oh, so you’re just window shopping.”

  I grinned. “That could well be. Where’s Bridget?”

  “What? I’m not good enough for you?” he teased. “Just kidding, Bridg happened to have some errands to run so I’m manning the store.”

  “I see.” I bent down to pick up the scent of a pink rose. “I didn’t know you liked flowers.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t particularly like them but they’re okay.” He stopped me as I was about to pluck out a stem of yellow carnation from a bucket, enticed by how beautiful it looked. “I wouldn’t buy yellow carnations if I were you.”

  “Why not?” I asked curiously. “I thought carnation meant the flower of God?”

  “Well, yes, its name can be translated that way, but different colored carnations have different meanings and yellow carnations just happen to denote disappointment, disdain even.”

  “Really?” I gave him an amused look. “And this from someone who doesn’t particularly like flowers?”

  He chuckled. “My sister talks about the meaning of flowers all the time. It must have rubbed off on me.”

  “You and your sister are so close, I’m almost envious.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you and your sisters get along?”

  “Well…I suppose we do, but that’s just it. We just get along. It’s like we don’t really…mesh, if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, at least, you’re there for each other. That’s what matters, doesn’t it?” he said. He paused before continuing. “I appreciate everything Bridget does for me but sometimes, I wish she’d back off for a little bit and remember that I’m not a kid anymore.”

  I punched him in the arm playfully. “Oh, come on. She just adores her little brother.”

  “But I’m not little anymore,” Joseph reasoned.

  I chuckled.

  “But you didn’t come here to hear about my complaints about my sister, did you?” he asked.

  I paused. Somehow, for the past few minutes, I had forgotten what I had come to do. I had forgotten, in fact, about Joseph’s condition. He seemed perfectly healthy, after all and just the same as I remembered him.

  “Well?” he insisted on an answer.

  “I…” I handed him the shake and fries. “I…someone from the diner gave me these but I just had breakfast so I decided to give them to you instead.” As soon as I had said the words, I felt like slapping myself. Really, Rebecca, your dad is going to give you one of his own sermons when he hears that you’ve turned into such a good liar.

  Joseph, however, laughed.

  “What?”

  “You’re still a bad liar, Rebecca Swinton.”

  I felt puzzled. “I’m not…” I stopped in my attempt to defend my honor when I saw his expression, sighing. “And here I thought I was doing such a good job.”

  “You should be happy you didn’t,” he said. “It just goes to show that you are an honest person at heart.”

  “Will you at least tell me how you found out?”

  He shrugged. “You just have this look, plus you always put one hand in your pocket when you’re lying.”

  I quickly took out my hand from my pocket. “That’s a little freaky.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t like I was stalking you or anything. It’s just been a habit of yours since we were in elementary school.”

  “So you’re saying I’ve been lying since elementary school.”

  He just laughed.

  “Alright, alright. I got these for you.” I pushed the bag against him so that he wouldn’t be able to refuse it. “I thought I’d say ‘thank you’ to you for everything you’ve ever done and been for me, which I think I’ve never done.”

  He took the bag but gave me a puzzled look and for a moment, he just silently stared at me.

  When the silence was starting to get awkward, I turned. “I think I should…”

  He grabbed my arm. “Your father told you, didn’t he?”

  “What?” I feigned ignorance.

  “Bridget must have told your father and he must have told you,” he said. “About me.”

  “What are you talking about? I…” He gave me that expression again, though, and so I decided to tell him the truth. “Alright, my Dad told me but he wasn’t supposed to and he’s really sorry.”

  “And how about you?” he asked. “Do you feel sorry for me, too?”

  “No, of course not,” I told him. “And my Dad doesn’t, either. He’s just sorry he spilled the news.” I looked at him. “Sure, I feel that it’s unfair…”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But I don’t feel pity for you. I just wish I had been a better friend to you. I mean, we’ve known each other for a long time, after all. And because of that, if there’s anything I can do for you…”

  “There is something you can do for me,” he interrupted,
his hand still on my arm. “Actually, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about.”

  The change in his expression made me feel slightly afraid but I dismissed it and asked anyway, “What is it?”

  He paused and I could sense that he was reluctant about telling me about his request, mentally debating whether he should just go on and say what was on his mind or not, and I was about to encourage him when he spoke, slowly and softly.

  “Will you go out with me?”

  Chapter Two

  When I was seven, I ran away from home.

  My younger sister, Abigail, then only three, had torn off two pages of my favorite book, an illustrated book of fairy tales with glossy, gold-trimmed pages and a beautiful, hard cover that I had gotten for my fifth birthday. I got mad at her, of course, making her cry, but when my Mom and Dad learned about it, they reprimanded me, telling me that it was not right for me to make my little sister cry before carrying her out of the room, stroking her hair and whispering words of assurance and affection to her so that I felt as if our roles had been reversed – Abigail being the faultless and me the villain. Just after that, Bethany, my older sister, came down the stairs and figuring out what happened, or thinking she had, marched towards me and told me that God wasn’t going to listen to any of my prayers because I was being a bad girl.

  That made me so angry that I just went up to my room, stuffed my favorite clothes and toys into my pink backpack and left the house, tiptoeing across the living room and passing by the back door so no one would try to stop me. I only made it to the playground two blocks away, though, and I started playing that soon I forgot about running away and my parents eventually found me. Still, it felt good that I was able to get away even just for a little while.

  Now, I was running away again.

  I pedaled quickly, not stopping until I had managed to get several blocks away where I found myself at the small town park. There, I parked my bike, shrugged off my backpack and laid down on a soft patch of grass, closing my eyes as I tried to catch my breath and rest my aching legs. When I had finally caught my breath, I opened my eyes and looked up at the fragments of the cloudless sky through the tree branches and only then did I collect my thoughts.