Life in Death

by M. Ullrich

  Once she arrived home from work, Marty showered immediately. She washed away the emotional turmoil that still clung to her after her breakdown. She dried off quickly and dressed carefully for the evening ahead. Marty chose tight, dark wash jeans and a loose fitting T-shirt that dipped low in the front. With her chestnut curls secured atop her head in a haphazard bun, she gave off a comfortable casual air while still accentuating her natural physical appeal. She recalled all the times over the years when Suzanne would compliment her for a look that required little to no effort. Marty knew how much Suzanne enjoyed this laid-back version of her.

  Everything was set and in place by time the doorbell rang at eight o’clock. Marty approached the door slowly, not wanting to appear too eager. When she opened the door to a smiling Suzanne, Marty’s stomach flipped and filled with a pleasant warmth.

  “Hi!”

  “Hey, Suzie.” Marty was almost breathless. Though she had seen Suzanne multiple times recently, a new tension vibrated between them. Marty hoped this was a positive shift. Thanks either to their fumbling kiss after the bar or their earlier conversation, she felt a refreshed closeness to Suzanne. She anxiously toyed with the loose ends of the bracelet on her right wrist.

  “I brought wine.” Suzanne looked at the label on the bottle, then up at Marty through her long lashes. “Although I’m not sure if you’ll trust me with alcohol around you ever again.” She smirked devilishly.

  “We’ll see about that.” Marty’s chuckle was warm and inviting, the humor easing her racing mind. “Come in.” She stepped aside to allow Suzanne inside. “I’ll get the corkscrew.” They walked together toward the kitchen, and Suzanne set the bag she was carrying on the counter.

  “So, what’re we having?” Marty opened the bottle of wine and looked at Suzanne expectantly. A slight blush colored her cheeks, and Marty decided then that Suzanne was more beautiful than ever. She took in the way Suzanne’s simple burgundy tank top clung to her flat abdomen and her denim cut-off shorts hugged her full thighs. Marty took a deep, controlled breath.

  “Would you think terrible things of me if I brought supplies for you to make your famous chicken Marsala?” Suzanne looked sheepishly to the glass sliding door. Marty laughed deeply. “I know you had a rough day, but I’ve been craving—”

  “I’ll happily make my chicken Marsala for you if you help me.”

  “Deal.” Suzanne’s face lit up. “Where do you want me, chef?” Marty’s heart started to thud at Suzanne’s flirtatious tone. It seemed so natural to kiss that victorious grin off Suzanne’s gorgeous face.

  “You’re on chicken duty,” Marty said, turning away from the temptation.

  “Still don’t like touching raw chicken?” Suzanne said before washing her hands.

  “Who does?” Marty looked at Suzanne with disgust and offered the bag containing the packaged poultry.

  The two women worked together in a perfectly choreographed preparation dance. They had worked well together for the barbecue, but this was different. Neither could figure why, but the intimacy of it all had a certain effect on their moves and interactions. No expected guests could barge in and break down the delicate atmosphere. Suzanne and Marty were just together in the kitchen, performing a task they had done so many times before.

  They spoke very little and instead concentrated on dinner. Marty had a feeling Suzanne wanted to ask about what had happened that afternoon, if she was okay and if incidents like that happened often. When the silence between them became lengthy, Suzanne would open her mouth slightly, her rosebud lips starting to form a word, before she’d stop and frown at whatever thought she was holding at the moment.

  “Suzie?” Marty said quietly as she started to place portions of steaming food onto ceramic plates.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m okay.” Marty was amused by Suzanne’s surprised expression. “I mean, today was a first.” She looked down at the thin bracelet secured around her wrist, took the delicate, frayed edges between her fingertips, and regarded their texture thoughtfully. “Like you said, maybe I just needed a good cry.”

  “Stop doing that.” Suzanne shook her head roughly before taking the plates from Marty and moving them to the kitchen table.

  “Doing what?” Marty asked incredulously. She took her seat across from Suzanne and watched her pick up the bent fork.

