One year later…

"Ms. Nikki!"

"Get down from there!"

"It's not worth it, dearie!"

"Don't jump!"

"What are they talking about? Why would I jump?" I mumbled as I pulled myself up another level higher, toward the sun, toward the freedom I dreamed of.

My hands were cold, but my heart was so warm for once. My restless heart had gotten the taste of freedom and it wasn't going to stop till it was satisfied. I am a grown woman, I told myself. I was long past the years of "eat this", "drink this", "switch out your meds", "get changed for radiation". I wanted to think I was better than my past or my faults, I really wasn't.

I was constantly patronizing myself: the nurses didn't act that way. It was all in my mind. A made-up world where I had someone, something, to blame. In the real world, the nurses were all, if not most, kind hearted women, some even the same age as I, but that's how it sounded to a 25-year-old. I had my whole life ahead of me. If I was in a good mood, I'd believe I still did. It had just been a long year. A long year.

My future was up for me to decide, right? I could get married one day. I could travel the world. I could graduate… I mean, I had already completed the requirements for my degree. I just never got around to filling out the paperwork. Hey, somethings had come up.

I chuckled to myself for my lack of ability to keep a straight face at my lame joke. It was almost funny if you thought about it. I hadn't accomplished a lot in my first 24 years, but I was still deeming necessary to find excuses… even after almost finishing yet another round of treatment, if I were to phrase it the way the nurses all did.

"It's not a big deal, dear. Just a little treatment, if you will."

I hadn't realized I even mimicked that stupid half-hearted nurse shoulder shrug they gave after they had another long day until my shoulders nestled back down in place. I laughed again aloud and pushed off the next step.

It had been a long few months, and at moments, I was downright, deadbeat tired. Tired of eating crappy hospital food. Tired of being locked up for hours on end to that damn IV. Tired of the white plaster walls. Tired of the looks I got from all the elderly. Tired of being away from my friends and family. Tired of not being in my own room. Tired of fighting.

Na, I won't give up. I had made it this far, after all. I would be foolish to turn back—

"Butthead! Get your butt off this roof RIGHT THIS SECOND."

That attempt at a thundering voice. I stalled instinctively. Don't move, they sense movement. After a few moments of trying to think of an escape plan but finding none, I spun back with care. I made sure to let a huge grin appear, hoping to prevent the punishment to come. Or at least cushion it.

"Well, hello daddy dearest!"

I didn't climb down yet; I wasn't ready. I turned my back to him and the nurses again. There were still a few moments of daylight left, instead of following his order, I eased down on the icy roofing and crossed my legs out in front of me. I finally turned back to him for a second. My dad seemed to have aged drastically in the last year, I couldn't help but blame myself. He hadn't lost his hair quite yet, but it sure had grayed out. My father shoulders were back and his arms crossed. He meant business, and his wooden cane was tapping obsessively against the roof. I huffed and crossed my own arms, like the stubborn child I still was at times.

"I'm not coming down," I said.

He pitched the bridge of his nose and massaged the skin there.

"Nicole…"

A chill ran screaming up my spine, no matter how old I'd grow, he was my father. It was a constant internal battle: my dad versus my heart. I sighed but had yet to climb down. I looked over my shoulder at the disappearing sunset. The red and orange splash sky filled my sight. On one of the tallest buildings that downtown Chicago had to offer was the perfect place to watch it. I let the sunset fall completely off the edge of the world and relentlessly, I moved back. I stood up, brushed down my gown, and out of habit, I flipped my hair back over my shoulder.

My father noticed the gesture and grimaced. The anger he tried to convey in his stiff posture, washed away in a flood of momentary empathy for his only child.

His jaw relaxed, and he called out, "Let's grab some dinner, butthead."

The nurses around him raised their wagging pointer fingers to argue, but all he had to do was glance at them with those sharp animalistic eyes that dared anyone to try and stop him. And he wondered where I got it from, I laughed inwardly and a tad bit aloud.

"They called me frantic. Screaming you were trying another 'suicide attempt'."

I couldn't help the milkshake that almost left the solitude of my nose in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. It had been a treasured memory, to grab a milkshake as we went out to dinner. Something my dad made up when I was young.

"They always call it that. I bet it was the new girl, Jeana or something, that caused a panic," I argued in my defense when I regained my composure. My father sighed again. "You sure do that a lot now," I commented impulsively.

My father had always been, in a lack of other words, my confidant. He never failed to have my back and support me. My father was absolutely a huge part of me still being alive today and not referring to all the times he physically saved my life as a young rebel girl with a daring heart. In the simplest form: I had no fear. Which ended up with me on roofs and a lot of other high places, or in bad places as a naïve girl who didn't know any better.

