“I’m sick. I’m in the hospital.”
“Oh sweet Jesus. What is it?”
“Cancer.”
He told her what kind and where it was in his body, how he’d been sick for years and why he didn’t tell her before. Lots of words in a voice racked with pain and the certainty he was dying that hit her like a hail of ice bullets, left her shivering and aching.
Her analytic brain kicked into high gear. “But there’s treatment.”
“Some. We can slow it down, manage the pain. I’ll have good days and bad days.”
“How long?”
“Today was a good day because I got to talk to you.”
Oh dear God. “You can talk to me any day. This thing we do, only talking three—”
“Was the right thing to do, to stay in touch.”
“How long?”
“Maybe not long enough to wait for your news. Maybe longer. It’s hard to say.”
Her birthday, eight months away. “No.”
“I’m ready.”
“No. It’s not right.” There had to be something else, new treatments, something he hadn’t tried. “There were things you wanted to do. Jeannie, the kids. You were going to write a book.”
“I was never going to write a book. Not every ex-journalist come English teacher has a book in them. You wanted that for me. Enough ambition for both of us.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s true now, Flicker.”
All the ice traveling in her blood made it hard to stand. She had to use the dirty brick wall behind her to stay upright. “I’m coming to see you.” She’d burn whatever bridge she had to with Cassidy Strauss to take the time to be with Drew, to see Jeannie and the kids.
“No. I’m not strong enough for that. I don’t want you to see me. Not like this. I want you to remember me how I was, younger.”
“Handsome. You’re still that way.” Grayer each year, in the Howell family holiday letter, with more laugh lines, but still a man to look at twice.
“I had hair.”
Meaning he didn’t now. “Oh, Drew.” There was ice on her face, rivers of it.
“Flicker, listen to me. We might not talk again.”
“Yes, we will. Every day.”
“No.”
“You can’t cut me off.” She was sobbing now, he might not have understood.
“Don’t, Flicker. Don’t. I don’t want you to be sad. I don’t want you to look over your shoulder and worry. You go to Washington, you make that city yours. You be brilliant.”
“None of that matters.” Forget Washington, this was more important. She’d tell Coalition for Humanity she had a family crisis and had to decline their job offer.
“All of it matters. But what matters most is that you let me make this decision.”
“You don’t want to see me.” That was it for her knees. Jelly.
“I want to see you more than I can bear, my darling, but it would only make it harder on both of us, and I need to give all the energy I have left to Jeannie and the kids.”
“You can’t—” Cut her out. Leave. Die. Flick slammed her hand over her mouth. The words pouring out of her needed to stop. She had to pull it together. She had to sit, here in the alley, on the filthy cement curb, her shoes in the gutter.
“You’re not going to be alone.”
“You would say that.”
He laughed softly. “I get a free pass. The world is full of brilliant people. You’ll find your someone. You’ll find them when you’re ready, when they show they’re worthy of being in your life.”
She wiped at her face. “You’re lucky you get a free pass, because that’s magical thinking and you’re better than that, Drew Howell.”
“I must’ve been once because I got to love you.”
If her throat closed up any tighter she’d be unable to breathe.
“Flicker, are you there?”
“Do you know—” She coughed, cleared her throat, dug her fingers into her thigh. “I’m wearing my favorite skirt and I’m sitting in a gutter in some dirty alley I’ve walked past for years and barely noticed. My favorite skirt.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. I’ve been a coward about telling you. Part of me didn’t ever want to have this conversation, didn’t want you to know, to be sad.”
“You were never a coward.” He’d been a journalist when she met him. She’d interviewed him for the school paper. He lost his job over taking her in when his paper’s owner didn’t like the stink caused by Drew “shacking up” with a woman half his age. He’d been told to marry Flick or he’d be fired. Flick had bought a white dress at the Goodwill but Drew quit, went freelance. He was the first one to teach her the value of principles. To teach her she was worth something. “What happens now?”
“I go home, be with my family for as long as I can.”
“And us?”
“We say goodbye.”
A stomach full of ice and fear and sadness, and she was going to be sick. “When?”
“Now.”
“No, no, no. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I can’t sit in a gutter in an alley in my favorite skirt and say goodbye to you.”
“Ah, Flicker, it’s just a word. It comes from God be with you. It’s not what defines us. I’ll always be with you.”
He was the part of her that believed she could do work that mattered because she mattered, but she was still a scrappy, sometimes angry, selfish person. “I called Elsie a mercenary bitch this morning.”
He laughed. “She hasn’t changed then.” He sounded like himself.
“I don’t want you to go.” She wanted to hear him laugh again, to live to do that for a long time.
“You don’t need me any longer, Flicker. You haven’t for years. It’s my turn to push you out now. Go on. No more tears. Stand up, straighten that skirt. Jeannie will call you.”
He didn’t say when he was dead, but that’s what he meant. All she could do was sob.
“Keep that up and you’re going to make me cry too.”
