D.J. let her shoulders go and sank back into his seat, seeming to shrink against the cushioned back. His head dropped for a moment, then he turned away and stared out the cab’s window at the passing lights and people. Even the streets this late on a cold March night were filled with strolling tourists.
He expelled his breath all at once. His mood had shifted subtlely. From remorse and outrage to a kind of strange calmness.
“I had a colonoscopy. I was passing blood…so I had it checked out. The G and I doctor found some polyps. He thinks—”
“D.J.! How could you NOT tell me this?”
“—thinks they’re cancerous. He did a biopsy. Gotta have an operation. But, Evie, I can’t take time off now…in the middle of our run…”
Cherry and her hot, little hands and lips were all forgotten! Like so much street detritus in New York City that always stuck to your shoes, I scraped her off and switched mental gears in a flash.
What was he saying? Polyps. Cancer.
“Are you crazy, D.J.? Screw the run!” I flung myself at him, hugged him tightly, then sandwiched his face between my gloved hands. “We’ll go see the doctor first thing Monday and if he says you can’t wait, mister, you’re going to get that operation. And whatever else you need—”
“Y’mean, you’re not anxious to get rid of me? Now that the SOB baritone is single again?” His tone was dry, humorless.
I was confused. Which baritone? I knew so many.
“What? Who’re you talking about?”
“C’mon,” he remarked surely, “Fogel, I mean. You’re going to be seeing a lot of him in London. You’ve got history with him. And Sara.”
I kissed him hard on the lips to shut him up. What a ridiculous man I’d married! Didn’t he realize how much he meant to me? How I’d die inside if he—
“Oh, D.J.” I rested my head against the crook of his neck and shoulder while he enveloped me with both arms. “You and I— we’re so stupid…so silly. We worry so much about losing each other to other people when it’s…what? Other things in life that take us down. Fate. Fate’s more dangerous than screwball stage tarts and ex-husbands. Listen, I’ll postpone my trip to London. I’m not going anywhere til you’re better and cured.” I kissed him, never letting go of his face. “David’s a good father to Sara but he’s just a friend to me. Barely a friend, actually. He still blames me for our divorce…and he’s right to do so. I was in love with you and should never’ve married him. Believe it or not, despite all the agony you put me through. I’m still in love with you, you forty-five-year-old fool.”
We touched foreheads. “You’re my life, Evie…”
“We’re going to concentrate on getting you clear of this…”
I couldn’t bear to say the word. CANCER.
How could he have cancer? He was only forty-five!
Oh, Eva, I admonished myself. For once, wake up. D.J.’s in denial, don’t you join him. Face the music. Help D.J. face the music. He was obviously not thinking clearly about the consequences of delaying an operation. Delay could be deadly. The cancer could grow.
“It’s going to be okay,” I murmured to him, feeling his sorrow, his fears seep into me. “For Pete’s sake, don’t worry about the show. Our understudies’ll take over for however long it takes.” I sighed. “Screw the show.”
Life was so unpredictable. Again, we were on a speeding train…heading for what? I hoped, not a train wreck!
In our hotel suite, we silently got ready for bed, then together we looked in on the boys. Our sons, eight and six years old. Jamie and Justin, almost two years apart, were sleeping angels, one with light brown curls, the other with straight, dark brown hair flecked with reddish highlights. The oldest was outgoing and fearless, like D.J. The other was more reserved and already playing piano. In our sons’ faces, I saw both parents. Our true legacy, mine and D.J.’s. The one that really mattered. In my husband’s face, I saw his fear. Stark and terrible.
What if he never got to see them grow up? What if another man ended up raising his sons? I knew what he was thinking.
Suddenly, his concern about David Fogel and my visit to London made sense. D.J. had already been envisioning my first husband usurping his role, becoming the boys’ step-father. Just as he’d become Sara’s step-father.
Oh. My. God.
We crossed the living room in silence to our master bedroom on the other side of our suite. There was an unnatural calmness to D.J.’s demeanor, an almost fatalistic stoicism. It worried me. I was relieved when he finally spoke, sitting on the edge of our king size bed.
