All She Needs to Know

by Maria Siano

  Summer sat. "Kyle, is everything OK?"

  As Kyle sat in the chair next to Summer, his knee pressed up against hers. "I was having some symptoms in the past few weeks." He stared at the floor. "I thought it could be a low-grade fever. But it didn’t pass." He lifted his head. "It could be a recurrence of Hodgkin’s. I’m scheduled for a biopsy on Monday." He pressed his eyelids shut.

  "Was Dr. Cohen concerned?" Summer wondered aloud. "When will you get the results? How long will you have to wait to find out?"

  Kyle rubbed his glassy eyes and slumped lower in the chair. "I don’t know anything yet. But I can’t say I’m optimistic. I’ve been through this before and it feels different than just a bug, or something minor." He stood.

  As Kyle paced across the room, Summer recalled some of the research she read back in January while writing the profile on Faith. "It would be unusual for it to return after so many years, wouldn’t it?" Had she remembered that information correctly? She wanted it to be true.

  Kyle sat back down. "It would be unusual for it to return now. But not impossible."

  Summer grabbed his hand. "I know how hard it must be not to let your mind go to that place, thinking the cancer might have returned. I know it can be difficult not to think about what it could mean for you. But try not to think about it. Try to wait until you know for sure. Then we can deal with it, whatever the diagnosis is." She wanted to sound optimistic about his prognosis. She wanted to be optimistic.

  He gripped her hand. "I don’t want to tell my sister or my mother yet, until I know more. I don’t want to worry them, especially since it might be nothing."

  Summer squeezed his hand. "I’ll be with you at the hospital during the biopsy, if you want me to. Hopefully we’ll have good news to tell your family afterward."

  "That would mean a lot to me, Summer," Kyle whispered.

  She smiled through her worry. "Of course, I’ll be there," she whispered back.

  CHAPTER 16

  Summer shuffled across Kyle’s hospital room as images of Faith Sheridan flashed in her mind. It was just six months ago, in January, that she walked into Faith’s room on the same floor a few rooms down the hall.

  With each step, beeps from the machines Kyle was hooked up to reverberated in her ear. And the antiseptic smell that always sickened her triggered more painful memories from the past year — of her mother’s death, of Faith’s death.

  But Kyle will be fine, she assured herself. Her mother’s cancer was advanced when they discovered it. And Faith Sheridan had an infection in her chemo port. Kyle’s going to be fine, she repeated as she reached his bedside, trying to will it to be true.

  She touched Kyle’s arm. "Hi, Kyle," she whispered.

  He opened his eyes. "Hey." He blinked as he struggled to keep his eyes from closing again.

  Summer sat on the edge of his bed and held his hand. "How did things go?" She tried not to move around too much, afraid she might disturb the tubes hanging from his arm.

  Kyle struggled to sit up. "I think it went OK. Dr. Cohen said they should know something later."

  She grabbed the pillows behind Kyle as he repositioned himself in the bed. "Let’s think positively," she said.

  Kyle gazed into Summer’s eyes. "I’m trying to be positive." He sank into the pillows. "But getting through it once was difficult enough. Not knowing what I was in for twelve years ago made it a little easier then. I don’t know if I could go through all of it again." He let out a long breath.

  "Don’t think about the worst case scenario." Summer tried to ignore the worry building inside her. "Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it."

  As Kyle lay in the hospital bed, the look on Summer’s face reassured him.

  That image had been floating in his mind for the past six months. Since he strolled into Faith’s hospital room that cold January day.

  The image had haunted him for months. For years, really. When he battled Hodgkin’s twelve years ago, he wanted Summer at his side, reassuring him with those crystal blue eyes.

  And now she was sitting beside him, saying we can get through it all.

  But will she always be here with me? "Summer, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do, with the rest of my life. With whatever time I have left."

