Summers with Juliette

On the day of his last chemotherapy treatment Noah made a list. It wasn’t a list of what he wanted to do if he was told the chemo hadn’t worked or even a list of things to do if he was told it had worked and he was free of cancer. He scrapped all those. His list focused on one thing or, more precisely, one person.

For months they’d been doing a dance. They’d meet in the therapy room, have their treatment side by side and spend hours talking about everything under the sun. He knew and he guessed almost everything about her.

He knew she was orphaned when she was seven and she was raised by her grandmother Maisey, a woman who sounded as amazing as Juliette and made Noah wish his grandparents had been half as wonderful. He knew she’d lost her fiancée, her high-school sweetheart, three years ago and she wore his ring around her neck. And he knew she owned a bookstore she’d inherited from her grandmother and that she’d added a café to it.

He’d told her more about himself than he’d told any woman he’d dated or been in a relationship with. He felt like there was no judgment with Juliette. He could tell her he wanted to fly to the moon and she’d find a way to support him. He’d never met anyone like her. And that was the reason for the list. It was a short one and it only had three items and each of them was a doozy. But Noah figured if he could get past the first item, the other two would be a piece of cake.

Each therapy session ended the same way. Noah would suggest they meet up for coffee or lunch and then Juliette would make some excuse as to why she couldn’t. Often it was because she needed to get back to the café, then she’d always promise to call, but she never did and since she only had a landline, she was one hard woman to pin down. Each time he asked and she rejected, he backed down. He didn’t want to seem pushy or needy or like a stalker.

But today was different. Today he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. It was his last chemo and surely she would take pity on him and have a coffee? Plus, if that didn’t work, he was armed with a secret weapon.

‘Morning, Lucy.’ He gave a salute to the nurse who’d been there from the beginning and through many of his rounds of chemo as he followed her into the treatment room.

‘Morning, Hot Stuff.’ Lucy flickered her gaze towards his scalp. ‘Is it my imagination or are you less bald than you were a few weeks ago?’

Noah ran his hand over the small amount of stubble that’d started to poke through in the last fortnight. ‘Yeah, it’s a little darker than it was before, but I’m not complaining.’ His doctor did say there was a possibility his hair would grow back even before the treatment finished, but he hadn’t believed him.

‘Indeed it is.’ Noah couldn’t help grinning. He had a good feeling about this. He was positive that after today there would be no need to have any more treatment because in his bones he knew he had this thing beaten. ‘How’d you know that?’

‘The object of your affection.’ Lucy gave a cursory nod in Juliette’s direction. ‘She’s been here half an hour already.’

Noah looked at Juliette and felt his pulse quicken as it did every time he saw her. She must have felt his gaze because she looked up and beamed at him and he felt his body stir.

He settled himself on the bed next to her and let Lucy do her thing. ‘Yeah.’ For the second time in as many minutes he ran his hand over his buzzed hair.

‘Don’t be too jealous,’ he scoffed. ‘I’m sure I saw some grey in the mix. I never thought I’d be going grey at twenty-five. Then again I never thought I’d get cancer either.’

He turned to see Juliette giving him a puzzled look. ‘I’m sorry,’ she shook her head. ‘I thought you said you were twenty-five.’

‘How have I not known this before today?’ She seemed genuinely shocked and Noah failed to see why.

‘Is it an issue being…friends with someone younger than you?’ he asked cautiously. He hadn’t factored in that she might find it a problem that he was younger than her. He was certain she knew his age. He guessed he was wrong. Why should a three-year age gap matter? The fact she hadn’t realised he was younger before he’d mentioned it was enough to tell him that, perhaps for her, it was an issue.

Juliette looked at him and for a moment he thought she knew what he was alluding to, but then she shook her head and joked.

‘No, but if you were eighty-five and I were eighty-eight, then that would be a problem.’

He forced a laugh as he clutched at the portfolio in his hands, his secret weapon.

‘I can’t believe it’s your last session. Are you excited? I know I can’t wait till this is over. I’m so sick of always being sick.’

