Wish Upon a Star Read online

  Book Three in the North Star Trilogy

  Wish Upon a Star

  By

  Jim Cangany

  Uncial Press Aloha, Oregon

  2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-193-6

  Wish Upon a Star

  Copyright © 2014 by Jim Cangany

  Cover design

  Copyright © 2014 by Judith B. Glad

  Photo: Crestock image by eeinosiva

  All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five (5) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Published by Uncial Press,

  an imprint of GCT, Inc.

  Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com

  This book is dedicated with love and respect

  to all the caregivers out there.

  You're not alone.

  As the adventures of Annie and E.J. come to an end and they find their happily ever after, I want to thank the people who helped my wife, Nancy, and me during her bout with breast cancer. From her doctors, to her nurses, to our co-workers and our friends, thanks to you, our own happily ever after is only a bike ride away.

  I also want to thank my fabulous editor, Judith Glad, who took a chance on me when nobody else would. You made my dreams come true, Jude. I am forever in your debt!

  One

  I crested a climb and checked my heart rate. The digital readout on my handlebar-mounted computer read 179. Almost my max. Taking slow, deep breaths, I freewheeled down the curvy descent. With each bend in the road, my heart rate slowed until it was back to a manageable one hundred fifty-four. Once the road flattened out, I resumed pedaling, intent on setting a new personal best for this route.

  Like a kid in a candy store, I'd ridden these Northern California roads the past few weeks with unbridled joy. In fact, I hadn't missed a day on the bike since Annie and I had returned home from the Australian leg of her concert tour.

  Of course, the constant high I'd been on since the Save-the-Date announcements had gone out was making record-breaking rides easier than a walk around the block. We'd finally put the rumors about our wedding date to rest two days ago. October Thirteenth was the day—my favorite month and Annie's favorite number. I was actually going to marry the girl of my dreams. I couldn't resist a smile as my speed ticked up another mile an hour. Maybe dreams do come true.

  My phone vibrated.

  Probably just G wanting to know when I'm coming back to Indy.

  Ignoring the text, I upped the pace to a solid twenty-five miles per hour. Not a minute had passed by when the phone vibrated again, this time accompanied by a call ringtone. With a growl of frustration, I pulled over and dialed up the voice mail message.

  Hi love. Call me back as soon as you get this, please. I really need to talk to you right now. Thanks, bye.

  Annie's voice sounded wobbly, as if something had upset her big time.

  She knew I didn't like to be bothered when I was on a ride so, with a mixture of curiosity and concern, I hit the return call button. She picked up before the first ring was over.

  "E.J, I need you to come home right now."

  "I'm only thirteen miles in, but I'll finish as soon as I can. Give me—"

  "Cut it short. Now." She sniffed and drew in a long breath. "Please?"

  A sudden chill settled over me. This felt bad. "What's wrong?"

  There was a long pause filled with Annie's labored breathing.

  "Annie, talk to me. Are you okay?"

  "No." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  "What's—"

  "I have cancer."

  Two

  The road was a yellow-striped blur as I sped back to Annie's house. It might have been a world record-shattering speed, but I wasn't checking the computer. Records weren't important anymore. I turned into the driveway and made a final sprint to the house. With a single, practiced motion, I brought the bike to a stop, dismounted and left it next to the kitchen door.

  "Annie!"

  I scanned the room while I unbuckled my helmet. There was no response, but the door to the veranda was open. The cleats of my riding shoes clicked against the granite tiles as I rushed through.

  She was sitting on the lawn, about fifty yards from the house. Her back was to me, but her head was bowed and her shoulders were shuddering. In seconds I was at her side. I got down on one knee and placed my hand very lightly on her shoulder.

  A torrent of tears burst forth, shaking her from head to toe. She took my hand in a vise-like grip and pulled it to her heart. I dropped to both knees and wrapped my other arm around her, stroking her hair and rocking her as hot tears soaked the sleeve of my jersey.

  I didn't say a word. I just held her and rocked her. As the adrenaline rush wore off, my brain kicked in. Cancer? How could Annie have cancer? She was young and healthy. She ate right and was a triathlete, for crying out loud. She didn't smoke or drink to excess. This couldn't be right.

  Her tears had slowed to a trickle when she looked up at me. Through puffy, bloodshot eyes, she gave me a weak smile. "We seem to do this crying on each other's shoulders thing a lot, don't we?"

  A laugh escaped, breaking through my panicked, frightened soul. "Yeah, guess we're good at it." I looked at the trees on the far side of the manicured lawn, unsure of what to do or say.

  Annie has freaking cancer!

  "Would you like to go inside? Maybe I could get you a drink."

  She bit her lip, blinked a few times and nodded. Using the care and gentleness of a doctor holding a newborn, I helped her up and walked her back into the house. Her gait was slow and unsteady. With my arm around her waist, I guided her to the living room couch. Once I got her seated, she started shivering. I wrapped her up in a cotton throw and went to the kitchen to brew some herbal tea.