  “Knowing what I’m thinking.” Suzanne stabbed at her dinner. “It’s creepy.

  Marty laughed heartily. Though Suzanne’s face was fixed in a stern facade, Marty saw around it easily. “I can’t help I know you so well.”

  “You can try,” Suzanne teased through a mouthful of tender chicken.

  “That’s like asking me to forget basic mathematics or the fifty states.”

  “Most people don’t even know all fifty states.”

  “I’m not most people.” Marty teased back casually before starting on her own dinner. She couldn’t remember the last time she made chicken Marsala, one of the few dishes she had mastered over the years.

  Chitchat about their respective days and jobs filled the silence that fell between large and small bites of savory decadence. They deposited their silverware on their empty plates and sat back and groaned at their tendency to overindulge. Marty washed, Suzanne dried, and all too quickly they found themselves standing outside the door to Abigail’s bedroom.

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” Suzanne said.

  “I know, but I can’t keep putting it off.” Marty opened the door wide and stepped into the small room she found solace in every evening. “I don’t want it to turn into a sort of sad museum.”

  “Have you changed your mind about keeping this room as is?”

  “No!” Marty nearly squeaked. She cleared the emotion from her throat before continuing. “I actually want to spread some of her things throughout the house, especially in the living room and my office. It gets lonely sometimes, and I figure if I have Abby’s things around I’ll feel like she’s still with me.”

  “Oh, Marty…”

  “And I’m sure you’d like to have some of her things at your place.” Marty swatted at a runaway tear. “I’m sure Blake won’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t care even if he did.” Suzanne spoke with an obvious fire in her tone.

  “I’m just saying that when you two get married—”

  “We’re taking our time with that.” Suzanne’s shoulders fell, and she turned to look at a colorful drawing on the wall. “He’s ready to marry me tomorrow, but I need time.” Marty caught a small shiver running along Suzanne’s body. She wondered if she should check the thermostat.

  “Can’t say I blame the guy. I couldn’t wait to marry you. And I knew I was going to the moment I met you.” Suzanne’s shoulders shook slightly with laughter. Marty took a deep breath through her nose and changed the subject. “I kept all her blankets in the—”

  “We were good parents, right?” Suzanne turned and looked to Marty with watery eyes. Marty froze. “I have all of these memories, you know? They’re happy ones, and even some of the sad ones make me smile.” Suzanne approached Marty and folded her arms across her chest. Marty was familiar with the subconscious action. She had observed it hundreds of times over the years, but it still affected her. When Suzanne was feeling weak or small or vulnerable, she’d wrap herself up in her own halfhearted embrace and then be engulfed by Marty’s arms in the next instant.

  Marty struggled to refrain from doing what came naturally.

  “You were a wonderful mother, and even though Abby is no longer with us, you’re still a mother. One of the best.” Marty reached out and gripped Suzanne’s forearm, a touch that was both safe and comforting.

  “You were too.”

  “Yeah right!” Marty’s bark of laughter was bitter and raw. She released Suzanne and stepped away quickly. She sat on the edge of Abigail’s bed and came to rest with her elbows on her knees, staring off to the far wall, her eyes distant and empty. “I could’ve given her more, done better by he
r,” she said just above a whisper.

  “We gave her everything we could.” Suzanne sat beside Marty on the twin-sized bed.

  “That’s not true,” Marty said angrily. “If I hadn’t—” Marty couldn’t bring herself to say the words. A teardrop ran along the bridge of her nose and hung to the tip. “The last year of her life could’ve been happier, and maybe she would’ve lived longer if it were.” Marty’s composure fell away. She broke down into relentless tears, and Suzanne quickly pulled her into a hug.

  Suzanne held her tightly. “None of this is your fault,” she whispered. “What happened between us did not lessen the quality of Abby’s life, I promise you.”

  Marty wanted to argue. She wanted to scream and yell and tell Suzanne that she couldn’t promise her that. But she didn’t have the energy. She barely had the energy to cry anymore, but her body mustered up the strength and the tears continued. She heard a faint sniffle come from Suzanne, and just as she was about to apologize, Suzanne kissed her warm forehead. And then her temple and prominent cheekbone. Marty closed her eyes and relished the feel of soft skin touching along her wet eyelids and cheeks. When Suzanne’s kisses came to a halt at the corner of her mouth, Marty froze.

