Instead, Frankie waited until Charley was done, then they started for her house.
‘I’ve never heard of a CT scan being part of a check-up.’ Charley had been staring out the window, saying ‘huh’ and ‘hmm’ and ‘wow, that’s new’ every so often.
‘Cadillac insurance. They run every test they can.’ She had no idea if that were true. Did anyone have Cadillac insurance any more? Frankie didn’t. But what else could she say?
‘Let’s have lunch!’ He pointed to DelMonico’s.
Frankie drove right past. She was not having lunch with him at ‘their place’.
‘Hey! I’m hungry.’
‘It’s eleven a.m.’
‘So?’
‘Not open until four, but there’s another restaurant. Sobelman’s. Near Marquette University.’
Sobelman’s not only had the best burgers, in Frankie’s opinion, but it held no memories. They’d never been there together. The place opened after he’d gone. It also had the added bonus of being small, loud and always busy. The less they talked, the better.
They sat at the bar and ordered.
‘Frankie?’
One of her former colleagues at the Journal – now the Journal Sentinel since the morning Sentinel and the evening Journal had merged years ago thanks to the Internet – stood behind them.
‘Everett. Hey.’ Frankie’s voice sounded as enthused as she felt.
She’d never much cared for Everett Geffard. He thought he was God’s gift to photography. What made it especially galling was that a lot of other people did too. Frankie had never understood why. He had no originality, no vision – something a photographer shouldn’t be without.
‘How’ve you been? What are you up to?’ He glanced at Charley and his eyes widened. ‘Charley Blackwell?’
They’d never met, but every photographer knew Charley.
Charley stood; introductions ensued; the two men shook hands.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Eating,’ Frankie said.
‘Together?’
‘Yep.’
‘What—’
Frankie cast Everett such an evil glare he swallowed whatever he’d been about to say.
Charley and Frankie’s break-up had been unpleasant. Following so closely after Lisa’s death, it had been water-cooler fodder for a long, long time.
‘We … uh … miss you at the paper, Frankie. Take care.’
He left, meeting up with some others by the door, none of whom she recognized. Frankie had been gone from the place for over twenty years. She was surprised she knew anyone who worked there these days.
‘That’s the guy who drove you nuts.’ Charley took a swig of his soft drink. ‘What did he mean about missing you at the paper?’
She didn’t want to keep lying to him. Hell, she didn’t want to keep talking to him, but she was having a hard time avoiding it. ‘I don’t work there any more.’
‘Since when?’
Frankie sipped her ice tea. ‘A while.’
‘You were always better than that place.’
He’d been dead set against her leaving, back when she’d actually left.
‘You’re a photojournalist,’ he’d said.
Well, actually, he’d said a lot more than that. Charley had disdained ‘artsy’ photographers, which was what Frankie had become.
‘No, you’re a photojournalist. I can’t bear to see reality through that lens any more.’ By then, she’d seen far too much reality in her life. ‘You live for it.’
And since she was right, since one of the reasons she couldn’t stand reality was because all Charley did was chase it, he’d let it go.
Frankie had been desperate to find beauty, and that wasn’t as easy as people thought. Even harder if everything in the world suddenly appeared ugly and bleak no matter how anyone tried to spin it. So Frankie had started to create beauty, and Charley had found someone he could respect somewhere else.
Instead of turning to each other in tragedy, they’d turned away, and then fallen apart. She’d never seen it coming.
Once they’d eaten and were back at the house, Charley took a nap while Frankie did some work. Around two thirty, she received a text from Hannah.
Landed early. Should I come to your place?
Charley still dozed on the couch.
Quickly Frankie texted back: He’ll be having a test. Meet us at Columbia St Mary’s on Lake Drive.
‘Charley.’
He didn’t wake up.
‘Charley!’