  "You’ll have lots of time to do what you want." She squeezed his hand. "I’m sure you’re going to have tons of film offers because Wreckless is doing so well. I just finished reading an article in the Hollywood Reporter, and they’re saying —"

  "If I get through this..." He leaned forward. "And if I have the chance...I want to spend more time on the foundation."

  Summer stood. "You’ll have plenty of time to work on the foundation. Actually, that reminds me, I have some good news to tell you..." She fluffed up the pillow behind him. "I got an email from the editor of Charitable Trust magazine this morning. I sent them my resume months ago, right after I lost my job at the Observer. They just got back to me, and they offered me a writing assignment for the magazine!"

  Kyle shot forward off the pillow. He winced as a pain shot through his side.

  Summer gripped his shoulder. "What can I do?"

  "I’m fine." He drew in a long breath and pressed against the pillow again. "Just moved funny, I guess...So, does this mean you’re leaving the foundation?"

  "No, no!" She laughed. "It’s just a guest column — a three-month assignment, for now. Maybe it will lead to something long-term, though. If they like what I write."

  Kyle exhaled. "They’ll like it." He smiled. "I’m sure of it."

  "I hope you’re right." She brushed her hand against his shoulder and then stepped toward the foot of the bed.

  "There’s something I want to tell you, too." He let out a breath as he pressed on his throbbing side. "I wrote a play based on Faith’s life. I talked to Patrick Sheridan about it a few days ago, and he gave me his blessing to go ahead with it."

  Summer’s eyes widened. "Great." She squinted again. "But are you saying you don’t want to act anymore?"

  Kyle shook his head. "I don’t want to be on location all the time, or in LA. I don’t want to go back to my old life. I was never happy when I was living in Hollywood all those years ago, before I got sick. I couldn’t say that then, not even to myself."

  "I had no idea." Summer shrugged.

  Kyle stared at the wall behind Summer. "When I got sick twelve years ago, I guess fate intervened, and said it for me, in a way." He shifted his gaze back to Summer.

  Her eyebrow rose. "So, all that time you were living in Hollywood, you weren’t happy?"

  Kyle threw his head back against the pillow. "I wasn’t happy. At all."

  Summer moved to the side of the bed and leaned against the edge. "Was it somewhat of a relief then, when it all went away, after you got sick?"

  "No." He sighed. "Because it wasn’t my choice to stop acting. My career, my life as I knew it, was just ripped away from me. It felt unfair. And I was so consumed with trying to get it all back, I didn’t even think about whether it made me happy. Whether it was something I really wanted to do."

  "Sit back, Kyle, please." Summer gently pressed her hand against his chest. "You’re getting too worked up. You should be resting. Maybe we should stop talking about—"

  "The Hollywood life is not for me." Kyle grabbed her hand and held it against his chest. "And this time I’m choosing to walk away from it. The money I made on Wreckless enabled me to start the foundation. That’s really important to me. I’ll always be grateful for that."

  Summer’s forehead crinkled. "But what will you —?"

  "The acting jobs I’ve enjoyed most these past few years were in the theater," Kyle interrupted.

  Summer paced next to the bed. "I remember how excited you were about the part in Streetcar last winter."

  "I was so happy being in the play," he admitted. "And being here w
ith you again, too."

  Summer stopped pacing and inched closer to the bed. She touched his chest again, to nudge him toward the pillow.

  He pressed his head to the pillow, trying to comply with her silent request.

  "But, Kyle, you’ve waited so long to revive your film career. And now it’s finally happening."

  "All this time, I’ve been waiting for my film career to take off again. My goal was to get back to what I was doing before I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s. I wanted to pretend like it never happened — that I was never sick. Reviving my film career was a big part of that."

  "Kyle, you really should be resting now. We should talk about this later, after the results come back, when you’re out of the hospital." She turned and faced the doorway.

  He reached for her hand. "I need to talk about it now," he pleaded. He couldn’t let her leave. He couldn’t lose her. Not again. He stretched farther, but could only graze the back of her arm before she stepped out of his reach.