‘Are you still feeling nauseous?’ he asked with concern. All the more reason to let him into her life; he could take care of her, he wanted to take care of her.

‘A little bit, but not as much as when I started. I just want it over with, then I can get back to living.’

‘What’s wrong with living now? Chemo is only a few days every few weeks or so. Yeah, it makes you feel crap, but there’s still days that you feel normal, right?’

She looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. ‘Are you insane? How can you not admit it’s impeded in your life? I hate it with a passion.’

‘Sure, it’s not a walk in the park, but it’s life juice remember? It’s what’s keeping us alive, what’s going to keep us alive for years to come.’

‘Well, you may have years to come, but I don’t. Crappy prognosis remember?’

‘The way I see it, if they’ve given you more than a nine per cent chance of making it beyond five years, then you’ve got a fighting chance.’

Unsure where Noah was headed with all this, Juliette prodded further. ‘And that’s good because?’

Juliette laughed and shook her head. ‘You’re strange, Noah, one of a kind.’

Noah saw a glimmer flare in her eyes as she considered his question. ‘Definitely extraordinary.’ Her voice was husky and she blushed. The energy that streamed between them was electric and with eyes locked on hers Noah couldn’t help but to reach over and take her hand, fingers entwined, the spark and current flooding through his body on contact. It was the first time in all the months they’d known each that they’d touched.

‘All right you two, get a room.’ Lucy bustled next to him to check the flow of his IV and the spell was broken. Normally he loved Lucy, but right now her timing sucked big time.

Juliette dropped her hand and her gaze, avoiding all attempts he made to make eye contact. Annoyance consumed him.

Shit. His progress had been thwarted. It was only going to make his job harder now.

Over the next couple of hours his attempts to lighten the mood were met with cool reserve and as Juliette’s treatment was wrapping up, he almost lost his nerve. It would’ve been so much easier if he were the one finishing up first.

‘Well, I’m done,’ Juliette said as she snapped her book shut and stood up. Her back was to him so he wasn’t able to see her face.

This was his chance. If he didn’t do it now, she would walk out and he would never see her again.

‘Juliette…wait.’ He swallowed hard as she turned to face him and gave him a smile that reached her eyes and it almost made his heart stop. He loved that about her, how just a smile could affect him so profoundly.

‘Could you wait, just half an hour until I’ve finished my treatment. I…want to ask you something, and…I would like…shit, sorry, I’m just nervous and I would rather we not discuss it here, maybe we could go and grab a coffee?’

The beaming smile disappeared and was replaced by a polite perfunctory one, but try as she might, she couldn’t hide the panic in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ She swung her bag over her shoulder and hugged her book. ‘I really should be getting back to the shop.’

She made a move to leave and he stopped her with his hand. ‘Juliette, please.’ He heard the begging in his voice and he didn’t care. Her gaze dropped to where his hand held her arm, then back up to meet his.

‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated in a whisper, stepping aside so his hand dropped away. ‘I really do need to go.’

Juliette started to leave and anger filled him. Anger that she’d shut him down before he got a chance to warm up. Boom! Her shutters had gone down the moment she’d gotten wind that he was about to ask to see her outside the confines of the therapy treatment room. But mostly he was angry with himself for not pushing harder. His grip hardened around the object in his hands and he realised he was still clutching the sketchbook.

‘Juliette?’ He called out and when she didn’t turn around he raised his voice a few decibels. ‘Juliette!’ It did the trick because it got her attention – and that of half the treatment room.

‘So that’s it?’ he asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance or turn down the volume of his voice. ‘I don’t even get a goodbye?’

They had an audience, including Lucy, who paused checking on Mrs Watson and looked across at them intently. Juliette walked back until she was standing close enough that there was no need for him to yell, yet still far enough for him to get the hint.

‘Of course, this is your last treatment, it slipped my mind.’ She was a terrible liar. ‘Good luck, Noah. I wish you all the best.’ Juliette made no attempt to make any further contact. She just stood holding her book to her chest, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

Noah had pretty much given up. For some reason she obviously didn’t want anything to do with him outside the treatment room and he wasn’t even going to try and understand why anymore.

