by Karen Rock
He opened to the last page, his fingers tracing over her name in the acknowledgments. Christie Bates. How would it look as Christie Roberts? His smile widened. Better. Much better.
It was too soon to propose. But he’d waited long enough to share the feelings he’d discovered at Cipriani’s. He loved her. And not in a candlelit-dinner, please-pass-the-wine-and-smell-the-roses kind of way. That was a movie with a different script.
No.
He loved her for the study in contrasts she was...the self-possessed woman who saved John’s life but needed her rabbit’s foot to enter an elevator, the optimist who lifted every spirit but held in her own doubts. She was the tender supporter of children, the ailing and the homeless who turned into a spitfire with wannabe bad boys, dance moms and chess pros alike. She was tough, vulnerable, smart and goofy—even when she didn’t mean to be—and prone to phobias that made him want to shield her from the world as well as share it with her.
He thumbed through the calendar, his hand stopping on February. It was his favorite shot and one Becca had envisioned. Her new friends Vanessa and Jonah stood silhouetted against the New York skyline, the setting sun bathing them in shades of gold, bronze, rose and lavender. Their clasped hands and touching noses screamed “young love.” Forever love. Their wish, he read, was to spend every minute they had left together.
He blinked his stinging eyes as he recalled that emotional day, the children clamoring for their moment in the sun, Christie, Tommy and Mary rushing to assist. Though the biggest help of all had come from an unexpected source. Jacqueline.
His jaw had nearly hit the floor when his ex-wife arrived with assistants from Faire du Charme magazine and a couple of outfit racks. According to Christie, Jacqueline’s response to the voice-mail request to help Becca with her project was that she would “try.”
The central air came on and he lifted his head, letting the cool breeze flow across his heated face. After a moment, he returned to flipping pages and was moved once more by the publication. Jacqueline had outdone herself on her last job in the States before accepting a London-based promotion. The designer duds made the patients glow with a confidence the ravages of disease couldn’t touch. And Becca’s pictures, ones he’d merely assisted with, had captured their unvanquished spirit and beauty.
After Jacqueline had taken an exhausted but thrilled Tommy and Becca for a rare sleepover, he’d questioned Christie. How had she coaxed Jacqueline to help the family? Playing to someone’s strength, Christie had confided, made it easier for them to step out of their comfort zone. He needed to have more faith.
Perhaps that was how he’d fallen for the optimist, getting to know Christie through his family until he’d trusted her enough to step from behind his walls. Tonight he’d tell her how much that meant to him and that he loved her. She deserved that and more.
The door opened and Dr. Cruz slipped inside, a stethoscope dangling from the pocket of a white coat worn over a navy dress. She clutched a bundle of thick charts and radiology sleeves that hid the lower half of her face.
“There,” she exclaimed as she dumped the contents on her heaped desk and dropped into her chair, her helter-skelter gray hair looking more static-filled than usual. “Hello, Eli.” She extended a hand. “It’s been almost six months.”
“Closing in on two years cancer-free,” Eli added, shaking her clammy hand. It was a significant milestone. Twenty-four months of remission boded well for a healthy future, one he could now look forward to spending with Christie and his kids. “Our final checkup is in September.” Nearly in the clear.
“Yes. But I’m glad you stopped in early.” She adjusted her slipping glasses, the dark circles under her eyes making him wish he hadn’t added to her schedule today.
He rose and handed her the calendar. “My daughter made this for her health class, and I wanted to give you one. A thank-you for all you’ve done.” There were many people he owed for getting him through these difficult years. Dr. Cruz was at the top of that list.
Although she turned the pages, her eyes looked distant, unfocused. Guilt swept him once more. He’d interrupted her rounds. A doctor’s day was long enough without soon-to-be-former patients dropping by.
“I don’t want to take up your time.” He grabbed his briefcase.
She waved him back down in his seat. “This is wonderful. Really. Thank you.” Her voice sounded thick with emotion.
“I’m glad you like it.” He watched her glance down at her mounded desk. Was that his name on a white radiology folder?
“Dr. Sullivan sent these films over.”
Eli’s knee stopped jittering, surprise washing over him as she strode to a wall-mounted metal box. Dr. Sullivan? His family doctor? Why would he do that?
She slid some X-ray film into the apparatus and flicked on a light switch. Bones—his knee, he supposed—glowed into relief. He’d given in to Christie’s pleading and gotten the sports injury checked out last week. Had been waiting for the results.
“Eli. Your cancer is back. My secretary was going to call you today to set up an appointment.”
Her words swam to him as he sank deeper and deeper under their crushing weight. No. This must be a mistake. He’d encountered these kinds of injuries during training.
But wasn’t that how they’d found the osteosarcoma in the first place? another voice whispered in his mind. Yes, but... His thoughts stumbled to a halt, the house of cards he’d carefully stacked crumbling to the floor.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding hard. Harder. So hard he imagined it pressing against his damp shirt. Was it possible to both want Christie here and feel relieved that she wasn’t?
“Eli?” Dr. Cruz called, but he was already drifting away with the tide.
