Rannigan's Redemption: Complete Collection

by Pandora Spocks

  Michael sat up, sniffing and using the towel to wipe his face. “Shit.” He coughed and took a sip of coffee. “I have to be there at 1:30.”

  Maggie looked over to where her files still sat scattered in the living room. She knew they probably represented ten hours of work for the following day and sighed heavily. “Where is the doctor’s office?”

  “It’s on E. 80th between 2nd and 3rd.”

  She nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell Rance that I have to leave at lunch. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that,” Michael said quickly, but he looked at her with such gratitude she felt the sting of tears in her eyes and a huge lump formed in her throat.

  She coughed lightly. “You didn’t ask, although you seem to have asked everyone else in your Contacts, and I’m going to try not to take that personally,” she said. “I’m offering. Take it or leave it.”

  Michael smiled thinly. “I’ve missed your smartass. I’d be so glad to have you with me.”

  Maggie nodded. “Done. But if for some reason I’m running late, you go on in. I’ll be there. I promise.” She took his plate and warmed it in the microwave before placing it in front of him again. “Now finish this up. I’m calling you a cab and sending you on your way.”

  Chapter 20

  Michael and Maggie sat in the office of the second doctor they’d seen that day. The first, dermatologist Dr. Alexander, had introduced them to the man across from them now. Dr. Pierre Harnois was a board certified oncologist and it was he who interpreted the results from Michael’s PET scan.

  “The scan indicates pulmonary metastases from the original melanoma,” Dr. Harnois said. Michael’s head swam. The doctor pointed to the scan of Michael’s lungs. “These spots are tumors. Left untreated, they will continue to grow and spread.”

  Michael was aware of the point at which he stopped listening. He actually felt as though he were outside of his body looking down on himself and the room from above. Words like options and risk vs. benefit floated past him.

  Glancing at Maggie, he watched as she morphed into her analytical self, listening raptly and taking copious notes. I can’t believe she still has that leather folio I gave her when she first came to Murphy, Rannigan.

  He felt a comforting sense of the familiar as he saw her shift into interview mode, asking pertinent questions, clarifying the meaning of what the doctor said.

  “So what do you think is the best approach to take?” Maggie asked after the doctor outlined several treatment options.

  Dr. Harnois shrugged noncommittally. “The decision is really up to individual patient choice.”

  Maggie shook her head impatiently. “Look, as an attorney I get it, you can’t officially make a recommendation. Forget about that. I’m talking human being to human being. If this was you, or your brother, or your father...what would you do?”

  The doctor looked from Maggie to Michael, then back again. “Without treatment, you’re talking about a survival window of a few weeks to a couple of months. With aggressive treatment, we could see adequate shrinking of the tumors and surgery might be possible. Best case scenario, we shrink the tumors and remove them. At the very least, we extend life expectancy to possibly a year or longer.”

  Maggie sat back, taking in everything he’d said. Then she looked to Michael. “What do you think?”

  Michael shrugged, studying his knuckles. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  “No!” she snapped. “This is about your life, Michael. You don’t have the luxury of checking out. You have to make a fucking decision.”

  He saw the anger flashing in her eyes. “Okay. I guess we give the chemo a shot.”

  Dr. Harnois nodded. “I think you picked the right person to come with you today, Michael. She’s going to be a great advocate for you.”

  “Yeah, she’s a peach,” he murmured sardonically.

  “Fuck you, Michael,” Maggie said softly and without conviction.

  “So let’s create a plan,” the doctor said, ignoring their tension.

  An hour later they left the doctor’s office with scripts for Michael’s first chemo appointment which was scheduled for 9:00 the following morning. Neither spoke on the cab ride back to Michael’s apartment.

  Wordlessly they rode the elevator to the twenty-first floor and Michael let them in, tossing his keys into the bowl on the table in the foyer and stalking to the couch. As he sank onto the beige leather cushions he reflexively clicked on the television and muted it so that on the screen, soccer players rushed soundlessly back and forth across a wide green field.

  Maggie stood watching him. “So, we have a plan, then. That’s good, right?” He looked up at her blankly. “How do you feel about how it went?”

  “How do I feel about it?” he scowled. “I have cancer in my lungs. I’ve agreed to let them pump poison into my veins in the hope that the poison will kill some of the cancer before the cancer kills me. How do you think I fucking feel?” His volume inched up so that by the end he was shouting.

  “You didn’t have to agree to anything. You could have just let nature take its course,” she returned icily. “And anytime you want to do this by yourself, you just say the word. I have plenty to do without holding your hand through this thing.”

  Michael squeezed his eyes shut. “I got very little sleep last night. I have a raging headache. And I have no patience for stupid questions.”

  “I’ll tell you what you don’t have. You don’t have the option of treating me like shit. You should tread lightly. Apparently, I’m the only friend you have.”

  At that, Michael flinched. “You’re right. I don’t mean to take it out on you, Mags,” he said more softly.

  “Then don’t. I’m going home now. We’ll start over tomorrow. I’ll be here at 8:00 and we’ll go to the hospital together. We’ll see how it goes and make a plan from there.”

