Forevermore

by Cristiane Serruya

  “Go on.”

  “I tried to fuck her.”

  Dr. Medley frowned. “Out of her salary?”

  Aleksander laughed, but it was a bitter sound, tainted with regret and confusion. “No. Literally. I met her the night before she volunteered. I didn’t know she worked at the hospital. My brother dragged me out for drinks. Then he made me talk to this beautiful blonde. We hit it off.” He looked off to his side, recalling how she entranced him, then shook his head and returned his attention to his doctor, and mumbled, “Amazing, really.”

  “That can be a challenge.” Dr. Medley pursed her lips. “Have the two of you agreed to hold off as long as necessary?”

  He blew out a breath. “Yes, we have. Sort of. You actually approve of her taking care of Olivia, knowing we’re attracted to each other? This is an ethical and emotional nightmare just waiting to happen.”

  “I not only approve, I applaud. This is exactly what you need, at the time you most need it. The fact that you felt anything for her at all is remarkable, and it’s a good sign.”

  That made him pause and take a double look at her face to make sure she was not joking. “I certainly didn’t expect it, and I don’t see it as being all that good for me. Losing my daughter is more than enough strain on my heart and mind. And now, at the worst time, this woman comes along. And she’s not just another woman like all the others—one that I can easily dismiss, and not think about.”

  “Rather than seeing this possible future relationship as a challenge, try to see it,”—she held her palm up when he opened his mouth—“as difficult as I know this will be for you right now, but try to see it as something to hold onto for the future. Your world has been very dark since the loss of your wife, and it’s only gotten darker with this unexpected turn on Olivia’s illness. You’ve only just met this woman, but the fact that you’re interested indicates a potential for something special in the future. You need that, Alek. It’s important for you to have something good on the horizon. Even the possibility of a dawn after so much darkness can be helpful for you right now.”

  “I can’t think about the future. All I can think about is right now. And Olivia.” He scooted to the edge of the armchair and leaned forward. “Though there are times I can barely even think.”

  Dr. Medley tapped her pencil on her notepad. “Are you sleeping well?”

  Her question elicited another sardonic laugh. “I’m sleeping worse. Or less. However you want to put it.”

  “Let me write you a prescription. You literally need your rest for your physical as well as your psychological well-being.”

  “We’ve been through that before. Night pills are optional, and I opt no.”

  “Because they limit your control.”

  Aleksander met her eyes. “I don’t like being put to sleep. It seems ironic, like being put to die.”

  “You ever consider that by taking the pills and sleeping, you could be more present for Olivia?”

  Aleksander’s gaze narrowed on Dr. Medley. “I have always been present for Olivia.”

  Dr. Medley kept her sigh to herself. “Death, no matter the circumstances, is a traumatic experience for anyone, Alek. You have held up like a stone wall for more than a year now which I assume you deem an admirable task, but in all honesty, marching around like an emotionless statue has done nothing to help you heal.”

  “Heal? I’m not even done being wounded yet. The worst is yet to come. How exactly do you expect me to heal when my daughter is—” He bit the word dying before it could even form itself in his head and swallowed it hard. “When my daughter is as sick as she is?”

  Dr. Medley discreetly noted something in her pad without looking away from him. “Acceptance is freeing, Alek. Acceptance of the reality we live in, even as we search, strive, and claw toward a better tomorrow. We can set goals, believe in ourselves and mend the broken bridges in our lives. We can take the actions available to us and accept what we have no control over. We must choose to laugh and forgive. We must face what we can’t control and accept the cards life deals us. Only if you grasp that can you then handle the reality of what is happening with Olivia.”

  “I know the reality of what is happening with Olivia, Charity,” Aleksander said icily. “But I don’t have to like it and I don’t have to accept it until the very last moment.”

  Even with all the therapy sessions, with all his spiritual quests that had led nowhere, and with the hundreds of thousands he had spent on what were supposed to be the best of the best in the pediatric oncology field, the fact that there was no further hope of a cure made him feel angry.