Flick knew of nothing more heartbreaking than two people who loved each other and needed to separate, unable to talk through their own tears. Drew recovered first. “Do you have someone you can go lean on?”
“Yes.” A lie, what Drew needed was a lie and that made it all right.
“I love you, Flicker. Then, now. Always. You go and be brilliant and a little piece of me will go with you. Promise me you’ll shine.”
Lips numb, body shaking, she couldn’t. Drew had built her new from promises. He’d used them like challenges. Promise me you’ll stop caring what people say about you. Promise me you’ll focus at school. Promise me you’ll make the most of college. Promise me you’ll choose friends who are true. She’d promised her way from defiant and rebellious, and scared, from bitter and lashing out and lacking choices to everything she was today. He’d taken her in believing she was a victim. He’d shown her she was the one in control.
“You make it happen. Promise me.”
The script on her ribs. The promise of her life. “I make it happen.”
She sat in the gutter in the alley for long enough after Drew hung up that a woman stopped to ask if she was okay.
“I just learned my best friend is dying.”
“Oh, that’s terrible. Can I get you anything?”
She was older, this woman, carrying shopping. She had someplace to be, people waiting on her.
Flick got to her knees, then her feet, a hand to the wall for support. “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”
She went home to Tom’s in a daze. Showered, put her PJs on and lay in bed. Tom came in earlier than he usually did. He called her name and she contemplated not answering. She got up, poked her head out the bedroom door. “I have a bad headache. I’m lying down.”
She d
idn’t wait for him to answer. But forty minutes later he knocked on her door.
“Go away, Tom.”
“I didn’t hear that. Be decent. I’m coming in.” He pushed the door open, a tray in his hands, a steaming plate of mac and cheese. “Oh shit, what’s wrong? It’s not a headache.”
She’d only managed to struggle into a sitting position before he came in. She used the words he’d used when his promotion went south. “I had a bad day.”
“It’s more than that.”
Her breathing was uneven. Her bottom lip had a life of its own and she couldn’t hold it still.
“Your family?”
“I don’t want to—” couldn’t “—talk about it and I don’t think I can eat.”
Tom backed out, and came in again without the tray. He stood by the door. He’d changed out of his suit into sweats and a T-shirt. “I’m going to be here with you, because you’re scaring me. You look like you’ve had a shock.”
A horrific gulp of sadness and desperate loss and loneliness erupted from her and she pitched forward to hide her face in her hands. He was beside her in seconds, arms around her.
“I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. You let it out, Flick. Scream if you have to, I don’t care what you need to do, I’m with you.”
It was enough to pull her back around. Tom wasn’t her someone. He didn’t need to see her breakdown and he didn’t deserve to be freaked out by her grief.
“Drew has cancer. He’s dying. We said goodbye today.” Saying it brought on a wave of nausea.
Tom swore, shifted closer and held her tighter. He was a great wall made of strength and softness folded around her, keeping her from falling apart.
“I’ll be all right.” She’d promised. She didn’t break her promises.
“You’ll be whatever you need to be. And I’ll be here.”
“You don’t have to.” Not her someone, but a good man, a worthy man. She needed to find a man like Tom.
“Yeah,” he said. “My roommate got some bad news, so I do.”
He climbed in behind her, pulled the covers over them, shuffled her close. His steady breathing was a current, his arm around her a necessary anchor, but she didn’t sleep. Too many memories. Too many mistakes. It was a mistake to leave the state while Drew was sick. Somewhere around four she started crying and couldn’t stop, and Tom rolled her onto his chest and did everything he could to soothe her, to help her gather her grief and sob for its pain, until it exhausted her.
When she woke, he was still there, spooned behind her, his thighs tucked up under hers. The clock said eight. It was late; they’d both be stuck in commuter hell.
“Tom.” She wriggled against him and he stirred. “It’s late.”
“Hmm.” Sleep-crackly voice, deep and warm, a heavy arm dropping over her waist. “Not for you. You’re taking a day of bereavement leave. And heck, nothing will fall over because I’m late one morning. Did you sleep at all?”
“A little. Thank you for staying with me.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, and then her stomach gurgled.
“Could you eat?” he said.
He was right about taking a day, and food might stop the sick feeling in her gut. She’d never expected him to stay the whole night, to make it easy to want him there.
He gathered her close again, his chin knocking on her shoulder. “You had a rough night. Are you going to be okay today?”
“You had a rough night too. This is not what you expected.”
“I didn’t lose someone.”
“I keep thinking I should go to him. That maybe he wouldn’t hate it. I don’t think I can take the job. I should stay in the state until—” Her voice broke.
“Flick, you can stay with me as long as you need, another month, as many months as you need.”
She turned in his arms. He was rumpled, tousled and whiskery. He looked wonderful. “You’d do that for me?”
“You’re my roommate.”
He said it with such quiet conviction, an unshakable faith that this care was what she deserved. Roommate wasn’t the right label for what they were. Ex-lovers, friends. She buried her face in his neck and let the size of him fortify her, the soapy-clean wood-chip smell of him make her believe in a world that could be good enough without Drew in it.
