Edward’s lips tightened to a narrow line. He lowered his voice to a near growl as he stood and jabbed a pointed finger at Mark.
“Don’t you tell me how she's suffering. You have no idea. You’re not the one staying awake all night listening to that damn machine breathe for her. You’re not the one wiping her tears as she thinks about the disaster her life’s become. You’re not the one wiping sweat from half her face because she can’t even regulate her own body temperature now.
“You are not the one watching her gag, gagging yourself, while they suction all kinds of mucus crap from her lungs. You are not the one to get the nurse when she shits the bed.” He leaned in close and enunciated each word. “You are not the one to beg her not to want to die, because I need her so damn much!” Edward’s raw voice cracked.
Chest heaving, Edward swiped a trembling hand across his mouth.
“You are not the one who has to live with the self-loathing and guilt because you need her so goddamn much that you’ll take her any way you can, regardless of her suffering.” Edward glared. “Don’t talk to me about risk, pal. You have no damn idea.”
Edward’s hand dropped as the fight went out of him, and he scowled at the ground in shame.
Unable to bear his pain, Skye stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, trying to infuse some human warmth and comfort. Edward locked her in a fierce grip, as if she could be his anchor and take the agony from his spiraling life.
“I know about risk,” Mark spoke quietly.
Edward eased his hold and looked over her head. “This is different. It’s different when it’s your risk.”
“So let it be her risk. Let her make the decisions,” Mark said.
“I do. But when you have a husband and child to think about and it’s not just you, the risks are magnified exponentially.”
Edward sighed and released Skye. She took a step back. She could already hear his lecture. You don’t have a spouse and child, so you couldn’t possibly understand. God, did that attitude come with the marriage license? Skye became indignant on Mark’s behalf.
“Look, Mark, I know you’re just trying to be helpful. And I’m grateful. If this doesn’t pan out, I’ll talk to Noelle about this alternative, but don’t hold your breath. I know you understand about being sick and miracles, but I’m just not sure that there are that many miracles to go around.”
Skye blinked several times. What did Mark know about miracles? “What miracle?”
“Okay.” Mark held up his hands. “That’s fair enough.”
Skye looked at Edward. “What miracle?”
Edward glanced at her to acknowledge that he’d heard her, and then returned his attention to his friend.
Skye squeezed Mark’s arm to get his attention. “What’s he talking about?” She looked at Edward. “What? Tell me.”
“You haven’t told her?”
“Told me what?” Skye asked, struggling to keep her voice moderately low.
“It’s not important.”
“What?” Skye hated that they were talking over her head as if she wasn't there.
Mark finally gave her his attention. “When I was in graduate school, about seven—”
“It was more than that—like eight or nine years,” Edward corrected.
“From the treatment or the beginning?”
“Beginning.”
“Who cares when?” She raised her voice in exasperation. “What happened?”
Mark looked at her. “I had Hodgkin’s disease.”
Hodgkin’s disease. Wasn’t that cancer? Like leukemia?
“You were one sick man. You had to leave school for six months,” Edward said.
“It put me a year behind, but the chemo and radiation kicked it, and I went into remission,” he said, as if it was no bigger deal than having his tonsils removed.
Mark had had cancer? He’d been sick enough to need chemo and radiation? People came out of remission and died. “It could come back,” she said.
“Not likely.”
“But it could.”
Mark bobbed his head, slowly, as if not wanting to alarm her. “It’s highly unlikely. I’m as healthy as you.”
Skye wasn’t feeling all that healthy right now. She felt hollow and sick to her stomach. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t important.”
Wrong. Ranks up there among top biggest things in your lives. Last month when Skye claimed that they didn’t really know each other, Mark denied it. Well, she hadn’t known about Edward, and she hadn’t known this. And he hadn’t told her.
“You could have died.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “You could get sick again.”
“Skye.” Mark took her hand. “I’ve been good for nearly ten years. This is not a big deal.”
Ten years? Ten years wasn’t very long. She’d had her favorite sweatshirt longer than that. Mark knew when he’d started dating her that the cancer might come back and he could still die—like Niki.
Eyes wide, Skye stared at him and pulled her hand away. “You have a pre-existing condition.”
“Excuse me?”
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the idea. “A pre-existing condition.”
Mark’s frown turned to a scowl. “What the hell are you, an insurance company?”
He was getting angry? What right did he have to get angry? She was the one wronged here. “You didn’t tell me.”
Mark had wormed his way into her life and then her heart. He’d made her care about him. He didn't tell her because he knew she’d break it off. Heck, Skye never would have dated him in the first place. She was smarter than to set herself up that way.
“It never came up.”
“You hid it—just like you hid your relationship with him.” She jerked her head at Edward. “What else are you hiding?”
“Are you nuts?” Mark’s hands braced his hips. “When do we get to the point of exchanging medical files?”
“Before we sleep together,” she shouted.
Pushing between him and Ed, Skye stomped away. Halfway down the hall, Skye took something out of her purse and threw it in the wastebasket.
“Oh, come on.” Mark looked at Ed and gestured to Skye’s retreating figure. “She’s... You have got to be kidding me.”