  Aleksander sighed and leaned back in the armchair, pressing his palms over his eyes for a moment, before looking up to the ceiling. “ ‘Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave; Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind; Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave; I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.’ ”

  “Edna St. Vincent Millay’s poem, Dirge without Music,” Dr. Medley accurately cited. She neatly balanced the cup on her knee and reached out for another of her notepads on the side table. She opened it on a dog-eared page and looked at him from above her green-rimmed glasses before lowering her eyes again to the page. “You’ve quoted that now one hundred and thirteen times since we’ve begun meeting.”

  “It’s still relevant,” Aleksander said without looking up. “I’ve recently come to like Head, Heart by Lydia Davis—a very short story that tells a whole story: ‘Heart weeps. Head tries to help heart. Head tells heart how it is, again: You will lose the ones you love. They will all go. But even the earth will go, someday. Heart feels better, then. But the words of head do not remain long in the ears of heart. Heart is so new to this. I want them back, says heart. Head is all heart has. Help, head. Help heart.’ The dilemma now is, how to close the gap between rationale and emotion?”

  Dr. Medley made a note of the poem she was sure she would hear again, but she didn’t say a word. Aleksander was one of her favorite patients because she was intrigued with his mind, how he always seemed to diagnose his own ailments yet dance around the answer to his grief.

  Aleksander raised his head to stare at Dr. Medley. “I want her living and dying in her princess room, at home, surrounded by love, not in the cold technology of a hospital.” He rubbed at his tired eyes. “There is no cure for her. Every day is a blessing. Every day is a gift.”

  “There it is,” Dr. Medley said with a slight smile. “There’s your answer. When these things happen so suddenly and out of the blue, people usually do not know where to begin to handle it. They do not know if they should cry their lives away or think of all the positives that can come out of their situations, but that is not your case. You know exactly how to handle it. I just can’t figure out why you choose not to. You choose not to take the night pills, you choose not to take the antidepressants, you choose not to regain a social life, and you choose not to handle your grief. Why?”

  He could feel the raw, primal emotion whirring about within him, but he stifled it, boxed it up, and tucked it away. But even still his voice cracked with sadness. “I have to be strong for Olivia.”

  “Yes, we’ve talked about that before, Alek. That, however, doesn’t mean you should bottle up your own grief. You have to release it sooner or later or else—”

  “I can’t release it. Not yet. Let it consume. Let it eat me alive until nothing is left, I don’t care. But I must control it while Olivia needs me most.”

  Dr. Medley placed her notebook on the stand beside her along with her empty teacup and folded her hands in her lap. “Alek, when one loses a loved one, they cannot always control their emotions. They cannot stop themselves from wanting the person back even if they know it is impossible to get them back again. In the end, one only has himself. Only you can help yourself, and you have to help yourself. That’s the only way you can get stronger, and you said it yourself, you need to be strong for Olivia.”

  Aleksander looked at her,
his features hard and strained, but he didn’t say a word.

  “Everyone knows an end must come to everything,” Dr. Medley continued. “One can think themselves out of emotions and one can barrel through life like a wrecking ball destroying everything they touch just to keep the emotions at bay, but it never lasts. They'll begin to think irrationally again. They’ll begin to act irrationally again.”

  She discreetly looked at her watch, and Aleksander knew their meeting was coming to a close, not that he was ready to step outside her doors and back into his bleak reality again. Still, he stood and began his process of setting his face into its usual, stoic expression and pressing all thoughts of sadness away.

  “Be well, Alek.” Dr. Medley hugged him before she opened the back door, which gave privacy and prevented incoming and outcoming patients from meeting. “It will be as much for you as it is for Olivia. As you said, every day will be a blessing. Every day will be a gift. I have a feeling that going to Lake Tahoe will be a greater gift for both you and Olivia than you may realize.”

  “I sure hope you’re right,” Aleksander mumbled, as he pulled on his coat and opened the door to exit.

  “Hope is a good start, Alek. I have my Skype ready for our next session on Wednesday, but you can call me anytime.”