Frankie shook him. His hand encircled her wrist. He yanked her on top of him and kissed her the way he always used to. As if she were everything, as if without her there was nothing. She knew those things to be a lie, and still his mouth made her believe them all over again. It was like coming home. With his lips on hers, she forgot a lot of things, almost everything – betrayal and heartache, infidelity, aging, loneliness. But she couldn’t forget death.
She’d never forget that. She’d never forget their little girl.
Frankie sat up, pulling her mouth from his with an audible smack. He reached for her again.
She stood. ‘Stop.’
‘Never.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘We need to get to St Mary’s for that CT scan.’
‘Waste of money.’
‘Not your money.’ Frankie grabbed her crocheted Sak purse and the car keys. ‘Let’s go.’
The drive from Whitefish Bay, an upscale suburb located just north of Milwaukee proper, with neighborhoods of stately older houses, many built in the twenties of Cream City brick just like hers, took fifteen minutes.
‘Why’s it so empty?’ Charley asked as they walked across the sparkling vinyl floor toward the Imaging Department. ‘This is kind of creepy.’
‘No one gets to stay in the hospital for very long these days.’
Frankie could tell by Charley’s expression that he wanted to photograph the creepy.
He’d broken her heart. She still kind of hated him. But he was the most talented photographer she knew, and the world should see itself through his eyes for as long as possible. Sure there’d be another talented photographer along any second, there probably already was, but there would never be another Charley Blackwell.
His vision. It had always stunned her. Nearly as much as the man himself.
They checked in, waited only a minute or two before Charley’s name was called.
‘Your wife is perfectly welcome to come back with you, Mr Blackwell.’
‘I’m not—’ Frankie snapped her lips shut over the automatic denial.
Charley pulled her to her feet.
The technician, a twenty-something blond whose nametag read Emma, got right down to business, asking a few questions, then urging Charley on to the table.
‘You can stay in the room, Mrs Blackwell.’
Frankie had never legally changed her name from Sicari, which was quite handy since she would only have had to change it back. But she’d been called Mrs Blackwell at Lisa’s school, as well as by her friends often enough, that she’d missed it when it had stopped. Now the address just made her feel like a liar.
‘Maybe I should …’ Frankie sidled toward the door.
‘It’s perfectly safe. You get less radiation from a CT scan these days than you get on an airplane. As long as you’re not pregnant.’ Emma chuckled.
‘Not yet,’ Charley answered cheerily. ‘But we might start trying.’
Emma stopped laughing and glanced at Frankie with wide eyes.
‘You are scanning his brain.’ If she’d just get to it.
‘Right.’ All humor fled. ‘I’ll step out for a bit. Won’t take long.’
Frankie hovered near the wall as the table slid into the tube. He started to sit up.
‘Mr Blackwell!’ The technician’s voice came over the intercom. ‘You have to hold still for the test.’
He lay down. The table continued to move. Nearly half his body was inside when he went rig
id. His hands clenched.
Charley screamed.
The sound was so chilling, so ear-splitting, goose bumps lifted all over Frankie. She understood for the first time, and she hoped the last, what a blood-curdling shriek sounded like.
She rushed to him. She had to.
The table slid out of the tube. Charley couldn’t see that because he had his eyes closed tight. Frankie tried to calm him by putting her hand on his leg and calling his name, but he thrashed wildly and kept screaming.
The technician ran in. ‘They said he wasn’t claustrophobic.’
‘He wasn’t the last I knew.’
Which, to be fair, was twenty-four years ago.
‘He is now.’
The voice from the doorway made Frankie turn.
Despite what Irene had said, Hannah had aged well. She didn’t look forty-seven, though forty-seven didn’t look like it used to. What did they say? Forty was the new thirty? Did that make sixty the new fifty? If only. At least Hannah hadn’t gotten thin over time. She’d always been short and a bit on the pudgy side. She still was.
‘Since the World Trade Center. He was … there.’
Of course he was. Where else would Charley have been when the world almost ended?