“Y’know, Evie, after Justin was born, when you told me you didn’t want any more children, I was royally pissed off. It was like a slap in the face, you not wanting any more of my babies. Sure, I know how you felt. You wanted to get your career back on track. You’d had three already—though only two of mine. Anyway, that was how I felt. Really pissed off. Angry. Hurt. Worried that you were bored with me.”
I sat next to him in my silk nightgown and caressed his bent back. In his white tee-shirt and briefs, he was bracing his elbows on his knees, hunched over. Wearily, he turned his head and looked at me. His eyes were swimming with unshed tears.
“Now I’m glad you didn’t. Imagine you with three little ones of mine and Sara still in school.” He shook his head slowly, morosely.
I kissed his stubbled cheek, continued making caressing circles on his muscled back.
“D.J., darling, my decision had nothing to do with you. I just knew I couldn’t handle more than what we already had. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. I’ve felt guilty, too, since Justin’s birth. I knew you wanted more kids but I just couldn’t do it.”
He clasped my knee. A tear spilled over from one of his sapphire-blue eyes. Impatiently, he swiped at it with his knuckles.
“I know. Maybe it’s all for the best. It’s just the McKays’ve always had fairly large families.” He straightened up and with tenderness ruffled her shoulder-length hair. His gaze dropped seductively, and he ran a forefinger down the front of her low-cut nightgown. “For what it’s worth, I’ve never even considered cheating on you. I’d never be able to get your face and your body out of my head, so what would be the point?”
When I narrowed my eyes at him, he barked a short laugh.
“You know what I mean, Evie. You looked so hurt and angry tonight. I’m so sorry for that. You know I could never stop loving you. Never have, never will. You’re stuck with me, sugar, body and soul.” He smiled fatalistically. “At least awhile more.”
He slipped one spaghetti strap off and planted a warm, wet kiss on my bare shoulder. His teeth grazed my skin.
“And if Fogel tries to make it with you, I’ll have to hop over the pond and stick a cake knife against HIS throat.” He chuckled, his deep blue eyes crinkling. “That was damn funny, I have to admit, Evie. You and that cake knife—”
We smiled knowingly at each other.
In bed, I welcomed him into my arms. Despite our fatigue and anxiety, we made love. Slowly. Languidly. As if we had all the time in the world.
* * * *
Eva’s recollection faded as her next flight began to board its passengers. She finished her coffee, stood and tossed the cup into a trash can. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to loosen the tension that had gathered in her body. She bent over to pick up the carryon, and went over to stand in the first-class line.
Cancer. It was a word she and D.J. were no longer afraid to utter. It was like an unwanted guest that showed up when you least expected. And stayed around longer than you hoped. Making you put your life on hold. Making you feel like the fragile and mortal creatures you really were. Making you pray like you’d never prayed before.
Again.
D.J. was stoic and brave the first time ten years ago. Uneasily, she wondered how he was really feeling this time around. It was still so easy for them both to retreat into themselves, their music, their roles as parents. Emotions that made you feel vulnerable were kept at ba
y or hidden.
They were such good actors.
Chapter Seventeen
All she saw at the end of the jet way was her tall, handsome husband. He was standing expectantly, eyes glued to hers, ignoring the emerging passengers that filed past him. And he was smiling broadly as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
Still the consummate actor, Darren James McKay.
She dropped her carryon when she reached him, flung herself into his outstretched arms. They held each other tightly, rocked a little on their feet, buried their faces into each other’s necks.
“God, Evie, it’s so good—”
“Yes, I know…”
She looked around her. “The boys?”
“At the ranch. With Grandma Liz. I didn’t want them to come to the hospital. And they’ve got school. They’ll be fine.”
Jamie and Justin, now thirteen and twelve, were enrolled in a Catholic prep school that took middle-school through high school-age youngsters. The school was twenty miles from the Circle M.
