The blank page stared up at him, mocking him, practically begging him to put pencil to it and come up with their next big hit. He twirled the pencil in his hand. He had no words right now. He rubbed a hand over his chin. He had nothing. With disgust he tossed the pencil down and paced to the sliding glass door that would take him out to Richie’s patio. Resting his arm high against the frame, he stared out at the glass-like surface of the pool and the palm trees that waved lightly in the breeze. He shook his head, chuckling quietly. Only Rich would have palm trees in his back yard.
Flipping the latch, the door slid open silently and he stepped into the warm California sunshine. He paced the length of the patio before flopping down in one of the heavily cushioned chairs. He shouldn’t be out here. He should be back there with her. But, and he was being honest with himself here, he was just a little bit glad that he wasn’t sitting in that room with her.
And that was the problem.
He glanced at his watch. She would be about halfway through her second to last treatment. Hopefully Sid wouldn’t leave her alone later. After what happened the last time he had been away, he had made it a point to talk to Sid himself and had elicited a promise from the man that he wouldn’t leave her alone, no matter what Cilla said.
Sighing, he leaned back and raised his face to the sun. Normally he wasn’t a praying man, but today, he sent up a few silent words, hoping that somehow they would be heard and heeded. He didn’t want her to have to go through this again. He wanted this all to be over as much as she did so they could get on with their lives. Looking up to the clouds he closed his eyes against the sting of tears and sighed again. He just couldn’t lose her. Next to his kids, she was the most right, most important thing in his life.
Richie ambled into the room, finding Jon’s guitar leaned up against a chair and the blank notebook on the table. Looking across the room he saw Jon sitting out on the patio looking for all the world like he just lost his best friend.
Grabbing up the paper and pencil, he headed outside. “Hey.”
Jon started at his friend’s voice. The man walked as stealthily as a cat. “You need to put the trinkets back in your hair or add a damn bell to your neck man.” He rubbed a hand over his chest. “Jesus I’m too old for you to be sneaking up on me. My heart can’t take it.”
Richie laughed and sat down. “Sorry old man.” They sat in a companionable silence for a while before Richie spoke again. “Are you okay?”
“I shouldn’t have come out here Rich. I should be home.”
“Why’s that?”
Jon shifted in his chair so he was facing his friend. “I should be with Cilla right now while she’s getting her chemo. Not sitting here looking at your ugly mug.”
Richie nodded, now he understood his friend’s less than stellar mood. “Did she ask you not to come out here?”
Jon shook his head. “No, but she wouldn’t have. She told me to ‘go write your next number one’.” He got up and paced again, running his fingers through his hair. “She all but shoved me out the damn door ‘here’s your hat what’s your hurry’. She wanted me to come out here.”
Richie tapped the pad with the pencil. “You’ve been to every appointment with her, right?” At Jon’s nod he continued. “Sounds like she wanted you to have a break. She’s very smart, your Cilla. You shouldn’t feel guilty for missing one.”
That was just it, he did feel guilty and he didn’t like it. “How am I not supposed to feel guilty when I’m out here with you and she’s back there in that damn room?”
Richie nudged Jon’s chair with his foot, “sit down.” When he was settled Richie started again. “You can’t feel guilty for living your life Jon. Sitting there watching her is just as bad for you as the treatment is for her. You need a break, time to regroup so if it turns out she has to go through a second round, you can be there for her.”
Jon hung his head. Rich knew what he was talking about, he had been through this, but it still didn’t make the missing any easier.
“Cilla was right in shoving you out the door to come here. This,” Richie indicated to the pen and paper he had set on the table, “is your job, what you get paid to do, what you need to be doing right now.” Looking at Jon he hoped he was getting through to him. “You can spend your time here pissing and moaning about where you think you should be or we can get down to business and get this done so you can go home. You just said she wanted you to come out here and do this. So let’s do it so I can take your whiny ass back New York.”
Jon glared at Richie but couldn’t find fault with anything he had said. “Fucker” he muttered, but there was no anger or malice behind it. “Where’s my guitar?”
Richie jerked his thumb toward the house. “Inside. You can get mine too while you’re at it.”
Jon came back with both guitars, handing one off to Richie. “What did you mean ‘you’ can take me back to New York? Are you flying back with me?”
Richie nodded. “Yeah.”
Jon waited and when he didn’t add any more he prodded. “Coming to see a particular brunette mother of one?”
A slight blush colored his cheeks. “Yeah. I am.”
Jon idly strummed while he studied his friend. “You like this woman a lot, don’t you?”
Richie picked up his guitar. “She’s nice man. We talk on the phone, e-mail. I think this could really be going somewhere. And Abby, she’s a little firecracker.”
Jon was smiled. He was happy for him. He deserved a good woman; and apparently this one was making him happy. He picked up his pencil. “I think I have something.”
Richie looked over, reading upside down what Jon was writing. He started strumming, picking out a melody.
By the time they broke for lunch they had the bare bones of the song. Richie set his guitar down. “I like it. I think the guys will too.”
Jon nodded and set his guitar next to his chair. “It will be better once we get the keys and drums, but, yeah it’s not bad.”
Richie shook his head, the man was never pleased. “Let’s grab some lunch.”