A hand dropped on his shoulder and he could smell hospital rounds on her: disinfectant, latex and hand sanitizer. He scrubbed at his eyes and looked up at her concerned face, the lines of it crisscrossing in worry. “Did you hear what I said?”
He nodded. It was the best he could do.
“Would you like me to call someone?”
He rubbed his temples. Not Christie. Of all people. Not her. Yet she was the first person, besides his children, who’d truly cared about him since his grandparents had passed on.
“No,” he said at last. “It’s just me.”
After a moment of shuffling papers—time he was grateful for as he strove to corral his runaway emotions—she said, “Given your history, Dr. Sullivan thought it prudent to have additional pictures taken along with a CAT scan.”
Eli undid his tie and yanked it free. He’d thought the tests a bit overboard for his injury, but he’d been so busy editing the calendar, so caught up in spending time with his daughter, that it hadn’t signified.
Her heels clicked across the floor back to the films. The electric whir of the light projector illuminating his X-rays was the only other audible noise. Suddenly he wished he were back at the Little Red School House with Principal Luce, listening to her sound soother or the clacking metallic balls...anything other than this oppressive vacuum of sound broken by the frenetic beating of his heart.
“As you can see, you have a recurrent tumor above your right patella which is causing you the knee discomfort.” She pointed to a swirling white cloud on the X-ray.
He took a deep, shuddering breath. “So, what are we talking about? Another surgery? More chemo?”
“Possibly.” She slid back into her chair, steepled her fingers below her chin and stared at him with tired eyes. “Although I’m afraid it would be of little help.”
Air rushed from him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s metastasized to your femur and hip joint. Given the aggressive progression since our last X-rays, and the size of the tumors, I’m afraid your prognosis is not good.”
; The unvarnished truth coldcocked him, a sucker punch he hadn’t seen coming when he’d walked in here with hopes and dreams for a future that wasn’t ever going to happen.
He gulped past the cotton lining his mouth. “So are you saying—” his brain grappled with the news “—there’s nothing to do?”
“We could try to replace parts of the femur with titanium again, although the tumor in the hip is particularly difficult and may not be operable. Additionally, there is a very good chance that the cancer will appear in your lungs soon. As such, you are considered Stage Three, rapidly approaching Stage Four, cancer.”
The punch turned into a total knockout. His future down on the mat, gasping for breath.
Eli rubbed his wet palms across his thighs, darkening the fabric. It was too much to take in.
“My sincere apologies, Eli. For everything. We had such high hopes, but I’m afraid we’re running out of options.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve got a list of other specialists if you’d like another opinion or to explore some of the alternative therapies.”
As if any of them would have better news. Dr. Cruz was one of the best in the country. And as for alternative therapies? He wasn’t going to start visiting shamans and hypnotherapists to try to remedy a cold truth that wasn’t going away.
“How long do I have?” His voice cracked as if he’d turned thirteen again.
“Six months to a year.” She pushed some forms his way. “I sincerely apologize for asking you to think of practical matters right now. As soon as you can, however, you’ll need to put your affairs in order.”
“My affairs?” he echoed, stuffing the paper work in his briefcase without looking. He’d entered a numb space where her words couldn’t reach.
“Your will. A health proxy. Guardianship for your kids. Those kinds of things.” Her small brown eyes peered anxiously behind rimless squares of glass. “Joan, your counselor, will be able to help.”
Eli rose and looked around for his suit coat until he realized he’d never removed it.
“Thank you, Dr. Cruz. I’ll be in touch.”
“There is an experimental trial starting next week.” Her words stopped him before he got to the door. “It’s a departure from our traditional treatments and has no proven results beyond lab animals. But as head of the oncology department, I can pull a few strings to get you on the list.”
And raise false hopes that would be dashed again? “No. But thank you for the offer. Goodbye.” With a pang, he realized it was the first of many he’d be saying.
He shut the door then strode, puppetlike, out of the office, past the reception desk and out onto the bustling street.
Death didn’t scare him. If he faced this last battle alone, he would be able to hold his head high and leave the world without a backward glance. But his kids? The woman who now held his heart in her hands?
They made the stakes so much higher. Regret cut through him like a surgeon’s scalpel. Eyes burning, he forced one foot in front of the other, knowing he had a lot of work to do. His hopes and dreams may have died in Dr. Cruz’s office, but that didn’t mean he could just roll over and die, too. First, he’d have to find a way to make this easier for the people he loved. And that was going to kill him a whole lot faster than any tumor.
* * *
CHRISTIE HUNG UP her monkey-ears stethoscope, sank into the soft chair behind her desk and kicked off her Keds. Phew. A long day. She stretched her aching toes and glanced at her iPhone. Five o’clock. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to get in some quality home-shopping time...or was tonight her baking night...?
Whoa.
When had her schedule flown out the window? And at what point had she stopped caring?
She scrolled through some pictures, finding all the answers she needed. There was one of Eli, his blue eyes twinkling as he snuggled the kids during an outdoor screening of Kung Fu Panda 2, another of Becca making a face as she tested cheese at a farmers’ market and a third of Tommy pointing at wallabies on a trip to Prospect Park Zoo.
