Chapter 6 Sick (memory, three years later) Justin gets out of a taxi cab in the pouring rain, holding a piece of paper in one hand with an address written on it. He’s holding his daughter closely in his arms. Hazel’s almost three years old, wearing a white dress. Justin has wrapped one of his grey sweaters over her tiny body to keep her warm. Her long, silky, dark-brown hair hangs out. Her face is hiding in the crook of Justin’s neck. Hazel’s arms are wrapped around Justin’s neck and her legs around his waist tightly. Justin’s wearing timeworn jeans, a dark red shirt and a wet, dark-grey sweater with the hood covering his head. When he sees the apartment address, he nervously waits a little while, outside. He leans over and rings the apartment’s bell. He waits in the cold, pouring rain as an old woman comes out with her umbrella. She’s in her mid-fifties. He sees from the large set of keys in her hands that she’s the landlady. “Can I help you, love?” She asks in a clear British accent. “Uh, yes. I’m looking for Brian Kinney. Does he live here?” Justin asks the lady. “Yes, he lives on the second floor but I think he left about three weeks ago for vacation with his wife and son.” She says. Justin’s heart beats faster. “So, he has a family.” “Yes, a lovely blonde woman and a son, Gus, born last September.” The older woman tells him. “Do you know them?” “Um,” He swallows. “No, I didn’t know them.” The look on his face turns to sadness. He looks down. “Well, I’m truly sorry. They should be back any time soon, I’m sure.” She looks towards Hazel. “And who’s this little sweetheart?” “This is Hazel. Hazel Kinney Taylor.” Justin says and turns so that the lady can see a glimpse of Hazel’s tired eyes. “Oh, love.” She pauses. “And he doesn’t know about her?” Justin shakes his head no. “I can call him if you need me to.” She kindly offers. “No, it’s okay. Thank you very much for your help.” “Take good care, sweetheart.” she says and steps in the opposite direction. On the address panel Justin can read, Kinney/Peterson in italic letters beside Brians’ apartment number. Justin walks away, along on the sidewalk, holding Hazel closer as he quickens his pace. “Daddy, my hands are cold.” he hears her sweet voice under his sweater. They stop at a book store that has a café and a fireplace to get out of the rain. He sits on a comfortable plum, suede couch in front of the warm fireplace. Justin sits her on his lap so she faces him. He warms her hands by rubbing them together with his. He looks deeply in her hazel-golden eyes and a tear falls down his cheek like the raindrops on the bookstore’s windows. “Daddy, why are you crying?” She asks; her voice low and whispering. He bites his lip hard. “It’s nothing honey.” She leans and hugs him close, her face pressed against his chest. “Daddy, who is Brian?” Justin cries silently and smiles at the same time. “He’s a friend, Hazel.” “A close friend like Nikko, daddy?” “Yes, close like Nikko.” Justin’s tears fall on his sweater, on top of Hazel’s head. He exhales slowly. “Hazel, Brian is your daddy.” He says softly. She doesn’t answer. They stay still, hugging for a moment. “I love you, daddy.” “I love you too.” he whispers slowly and kisses the top of his daughter’s dark hair. Justin can’t push away the images of Brian in his mind. (memory) Justin is painting in his living room. Everything’s dirty with paint, the sign of a true artist. Hazel is now five years old, playing on the worn-out couch with her dolls, some of them are ripped, they’re so old, she has been playing with them for too long. There’s hasn’t been much money. They’ve been having a tough time. Justin has his hands all dirty with sticky blue, orangey-yellow, white and mauve paint. He is concentrating on his canvas when the phone rings, it startles him. He answers. Beep. Hello? He listens to his agent at the gallery. “No fucking way.” He tells her. “Are you kidding, that’s even better.” She tells him that she got a call from Damien Rothko, a famous artist in Manhattan who has heard of Justin Taylor. “He wants to work with you.” She tells him. “Tell him yes.” Justin hangs up. Hazel looks up at her father curiously. He hugs her tight. Her long silky brown hair swings with her white dress as he twirls with her. She laughs, glad to see her daddy smile for once. It’s been a long time. (memory) Justin is sitting on the big, dark-brown leather seat in his doctor’s office, dark colors everywhere, heavy curtains, no light but a few lamps. His doctor has bad news. Very, very bad news for him. “I’m sorry I have to tell you this Mr. Taylor, but…” He pauses, staring at the paper in his hands. This was always the toughest part of his job. Justin looks down at his crossed hands on his lap, unable to look up at Doctor Clarke, slightly shaking. “… you have cancer Justin. Leukemia.” “I’m dying.” “Yes. Very slowly." Justin takes a deep breath. His daughter, Hazel. He can’t stand the thought of her being alone, she’s only seven years old. Find Brian? He’s married. He doesn’t know if Brian will care, ever. Brian has other things on his mind now. Too much to think about, can’t think clearly. “You still have some time Justin.” Justin huffs a sarcastic laugh. “Yeah, time.” “We’ll have to make another appointment soon to discuss the follow-up treatment.” the doctor says in regretfully. Justin can’t move. There’s no emotion in his eyes. He’s completely lost and it’s hard to breathe.