Mark slowly headed for the elevator. Edward followed a step behind. “So. You’re sleeping with her? Correction—used to sleep with her.”
Mark glared at his friend. “This is not funny.”
“Uh...” Edward’s face broke into a wide grin as he easily kept pace. “Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. You have no idea what you did with your big mouth.” Skye had experienced more death in her life than most people twice her age. She was just beginning to open her heart to loving the twins and, he’d hoped, him. No telling how far this would set her back. “God damn it!”
Edward leaned over and pointed at the red toothbrush lying in the garbage can. “Oh, I think I do. You gonna go after her?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Since when has that ever mattered?”
Mark watched the elevator door close behind Skye before drawing up abruptly. “Shit.” He slammed his palm into the wall. “Screw it. She’s ridiculous.”
“You’re crazy about her. Go get her.”
“That’s what she wants.”
Ed tipped his head and frowned. “Doubt it. But, so? What if it is?”
“I’m not going to be manipulated.”
“That’s not manipulation. I know put on when I see it and that,” he nodded toward the elevator door, “wasn’t put on.”
“Then she’s pretty easily freaked out. Who wants to deal with that? Having to cope with a crisis is bad enough without someone like her wigging out on you.”
“So, she’s a little immature. But she’s passionate; ya gotta give her that. She cares,” Ed said softly. “Go after her.”
Mark looked at his best friend and then at the ele
vator doors. He headed to the lounge and took a seat.
Chapter 22
Heart pounding, Skye stood inside the elevator. Hodgkin’s disease was cancer. It was life threatening. Mark had to take a leave of absence. She stared at the wall of black buttons and pushed the lobby. Skye spent altogether too much time in this darn hospital. She had to get out of there. In the lobby, Skye rushed through the revolving doors and then—crap. She didn’t have a car.
Skye zipped her coat, turned left, and started walking. Maybe she’d overreacted. Maybe Mark would die. Maybe she didn’t want to be with someone who might die. Maybe it was too late.
“Too late” echoed in her head, bouncing painfully around as she scrambled to catch the words before they bruised her heart and settled into her bones, another permanent scar.
Skye looked at the oncoming traffic then hurried across the street and jumped over a small snow bank. She’d thought Mark was different—and he was, she just didn’t know how different. Hodgkin’s disease.
Get a grip, Skylar. So he’d been sick—it’s not as if he gave you VD. He’s well now—what’s it matter?
It does. It just does. Her heart stubbornly clung to that fact.
Skye looked at the long road ahead of her and pulled out her cell phone. She knew exactly who to call.
* * *
“So, what’s up?” Jenny asked as Skye slipped into her Jeep.
Skye turned to her friend. “I need help—perspective.”
“Coffee or someplace more private?”
“Your house?” Skye felt weird inviting herself to a friend’s home, but she was desperate. “I’d suggest mine, but I don’t want to run into my boyfriend.”
Jenny peered through the dark car at Skye as if searching for bruises. “Stalker?”
“No. I just don’t want to see him. We were at the hospital visiting Edward and his wife, and I found out something that freaked me out.”
Jenny pulled away from the curb and easily moved through the light night traffic, heading toward Lake St. Claire and her home. “You got in to see the Senator and his wife? I’m impressed. How’s the article coming?”
Skye slumped in her seat and rested her head against the cold window. “It’s not. That’s my other big problem.”
“Having trouble organizing it?”
“Having trouble with the whole dang thing.” Skye sighed. “I must be the world’s biggest sap. I just cannot write this article. I can’t seem to be objective.” Her shoulders sagged with the admission. She thought confession was supposed to unburden a person; Skye just felt like a failure. “I bet you never had that problem.”
Jenny arched an eyebrow, yet didn’t take her eyes from the street as she made a left turn onto Lakeshore Drive. “You’d lose that bet. I married the guy I did my first big feature on.”
“Yeah, but you still did the article on him. I can’t,” she admitted. “I like his wife. They’re good people, and they’re going through a nightmare that I cannot bring myself to exploit.”
“Who says you have to exploit it?”
“If it’s just this sweet piece, who’s gonna read it?”
“Millions of people.” Jenny made a left and then a quick right, pulling into her driveway. She reached for the garage door control and then looked at Skye. “Sweet can be poignant and touching if written right. Even inspiring.”
“Maybe I just don’t have the talent.”
“You do. Besides, who better to sensitively tell his story than a friend? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got and maybe I can give you a few ideas to get you unstuck?”
“He’s not my friend, he’s...” God, Skye was so confused. She didn’t know anymore what Edward was to her. He used to be her nemesis, her enemy, but then she got to know him and... Okay, so he had some good qualities, and he’s going through hell right now, but he still wasn’t her friend.
“He’s Mark’s friend.” Skye rubbed her aching temples. Karen was expecting that darn piece early next week. “I’d be grateful for any help you can give me.”
“Sometimes the better you know a person, the harder it is to hit the sweet spot between detachment and making it personal enough to evoke reader emotion. Finding the right tone can be tricky, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”
Jenny pulled into the garage. Through the three-car garage and into the house, Jenny kicked off her shoes next to a large pair of Nike sneakers and a pile of kids’ shoes. Skye slipped out of her heels and followed Jenny into the kitchen.