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Frankie demanded.
‘You said tests not scan.’
She had Frankie there. Still …
‘A heads-up would have been nice.’
‘I’m not very nice,’ Hannah said.
Something Frankie had begun to suspect already.
The Hannah Frankie had known had been young and meek. This Hannah was anything but. Right now, Frankie kind of wanted the youngster back.
‘If he keeps screaming,’ the technician said, ‘I’ll have to sedate him.’
Hannah grabbed one of Charley’s thrashing hands, ducking the other when it swung. ‘Charley. Hey!’ Her fingers tightened. ‘Everything’s OK.’
Charley stopped screaming, but he still emitted guttural, panicked sounds that made Frankie twitchy. She remembered his nightmares, how she’d calmed him with songs and kisses.
When he was shaking and crying, he wasn’t the man she thought she knew. Then again, had he ever been the man she thought she knew?
Soon after they’d married, she’d done some research on PTSD. They hadn’t known much at the time, but there had been one theory she liked, mostly because it agreed with what she’d already been doing. The doctor believed that reliving traumatic memories while in a calm, peaceful state would eventually cause those memories to become associated with peace and calm. They faded. Charley’s had.
Hannah continued to murmur and whisper, patting Charley, petting him. Watching made Frankie even twitchier. She’d never seen them as a couple beyond that one, fateful kiss. She didn’t want to.
Charley yanked his hands from Hannah’s. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
Shocked silence fell over the room.
Frankie muttered, ‘Shit.’ She’d been hoping that once Charley saw Hannah he’d remember everything and skip right out of her life, same as last time. But she wasn’t that lucky.
‘I’m your wife.’ Hannah’s voice was strained.
‘My wife is right there.’ He pointed at Frankie. ‘Does this woman belong in psychiatric?’
‘Someone does,’ Hannah said.
The tech’s lips tightened. ‘We need to get this CT scan done.’
Frankie had had enough. ‘Charley, you need this test. If you can’t be still and quiet, you’ll have to be sedated.’
‘Maybe if you hold my hand.’
She laughed, then realized he was serious. That was happening a lot lately.
She gave him her hand, saw Hannah’s face, felt almost bad for her, then remembered … everything.
‘You should probably wait outside,’ Frankie said.
‘You should probably let go of my husband.’
‘Not your husband,’ Charley snapped. ‘Can someone get this nutcase out of here?’
‘You should go,’ the tech said.
Hannah’s eyes narrowed, but she left.
The table slid into the machine. Charley tensed. Frankie tightened her fingers around his.
‘Talk to me, Fancy.’
‘About what?’
‘Tell me what Lisa’s been doing since I saw her last.’
She nearly pulled away and ran, but he held on ever tighter.
‘Didn’t she have a music concert?’ he asked. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get home in time. Tell me how it went so I don’t think about this.’
Frankie closed her eyes, and for a minute she could see it all again; she could see Lisa. Taller than the others, lanky like Charley, with Frankie’s green eyes and Charley’s curly, dark hair. Lisa had Frankie’s freckles too. Charley had loved them. He had loved her.
Considering he hadn’t wanted children, Charley’s adoration of his daughter had always seemed like a special gift – almost as special as the gift of Lisa herself.
Frankie never allowed these memories to surface. They hurt too much. But, right now, it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it felt almost good to remember.
With him.
She described the music concert that had happened decades ago. She’d just reached the end and begun to worry about what she’d say next when the machine went off, the table slid free and Emma returned.
‘Your doctor will call with the results.’
Charley hopped to the floor. Frankie didn’t realize he still held her hand until he released it and brushed a thumb across her cheek. ‘You’re crying.’
She scrubbed her palms over her face. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You always were a softy.’
She had been. She wasn’t any more. She had no reason to be.
In the waiting room, Hannah waited. As soon as she saw them, she marched right up.
‘Hasn’t someone from psych collected you yet?’ Charley tried to push past her.