I remember one instance after my fifth birthday. I wanted to have a birthday party and had invited all the kids from school, only to have not even one show. My dad had rented a giant bouncy house and even saddled all our horses for the occasion. After an hour waiting by the front door, my dad pulled me aside to explain something a 5-year-old wasn't old enough to grasp. He was so thoughtful and was careful not to outright hurt my feelings, but I had responded with comprehension he didn't know I possessed. Instead of throwing a fit, which would have been understandable, I asked if he could play in the bouncy house with me. He didn't have to think twice about it, even with a bad knee or two, he crawled right in after me. My father kept me entertained the entire day with my bouncy castle and horses. I forgot about my birthday completely. I thought it as nothing more than a really cool father-daughter-date and I think I preferred it more that way.

Dad looked at me confused for not getting around to finishing my sentence and get lost in dream land without an explanation.

"You know? The sighing." I answered with a twirl of my fork in the air.

His eyes softened, but not in a good way. I glanced around the room, trying to find the cause of the change in atmosphere. Was there something I was missing? The air around him grew dramatic in the tiny Chinese restaurant with a fake Buddha looking over his shoulder, intently. I bite back a giggle once I noticed the fat red statue seemingly interested in what my father had to say.

"Nicole, why haven't you finished your treatment?" he asked.

I straightened my spine, and pulled together some control to refrain from speaking out disrespectfully. My father had always been the type to cut right to the point, no matter if it poked the bear in the process. And that night, he wasn't in the mood for me to beat around the bush and avoid his questions.

'I'll finish it when I'm ready' was what I wanted to stubborn scream out, but that would mean unnecessary money that we did not possess. I could never be that insensitive to my blood.

"…I'm not ready to go home."

I avoided those brown judgy eyes, looking anywhere else I could: the waiter at the next table over, the little bell over the entrance, the pop out of the register. His fork clanked against the ceramic, ill-decorated, plate. I twisted the napkin into tight knots under the tablecloth.

"Why not? Aren't you excited to see everyone? That ghost town is fighting to throw a party to welcome you home! It's been a trying year for us both and we can finally move back! I've been receiving calls nonstop. My phone is ringing off the hook all day: the mayor, several businesses, Emily and even… Bishop—"

I jumped up and slapped down my crumpled napkin. My hip bumped against the table in a wild sprint to get out of the restaurant. I needed the cold, frost-filled air off Lake Michigan that came along with a dark night here. I needed that punch in the gut to remind me where I was in this moment, in this time. I needed the ice bit, frigged, air seeping into my winter jacket to drag my ass back into reality… not four years in the past.

My father didn't come outside looking for me. He did the mature thing to give me a chance to catch my breath and not pester me with his ability to handle any situation better than I. I'd been through a lot in my 25 years and I hate to say, I'd certainly experience more. I hated it for my dad to do the same. My father might have a better grasp on this, but in the end, it was my reality. Not his.

I took a deep breath, shuffled things back into their rightfully place inside my mind, locked the door to 'em, and spun on my heels. The door opened with a tiny chime, and I gently pulled back my chair with my father's wise eyes on me. I half-heartedly smiled, but as soon as it appeared, it was gone again. It was not the time to act like the little child I no longer was.

"I'm going to finish up later this week, but I have chosen to stay here."

My father's downcast eyes shot up, "Nicole—"

I could feel the fight trying to build. My father believed he knew best, and that gave him the perceived power to cross boundaries that he shouldn't.

"No. I get to decide. Not you. I like my life here and I have no reason to go back to that hell hole," I said.

"Now, wait a minute—"

"Enough, Allan!" I slapped my hand down on the table, my rings dinged against the wood. "If you want to go, go. I can take care of myself. I renewed the lease on my place here. I'm staying, dad and that's that."

Allan Dill, a man with more gray hair than black now, made sure to take care on the massive steps especially with his cane. He wasn't smiling, he rarely could now, he had gotten older and mighty fast. All the years flew by for him, but there wasn't a damn thing my father regretted. He had spent much of his life in the Navy but the minute he found out my mother was pregnant, he walked away from everything. There is no telling what he gave up for me even before I took my first breath.

Each stone step seemed like a mountain to him, but he didn't let that show. He had always been a proudful man. When Allan finally got to the top, feeling like the jogging scene from Rocky, he rang a doorbell with a Victoria sound to it. Allan waited patiently for the mahogany Tuscany inspired door to swing open. It had a beautiful glass pane with silver metal swirls covering it so he couldn't see inside until a middle-aged woman came to the door with a scowl on her once pretty face.

"How may I help you?" she asked. Her tiny hand clinching the doorframe.

"I have a meeting to see Mr. Fisher, ma'am."

A southern man through and through my father. In Texas, he was still a high-profile marketing agent. He travelled non-stop, but it was offset for me when he'd come home to our ranch. I never saw him without a cowboy hat until he was handed the high-profile clients.

"Mr. Martin, I presume."

My father bowed and tipped his imaginary hat. "At your service."

"Melissa. Please, come in." She stepped back and let the door fully open.

The woman led my father deeper into the beautiful home until they came to the living room and she asked him to take a seat. Allan went for the comfy couch with extra room instead of the "professional" chairs that looked worth more than our old property. Melissa excused herself without a second glance.