  She didn’t dare turn away or advance.

  Finally and ever so slowly, Suzanne enveloped Marty’s lips fully with her own. Marty sighed in pleasure and relief, finally feeling at home. This was a kiss of desire and affection, not fueled by alcohol or incident. The kiss was gentle and welcoming, sweet and pure in ways Marty was sure she wasn’t worthy of. It was a baptism of sorts. Troublesome sins surfaced and were washed away, leaving Marty’s heart and mind clear.

  Marty leaned forward and took Suzanne in her arms as she deepened the kiss. She was seeking and demanding in her advance. Her lips continued relentlessly as she sucked and nibbled Suzanne’s plump lower lip. Marty kissed Suzanne deeply, her tongue tasting lost love and fruity wine. Marty framed her love’s face in her hands and let her kisses become shallower. She ran the tip of her tongue along Suzanne’s Cupid’s bow and swallowed the moan it elicited. She reached down to the hem of Suzanne’s tank top and ran the tips of her thumbs beneath the fabric. The skin-on-skin contact seemed to break the spell.

  “I’m sorry.” Suzanne pulled away and touched her fingers to her lips. Her eyes didn’t meet Marty’s.

  “Stop being sorry.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. Not the other night or tonight.” Suzanne stood and started for the door. Marty grabbed her wrist and held her in place.

  “You should’ve never stopped,” Marty said. “We should have never stopped.”

  “Marty…”

  “I love you, Suzie.” Marty’s lips curled into a lopsided, watery grin. “I always have, and I always will. There will never be anyone else for me.” Marty ran the pad of her thumb along the soft skin on the inside of Suzanne’s wrist. “I’d much rather live a lonely life than spend a day with someone that isn’t you.” Marty took Suzanne’s stunned silence as encouragement to continue. She looked into her shimmering sapphire eyes. “You and I were just meant to be together. It’s so painfully obvious. Don’t you see?” Marty took a tentative step forward and closed the distance between their bodies.

  “I felt so alone,” she continued. “I felt like I failed you, and I couldn’t help our daughter. I let a moment of weakness ruin my life.” Her voice broke, her apology coming out in a whimper. “I am so sorry. I’ve never known regret like this. Losing Abigail and cheating on you has made me feel like my heart has been torn to pieces. But what’s left still beats for you.” Marty’s chin quivered. “That guilt will be with me until I die.” She reached up to cup Suzanne’s cheek and brushed away a tear.

  “I don’t expect forgiveness from you, but I would do anything for another chance.” Marty leaned in for a kiss and was met with emptiness. Suzanne pulled back.

  “I can’t.” Marty watched as Suzanne looked her in the eyes and denied her. Her stomach churned. “I can’t do this to Blake.”

  “You’re not like me,” Marty scoffed. The pain searing throughout her chest was a mixture of anger and despair.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I get it, and I don’t blame you. Blake’s a great guy.” Defeated, Marty left the room with a meek nod and made her way down the stairs. Just the short break from Suzanne’s deep gaze gave her a chance to collect herself. It only took a minute for Suzanne to join her by the front door. “I do want you in my life. I guess I just wasn’t ready.” An odd sense of numbness overtook Marty as she smiled hollowly. “We’ll try again sometime.” She opened the door and stepped aside. “Good night, Suzanne.”

  Suzanne’s head tilted to the side as she scrutinized Marty. She looked so full of questions and arguments, but instead of speaking, she walked wordlessly through the door and out to her car.

  They Grew Angry and Tired

  The beat-up Subaru continued to circle the parking garage, going up and up toward the few empty spots left. Marty cursed to herself quietly. No matter how early she agreed to meet with clients, she always found herself arriving at the hospital during the afternoon rush. She’d most likely wind up on the roof again. She parked in a hurry and rushed in the direction of the aged parking garage elevators, clutching her long wool coat to her body in an attempt to keep the whipping winter breeze from cutting through her. By the time she made it into the elevator, her hair was disheveled and partially stuck to her pale pink lipstick. The metal doors reflected the dark hollows of her eyes. She couldn’t hide them with makeup anymore. She pressed the button for ground level.