  Michael nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Mags?” She looked back at him from the door. “Thanks.”

  * * *

  “If you’ll wait here, we’ll get Michael all settled and I’ll come and get you,” the nurse said.

  Maggie looked wide-eyed to Michael. “Is that okay with you?” she asked.

  He nodded stiffly. “Just relax. You don’t even have to come back there with me if you don’t want to.”

  “Don’t you want me to?” she asked.

  “I’ll come get you in a few minutes,” the nurse repeated.

  Maggie watched as she led Michael through the doorway of the waiting room. She perched on a green vinyl chair and flipped absently through a tattered old copy of People magazine but she was too restless to sit. Rising, she paced back and forth in front of the window that looked out over the street.

  A few minutes later, the nurse returned. “Okay, Michael’s all set. You can come back now.”

  Maggie followed her through the same door and down a short hallway. Just past a nurses’ station, the hallway opened onto a large room where an ellipse of green vinyl recliners bordered the edge. Many of the chairs were occupied by patients, each hooked up to an IV machine.

  Maggie felt panic rising in her gut. Some of the patients were bald, others with their hair intact, still others wearing hats or scarves. The nurse led her to where Michael was sitting, his feet raised, his right arm outstretched on the over-sized chair arm, IV in place.

  “Fucking green again,” he said softly as she sat in a chair beside him.

  Maggie looked around again and shook her head. “This isn’t right, Michael. I’m going to see about getting you a private room. You don’t want to be in here with all these people.”

  “It’s fine, Mags, really,” he said.

  “It is not fine,” she hissed. “You don’t need to go through this surrounded by strangers.” Maggie stalked away to find a nurse.

  An older black gentleman in the next chair had witnessed the entire exchange. “First time?” he asked Michael kindly.

  Michael looked over at him and smiled
ruefully. “It shows, does it?”

  The man smiled knowingly. “You can always tell. I’m Luther.”

  “Michael. Nice to meet you, Luther.”

  “Your wife’s a pretty little thing. She’ll settle down after a while.”

  Michael shook his head. “Not my wife, just my friend.”

  Luther looked at him incredulously. “Your friend?” He gave a low whistle. “You aren’t married to that pretty girl?

  “I always was a dumbass,” Michael said, and both men chuckled as Maggie returned.

  “Well,” she spat, “apparently the ‘community feel’ of this room is part of the therapeutic process.” She huffed as she sat beside Michael.

  “Mags, this is Luther. Luther, Maggie Flynn,” Michael introduced them.

  “Hello, it’s very nice to meet you,” Maggie said mechanically.

  Luther smiled. “It’s very nice to meet you, too, Maggie. Michael and I were just getting acquainted.”

  “Tell you what, Mags. Why don’t you wander off and find yourself some coffee or something. I should be done here in about an hour. There’s no reason for you to sit here that whole time.”

  Maggie looked at him doubtfully. “Okay, I guess,” she said slowly.

  “I was saying to Michael that there’s no reason for wives and friends to babysit us. Hell, my wife crocheted a whole afghan my first week of chemo.” He chuckled. “If she sat here every time, all of Manhattan would be covered in yarn.”

  “If you’re sure, then,” she frowned slightly.

  Michael winked at her. “I’ll see you in a while.”

  Maggie slung her purse over her shoulder and left the treatment room. Knowing she couldn’t stomach the waiting room, she walked out into the hall and glanced around, finally spying a sign that pointed the way to the chapel. Thinking to find a quiet spot, she headed in that direction.

  The chapel was a small room that looked for all the world like a church. There were five small rows of pews on either side of a narrow aisle. In front was an altar of sorts with a faux stained glass window on the wall behind it, illuminated by florescent tubes.

  Maggie was relieved to find the room empty. She made her way to a pew about halfway down and she sat. Church had not been part of her upbringing but she always felt a sense of comfort from spirituality. As she absorbed the silence, she thought about Michael, about his diagnosis, the hopefully cancer-killing drugs being infused into his system at that exact moment. The stress of the last few days washed over her and she wept, resting her head on the back of the next pew.

  Maggie didn’t hear the door open, but she felt the pew shift as someone sat down. She looked up quickly to see an elderly man with white hair wearing a black shirt with a priest’s collar. He gave a small compassionate smile and offered her a tissue.

  “Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry,” she croaked. “Thank you.”

  “No need to apologize. It’s why this room is here.” He watched her for a moment. “You’re here with a loved one.”

  Maggie nodded. “My...friend...is having his first chemo treatment. I’m here for moral support,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t think I’m much help.”

  “It’s hard. All you can do is your best,” he said kindly. “There’s a support group for caregivers that meets every week. I can give you the information if you’re interested.”

  “Caregivers,” she repeated thoughtfully. “I guess that’s me.”

  He handed her a pamphlet. “They meet on Tuesday nights. I know they’d be glad to have you join them.”

  Chapter 21

  “I’m sorry, Michael,” Maggie said. “I didn’t mean to lose it today.” They’d made it back to Michael’s apartment following his first treatment.

  “No worries, Mags,” he grinned. “Let’s try to tag-team the freak-outs. Yesterday was my turn.”

