Just One More Touch Read Online W. Winters, Willow Winters

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: ,
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Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
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She seemed surprised that I even talked to her. I never talked much. Still don’t. I know I was unapproachable at the time. Ma had just been diagnosed a few months back. I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I was just doing what I had to do. I was surviving day-to-day. A kid shouldn’t grow up like that. It wasn’t Ma’s fault and I didn’t blame her or anyone else. She never stopped trying.

The trace of a smile from the memory of my sweetheart vanishes from my face as I punch in the code and open the door.

Even though Ma’s home, I keep it locked. She’s probably sleeping anyway. The thought brings me down from the anxious high I’ve been riding on.

It brings me back to reality.

I close the door softly and wait for the faint beep of the security system as I slip off my boots. Bits of ice and snow fall off onto the mat as I set them off to the side and look down the hallway. Ma’s on the first floor, and the light is shining through from beneath the door to her bedroom. She moved into my house a few months ago. With the cancer wearing on her, she couldn’t be alone. I needed to keep an eye on her.

It’s late for her to be up. And lately she’s been more and more exhausted.

It’s why she’s down here now. She’d get so winded from climbing the stairs.

I think about just going up the stairs and crashing, but I can’t.

I walk quietly to her room and knock gently, rapping my knuckles on the door and waiting with my ear almost pressed against it.

“Come on in,” I hear her say, barely loud enough to hear.

The door opens with a faint creak and she tells me, “Leave it open.”

If there’s anyone in this world that I take orders from, it’s Ma.

I do as she says, watching the lines on the screen of the monitors as I walk closer to her. If the sound was on, there’d be a steady beep filling the room.

They’re calling this hospice, which I can’t stand. It’s not the first time they’ve hooked her up for a day or two to monitor her. But I hate it when they call it hospice. She’s making it through this one. Just like the last time. She’s gonna be alright.

I know she is.

She’s not doing too well, but she’s still smiling. She’s never stopped. Smile today without fear of tomorrow. That’s her motto.

“Tell me something new, Derek,” she says as I rub the sleep away from my eyes. I need to get some rest, at this point I’m working on a couple hours at most from last night. And tomorrow I have a long day, too.

For a moment I consider telling her about Emma. She’s the only thing that new comes to mind. The only thing that matters. But as I pull the chair up closer to her bed and take my usual seat, I clear my throat and shrug. I don’t know what I’d tell her about Emma anyway.

“Same ol, same ol.” I answer her and sit back in my seat. My muscles ache as they try to relax against the hard back of the chair. She’s got her reading glasses on and an old romance novel with worn pages closed on her lap, although her finger’s holding her place.

“Did I interrupt your reading?”

Her thin lips pull into a soft smile. “Never, baby. I’ve always got time for you.”

“You find a wife yet?” she asks, slipping the glasses off her face and tapping them against the book impatiently. “You know you’re not getting any younger?”

A rough chuckle vibrates up my chest.

“There’s no woman on this earth who could replace you, Ma.” She rolls her eyes at the hint of sarcasm in my voice.

She puts her glasses back on, but then takes them back off and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“You alright?” I ask her, leaning forward and placing my hand gently on her elbow to steady her.

“Just a headache.” Her voice is small and scratchy.

“Did you get any sleep?” I ask her. She needs it. She can’t go on without resting.

“Yeah, some.” She looks at me for a long moment before saying, “I’d like to see you happy before I die.” Ma’s words stop me short of moving, the breath stilling in my lungs.

I hate how she talks like that. As if she’s leaving me tonight. She’s been beating the odds for years now. The cancer was supposed to kill her years ago. She’s not dying. I won’t let it happen.

Ma says that prayers work wonders. I know the drugs are helping. Or at least they were. Lately, though, her skin seems a little more grey, her face a little thinner, and her energy is nowhere near what it used to be. I wanna believe it’s just old age. But the scans are showing that it’s spreading again.



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