  When I returned, she was curled up in a little ball, her chin on her chest. I handed her the tea and sat across from her on the coffee table. She brought the mug to her nose and breathed in the aroma.

  "Mm, chamomile, thank you." After a sip or two, she handed the mug back to me. In the year and a half I'd known her, I'd learned not to push her when something was on her mind, so I waited, silent.

  "Well then." She took a deep breath. "About my phone call. Oh God, this can't be happening. I don't even know where to begin. I... I..."

  Her eyes were getting watery again. In an attempt to head off another crying jag, I took her hand and massaged the palm. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the couch.

  "If you're not ready to talk about it, that's fine. I'm not going anywhere."

  I'd finished with one hand and was in the midst of massaging the other when she opened up.

  "I first felt a lump in my right breast shortly after we arrived home, but between the post-tour high and Christmas coming up, I put it out of my mind. It was after the New Year that I decided to see somebody. I told myself it was nothing, a cyst, maybe. So I chose not to say anything to you until I knew something definite.

  "I had a mammogram a few weeks ago, and it was inconclusive. Evidently I have dense breast tissue. When the doctor
insisted I have an MRI, I began to fear the worst. But seeing you so excited about announcing the wedding date, I just couldn't bring myself to say anything.

  "Last Thursday they called me with the MRI results and told me to have a couple of spots in each breast biopsied." She blew out a long, ragged breath.

  "I was still holding out hope they'd be benign cysts when the doctor called with the results a little while ago. That's when I got hold of you."

  I nodded.

  "She called it bi-lateral invasive ductile carcinoma." Annie opened her eyes and looked into mine. "E.J., I have cancer in both breasts."

  Time stopped as my mind seized up. How?

  Annie reached for her tea.

  I intercepted her hand and drew her to me more tightly than I'd ever held her before. The familiar coconut scent of her shampoo loosened the frozen cogs in my head.

  "Okay." I swallowed. "We'll beat this thing."

  Annie didn't say anything. She just wrapped her arms around me and hugged me back. Minutes slipped by, the only sound coming from the ticking of her wristwatch and our own breathing.

  After a while she stirred. I handed the tea to her. She drained it in two quick gulps. "I'm too young to get cancer, E.J. What'm I going to do?"

  I borrowed a page from her book and gently took her chin between my thumb and forefinger. "Not I, Annie, we. We're in this together. Got it?"

  She gazed at me, going beyond the surface to the part so deep down inside me only she could see. The worry lines on her forehead eased a touch and she gave me a quick nod. Only then did I release her.

  "That's my girl. Now, have you spoken to anybody else?"

  "No, just you."

  "Don't move." I gave her a pat on the leg, and ran to her office. In a minute, I was back with pen and a notepad. "We have to let people know."

  "Absolutely not. If there was ever a time I needed my privacy, this is it."

  I put the paper and pen on the table. "Annie, trust me on this. There a lot of people who care about you and will want to help you. And will keep this private. But they can't help you if they don't know, okay?"

  She picked at a tissue until there was almost nothing left before she gave me her decision-is-made nod. Once she did, we got to work. Within an hour we'd compiled a list of business associates and friends and started calling them. Since we didn't know much, we kept the conversations brief.

  Annie didn't want visitors, not even her manager Samantha, or her band leader and musical director Beth. "I'm not ready for that, yet."

  Three hours' worth of phone calls later, the job was done. My ear hurt and my head was throbbing. Annie looked like a paper towel that had been used one time too many: ashen skin, glassy and bloodshot eyes, disheveled hair.

  I hated myself for doing it, but I couldn't hold off asking about notifying her mom. A native of France, Annie's mother had divorced her father and returned to her home country. Annie had only been twelve at the time. Given the circumstances behind her parents' split, her mother was nowhere near the list of her favorite people.

  I'd met her mother briefly during the European leg of the tour—but I hadn't gotten to know her well. "Annie, do you want to let your mother know?"

  "I need to make that call, but I want more intel first. I'm supposed to meet with a doctor on Tuesday. I'll call her after that."

  It took a little coaxing, but I got Annie to nibble on a panini while we channel surfed and tried to decompress from the strain of making the calls. After a few attempts at conversation fell flat, I simply held her close, figuring she'd talk when she was ready. When her eyelids began to flutter, I got her upstairs and into bed.

  I turned the light off and got under the covers. She was lying with her back to me. That's odd. She always faced me so she could give me a goodnight kiss. I reached out to massage her shoulder. The moment I touched her, she flinched. She was crying again.

  I scooted closer to her and tried my best to hold her.

  "I'm frightened, E.J.," she said through the sobs. "I'm so, so frightened."

  I was witless with fear. My North Star, my guiding light, had breast cancer. What were we in for? Did this mean chemo? God, I'd heard horror stories about that. About people getting so sick from the chemicals that they had to stay in bed for days, fighting unending waves of nausea. And what if treatment didn't work?

  Would Annie die?