  Summer swung around. "We can talk about it, Kyle, but sit back. Relax. I’m worried about you." She tilted her head.

  He pressed against the pillow again, hoping it would convince her to stay.

  She stepped closer and leaned back on her heels as she folded her arms in front of her. "Your film career is back on track, finally! So why do you want to give it all up?"

  "I thought it would feel like such an accomplishment, if I was able to return to starring in big-budget films again." He shifted toward her and turned onto his side. "But it has felt completely empty. And I don’t even like the process of filmmaking. I spend more time waiting in my trailer than I do acting. I realize now, in the past few years, I’ve felt much more at home in the theater."

  Summer unfolded her arms. "When we went out with the cast of Streetcar last January, you were so at ease, so happy hanging out with everyone. That night, when you talked about your part in the play, you were so enthusiastic about it, and it reminded me of how I felt when I first started writing for the White Plains News ten years ago. I didn’t understand how you could feel that way about a small theater part, after everything you had accomplished in Hollywood...But maybe I understand it now." Her head lowered and she stared at the linoleum floor.

  Kyle reached for Summer’s hand again. But she never lifted her head, so he dropped his hand back down onto to the bed. "For the last twelve years," he whispered, "while I’ve been working in the theater, it always felt like a last resort, a consolation prize. So I didn’t allow myself to think about it as a long-term career."

  Summer inched closer and glanced up at him. "And now you’re thinking about it, as a career?"

  "I am." He nodded. "More than thinking about it."

  Summer sat on the bed. "I’m sure theater directors will want you in their productions." She smiled. "It could be an easy transition."

  He closed his eyes. "I already talked to Mike Greene at the Spring Valley Arts Center." He opened his eyes and angled toward Summer. "I’ll be directing a play for the center in the fall, and then we’re going to talk about producing my play about Faith."

  "So things are already in motion then?" Summer shrugged.

  "I’m excited about getting back to the theater," he admitted. "I can’t wait to try something new, like directing. But as much as I’m excited for all of it, it’s been hard to accept this goal I’d been striving for — for twelve years — was possibly the wrong goal. All that time, when I was working in the theater, I felt I needed to be doing more — something in television, or films again — to really feel successful."

  "I think there’s an aspect of that in all industries." Summer touched the top of his hand. "When I was at the White Plains News, I couldn’t wait to work for a larger, more prestigious newspaper, like the Tribune. When I left New York and came back here to take care of my mother before she died, I took the job at the Observer, and I felt like my dreams were sidetracked. It felt like my whole life was on hold. And then when I got fired, I was devastated because I knew it meant I’d never have a chance to work for the Tribune." She let go of his hand.

  Kyle sighed. He’d always feel responsible for Summer getting fired.

  She smiled. "But I enjoyed writing the articles for the Observer, even more than the articles I was writing in New York. I really felt like I was part of the community here. I felt like the articles, especially the articles in my weekly health series, really mattered."

  Kyle reached out for her hand again. "Your articles did matter."

  Summer grasped his hand. "I didn’t think I would ever feel fulfilled if I didn’t get to work for a prestigious paper like the Tribune. I thought I would feel like a failure as a journalist. But I don’t need to work at a big-name paper to make a difference. I realize that now. And you don’t need to be a film actor to be a success either."

  Kyle shot upright. "But I guess part of me wonders, if I walk away from my film career now, again, will the public view me as a failure?"

  "And if they do?" Summer’s eyebrow rose.

  "It wouldn’t matter." He lowered his head. "Working in the theater is much more appealing to me now." He glanced up at Summer again. "Especially because I don’t want to live such a public life. If I keep working in films, I’ll be a very public person. But if I go back to the theater, I can have a private life. And if I’m working in this area, I can be near you."

  Summer jumped up from the bed and placed her hand against his shoulder. "Kyle, you need to rest. I’m going to leave now, so you can get some sleep. We can talk about this later. I’ll come back in a little while."