She shoved her phone under his nose. ‘If I’m not your wife, how do you explain this photo?’
He gave an impatient grunt, but he looked at the picture. Charley always looked at pictures. Then he grabbed the phone. ‘What the hell is this?’
‘Our wedding photograph.’
Frankie leaned over so she could see, then wished she hadn’t.
Hannah gleamed with happiness. Her dress was yards and yards of white lace, a long, long train, big skirt, ruffles around the bodice – a little Scarlett O’Hara but most dresses were back then. Charley wore a black tuxedo. He’d been nearly as stunning as Hannah. How could he have smiled for the camera so soon after all he’d done?
‘It’s a fake,’ Charley said.
Apparently what he should consider a sci-fi phone didn’t seem strange to him, only the photo did. Odd, but no more so than anything else he’d forgotten or ignored since he’d walked back into Frankie’s life.
‘Not a fake.’ Hannah pulled her driver’s license out of her purse. ‘Neither is this. I’m Hannah Blackwell. Says so right there.’ She tapped the name.
Charley swayed.
Frankie grabbed one elbow at the same time Hannah grabbed the other. For an instant Frankie imagined them tugging on Charley like a wishbone.
‘I know we haven’t been getting along, but this is pathetic. I still love you. You still love me. Let’s go home.’ Hannah pulled on his arm.
Charley yanked free. ‘I am home.’
‘You divorced her twenty-four years ago.’
Actually, Frankie had divorced him, but she decided to stay out of it.
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘You did. After we had an affair. After Lisa—’
‘Shut up,’ Frankie said.
Shockingly, Hannah did.
‘Fancy?’ Charley’s voice wavered. ‘Tell her I’d never hurt you. I’d never cheat on you. I’d never leave you.’
‘You did,’ Hannah said.
Charley’s eyes rolled up, and he went down so fast Frankie barely caught him before
his head smacked the floor.
People came running from all directions. It was mayhem. They got Charley on a gurney and took him to the ER.
‘You should probably go with him,’ Frankie said.
Hannah didn’t answer. Because Hannah was gone.
Three hours later Charley had a room of his own in the nearly empty hospital.
Dr Halverson bustled in. If she was surprised to see Frankie, she didn’t show it.
‘I have the results of your tests.’ She opened her laptop and tapped the keys. ‘No illness, no parasite that we can see from the blood and urine analysis.’
Charley threw back the covers. ‘Great. Thanks for your time.’
‘Stay,’ Frankie ordered.
Dr Halverson’s lips twitched once before the mask came back.
Frankie didn’t like that mask. The doctor was always friendly and animated with her. That she wasn’t told Frankie, even before the doctor told her, that the news wasn’t good.
‘The CT scan shows a mass in the brain.’
‘Well, I do have a mass of brains,’ Charley said.
No one laughed.
‘What kind of mass?’ Frankie asked.
‘That’s a question for the oncologist. I sent your results to Dr Lanier. He’s the best at this kind of thing.’
‘What kind of thing?’ Frankie pressed.
Halverson stood. ‘That’s for Lanier to decide. He’s ordered a PET scan while you’re here as well.’
‘A what?’ Charley asked.
‘Positron emission tomography. An imaging test to check if there’s anything else in your body we need to address.’
‘Anything else?’ Frankie repeated. ‘Like what?’
‘Again, Dr Lanier will discuss this with you. Don’t worry, Mr Blackwell. The machine isn’t enclosed like the CT scan.’
‘OK,’ Charley said, but he didn’t seem very sure.
When Halverson left, Frankie followed her out the door. ‘Wait a second.’
‘I really can’t tell you any more.’
‘Because we’re no longer married?’
‘Because I don’t know. He has a mass.’
‘A tumor?’
Dr Halverson nodded.
‘Which must be cancerous since he’s seeing an oncologist.’
‘That’s what Dr Lanier will determine.’
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