Boob men.
Which sucked, because it had already been determined she’d have to go for a mastectomy.
Whathadn’tbeen decided was whether or not she’d go for removal of one breast or two. Or whether she’d leave herself with a scar or scars and a trouble-free flat chest, or if she’d go for reconstruction.
Doing her research, Lace found that only forty percent of women went for the reconstructive surgery, but the rate was higher in women her age; nearly sixty percent.
Lace could see why. Still in her prime, her confidence in dating would be greatly diminished without some upfront material; understanding that she’d have to bare herself to any guy in the future who might or might not be able to eventually handle it.
Handle it.Right.Lace snorted to herself.
She was sooo over her boobs being touched, scrutinized, pushed, pulled, pawed, and manipulated, she wondered whether—even if she keptoneof her original equipment—it would ever play an active part in her libido, again.
Only time—driven by her ultimate decisions—would tell.
CHAPTER FIVE
It had been a long fucking week.
Vincent was certain that some evil god, somewhere, had slipped in a few extra days.
Not that he’d been idle.
There’d been two emergency callouts at Diver Downeast, both of which he’d been a part.
One had involved a flooded cave at the seashore where a few teenagers had been diving when a rock-slide had trapped two of them underwater. They’d made it to the pair just in time, as their tanks were running out, and shared their air for the duration of the rescue. Luckily, only minor leg injuries had been sustained.
The other alert had been for a clogged sewer line that was causing some backup in the system. Not a job any of them wanted to do, but you didn’t get to pick and choose. Turns out that the task was even more gruesome than just getting covered in shit. They’d found the body of a deceased male blocking that particular outflow line. The dive team had removed the grisly blockage, and the body was currently under scrutiny by the coroner’s office and the FBI.
On a lighter note, at the lumber mill, Vince’s father had received a large, rush order from a firm in Massachusetts. It hadbeen all hands engaged to get the lumber milled and shipped on time, and that had been a success. The nice little bonus check Vincent had received for his efforts would go right into his “look for a home” fund, should he ever get motivated.
Not that his coffers needed any boosting. Vince had saved his military pay for years, and had a fine pension on which to draw. But every little bit still helped.
Vincent, gazing into the mirror, carefully applied the adhesive that would affix the red clown nose to his own, then pressed the large sphere into place. He dipped into his pots of multi-colored face paint to add wide eyes and a huge smile before sprinkling the wet surface with glitter.
Standing back from the glass, he admired his handiwork.
Yup.He looked like a clown, alright.
Tugging his wig into place, he finally donned and buttoned up his colorful, striped caftan over the spandex shorts and tank top he wore underneath.
There.Fluffo lives.
As Vince grabbed his keys from his dresser, butterflies began dancing in his stomach. And why shouldn’t they? The two females he’d be seeing soon had pretty much taken over his brain this week.
Inez, because she was so strong and brave, and didn’t have a family to see her through her treatments. And Lace, because she was strong and brave, and…
Huh. Was Vince seeing a pattern here?
Yes.He’d always admired fortitude in his family, friends, and teammates. He supposed that would carry over to new people he might want to incorporate into his life.
He briefly wondered whether he’d be the only one visiting Lace today.
Maybe.
But surely she had relatives who would accompany her to her chemo appointments if she so wished.
Maybe, however, she was a solitary sort, though Vince didn’t feel like that was the case. She’d interacted with him like a pro in the hallway. She’d thrown back his one-liners without hesitation, and hadn’t shied away from eye contact.