  “Thanks, Charity.”

  “Alek,” Dr. Medley called from her exit door as he walked down the hall.

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Yes?”

  “Even strong, self-made men have weak spots. Don’t be afraid of them.”

  Aleksander held Charity’s gaze for another moment and let out a hard exhalation. “I’m not. And that’s what frightens me.”

  Chapter 7

  Aleksander Maximilian’s penthouse

  9:30 a.m.

  * * *

  Aleksander entered the foyer of his lavish penthouse, shut the door behind him, and leaned against it. He noticed, today more than ever, that the place lacked the feeling of home that Rachel and a once healthy and energetic Olivia had given it. He hoped going to Lake Tahoe would feel like home, more for Olivia than for himself, though he didn’t know how to make it feel like that.

  Perhaps, after all, Ava would make a nice addition to the place. He imagined her bringing a smile to his daughter’s tired face during the day—and her lovely body warming his bed at night. He shook the thought away and looked for a distraction, needing something real and mundane to focus on.

  Aleksander glanced into the laundry room. A pile of jeans, sweatshirts, and towels lay on the floor where the maid had not yet attended to them, so he crammed as much as he could into the washing machine, then added soap, and turned the dial. A comforting, ordinary sound resulted.

  Climbing up to his bedroom, Aleksander shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it over one of the armchairs. In the adjoining bathroom he took off his clothes and dropped them neatly into the hamper, then stepped into the shower. Thinking of Ava again, he turned on the cold water and endured its biting chill until some of the intolerable heat had abated.

  But while he was brushing his teeth, Ava sneaked back into his mind. He saw her standing in the auditorium, looking up at him with that curious vulnerability showing in her blue-green eyes.

  It was as though she didn’t know how beautiful she was, or how strong, and yet she had to, because she was out there making a life for herself, away from home, alone in a busy city.

  He put Ava out of his mind again and focused on sorting out the business files and items from the Russian deal Blackthorn Corporation was closing. Even he would not be present to help with it, he wanted to be up-to-date and fully aware of the whole deal. And then he went to his shelf to choose books to keep him occupied in the moments when Olivia was resting.

  But Ava invaded his mind again, as he entered his walk-in closet to choose the clothing he would bring with him. He stopped when he saw the sweater he had worn the night he met her. He plucked it from its place on the rack and packed it, along with the scarf he’d worn that night as well. He had filled his suitcase—on automatic pilot—before he snapped out of his imaginings. Damn. Why can’t I get this woman out of my head?

  He zipped up his suitcase and made his way downstairs to make some breakfast before Olivia woke up. He finished eating and made pancakes for Olivia. He cut some strawberries, added some whipped cream, and prepared a breakfast tray to serve in bed.

  As he drew near Olivia’s bedroom, he heard singing—Belle, from Beauty and the Beast.

  Lydia Marshall, his mother-in-law from his late wife, and Donna MacComber, his housekeeper, were struggling to close a stuffed pink suitcase that obviously belonged to Olivia.

  Lydia smiled when he entered, and both their gazes immediately found the source of the singing.

  Standing amid an alarming pile of discarded clothes, Olivia was singing as loud as her weak voice would allow while checking her outfit in the mirror. She wore a sparkly tutu that he seemed to recall belonging to a Halloween costume she had picked out years ago, before she got sick, over purple leggings with a pink sweater. Her accessories included a silver tiara with a real white-gold necklace that he had bought her on her seventh birthday, with a heart locket containing her mother’s photo. Toddy, her ever faithful companion, sat beside her patiently.

  With a wink to Lydia, he asked Olivia, “Are you almost ready, Pumpkin?”

  “Hi, Daddy!” She beamed at him. “Do I look nice?”

  “You always look nice,” he answered, crossing the room to put the breakfast tray on her still unmade bed.

  She let out an exaggerated sigh complete with a giant heave of her shoulders. “Yes, but I have to look extra nice. Do I look extra nice?” Her eyes widened as she awaited his answer, a gesture she’d inherited from her mother.

