Lou Sylvre's Blog - Posts Tagged "novella"

Yes is different. It isn't a mystery, and though there is a fight it isn't fought with guns. As is always the case when loving humans face impossible odds, Luki and Sonny both reveal their worst, and then have a chance to redeem that with their very best—if they can find the strength for it.

Here's the contest: Write a comment to this post or send me an email at lou(dot)sylvre(at)gmail(dot)com, at least a dozen words. Give the guys some advice on how to get through this. The advice I find the most compelling will be quoted and attributed to you in the book's front matter, and you win an ebook. (Sorry, I know this summer is a long time to wait, but it will get here eventually!)

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Here is an early excerpt from the pre-finalized manuscript:

Luki tried to make it look as though he met the doctor’s eyes, but really he looked out the fifth floor window to the Seattle city traffic. Downtown, lots of people in the street, though not as many as say, New York, or London, both places Luki had been. The opulence of the oncologist’s office held no power to impress Luki. He had means, and before he loved Sonny, this was the kind of place he chose to live and work.

Because it was cold, sterile, empty of connotations and implications.

He looked—surreptitiously, he hoped—from the window to Sonny, marveling at the way he looked beautiful in a new way in every setting. As if he wove himself into a scene the same way he wove shining ideas into his tapestries. Would he, Luki, be here listening to the doctor drone if it wasn’t for Sonny? Probably. But it would mean less.

He registered the doctor’s voice: “Now, I’m not going to mince words...”

That sounded ominous.

“That would be dishonest, and unfair to you.”

“Yes,” Luki answered, because it seemed something was called for. The doctor, who was not, Luki thought, cold or empty, continued to drone. That was the only word Luki could think of for it. Blah, blah, blah. He’d already seen two doctors, had a bevy of pictures taken of his interior—like real estate—and endured poking and prodding that would stir the dead. But he inwardly admitted his reaction—or lack of reaction—to the doctor’s words might be less because of the doctor’s boring manner, and more because he, Luki, didn’t want to hear a detailed description of the tumor in his lung.

Distracted, he gazed at the axial CT images, which made his lung look like an almost egg-shaped hole, and the tumor look like a yoke splatted in the middle of it. Mr. Vasquez, I’m afraid you have a fried egg in your lung. Luki didn’t realize he’d chuckled aloud, until Sonny clamped a hand on his shoulder, and he saw a shocked look on the doctor’s face. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I was thinking about... something...”

“I’m not sure how much you heard of my explanation, Mr. Vasquez.”

“Just call me Luki, please. I heard it all, I think. Apical tumor, right side, squamous cell, advanced, etcetera.” The doctor and Sonny both looked shocked, and Luki felt shocked, too. He hadn’t realized that despite his efforts not to, he’d heard.

“Yes, well,” Doctor Zhvornak continued. “Good, so now this is the important part, Luki.” He slid his stool closer. “There are both positive signs in terms of what’s in store for you, and negative ones. Negative first: The location in the apex of the lung—”

Another shock, this one physical, coursed through Luki when the doctor tapped his chest to show him where the tumor was growing, rather than pointing to the images. If he was trying to secure all of Luki’s attention, it worked.

“—tends to suggest a less favorable prognosis. And the tumor is advanced, adhering slightly—from what we can see—to the chest wall, here. Understand so far?”

“Yes.”

“More positive: Despite the location of your tumor, you have no signs of Pancoast syndrome—which shows up when a nerve is sheathed in tumor. Though the tumor is large and adherent to the chest wall, I don’t believe it truly invades the tissue there significantly. And, believe it or not, it is favorable to you that this tumor is in your right lung, not your left. Very favorable, we found no evidence for metastases. Do you know what that word means?”

“Yes.”

“We can fight this aggressively if you want. It will most likely involve chemo, radiation, surgery, chemo, and radiation again. Then, either immediately or six months later depending on the signs, another round of chemotherapy. That last round is insurance if we’ve been successful. If we’ve not met with success, if the cancer is still active, then that last round will most likely be palliative. That means—”

“We know what it means!”

“Let him say it, Sonny.”

“Palliative means it’s offered to reduce pain and discomfort in the dying process, and it may possibly lengthen your life by months or maybe a year. I’ve outlined for you the most aggressive treatment, Mr. Vasquez—”

“Luki.”

“Luki, then. I have twenty years of experience treating cancers, and I can tell you yours is far from the least favorable scenario. This treatment regimen is my recommendation—leaving no medical stone unturned, so to speak. You will find the process painful, debilitating, and long. You may never recover your full strength. You will certainly lose part of your lung. You’ll have a new scar. During the process you’ll almost certainly lose your hair.”

Luki had no difficulty maintaining his cool exterior until those last three words. Lose. Your. Hair. His heart began to pound at the thought of grieving his carefully tended chestnut curls, which he considered a mitigating factor, making up in part for his frightening visage with it’s long, livid scar. When he tried to swallow, he coughed. Thankfully it passed without becoming a fit. Sonny sat behind him and to one side, and now he lifted a hand to those curls as if to protect them.

“Statistics mean little in cancer treatment, Luki, but I like to be completely frank. Considering all the information we’ve gathered, the odds are one in three that you’ll survive for the next five years, if we fight with every weapon we have. Do you want to proceed?”

“Yes!” The word fairly burst from Sonny’s lips.

“Mr. James—”

“Call me Sonny.”