  “Yeah,” she answered sheepishly.

  “So listen, I was talking to Luther and I was thinking,” he glanced at her, assessing her mood, “I don’t think I need you to come to chemo with me. Luther says that it’s really easier to just go in by myself and get it done. Without you there, I have one less thing to worry about.”

  Maggie nodded slowly. “That makes sense, I suppose. Do you want me to stop by here after work, check in and see how you’re doing?”

  “That would be great, Mags,” he said sounding relieved. “So far I feel okay, but I’m worried that I’ll start getting sick. I’d feel better knowing that you were coming by to make sure I’m okay.”

  Maggie smiled thinly. “Alright. I’m happy to do what you need done. I’ll probably text you a couple of times throughout the day.”

  Michael smiled. “I appreciate you, Mags. Really I do.”

  “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  * * *

  Michael went to the hospital every morning that week. He’d been glad to see Luther the second and third days. They engaged in a spirited game of chess each day. But his new friend had finished his round of treatment by Wednesday, so the last two days Michael had been on his own. He spent his time watching the liquid drip incessantly from the bag hanging over him into the tube that ran into his body.

  He’d felt alright the first couple of days as well. Maggie stopped by in the afternoons after work to check on him and bring him some dinner. He’d considered telling her that he’d be okay, apparently it wasn’t going to be the nightmare they’d feared.

  But by Thursday morning he realized that his optimistic assessment had been premature. He awoke early in the morning feeling chilled. By the time he arrived for his treatment, he’d thrown up three times. Somehow he managed to make it through another bag of chemicals and get back home before he was sick again. When Maggie called to see what he wanted for dinner, he was in a bad way.

  “I don’t want anything,” he’d told her. “I’m too fucking sick to even think about eating anything.” She’d come by anyway, bringing chicken noodle soup.

  After Friday’s treatment, the last one of his first round, Michael found himself in a deep depression. He felt weak and sick and he began to consider for the first time that he might not survive this illness.

  I’m not even sure I care, he thought miserably as he lay on the couch watching a replay of a Yankees game from the previous season.

  * * *

  Maggie’s week was rough. Work had piled up in the day and a half she’d been out and her caseloads seemed to snowball. She’d been able to pass along her most pressing case to someone else but three more took its place. She’d been pleased that Michael was apparently tolerating his chemotherapy pretty well, but she realized that as the week went along he’d begun to feel its effects.

  On Friday she reflected on his sour demeanor the previous day. She’d tried to be upbeat and positive but that had only seemed to further irritate him.

  I know he’s not feeling well. I should probably check out those Caregiver Support Group meetings. She laughed derisively. Yeah, like I have time for that.

  She texted Michael mid-afternoon. Hey, how are you doing?

  I felt okay earlier but I’m starting to feel sick again, he returned.

  Maggie frowned. I’ll be by after work with some more soup. Hang in there.

  Thanks, Mags. See you later.

  * * *

  Maggie strode purposefully across the lobby of Michael’s building. It had been a shit week and knowing that she had to work all weekend to make up for what she’d missed, all she wanted to do was to check in on Michael, deliver his soup, and head home to a nice hot bath and a large glass of wine. Ahead of her a man was just stepping into the elevator and she increased her pace, hoping to make it before the doors closed. He turned and their eyes met just as the doors slid shut.

  “Well, shit!” she muttered, juggling her purse, her brief case, and the bag from the deli. Just then the doors slid back open.

  “Sorry about that,” the man said, “I didn’t realize you were right behind me.” He held open the door as she
stepped in and turned around. “What floor?”

  Maggie glanced up at him. He was tall with broad shoulders, muscular without being muscle-bound, with wavy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes framed by the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. She’d noticed a bit of a drawl when he spoke. Dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, he’d apparently been working out in the gym. He stood beaming at her with a boyish grin on his face and he seemed to be waiting for her. She realized she was staring.

  Oh, shit! What floor? “Oh, sorry, um, twenty-one, please.”

  He grinned again. “Twenty-one. That’s my floor, too.” He held out a hand. “I’ve only been here a couple of months. We haven’t met yet. I’m Bobby.”

  Maggie shifted the deli bag and grasped his hand. “Um, I’m Maggie. I don’t actually live here. I’m visiting a friend.” She paused. “Do you know Michael in 2101?”

  Bobby’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “Oh. You’re one of Michael’s girls.”

  Maggie frowned. “No. I am absolutely not one of Michael’s girls. Nope. Not me. No way.” She shook her head emphatically.

  Bobby grinned wryly. “So you’re not one of Michael’s girls.”

  She felt her face flush. “I’ve known Michael for a long time. We used to work together. He’s a little...under the weather, and I told him I’d stop by, bring him some soup.” She held up the deli bag for emphasis.

  He flashed the boyish grin, blue eyes sparkling with amusement. Maggie felt her pulse race and a warm flush crept up her neck. What the hell?

  “So you’re a lawyer.”

  She nodded. “Yep. Sorry.”

  “Why sorry?”

  “Everybody hates lawyers,” she replied as the elevator doors opened on the twenty-first floor. She stepped out into the hallway and immediately went down hard on her left knee.