  “Yes, you do look extra beautiful.”

  A smile bloomed across her face, then she bowed. “Thank you, Daddy. Are those Mickey Mouse pancakes for me?” she asked, pointing toward the tray.

  “They sure are. Are you hungry?”

  She brought a hand to her belly and frowned. “Yes, I am hungry.”

  She made her way to her bed and ate her breakfast with a delight Aleksander hadn’t seen for a long while.

  While she ate, he helped Lydia and Donna with the suitcase, his strong arms holding down the bulging luggage with ease for the women to zip it. “There, that’ll do it. Don’t worry about packing anything else. Most of it has already been sent to The Cottage, and what we don’t have we’ll buy once we’re there.”

  “Alright then, Olivia, how about we go brush your teeth so you can leave?” Donna said.

  “Okay.” Olivia took another bite of a pancake and tossed the last forkful to Toddy who caught it mid air, then she followed Donna into the bathroom.

  As soon as they were alone Lydia turned to Aleksander and touched his cheek. “You’re a bundle of stress, my boy. Do you think I can’t hear it in your voice, or see it in your eyes? Your life went to hell in a handbasket, and that’s not fair. Not right.”

  “Life’s hardly ever fair,” Aleksander replied.

  “You’re starting to sound like Meredith.”

  Aleksander knocked twice on a wooden chest of drawers—and frowned at what he’d done, which was a silly habit he had acquired lately, knocking on wood. “Christ, Lydia! Don’t start comparing me to my mother.”

  “Well, don’t be so pessimistic. Meredith has a way with words that can just ruin a whole day. I have noticed Olivia gets uneasy and upset when Meredith is around.”

  Meredith and Lydia had been good friends since Aleksander married Rachel, but the two women couldn’t be more different.

  If one needed snuggling, or had been stung by a bee, Lydia was the one to go to. But if one wanted a splash wedding party, it was Meredith who would contact the best wedding planners and pay for it. Lydia coached and taught Olivia to swim; Meredith played dress-up and bought Olivia an extensive wardrobe of expensive clothes and tailored costumes. Between the two of them, every w
inter and every summer at The Cottage was a huge, raving, laughing, shining success.

  Before everything went so horribly wrong.

  “She is getting worse with age,” said Lydia.

  “And losing Melissa didn’t help either.” Aleksander sighed as he remembered his beautiful sister in her coffin when she was only nineteen years old. “Sometimes I’m afraid to say a word with fear that she’ll turn it back to bite me.”

  “That’s your mother alright,” Lydia sighed.

  “Life may not be fair, but unlike my mother, I believe it’s less about fairness and more about just playing the cards we’re dealt. I just happen to suck at cards.”

  “Life too often isn’t either. So it’s what we do about it.” Lydia smiled and patted his arm. “What you’ve got to do now is the same as everybody’s telling me I have to do. Get healthy, get strong, get back on your feet.”

  Aleksander let out a grunt. “I’m tired of people telling me how to handle things.”

  “I don’t like hearing it either, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the simple truth. Look at you, Aleksander. At forty you look like an old man of fifty.”

  Not so much insulted as he was mortified, he pivoted to the defensive. “It’s not easy keeping up with my appearance with all of this going on.”

  “Excuses from a former Harvard football star.”

  “I wasn’t a star,” he muttered.

  A knock sounded, and Aleksander’s driver, Jacob, asked, “Sir, are you ready for me to take the luggage down?”

  “Yes, please. Mine are also ready,” Aleksander said, and called to Olivia, “It’s time for us to leave. Come on, Pumpkin, we wouldn’t want to be late meeting the team at the airport.”

  Oliva rushed in from the bathroom, followed by Toddy and Donna, then slid on her Cinderella slippers, and grabbed Pinkie, her favorite stuffed rabbit.

  Never trusting her to get down the stairs on her own, Aleksander lifted her in his arms with ease and Olivia laughed as she was carried.