“Are you all right now, Alex?” he asked gently. “I know you've been sick. I hope it's not anything to worry about.” It certainly hadn't hurt her looks. And for a moment, she was about to tell him she was fine, and then she decided not to. She was going to need his help in the coming months, and there was no reason not to tell him. She had to start somewhere.
“I'm fine now. And I will be eventually, I hope. But I've got some rough spots to go through.” She hesitated, staring into her coffee cup, searching for the right words. This was new to her, humbling herself, asking someone to help her. And then she looked up and their eyes met, and she was surprised by the kindness she saw there. He looked so gentle, so concerned, she knew she could trust him. “I'm going to start chemotherapy in two weeks,” she said with a sigh, and she thought she heard his breath catch. His eyes bore deep into hers with silent questions.
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“So am I. I'm going to keep on working if I can, but I'm not quite sure what that means yet. They say that if it's done right, you can manage, except for extreme fatigue. I'll just have to see how far I get once they start it.” He nodded, understanding.
“I'll do everything I can to help you.”
“I know that, Brock,” she said, feeling her voice tremble as she said it. It was touching to know that she had friends, and even to know that people she scarcely knew, but only worked with, were there to help her. “I appreciate everything you've already done. I couldn't have managed without you. That trial was pretty rough, with surgery hanging over my head. At least that's behind me.” He looked at her, but didn't ask where they'd found the cancer. And she'd worn a heavy black and white tweed suit that showed nothing.
“I'm so sorry you have to go through this. But you'll do fine,” he said confidently, as though trying to convince her.
“I hope so. It's a whole new world out there.” She set down her coffee cup and looked at him pensively. He was nice to talk to. “It's so odd, I'm in control of things so much of the time. It's very strange to be in the throes of something I have so little control of. I can't do anything, except follow the dotted lines, and hope I wind up in the right place. But there are no guarantees on this one. The odds aren't even all that impressive. I think they found it early enough, at least I hope so. But who knows …” Her voice trailed off, and he reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. His touch brought her back, and their eyes met.
“You have to want to make it. You have to decide, right now, that you're going to, no matter what. No matter how bad it gets, or how rotten you feel, or how much it hurts, or how scary. It's like a contest, like a trial. No matter what the other side throws at you, you've got to throw it right back. Don't drop that ball for one second!” He said it with a vehemence that startled her, and made her wonder if he'd been there. Maybe someone in his family had, or maybe there was more to Brock than his easygoing ways suggested. “Don't ever forget that.” He pulled his hand away from hers then, and nodded. “If I can do anything to help today, yell.” He stood up then, and looked down at her with a smile. “It's good to have you back. I'll check in with you later.”
“Thanks, Brock. For everything.” She watched him go, and went back to the work on her desk, but his words, and the warmth behind them, had impressed her.
Matt Billings took her to lunch, and told her about the new cases that had come in, particularly the movie star with the libel suit. He had passed it on to another partner, which was what Alex would have done. Although she liked doing libel occasionally, this one was too hot to handle. The woman claimed that one of the most respectable magazines in the country had libeled her. It was not going to be easy to prove, given the limited rights of celebrities in the press, and the magazine's powerful reputation. They were going to scream long and hard about First Amendment rights. Alex was just as happy not to have that hot potato to handle. And Matt had already admitted to her that the plaintiff in this case was no sweetheart.
“Lucky Harvey.” She referred to their partner who had taken the case.
“Yeah. I kind of thought you'd be glad you missed that one.”
He also told her about a big industrial suit that had come in, and some other minor matters that involved the business dealings of the law firm. He brought her up-to-date on everything, and then he looked at her and asked her pointedly how her health was.
“Better, I guess,” she said carefully, “not that I was ever sick. I had what they called a ‘gray area' a mass that turned up on a mammogram a month ago, just before I tried the Schultz case. I tried it anyway,” which he knew, “and then I took care of business. But business, in this case, is not quite taken care of.” He raised an eyebrow and listened. He had always been fond of her, and didn't like hearing that she was in trouble. When she'd left for the two weeks she'd told him she had some minor surgery that was “nothing.” This did not sound like “nothing” to Matthew.
“What's happening now?” He looked suddenly worried.
She took a breath. She knew she'd have to say the words one day, and maybe it was time to try it. He was an old friend, and a respected colleague. “I had a mastectomy.” The word was harder to say than she thought, but she did it, and he looked shocked instantly. “And I have to start chemotherapy in two weeks. I want to keep working, but I have no idea what kind of shape I'm going to be in. After that, they claim I'll be fine. They think they got it all, and the chemo is just for insurance. It'll take six months but I want to go on working.” The chemo was a kind of insurance she would have preferred to do without, but with her lymph nodes involved and a Stage II tumor, she knew she had no option.
Listening to her had left Matt stunned. He couldn't believe it. She was so beautiful and so young, and she looked so well. He had never suspected the serious nature of her problem. He had hoped it was nothing. But a mastectomy? And chemotherapy? That was a lot to swallow.
“Wouldn't you rather just take the six months off?” he asked kindly, while wondering at the same time how they would manage without her.
“No, I wouldn't,” she said bluntly, a little frightened that he might force her to do that. She didn't want to stay home and feel sorry for herself. Sam was right about that much. She wanted to work, and distract herself, and do the best job she could at the moment. “I'd rather be working. I'll do the best I can. If I get too sick, I'll tell you. I have a couch in my office. If I really have to, I can lock the door and lie down for half an hour. I can rest at lunchtime if I need to. But I don't want to stay home, Matt. It would kill me.” He didn't like to hear her say that word, and he was impressed that she was determined to keep working.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I am. If I feel differently about it once I start, I'll tell you. But for right now, I want to stay here. It's only six months. Some women get sick as dogs when they're pregnant. I was lucky, I didn't. But others do, and they keep right on working. No one expects them to stay home. I don't want to stay home either.”
“This isn't the same thing, and you know it. What does your doctor say?”
“He thinks I can do it.” Though he had told her to minimize the stress and exhaustion. He had said that he didn't think she should go to trial during that time, but she could probably handle everything else, and she said as much to Matt now. “I can just limit my trial work during that time. My associate is very good, and maybe some of the other partners can do the trial work. I'll do everything else, all the preparation, all the setup and research. I can sit in for the courtroom stuff, and make all the motions. I'd just need backup for the actual trial so all the responsibility didn't rest on me at the final moment. That wouldn't be fair to the client.”