  I shook my head to drive away the negative thoughts. Annie needed someone to lean on. That was me. I needed to be strong, her rock. As I lay there, holding her close and stroking her hair, I made a silent pledge that no matter what, neither she nor anybody else would ever see a sign of weakness from me.

  "I know you're scared, Annie. But we'll take this day by day."

  The weekend flew by in a haze of bewilderment and fear. Despite our promise not to get ahead of ourselves, we spent a fair amount of time on the web trying to get our heads around just what the hell invasive ductile carcinoma meant. Even though we took pages of notes, the information was confusing and overwhelming.

  The phone calls and text messages from friends and business associates, while heartfelt and much appreciated, didn't help our frazzled nerves. The way Annie kept pulling at the lock of hair by her ear, I was afraid she'd pull it out by its roots.

  We went for a bike ride on Sunday afternoon to get away from it all. We even left the cell phones at home, and Annie was never without her phone. I figured on us taking an easy spin for an hour or so, but once we got warmed up, Annie upped the pace. Her hands were on the drops and her focus was straight ahead. She said nothing, but kept pushing it harder, eventually leaving me behind on a little rise.

  I'd never seen her like this, but I'd seen competitors acting the same way back in my racing days. She was riding angry. Who could blame her? A couple of days ago, she'd been on top of the world. Her album had gone platinum, the tour had been a smash, and I'd gotten enough decent video that there were serious talks of using the footage to make a film. For some icing on the cake, the wedding plans were coming together.

  And now this.

  I tried to stay on her wheel, but two sleepless nights in a row had caught up with me. Plus, I didn't have the anger that must have been fueling her. I had worry and doubt and fear. Apparently, they were nothing compared to Annie's anger.

  Once I lost sight of her, I eased my pace and headed straight back to The Villa, our nickname for Annie's place. I had no idea how long she would last. The thought of her exhausting herself someplace where I couldn't find her made my blood run cold.

  Keeping my panic bottled up, I rolled through the open gate a little bit later. Annie's bike was leaning against the garage door. She was sitting on the driveway next to it, arms wrapped around her knees. Her head was resting on her arms and her body was shaking from tears I couldn't see, but sensed were flowing.

  I leaned my bike against hers and dropped down next to her.

  "Hey."

  A minute or two later, she raised her head, but kept her focus forward. "Remember that day in the park in Malibu when I spilled my guts to you? And I told you the story about the whole blonde hair, stage name thing in high school? Well, there's a part to the story I never told you. Didn't think it was important. Until now." She sniffed and wiped the tears away with her sleeve.

  "At first I just liked the name Cassandra because of the exotic vibe. Hell, I was sixteen, that was enough. But when I was a senior, I got on this mythology kick and learned the origin of the name. Did you know there's a Cassandra in Greek mythology?"

  I shook my head.

  "I didn't either. But it's a story the tortured artist in me totally fell in love with. Cassandra was the most beautiful of the daughters of Priam, the last King of Troy. Apollo loved her, so he gave her the power to foretell the future. But when she rejected his love, he became angry. He wasn't allowed to take his gift back, so he made it so nobody would ever believe her prophesies. It was so tragic. She was called a false prophet. Some thought she was insane. She told the Trojan
s what was going to happen in their war with the Greeks, that there were soldiers hidden in the wooden horse. But such was her fate that she knew disaster was coming, and yet was unable to prevent it.

  "When Troy fell, she was dragged from Athena's temple, was brutally attacked, and was taken as prisoner to Mycenae, where she became King Agamemnon's concubine. Eventually, she was killed, along with Agamemnon, by his wife and her lover."

  Annie took a deep breath.

  "As a teenager, the story of a beautiful woman who told the truth, and yet had her words discounted by those in power resonated with me. And now here I am. My body's telling me the truth and I don't want to listen." She sniffed again and raised her head toward the sky.

  "Why, E.J.? Why me? Why now? I've tried to be good. It's not fair!"

  She leaned her head against me as a new round of tears broke loose. I put my arm around her and held her tight.

  The only words of comfort that came to mind sounded cheap and hollow, so I held my tongue, hoping my actions were sufficient. Her sobs eventually came to an end, but she didn't move.

  "Annie, you still with me?"

  "For now, at least."

  "We can stay here as long as you want. I'm not going anywhere."

  "Promise?"

  "On my honor as a mechanic who's met Fabian Cancellara, I'm not going anywhere—ever."

  She patted my chest and let out a long breath. Birds twittered back and forth. They were happy sounds that somehow seemed hopeful.

  Hope.

  Yeah, we definitely needed hope.

  In time, I coaxed Annie indoors with a promise that I'd make dinner while she showered. The pasta was boiling and I was chopping some vegetables when my phone rang. It was Miranda, Annie's best friend. She was also the woman who'd been Mom's favorite nurse the last year of Mom's life. Annie and I had often joked that once she and Miranda had gotten to know each other, Annie had come to totally prefer Miranda's company over mine.

  I'd barely said hello when Miranda got straight to business. "Where will Annie's treatment be?"