  He reached for her hand. "Don’t go. Please, Summer."

  "But, Kyle —"

  "What I want most is to have a normal, quiet life with you." He glanced up and met her gaze. "I don’t want my picture to be in People magazine all the time."

  "But you can’t —"

  "I don’t want people discussing my personal life on websites." He shook his head. "I just want to do work I enjoy, and have a life with you."

  She looked away from him. "But if you’re saying you want to give up your film career and go back to the theater for me, because you want to spend more time with me — you can’t." She turned toward him. "You can’t give up your film career because of me. You’ll end up resenting me. I don’t want that."

  "A film career isn’t important to me anymore," he whispered. "Other things are more important. Before we get the diagnosis, I have to ask you..." He reached out his hand.

  Summer clutched his hand in hers. "Kyle, we don’t have to talk about this now. We shouldn’t—"

  "Have you forgiven me?" He’d been too afraid to ask before. Too afraid to find out the answer. But he needed to know. "I didn’t think you could ever forgive me after what I did. But I hope your decision to take the job at the foundation, and your being here with me, through all this, means you have forgiven me. I need you to forgive me."

  "I have forgiven you," she whispered. "I needed to forgive you, too."

  "I still feel guilty about what I did. And I think I always will." He sighed. "The part I’ll never be able to get over is, I caused all of it." He released her hand and threw his head back onto the pillow. "As I’m waiting here for the test results to come back, to find out if I have cancer again, I know if I do, it’s not because of something I’ve done. It would just be something that happened. But what I did to you is harder to deal with because I created it."

  Summer stroked the top of his hand again. "But you didn’t intend to lie to me. You didn’t do it maliciously."

  "No, I didn’t." He mumbled. "But I’m not sure that matters. When I recovered from Hodgkin’s twelve years ago, I realized I had strength I never knew I had. But when I lied to you, I realized how flawed I am."

  Summer sat on the bed again. "You went through a traumatic experience when you were diagnosed with cancer. I think trying to conceal your diag
nosis for so long, on top of all you were going through battling the cancer, clouded your judgment."

  "But that’s no excuse." His voice rose.

  "You don’t need to explain." She stood. "I understand. I’ve made mistakes, too."

  "I don’t think you understand, Summer. I need you to know..." He gazed up at her. "I love you," he whispered.

  Summer remained silent.

  And Kyle knew what her silence meant. "It’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. But I still needed to say it."

  She held his hand and squeezed it tight in hers as she leaned over to him. "I needed to hear it," she whispered.

  He shifted toward her. "I’d give anything to take back what I did. But I know I’ll never be able to." He leaned closer to her. Creases formed across Summer’s forehead.

  "Kyle, I’m going to go talk to the nurse to see if she can give you something to help you relax." She turned and took a step toward the door.

  Kyle leaned forward and managed to clutch her arm as he tried to nudge her back toward the bed. "Don’t go," he pleaded again. "Don’t leave me."

  "I’m not leaving you." She spun around and sat on the bed again. "I love you, Kyle. I’ve loved you from the first day we met, fifteen years ago. I didn’t want to admit it for a long time, at first because I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way, and then because I felt betrayed. But I can’t deny it anymore. I can’t walk away from you. I don’t want to walk away from you."

  Kyle leaned forward and kissed her.

  She gazed into his eyes. "Kyle, I realized something a few weeks ago. As I was trying to decide whether to accept your job offer at the foundation, I thought about all that happened in the past few months, and it became clear to me that you could have easily kept your secret, forever, if you never visited patients with Hodgkin’s. If you hadn’t visited Faith. But you wanted to make a connection with others who went through what you went through. That shows your real character."

  "It was important to me to visit people in the hospital. I couldn’t talk to anyone about my diagnosis, and I think it was a way for me to process what I went through. And I did feel a connection with the people I visited. I hope it helped them, too."