“Have you heard from Sara lately?” she asked. They were riding down the escalator, D.J. holding her carryon. He nodded.
“Yeah, yesterday. She wanted to rush back but I told her to stay in London. Her classes at Cambridge have just begun. There’s no need to be here.” He glanced at the wool coat she was wearing. “Where’s your fox? It’s been cold here lately.”
Eva smiled. “Gave it away—long story. I’ll tell you later. You have no idea how happy I am to be home. By the way, Nate was at the Met’s farewell party, said he had a job for us. Another Broadway show.”
D.J. exaggerated his grimace, making her grin. “Great, another chance to drop from exhaustion and spend more in rent than we’re paid. Thanks but no thanks. Did you tell him about me—my problem?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “I thought you wanted to keep it quiet until—”
“Yeah, let’s wait. Hear what the doctors say tomorrow. Now, tell me, what kind of food you in the mood for?”
“Let’s pick up something, take it back home.” Home for the next few nights or longer was Liz’s spacious condo in Austin.
He stared at her as they walked towards the baggage claim area. “Good, was hoping you’d want to go home.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her against him. Their hips touched and rubbed. “I miss you. ALL of you.”
She tilted her face up for his long, deeply stirring kiss. Yes, she’d missed him more than he could possibly know.
* * * *
They sat down on fabric-cushioned Danish chairs in the oncologist’s office, tried to make themselves comfortable but it was impossible. The two somber-faced physicians, the gastroenterologist and the oncologist, were both facing Eva and D.J. Dr. Jamal, the oncologist, was seated behind his Danish modern desk, his hands steepled in front of his brown-skinned face. Dr. Williams, an older, white-haired New Englander by origin, was propped on one corner of Jamal’s desk, his arms folded across his chest.
They looked serious.
Eva’s heart was tripping wildly but she tried to maintain an outward appearance of steadiness and strength. D.J. was gripping her hand in anticipation of grim news.
“The good news,” Dr. Jamal began, smiling encouragingly, “is that your annual colonoscopy was vital in this case. Had we not been able to catch this early enough, this cancer would’ve spread to the outside walls of your large intestine. And perhaps spread to the descending colon.”
“We’ll know more when we get in there and look around.” Dr. Williams remained grim, inclining to pessimism, it seemed to Eva. “We really don’t know how much of the colon the cancer has spread into. Most likely you’ll lose at least eight inches…”
“Fortunately,” Dr. Jamal interjected, shooting his colleague a fulminating glance, “it’s located in the transverse colon, a much less problematic place to be.”
“What d’ya mean, less problematic?” D.J. asked, leaning over, his look boring holes into both men.
“Well, the closer it is to the sigmoid colon and rectum, the more likely you’d have to have a colostomy,” Jamal informed. “That probably won’t be necessary in this case. We hope the cancer hasn’t spread that far.”
“A colostomy? Y’mean, having to wear a bag…a-a urine and feces bag…outside of my body…the rest of my life?”
D.J.’s face blanched of all color. Eva was thinking, Oh no, not that. He’s too vain for that—he’d never stand for it. But if it’s a matter of life or death…
“Well, let’s hope it hasn’t gone that far down the colon,” Williams piped in, “but we still have to take a closer look at the walls. If the margins are blurred, if there’s no defining distinction between the cancerous tissue and the healthy ones, we’ll have to assume the worst and excise more colon. To be on the safe side, you see. We’ll know more tomorrow when we go in.”
“Yes, tomorrow, we’ll know more,” Jamal reassured them. “Once you’re checked into your room, the nurses’ll give you a mild sedative. To relax you. Let you sleep. Always good to get a good night’s sleep before surgery.”
Dr. Williams nodded, frowning at both McKays.
“Are there any questions?” Jamal inquired, a sympathetic cast hooding his dark eyes.
“I want to stay overnight in my husband’s room,” Eva said firmly. D.J. began to protest but she returned a look that brooked no objections. Her husband sighed in defeat.
