Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

AUGUST

A FEW WEEKS LATER

Shaking is nothing new. I shake all the time now, but this, this is something else. I have been shivering for the last two hours sitting in this chair, and it is not getting better,

“Miss August, here is another heated blanket, " the sweet nurse says. She has given me three blankets in the two hours, and nothing is working. “Oh, the doctor wants me to take your temperature.” Nodding, I open my mouth so the thermometer can go in. I close my eyes, willing my body to cooperate, but nothing stops the shaking. “Oh man, " she says, pulling it from my lips.

“What?” She looks at me with pity and touches my forehead.

“You have a fever. It’s 103.9.” Damn, I haven’t been that sick since I got pneumonia in eighth grade. “I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, she comes back to the doctor. “My dear, we have to stop your chemo today. It should not have even started since they are supposed to take your temperature when you come in, but the new check-in nurse must have overlooked it.”

“What does this mean?” I ask while she unhooks me.

“This means you need to go home, rest, and stay hydrated. You can only take Tylenol, and you need to get a lot of sleep. Is there anyone at home this time of day?” I shake my head no.

“Should we call Declan?” I hate that she knows both of us so intimately.

“No!” I say vehemently. So aggressively, in fact, that she figures out what I am trying not to say. With her hand on her hip, she looks at me.

“August Nicole Henreigh, are you telling me he still doesn’t know?” I put my head down and nodded. “Why on earth not?” My head jerks up in shock that she could even ask me that question.

“You know why. He has gone through this once before. He has watched someone he loves die already, not to mention my mom too. How could I conceive of doing that to him again?” I am crying uncontrollably now, my stomach heaving and tightening from the emotion. I can feel a spasm coming, but nothing could hurt as much as knowing what I need to do. “I can’t. I just can’t do that to him. He deserves to be happy. He should be with someone who can give him what I can’t. A family. A future.” The last part comes out in an anguished sob and all I have been holding in comes tumbling out in a pained cry so sharp and tangible it sounds like a wolf’s howl.

“August, you can’t predict the future. None of us can.”

“Can’t I though? We both know how this ends. We’ve seen it.” Twice now. Which is how I know it is time to let go.

To let him go.