“Skye, this is Steve. Steve, my friend, Skye.”
Jenny’s husband smiled brightly, revealing a mouthful of large white teeth worthy of any Osmond child. Blond and fit, he faintly resembled the ex-Bronco quarterback John Elway. Skye's hand disappeared in his friendly, firm grip. “Nice to meet you. Can I get you ladies a drink?”
“I’d love a Coke Zero if you have it,” Skye said.
“Jenny's lifeblood, sure. Jen?”
“Yeah, thanks, honey. Clarisse in bed?”
“Right after you left.” With his back to them and his head buried deep in the refrigerator, his response was muffled.
“The boys?”
“Grammy J is reading Sam a story, and the Scotts should be dropping Thomas off in...” Steve shut the fridge door and glanced at the wall clock. “Twenty minutes.”
Jenny frowned. “I thought we’re supposed to pick up?”
“They decided to stay and watch the game, so they offered to drop him off.”
“Great.”
Jenny led Skye through the living room onto a glass-enclosed porch. She went to light the fireplace, then plopped down on an overstuffed scarlet couch. Skye studied a group portrait over the mantle. An elderly African American lady sat in the middle flanked by two boys and a girl. Steve and Jenny and a young couple stood behind. “That’s a great picture.”
Jenny nodded. “Our first family picture.” She went to the picture and pointed at the young couple. “That’s Ted and Alex, my stepchildren from my first marriage. Then Steve and I adopted my friend, Grammy J’s grandchildren, Thomas, Sammy, and Clarisse.” She pointed to the African American children.
“Wow. That’s a lot.” Skye thought about her own dwindling family. “And you both work full time?”
“Thanks to Grammy J. She lives with us and keeps us all organized. Without her…” Jenny shuddered. “It’d be a lot harder. Now. How come you’re on the lam and why’re you talking to me and not your sister?”
Skye burrowed in the other end of the couch. “Faith’s got enough on her plate.” Besides, she’d probably side with Mark.
Jenny rested her crooked arm on the back of the couch and threaded her fingers through her dark hair. “So, what’s with the stalking boyfriend?”
Skye edged off the couch and knelt on the floor, ready to dig into the chips and salsa Steve delivered along with the drinks. “He isn’t stalking me. We just had a big fight.”
“About?”
Steve returned and put napkins on the coffee table. With his own mug in hand, he moved to the doorframe and leaned against it. He looked from Skye to Jenny. “Interrupting?”
Jenny turned to send him away. “This is girl—”
“It might be interesting to get a guy’s perspective.” Skye took a sip of her soda. “What do you know about Hodgkin’s disease?”
“It’s a cancer of the…lymphatic system, I think. One with a good cure rate if they catch it in time,” Steve said.
“They treat it with chemo and radiation—or maybe bone marrow transplants,” Jenny added.
“But can you die from it?”
“You can die from just about anything. Why?” Jenny asked.
“Mark, my boyfriend, had it years ago.”
“And?”
“He’s in remission. He’s been in remission for almost ten years.”
“And?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Then how’d you find out?”
“Edward mentioned it in passin
g.”
“So you’re upset because of the way you found out?”
Put that way, it sounded petty. “I’m upset about all of it. Niki just died and then Faith’s problems, and it’s just that this came out of left field, you know.” Skye paused. “I thought we were close.”
I was going to spend the night with him—wake up in the morning next to him. They shared quiet, honest times in their afternoon kangarooing sessions, but now it seemed like it’d just been peripheral surface stuff. Apparently, Mark hadn’t felt he could trust her with the important things. Skye felt raw and vulnerable.
Did she care about Mark more than he cared about her? Neither had said the three little words-—I love you—but she’d said it with her actions. Maybe she did care more. The thought prickled like wearing a scratchy wool sweater over a sunburn.
“That doesn’t mean you’re not close,” Steve said.
Skye blinked at Steve. He’d been so quiet that she’d forgotten he was there. “Really?”
“Have you had a tonsillectomy, appendectomy, stitches, or any broken bones?”
“Appendectomy and stitches,” she paused, thinking. “Oh, and I had my wisdom teeth out. Why?”
“Have you told him?”
“Uhh...” Skye narrowed her eye on Steve, then felt a little foolish when she saw the point he was making. “It’s not the same.”
“Why not?”
Jenny glowered at her husband. “Don’t be such a lawyer.”
“You can’t die from those things,” Skye said.
“Sure you can. You could have complications from the appendectomy. You could develop adhesions, and they could strangle your bowel and you could die from septicemia. You could get an infection from the oral surgery. Meningitis.”
Jenny glared at Steve. “So now you’re a doctor?”
He shrugged. “I watch Grey’s Anatomy. If you want my opinion, you should cut the guy some slack.” Steve frowned and shrugged at Jenny. “What? She asked.”
“I think I just heard Thomas come in.”
Steve pushed off the door jam.
“And make sure he doesn’t stay up all night playing video games, please,” Jenny called out to Steve’s retreating back. She turned back to Skye. “Let’s do a little research.”
The Lives Between Us Page 26