“We’ll arrange that, Mrs. McKay,” Dr. Jamal promised.
D.J. was silent as they both checked into the pre-surgery ward. Standing next to him while an orderly prepared his bed and another one wheeled in a rollaway bed for Eva, she glanced up at her husband’s stony figure. Like an Egyptian pharaoh, he stood with arms crossed across his chest, gazing out the hospital window. Ironically, he looked the picture of good health. His shoulders looked massive in his brown-tweed sports jacket, his chest still muscular, his abdomen flat. He still had a thick head of dark brown curls although there were grey wisps about his temples and hairline.
Lordy, he was still strong, virile. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. How could her man be so diseased that he might lose half of his colon? More importantly, what if the cancer had spread and the surgeons would find more than they expected?
Already, a virulent depression was settling upon him. She sensed it, knew he was expecting to hear the worst. The McKay curse: the men were privileged, handsome and gifted. But they also died young of the Big C. D.J.’s great grandfather, his grandfather, Big Jim. All before their time, before they were considered elderly. His eldest brother, Jim, was battling his third bout with melanoma.
When the room was cleared of all hospital staffers, the forms all signed, D.J. finally spoke.
“Evie, if anything should happen while I’m under, Matt’s done all the paperwork for me. The trusts, the will, the partnerships. It’s all organized in files in my study. I did it all last week…when I knew this was coming.”
That was just like him, Eva thought. He was taking care of her, his family, just as Big Jim had taught him to. The way Big Jim had taught his other sons to do. They—all of the brothers, including Liz and hers and D.J.’s two sons—would be here the day after tomorrow. Her mother, too, Ricky and Vonnie. The family members were circling the wagons like stalwart watch guards.
She remained silent. What could she say?
“Should’ve given up the drinking, the cigars. Five years ago, when the doctors took out those polyps. They said to stop the booze, the smokes. Should’ve listened to them, to you.” He snorted humorlessly, full of self-disgust. “Can you imagine, Evie? Having to wear one of those colostomy bags the rest of your life?”
“People do what they have to do, D.J. You’re jumping to conclusions, anyway. It may not be necessary—even if it is, there’re people who’d rather be alive and wearing one than…the alternative.”
“Not me.”
She was shocked. Icy trickles ran down her spine. There was his usual stubbornness in his profile.
His jaw was set, facial muscles clenched. The older D.J. became, the more like his father he seemed. And Big Jim had been one headstrong, pig-headed man.
“I’d rather have you alive, D.J.”
He wasn’t listening to her, she could tell. His gaze was far away, his mental wheels already spinning.
“Nope. Not me.”
* * * *
Three weeks later, after surgery, six treatments of chemotherapy and a dose of radiation, D.J. was recuperating at the Circle M ranch. He was turning out to be a fitful convalescent, bored and angry with his new bland diet and his limited maneuverability. His moodiness and testiness, Eva thought typical of the situation; her husband was anything but a compliant patient. Like Big Jim, he’d fight for his life like a mountain lion.
Downstairs, Eva could hear the boys as they ran from the kitchen to the foyer, calling out “Bye, Mom!” and “See ya later, Mom” to her. D.J. was driving them to school for the first time since his surgery, having declared that he was suffering from cabin fever and needed to get out. He’d then come back and they’d listen to the CD and read the libretto that Nate had sent them.
Two Broadway producers were planning a revival of “Kiss Me, Kate,” the Cole Porter musical comedy based loosely on Shakespeare’s comedy, The Taming of the Shrew. It was about two stage actors, once married and now divorced from each other, who come back to the stage to perform Shakespeare’s play. Behind the scenes, it becomes apparent through dialogue and song that the two still enjoy a love-hate relationship. The sparks ignite and soon the two actors are behaving as outrageously as their Shakespearean counterparts.
Cole Porter’s music and lyrics were delightful although the female lead was meant to be a mezzo soprano. If Eva sang the role, she’d have to keep to her lower and middle registers. Not a problem. She could do that effortlessly.
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