“Are the results of the pathology reports in?”
“Yes. Four of my nodes are involved. I need chemo,” she said in a dead voice. And then, “He took off my dressing.”
“Great. That's a step forward at least. That should have cheered you up.” He spoke enthusiastically, as though to spur her on, ignoring the fact that she needed chemo, and she looked at him as though he came from another planet.
“Not exactly.”
“Why not? Was there a problem?”
“Not really.” Only a small one …my breast seems to have fallen off with the dressing …
“So what's the big deal? Why are you so tired?”
“What do you want from me?” she snapped at him. “Polaroids? Can't you figure it out for yourself for chrissake? I lost a breast. It's a big deal, to me, if not to you, and I don't buy the idea that it's no big deal to you either. You've been acting like I have leprosy ever since I got home, standing halfway across the room from me. I get the message. You don't think this is so cute either.”
“I never said it was. But it doesn't have to be the tragedy you make it.”
“Maybe not, pal. But let me tell you one thing, it sure ain't pretty.” She looked venomously at him, filled with all the horror of what she had seen in the mirror.
“Don't make it such a big deal. He told you, you can have it rebuilt eventually.”
“Sure, if I want to go through another very painful operation and a bunch of skin grafts and tattoos, and silicone implants, which are dangerous. This is not exactly the tea party you make it out to be.”
“Fine. But don't be such a crybaby for God's sake. Losing a breast is not the worst thing that could happen.”
“What is?”
“Dying,” he said bluntly.
“Give me time, I might do that too. But in the meantime, I seem to have misplaced a few things I was rather fond of. One of them is my left breast, and the other one is my husband. You seem to have gone right out the window with my tit, or hadn't you noticed? Because I have. I'm sick and tired of your disappearing act, of your acting like I don't exist, because you can't cope with what happened.”
“That's not true,” he said angrily, all the more so because it was and he knew it.
“The hell it isn't. You haven't been here for me once since I got the news, and ever since the surgery, you've been treating me like your maiden aunt and not your wife. How long is that going to go on, Sam? How long do I have to do penance for the sin of losing a boob? Until I get it reconstructed so I don't scare you to death when I take my clothes off, or are we shot for good? It might be helpful to know so I don't hang around annoying you, or make you sick sometime when I take a shower.”
“You make me sick with your analysis and accusations. You couldn't make me half as sick if they took both your breasts off.”
“Really? Wanna make a bet? You have no idea how ugly this is. It's a lot worse than you think.”
“It's as bad as you make it. You're the one turning this into an agony. You're the one who can't accept what happened.”
“Are you sure?” She was suddenly unable to control herself a moment longer, and as she stood in front of him she unbuttoned her nightgown. He felt his heart pound as he watched her, but it was too late to stop her, and he knew he had goaded her into it. She slipped it brusquely off one shoulder and then the other, and then she let it drop to the floor without a sound, except a gasp from him. She hadn't bothered to replace the dressing, and he saw everything she had seen that morning. The angry scar, the missing breast, the bright pink flesh. Just as she knew, it was shocking, and his face showed how he felt about it. There was no way on earth he would have touched her. “Pretty, isn't it, Sam?” She was crying now, and gulping air as she sobbed, but he didn't come near her.
“I'm sorry, Alex.” He walked across the room to her then, and held her nightgown out to her. “I'm sorry,” he said softly, and pulled her into his arms, as they both cried. It was just too awful.
“I can't live with this, Sam,” she cried, wanting her breast back, wanting her life to be what it had been only a few weeks before. It was impossible to understand why any of this had happened.
“It'll be okay …you'll get used to it. We both will,” he said softly, praying it was true.
“Will we?” she asked sadly. “Do you want me to get it fixed?”
“It's too soon anyway, why don't you see how you feel about it later.”
“I hate it, and I hate myself,” she admitted as she slipped on her nightgown, and he helped her when she got it tangled. He wanted to help her cover it up as soon as possible, so neither of them had to see it. “I'm sorry I'm angry at you all the time. I just don't know how to handle it.”
“Neither do I,” he admitted. “I guess we just have to give it time.”
“Yeah,” she said sadly, looking at him, unable to believe he would ever resume their sex life. “Maybe.”
“You'll feel better when you go back to work next week,” he said encouragingly as he turned the TV on, anything so they didn't have to talk to each other.
“Maybe I will,” she said, unconvinced, but she would much rather have had her husband than her job back. And all he could think of as they watched TV was what he'd just seen. He wasn't sure that he could ever touch her again. It made the agony of wanting Daphne even more painful. And he felt guiltier than ever remembering how exquisite her breasts had been when he'd touched them, and he remembered exactly how they'd looked when he took off her shirt and freed them. She was so young and inviting and alive, and her body was so perfect.
“I don't feel like a woman anymore,” Alex said sadly as he turned off the light at midnight.
“Don't be silly, Alex. A breast doesn't make you who you are. Losing it doesn't change anything. You're as much a woman as you ever were.” But nothing he did confirmed it. And as he lay in bed all that night, keeping well away from her, the only thing he could think of was Daphne.
Chapter 11
The only thing that brought Alex and Sam together at all was trick-or-treating with Annabelle the following weekend. She went as the princess, as planned, and she looked adorable in her pink velvet costume with sparkles and rhinestones. She wore a little silver crown, and carried a wand, and she had a great time trick-or-treating in their building. Alex usually dressed up too, but she hadn't put together a costume this year, and at the last minute she dressed as Cruella De Vil in a black and white wig and an old fur coat, and Annabelle loved it. And Sam brought out the Dracula costume he wore every year, and Alex did his makeup.
“You look good with black and white hair,” he mused as he looked at her. She was wearing a slinky red knit dress. She was wearing a prosthesis now in her bra, which was heavy but looked surprisingly realistic. And Sam couldn't help but admire her figure. Even without the missing breast, she still had sensational legs, and the body of a model. He seemed to be noticing things like that more and more these days, especially on Daphne.
He and Daphne had been behaving themselves admirably, though not without enormous effort. Only once, he had given in to the urge to kiss her when they were alone in his office. But otherwise, they had done nothing they shouldn't have, in spite of a number of meetings and business lunches together with clients. She was very helpful on some of their new deals, and remarkably knowledgeable about international finance. Interestingly, he had never mentioned her to Alex. Instinctively, he knew he couldn't. Alex would have sensed instinctively that there was something to this. His partners had wondered about it too, but no one had dared to ask, only Simon continued to make a crack now and then about how appealing English girls were, particularly his cousin. Sam always agreed with him but no one except Daphne knew how infatuated he was with her, or how desperately horny she made him.