He shook his head. He wasn’t going to go into it with her. Not here anyway. ‘Just something I made for you. Take it.’

Juliette’s heart was beating so loudly she thought it would leap from her chest. She walked into the lift, stabbed the button for the ground floor and impatiently waited for the doors to close. In her arms she balanced her book and the sketchbook that Noah had given her. She squeezed it so hard she could feel indents marking her fingers and palms of her hands. She squeezed it because if she didn’t she would fall apart.

What she had just done, walking way from Noah, was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. As much as she hadn’t wanted to, she’d developed feelings for him. It was hard not to. He was gorgeous, made her laugh and he was twenty-five.

It didn’t matter how old he was, she’d made a vow months ago that the friendship would not move beyond the therapy room. It couldn’t. She’d nothing to offer him. She was damaged goods, barely a woman and a not someone that a twenty-five-year-old man should be wasting his time with.

But the sketchbook in her arms scared her. Not because she knew that Noah had feelings for her. That much was clear. It scared her because she was almost certain that if she looked inside it while she was in the vicinity of the hospital grounds she would bolt back to the therapy room and beg him to have coffee, dinner, sex…everything she’d been thinking of doing with him, and more, for months.

Popping the boot, she dumped the books inside and slammed it shut before sliding in the driver’s seat. If the sketchbook was out of reach then the temptation to look inside would not be there.

In this case that old mantra didn’t work. She almost pulled over three times on the way back to Ellesmere, the build up of knots in her stomach was unbearable and Juliette was convinced she’d given herself a stomach ulcer. Only when she was in the safe haven of her home did she allow herself to open it up.

The sketchbook was a visual journey of her chemotherapy. The first one was from her initial session. Noah had nailed the fear and trepidation she had been feeling that day with such accuracy. She had hair in the first picture and by her second session she’d shaved it off and started wearing scarves and beanies. She ran her fingers along the charcoal images. He was unbelievably talented and for a brief moment she could understand how his mother thought he was wasting his talent on teaching. But he was also kind, compassionate and a people person, and she knew solitary work was not his thing.

Juliette slowly made her way thought the book, page by page, until she reached the last image from her previous chemo session a few weeks back. She was smiling in this one and she could almost pinpoint the exact moment. She was laughing at something Noah had said to Lucy. Was this how he saw her? She looked…almost beautiful. How did he do this without her suspecting anything? She had no idea.

Juliette,

I know this notebook will only strengthen the stalker tag because chances are you had no idea I was sketching you but I wanted you have a diary of your journey, a journey that I was part of and one that doesn’t end with treatment, but continues with your life. A very long and happy one and I hope that I’m a part of that life…

Your stalker,

Noah.

And that’s when she really lost it. The tears came thick and fast and she didn’t stop them. Juliette cried for the beauty of Noah’s gift, but mostly her tears were for what could’ve been. She allowed herself another hour or so of wallowing in self-pity before she took the notebook into the kitchen and hid it underneath one of Maisey’s old recipe boxes. Then she headed into the bathroom, washed the remainder of her tears away, touched up her make-up and headed off to the shop.

Juliette forced some cheerfulness into her voice and shrugged. ‘Okay. I’ll guess we’ll see when the treatments are done and they do another lot of scans.’

When news of her cancer had gotten out everyone in town soon became accustomed to Juliette’s chemo schedules. Tilly knew because she needed to be in charge of the café in her absence, but on the days that she had treatment Juliette had a steady stream of afternoon visitors all asking about how that day’s session had gone. Most were genuine in their concern, but there was always one or two who turned up purely to fill the gossip quota.

Like the old biddy who’d just hobbled in. Joyce Mather. No one knew how old Joyce was, she refused to disclose it, but Juliette was certain she was as old as Ellesmere itself, a living town monument. Maisey used to say that if you needed to know something about anything or anyone in Ellesmere, you went to Joyce Mather first, and if Joyce couldn’t help, then you went to the library.