  The past four weeks of treatments had been hard on everyone, especially Abigail. Three times a week she had been put through the wringer. By the time Friday rolled around, if she showed no signs of a fever and her numbers were promising, she was allowed to go home for two days. Two days where Suzanne and Marty did everything to make her comfortable and happy, but did very little of it together. Christmastime renewed Marty’s hopes of feeling like a family again, not just two women standing beside their daughter as she fought an invisible villain.

  Marty walked briskly from the parking garage into the hospital. She greeted the security guard with the same pleasantries as usual. She maneuvered the well-known path to and up the elevators. The pediatric ward was just as busy as the rest of the hospital in the early afternoon, but the patients were decidedly more pleasant. When Marty turned the corner, she spotted her wife immediately. Suzanne was standing just outside of Abigail’s room with her arms folded and her toe tapping. She continued forward with a deep breath and decided to make an attempt to cheer her wife up.

  “Sorry I’m running so late.” Marty kissed Suzanne’s cheek briefly. “Although I’m not too sorry because you’re still beautiful even when you’re annoyed with me.”

  “Dr. Fox wants to talk to us.” Those seven words inflicted so much fear.

  Marty followed Suzanne as she hurried along to where Dr. Fox was waiting for them at the nurse’s station.

  “Good afternoon, Marty.” The kind doctor held out his hand, and Marty readily took it.

  “What’s going on?” Suzanne cut through the formal greetings. Marty could tell her patience was waning.

  “Nothing much, and that’s the problem.” The doctor regarded both women with warm, gentle eyes. “We’re not seeing an improvement in Abby’s numbers.” A commotion erupted from behind the counter. Several nurses retrieved papers that had scattered across the floor.

  “Sorry about that,” Dr. Fox said. “We’ve had a change of staff, and some of the new nurses are still trying to figure things out.”

  “What about Abigail’s numbers?” Marty cared very little about the hospital staff floundering about. She was actually surprised by how quiet Suzanne was being. As a matter of fact, Suzanne seemed frozen.

  “It’s not unusual for there to be little change. Some kids just require two or three rounds of treatments.” Marty opened her mouth to speak, but the doctor cont
inued before she could. “The reason why I’m bringing it up now is because I’ve just read about an experimental treatment.”

  “We’re not experimenting on our daughter!” Suzanne snapped back to herself and at the doctor.

  “It’s all approved by the necessary medical boards, I assure you. I would never suggest you try something I didn’t stand behind one hundred percent,” Dr. Fox said. “But most insurance plans still consider it experimental because it hasn’t been brought into loop of standard treatments, so they don’t cover it in full.”

  “But you do think it’ll work for Abby?” Marty asked hopefully.

  “My professional opinion is yes. It’s very similar to how we’ve been treating her except there’s different dosages and a new, more active—”

  “We’ll do it,” Marty said eagerly. “I trust you to do what’s best for Abby.”

  “Marty, wait.” Suzanne regarded Dr. Fox through narrowed eyes. “Our insurance won’t cover it?”

  “No, not completely. Maybe fifty percent at best.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Marty wanted to sign whatever paperwork needed her signature to get started.

  “Can we have a minute?” Marty felt Suzanne grip her wrist tightly and tug her into a small waiting room just off the nurse’s station. “What are you doing?” Suzanne whispered sharply.

  “What do you mean what am I doing? I’m doing what’s best for our daughter.”

  “Insurance won’t help us.” Suzanne started to worry at her thumbnail.

  “Don’t worry about the money,” Marty said with her head held high. “I have three beach properties aimed to close by mid-January, and if we need more than what we have I could sell the boat or put a reverse mortgage on the house. We need to do what’s best for Abigail, and Dr. Fox said that this is it.”