The most recent picture, one taken by Mary before they’d gone to a Broadway revival of Annie, showed their heads mashed close, arms entwined, grins matching. Christie sighed. It had been an amazing night. No wonder she’d lost track of her daily agenda. Her life was so full these past few weeks she couldn’t imagine ever returning to the old, lonely schedules she’d kept.
Her thumb pulled down the last text bubble on the ongoing conversation she and Eli held every day. She’d sent it at two o’clock, wishing him well on his appointment with a new client. Funny that he hadn’t answered. She tapped her comment screen and began to type when a knock sounded.
“Come in,” she called. The door swung open.
Eli.
Her heart leaped and she jumped to her feet. What was he doing here? Maybe he’d had a solo appointment with Joan this week to discuss his family’s progress. He’d been diligent about keeping those therapy appointments, for Becca’s sake and his.
A strange look on his face checked her forward momentum. Instead of rushing into his arms, she moved toward him awkwardly, not sure where to put her hands. She shoved them in her pockets and toyed with the penny she’d picked up on her rounds.
“How is everything?” she asked when the silence stretched past the breaking point.
“Fine.” He smiled, his cheeks lifting stiffly as though pushed by invisible fingers. Something was definitely off. Her stomach roiled. He looked handsome, but he definitely didn’t look fine.
Funny how she’d gotten so good at reading him, yet this was a side of him she hadn’t seen.
“Sure about that?” She extended her hand but he only squeezed her fingers before pulling out of range. Her heart plummeted at his brief, icy touch.
“Look, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Christie, and it’s not easy.”
Her throat constricted and she managed a nod. Where was he going with this?
He peered at the ceiling. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”
Her fingers clutched her lucky charm necklace, palm pressed against her fluttering heart. Bile rose in her throat and she fought off a spinning sensation that made her grab a chair.
“Excuse me? I mean, say that again,” she gasped. He couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he meant. Suddenly, the necklace pooled in her hand, the delicate clasp broken.
His eyes fled hers. “After talking with Joan today, I’ve realized that my focus now needs to be on my family. The timing isn’t right for a relationship.”
A silent scream sounded in her head. This wasn’t happening.
Eli rubbed the back of his neck. “Please understand that I—I—” His voice wobbled for a moment then steadied. “I care about you very much. But we’re in two different places in our lives. You’re young. Single. I’m sure you’d like your old life back. No more helping us through crises.”
Her old life? Her free-falling emotions landed with a thud and bounced back, fire engulfing them. She’d lived a half life before the Robertses entered it. And Eli had always seemed so happy when they were together.
“You can’t be serious.” She moved closer until she stood toe-to-toe with him. Why wouldn’t he meet her eyes? And what right did he have to look hurt? Last time she’d checked, she was the one getting dumped. “So, basically you have no further need of my services?”
“I’m sorry.” He locked gazes with her for a minute—long enough for her to know he was honest about that much, at least. “But I’ve got to move forward with my life and my family, on my own.”
“Was that all I was to you—someone helping you through rough patches?” She threw out her arms and knocked a paper-clip holder off her desk. When Eli bent to pick up the rainbow of colored plastic, she shooed him away. “I need answers. Not a cleanup.”
He limped to the large window overlooking the street, his shoulders bunched. After giving her such feeble excuses, he was turning his back on her? It registered that his limp was more pronounced today, but anger and hurt chased her concern away. Instead, her skin heated, her telltale splotches appearing with a vengeance.
When he spoke, his voice sounded low and ragged. “You know you were more than that to me.”
She rushed to the window and leaned against the warm glass, wishing the slanting sun didn’t leave the upper half of his face in shadow. His eyes. They would tell her the truth if only she could see them.
“Then why are you doing this?” His unyielding biceps felt like stone, cold and hard beneath her touch. He flinched away.
“Because it’s time. We both knew this couldn’t last forever. We worked out our issues and now we can move on.”
Anger exploded inside her like a fireworks show gone haywire, every missile firing at once in a torrent of blinding, sizzling light.
“Why wouldn’t I think it could last forever?” She jabbed a finger into his chest, making him step back. “You said we had forever, that I was special. We were special. Two imperfect people who were perfect for each other. Was that just some lie to keep me around? To make sure I helped Becca?”
She paced to her file cabinet, grabbing its cool steel sides.
“No. It’s not like that.”
She wheeled around and pressed her back against the metal tower. “Then how is it? Explain in a way that makes sense.”
When he stepped out of the shadows, his eyes focused on a spot behind her left shoulder, a tic appearing high in his left cheek. “I need someone who sees the world the way I do. I can’t be a wide-eyed optimist all the time. It’s not good for me or my kids.”
Realization stiffened her spine. “Is this because of Jacqueline?” His eyes fled hers. “Are you blaming me because she moved to London after I invited her to the shoot? I’m sorry that the kids got their hopes let down again. Really sorry. But that’s her. Not me.”
Eli stuffed his hands in his pockets and shook his head, his expression pained. “It’s deeper than that. I need a realist and that’s difficult for you.”