‘Good afternoon, Joyce, how are you today?’ Juliette put some additional chirp in her voice as she set a tray of madeleines on display on the front counter.

Juliette was kind of sick of this question. She knew most people meant well, but today she questioned Joyce’s sincerity.

‘What is?’ She moved around to refill the display jars that housed the melting moments.

‘You do know about the Cole curse, don’t you, dear?’ Juliette looked up to see Joyce’s dark eyes staring at her intently.

Juliette replaced the lid of the melting moments jar and moved to fill another jar with football-themed cookies. ‘Joyce, you’re not making any sense.’

Joyce sighed in exasperation. ‘Well, it’s obvious Maisey neglected to warn you about the curse.’

Juliette was getting annoyed with the old biddy now. ‘Joyce, I’m busy and don’t really have time to be discussing stories and fictional curses.’

‘This isn’t a story and this isn’t a fictional curse.’ Joyce slapped the counter with such might that Juliette put down her tongs and looked at her.

‘Then tell me. Who is Isobel Parker and what is this curse you keep harping on about?’

‘Bring me one of those melting moments and a pot of tea and I’ll tell you all about it.’

Juliette sighed and did as she was told. When she’d placed the melting moment in front of the older woman and poured them both some tea, Joyce began the story.

‘Your grandfather Phillip won a scholarship to study at Sydney University in the early fifties. When he returned home he brought with him a fiancée.’

‘What?’ Juliette asked in confusion. ‘Maisey wasn’t—’ She was halted by Joyce’s emphatic shaking of her head.

‘Isobel was American. They met at university but the poor girl was not used to living in a small town. Her family was originally from Boston and Ellesmere was…well, it wasn’t Boston or Sydney. When Phillip saw how unhappy she was he gave her a choice. She could stay in Ellesmere with him or she was free to go back to Sydney. Isobel chose Sydney.’

Juliette was stunned. She knew her grandfather had gone to Sydney to study, but she’d never heard of Isobel Parker before. ‘So she left?’

‘Indeed she did. But on her way back to Sydney she was killed in a car accident near Hexham. The Pacific Highway was as deadly then as it is now.’

Juliette was immediately saddened despite never having met the woman and having no tie to her. ‘How tragic.’

‘Yes it was. And your poor grandfather didn’t take it well. Not only was he devastated but he was also racked with guilt. He met Maisey not long after and she helped him through his pain, but someone that wasn’t going to get over Isobel’s death so easily was Isobel’s mother. When she heard about Maisey and your grandfather she came to Ellesmere and blasted poor Phillip. Meredith was her name, a hard woman, very stuck up. She was furious with Phillip for moving on so quickly after Isobel’s passing and placed a curse on him.’

Normally she wouldn’t pay attention to such stories, but as Joyce was talking, a memory flooded her. When she was about ten she’d found a bunch of photos of a young woman with dark hair. Assuming she was some type of relative, she asked Maisey about her and her grandmother had said she was an old friend. There had been something unconvincing in her voice. When she’d questioned Maisey about her friend’s name, Maisey said she couldn’t remember then she took the photos and Juliette never saw them again. Thinking back, she was convinced that young woman was Isobel Parker.

‘There is only one kind of curse, my dear girl. A bad one. She cursed that every Cole descendant should have tragedy in their lives and look what happened.’

Juliette was numb. Could it be possible that what Joyce was telling her was not only true, but had come true? Her grandfather had died fighting a bushfire that’d been threatening a neighbour’s property when her father was only three. Both her mother and father had died in a car crash when she was seven. And then there was her…she’d lost Chris to war and now cancer threatened her life. Was it the result of a curse of bad luck?

Joyce read Juliette like a book. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Just because a woman says she curses you doesn’t mean it’s a curse. But this woman, Meredith, had an ancestor burned at the stake in the Salem witch trials. She was a witch if I ever did see one, a real nasty piece of work. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, love, but best you know.’

Like her life could not get any more tragic – and now she had a damn curse hanging over her head, one that looked like it was well and truly working its dark magic. Whatever small thought she had of ever contacting Noah again was now extinguished.

Chapter Six