“I appreciate, Sonny, that you are invested in Luki’s welfare. Obviously, the two of you care deeply for each other. That, if you can make it last through hell and high water, is in fact another strong point in your favor, Luki. But Sonny, it has to be his choice. You can’t make it for him.”
Luki stood up. “Let’s go, Sonny. Doctor Zhvornak—”

“Doctor Z, please. We’ll get to know each other well, if you opt for treatment, and besides,” he smiled, “everyone massacres my last name.”

Luki laughed—which a few years ago would have been a miracle in itself—but Sonny looked horrified. “Luki, what do you mean, let’s go? We can’t just go. You have to—”

Luki gave Sonny a long, not too friendly stare, then looked over his shoulder at the doctor. “I’ll be in touch. It won’t be long. Thanks for your honesty.” Luki turned to walk out, but Sonny continued to stand in place, his dark skin visibly blanched. Luki raised his brows, “Sonny?” It was more an order than a question.

Sonny followed, but his stiff footfalls proclaimed his shock and anger.

They had driven to Seattle from the Olympic Peninsula that morning before the birds were awake—or so Luki had complained. Even after years of Sonny’s influence, he hadn’t become a morning person, had no desire to do so, knew he never would.

They had taken Luki’s ice-blue Mercedes, aged by now, but still in good shape, because it helped Luki maintain the chilly facade that used to be his trademark when he was a full-time working detective. Now he only detected occasionally and ran his Security business mostly en absentia. Usually he could still call up the chill factor when needed, but this morning it had been elusive at best.

They stood in the bow of the ferry while they crossed the Puget Sound, then drove south over the familiar stretch from Edmonds and arrived at the cancer center in Seattle twenty-five minutes before Luki’s appointment time. It took twenty of those minutes for Sonny to convince Luki to go in—mostly using a technique Luki had come to think of as meaningful silence. Sonny was very good at it.

Now, in the car again after leaving the doctor’s office in discord ... utter discord, Luki felt the significance of Sonny’s silence aimed at him like a drawn and loaded bow. It felt ugly, but he couldn’t give Sonny what he wanted. Not yet. In an effort to ignore the facts, he asked, “Are you hungry, Sonny?”

“No, I’m not hungry! I’m flabbergasted that you didn’t answer that doctor. I’m too upset to be thinking about food.”

“Well, Sonny, I’m fucking hungry!” It felt kind of good to lash out, but that wasn’t enough to quell his own fear, his own anger, or his guilt for not acknowledging that Sonny felt those things, too. He looked around, taking in the lay of the land to figure out where they were in relation to the places in Seattle that he knew. “Let’s go to the Metro. It’s right around the corner.”

A mostly gay club, The Metro served classy beer and good food—ordinary things like hamburgers and steaks, but quality that justified the upscale prices. Still early in the day, the dim interior was sparsely populated, which was part of the appeal for Luki at that moment. Luki was recognized as soon as he walked in. As did everyone but a select few in his life, the staff at the Metro referred to him by his last name.

“Mr. Vasquez,” the bearded man at the door said. “We haven’t seen you for a while.”

He didn’t say a word to Sonny. This happened regularly, at the Metro, and though it didn’t bother Sonny at all, it ruffled Luki’s feathers. Seriously. Every time in the last six years that he’d been to the Metro, Sonny had been with him. They knew his name, knew he and Luki were married, that they lived together, loved together. And anyone with their eyelids halfway past their pupils could see that Luki and Sonny needed each other like clouds need sun—to exist. He supposed Sonny was probably right when he said it was because he blended, purposely, into the background, but Luki didn’t care about that.

Although he’d never been the kind of person to use his martial skills if not necessary for survival, his or someone else’s, at that moment in the Metro’s entryway, it was only to spare Sonny from mortification that he resisted the temptation to split the cheeky man’s lip.

All that aside, the Metro was as good a place as any, and if by some miracle he and Sonny stopped their mostly silent fight and wanted to touch, no one would get ugly about it.

They ordered burgers and fries—or rather
Luki did, because Sonny sat in silence ... meaningful silence, except for slamming down his silverware and glaring loudly. That should have at least got him noticed by the waiter, a man young enough for Luki to think of him as a boy and swishy enough for Luki to think Sonny was watching his ass. Which was completely stupid, but it gave Luki another reason to seethe.

Their food came, and brown bottles of Full Sail Amber Ale, which Luki had ordered, when Sonny refused to speak, because it was Sonny’s favorite. But Sonny didn’t eat or drink, and after two bites and the foam Luki couldn’t either. His stomach felt like there was a hot stone in it, growing with Sonny’s every movement and look.

Suddenly—or so it seemed—he could take no more. “Fuck, Sonny! Fuck!” His outburst turned every eye in the place toward him. Except Sonny’s. Defeated but only a little quieter, he said, “Stop, please. Of course I’m going to do the fucking treatment. I just wanted an hour, just a little time to pretend it wasn’t happening. Why couldn’t you let me have that?”

I absolutely love the cover of Yes, designed by the very talented Reese Dante (who also fashioned the other two Vasquez & James covers). Comments welcome! The book will be released by Dreamspinner Press on July 18th, and I'm excited!

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Lisa at The Novel Approach gave Yes: A Vasquez and James Novella a sparkling review, topping it off with five full stars. My thanks to Lisa. I've quoted a couple of sentences below. Click the link above for the full review. It's brief, but eloquent in it's own right. And of course if you're looking to read the novella, it's available at the Dreamspinner Press store.

"This is a story of loving and fearing and dying and living. It’s a story of hope in the face of hopelessness, faith tested by helplessness, endurance diminished by the cruel nature of illness, courage that doesn’t mean being unafraid but means looking at the nightmare head on and living in spite of that fear."