My father was only just getting settled when a young man came in. The youngster, as my dad would had said, who truthfully was already over 30, was adorned in the finest suit he'd ever seen. Upon his entrance, dad shot up and even knocked over his cane by doing so to greet him.

The youngster could have responded rudely or poked fun at the older feeble man but instead he bent down in his luxury suit and gathered up my father's cane carefully. He smiled and handed it back to my father.

"Please. Take a seat."

My father did just that, and sunk back on the couch. Dad's face was flushed and discolored, but he played cool. My dad was the best business man I'd ever met, and he had decades on the job, but it wasn't business that had managed to get under his skin.

"Allan? Sorry, Mr. Allan? Is that better?" The youngster unbuttoned his suit jacket with ease and a flick of the wrist as he sat into his favorite chair across from my father.

"Call me Allan," Allan said.

"Mark. Pleased to meet you; I'm glad I finally got you all the way out to L.A., it's been a long time coming."

"Likewise."

The two men spent the next hour or two or three speaking of anything but business. A supposedly 30-minute chat for Mark to get keen on the idea of meeting with the higher ups of my dad's marketing company. It was noticeable they didn't keep up the formal BS but even switched to more personal topics without even trying. My dad could become anyone's best friend. Strangers loved him; that damn smile was infectious.

By the end of it, Mark was completely on board for the upcoming meeting and the two had even a few drinks. My dad, with the help of his friend, Jack, had the courage to speak about something that had been on his mind since he found out about this face-to-face meeting with Mark for months.

"Mark, do you care if I get a tad blunt?"

"I do enjoy a good dose of your brutal honesty," Mark said and set down his glass, practically on the edge of his seat and a bouncing leg. "Lay it on me, Allan."

"My daughter has cancer."

"Holy shit."

Any onlooker would have seen how uncomfortable Mark became. I wouldn't quite call them friends but they certainly weren't strangers. It should have been common knowledge for the two, but Mark wasn't even aware Allan had a daughter. It wasn't like I was a hot topic but the awkward tension could have strangled anyone. Mark twisted his fingers and squeezed until they turned red.

"I never knew. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. She's a fighter," Allan said and took another drink. My father was definitely a strong man or at least had a great poker face. "This isn't her first time around either and I'm afraid it won't be her last." Mark tried to swallow his discomfort and wipe away the sweat by playing around with his collar. "But that isn't the point, Mark, I have a favor to ask of you."

Unfortunately for my father something had suddenly rubbed Mark the wrong way. The façade he had built up from years of being taken advantage of threw itself up, and it caused Mark to respond irrationally.

"What is it? You must know I don't have the cure for cancer."

Thankfully for Mark, my dad's feathers weren't easily ruffled. "Of course not, we both know you're not too bright for something like that."

Mark decided enough was enough, stood up and rebuttoned his jacket. "I think it is time for you to leave, Allan."

My father stood up, quickly, and smacked the bottom of his cane against Mark's perfect marble floor. "Oh no, you don't. Hear me out, would ya? Before you get your panties in a wad. Haven't you ever cared about someone so much that you would do everything you could for them? Or are you that heartless? That wasn't the feeling I got from you, Mark."

Mark sighed, and took his seat, but he was clearly uncomfortable. However, Mark waited for my father to speak out of respect.

"Look, I'm going to be honest: she has been a fan of yours for a long time, before the business thing. I know you're used to people saying that, but I'm not asking for money or anything like that… Last time she went to a talk of yours, in between treatments, and her results skyrocketed." My father emphasized with a wave of his wrinkly hand. "She passed all her tests with flying colors. For a moment, I had my little girl back."

"I don't understand what you are asking of me, Allan."

"Meet her. Just once. I hope when she gets the chance to meet you face to face she'll do even better than before. Mark, this treatment has the high possibility to kill her this time around. Her poor body can't handle it again. I gotta show her she is not alone. I'll do anything; I beg of you."

Mark stumbled over his words and couldn't get out anything of worth for a few moments. He rubbed a hard down his freshly shaven face and massaged his temples then glanced back up.

"What about you? You're the father, how could you let a stranger check in on your daughter? Isn't that your job?" Mark asked.

"I am going to do what I can to save my daughter, Mr. Mark."

"What does that even mean?"

Instead of answering a very upset Mark, my father was already half way out the door, wobbling away on his crane. Mark chased after him. An easy pushover and already invested in my father just from the last year of corresponding emails and phone calls. I cannot even begin to describe what relationship they had because my father never told me. I had no idea. I was given no foundation to understand.

"HEY! You can't just walk out after dropping something like that in somebody's lap!" Mark said. He was standing at his doorstep but my father was already half way down the steps.

Thankfully, my father stopped his escape for a moment to turn around with a wicked smile on his face. Mark had played right into his hand, that fool.

"Meet her once. If you feel you can still leave, then leave. This will be the last time you hear from me, Mr. Mark. I promise."