“Ricotta honeycomb hotcakes.”
He rumbled that in her ear as she was almost asleep. She looked up at him. “You’re looking at me strangely, Tom O’Connell.”
“It’s my ricotta honeycomb hotcake look. You know you want some.”
“God.” She shoved against his chest, needing an outlet for how he was making her feel, like she was held in the palm of his hand and nothing she didn’t want would get past him. “If you keep being so nice to me, you will make me cry again. My protective coating is faulty this morning.”
“Ricotta honeycomb hotcakes will put so much happy in your mouth they will make the whole day seem less terrible.”
“Do you promise?” The phrase slipped out, under her guard, and the sting of tears was so quick it made her clutch at his arm.
He brushed his knuckles on her cheekbone. “I guarantee it.”
She ate Tom’s hotcakes wrapped in a blanket on the balcony. He sat beside her. He didn’t try to make her talk or babble to fill the silence. He didn’t do anything except eat his breakfast and drink his coffee, but reassurance flowed from him like sunlight, coating Flick with calm.
He made her a second cup of coffee and returned with it, dressed for work. He was brushed and shaved and buttoned up, smelling of a citrus aftershave. Flick stuck a fork in her mouth and sucked on it, so she wouldn’t ask him to stay. It was what she wanted, but it wouldn’t be fair and he might feel obligated, and he’d already done enough.
“Will you be okay?” He went to his haunches so he looked directly in her eyes when he said that and she couldn’t guard herself against his scrutiny. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his middle and make him stay because she was scared of being alone with her thoughts.
“I’ll sleep.” She’d try at least. She no longer felt as queasy.
“I called Cassidy Strauss, spoke to Charles and told him you wouldn’t be in until further notice.”
She gasped. “How did he take that? We had words yesterday, he’s going to think—”
“That you had a family emergency, because that’s what I told him.”
“Oh.” That would work. Tom wasn’t just any roommate making a courtesy call; his words had weight.
“You have my cell number. I expect you to call me if you need anything. If you want to talk.”
That made her smile. Roommates who share cell numbers for something other than dark-side-of-the-morning balcony-lock-out emergencies. “Is it possible we’re becoming friends, Tom O’Connell?” Having Tom as a friend would be better than having him as an occasional guilty hookup. Friendship was guilt-free and came without the complications caused by distance.
He ruffled her hair on his way upright. “The wild thought had crossed my mind.”
Shoving hair out of her eyes, she looked up at him. “Bet that freaks you out.”
He bent and kissed her forehead. “Not nearly as much as you’d think.”
Flick did a lot of thinking. About Drew, about what losing him meant, about delaying, canceling her move to Washington. If Coalition for Humanity couldn’t wait a few more months for her, then it wasn’t too late to ask Charles for her job back.
She thought about Elsie and Mom and predicted a stolen bike and planned to start a college fund for Kendall and Krystal because they were going to need that more than the next must-have object.
And she thought about Tom. Mac and cheese and peach pie, a cooked breakfast and comforting hugs, and counted the hours until she’d see him again.
And
she thought about what that meant and didn’t have the answer.
Chapter Thirteen
Tom didn’t like leaving Flick. He got to the building foyer and almost turned back. He could take a day’s leave too, there’d be no issue. But would she want that? He’d pushed her into accepting him in her bed and made it hard for her not to eat breakfast. She’d clung to him most of the night so he didn’t regret that call, but once they were out of bed she shut down on him. Just that one smile to show she was somewhere inside the shell she’d drawn around herself.
She’d been awake most of the night, because he had been too, but where he was everyday sleep-deprived, nothing a good, brisk walk wouldn’t fix, Flick was pale and seemed fragile.
That was what’d shocked him most. How the light and sound and energy of her had spun out to nothing leaving her bleached blank, a bad clone missing all the key ingredients of the essential Flick. It was unnerving to see her so drawn and to be deprived of her easy chatter.
But she needed to sleep and she needed to feel, and if he stuck around he might mess with that, so he went to work.
He only remembered long silences in the house and being sad after Mom died, but with an adult’s lens he knew her death changed Dad. Made him fearful, turned him into a harsher disciplinarian, hoping Tom would be protected from the randomness of the universe if he didn’t make snap decisions, stray outside the lines. Tom knew it explained a lot about himself.
Flick’s relationship with Drew wasn’t something he was easy with, but the man was as much a friend as surrogate parent, and there was nothing fake about Flick’s grief. The least Tom could do was be there for her. Provide whatever consolation she’d accept. It put his own crisis of faith into perspective. He was no worse off today than before Harry un-retired, but Flick’s world had been pulled inside out and left her raw and exposed.
Wren appeared in his office doorway, five minutes after he’d doffed his suit coat and logged on. “Are you sick?”
“Nope.”
“You’re late. You missed a team update.”
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