“Why?” She looked a little vague and she was weaving, but he knew her well enough to know she hadn't been drinking. She was just very sick and probably hadn't eaten. She stepped aside to let him in and he followed her into the living room, and then she saw herself in the mirror and realized she hadn't put on her wig. “Shit,” she said, and looked up at him like a little kid, “there goes that.”
“You look like Sinead O'Connor, only better.”
“I can't sing.”
“Neither can I,” he said, still looking at her, thinking that she really looked like Audrey Hepburn. She was even beautiful without her hair, it was so simple and so unadorned. All the beauty of her face stood out like some exquisite being from another world. There was a luminousness to her that never failed to touch him. “What happened?” he asked her. It was obvious that something had. It was as though she were trying to let go and die. And she was. But even over the phone, he had sensed it.
“I don't know. I saw myself in the mirror this morning, and Annabelle was gone, and I was sick again …it's just too much to fight anymore …Sam and his other woman …it's all such a mess. It's just too much trouble,” she said honestly, and he looked angry.
“So you gave up. Is that it?” He was shouting at her, and she looked startled.
“I have a right to make my own choices,” she said sadly.
“Do you? You have a little girl, and even if you didn't have her, you have an obligation to yourself, not to mention the people who love you. You need to fight this, Alex. It won't go away for a while. It's not going to be easy. But you can't just lie here and die, because it's ‘too much trouble.' ”
“Why not?” she said, sounding strangely disassociated from everything. Even him.
“Because I say so. Have you eaten today?” he asked, sounding savage. And not surprisingly, she shook her head in answer. “Go put some clothes on. I'll make something to eat.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“I don't care. I'm not going to listen to this bullshit.” He grabbed her shoulders then, and shook her gently. “I don't give a damn what anyone has done to you, or what you think about your life right now. Stripped down to bare bones, with one breast or two, and bald as an eagle, you have an obligation to fight for your life, Alex Parker. For you. For yourself. For no one else. It's a precious commodity. And the rest of us need you. But when you look in the mirror, and you don't like what you see, you remember that that woman is you. All the trappings mean nothing. You are exactly who you were before all this happened. If anything, you're more, not less. Don't forget that.” She was in awe of him as he stood there, lecturing her, and without a sound, she walked to her bathroom. She took off her dressing gown and turned on the shower, and then she stood there for a long time, looking into the mirror, and she saw the same woman she had seen there that morning, the same broken bird, the woman with the scar where her breast had been, the woman with no hair, but as she looked at her, she knew that he was right. Not for Annabelle, not for Sam, not for him, or anyone, she had to fight. For herself, for what she had been, and could be, and always would be. She could lose a breast and her hair, but she couldn't lose herself. Sam couldn't take that away from her. She cried softly then, thinking of what Brock had just taught her, and she turned on the shower, and let it run across her head and down her shoulders, and in warm sheets across her body.
She put jeans and a sweater on, and the short wig she had left on the sink that morning, after she shook her own hair out of it. And then she walked into the kitchen barefoot.
“You don't have to wear a wig for me,” he smiled, “unless it makes you feel better.”
“I feel weird without it,” she admitted.
He had made scrambled eggs and toast and fried potatoes. The potatoes were too much for her, but she struggled with the toast and the scrambled eggs, and managed to eat a little. But she didn't want to push her luck and spend the rest of the night sick in the bathroom. Her stomach was a disaster but she suspected that for once Sam was right, and it was due to emotions.
They sat quietly together in the kitchen for a while, and then Alex told him that Annabelle had loved all her presents.
“It was fun buying them,” he said, “I like kids.” He smiled at her, relieved to see her eating.
“Then why aren't you married?” she asked, toying with her eggs.
“Bartlett and Paskin never gives me time,” he grinned, looking boyish and very handsome.
“We'll have to start lightening your caseload,” she teased him.
They talked for a while, about what the holidays had been like, and how difficult things had been with Sam, and then he cleared the dishes.
“You don't have to do that, Brock. I can do it later.”
“Sure, why not? Able to leap buildings in a single bound, right? So what about Vermont? I didn't come here for my health, you know. I came here for yours.” He looked her straight in the eye, and as always she was grateful to him.
“I don't think so.”
“I'm not giving up. Liz thinks it would be good for you too,” he said firmly.
“What is this? A committee?” She laughed, amused suddenly but touched too. “Doesn't anyone care what I think?”
“Frankly, no.” He discounted her veto completely.
“Don't you have anyone real to spend this week with?”
“You look pretty real to me,” he said, with a determined look, and she shook her head and pointed at her wig.
“Don't let this piece of fluff fool you. I'm too tired to ski, I'm too old to woo, I'm too sick to be fun, and besides, I'm married.”
“Not from the sound of it, or not for long anyway.” He was being very blunt with her and she was still laughing.
“That's a nice thing to say. Well, let's say, I'm used goods.” And then she looked at him in amusement. “Are you telling me you're asking me as your date?” It was obvious she didn't believe that, and he laughed too.
“No. But if it makes you feel better to think that, be my guest. I'm asking you as a buddy, a buddy who would like to see you get that pale face in some sunshine, and sit in front of a fire and keep warm and drink hot chocolate, and go to sleep at night, knowing she's with friends, and not alone in a lonely apartment in the city.”
“You make it sound pretty good, for a kid your age.”
“It is. And I have a lot of experience in the care and feeding of old bags like you. My sister was, is, ten years older than I am.”
“Give her my condolences,” she grinned. “You sure make it difficult to refuse.”
“That's why I came to see you,” he said, looking down at her with a gentle smile, and she was reminded again of how much she liked him.
“I thought you came for a free meal,” she said, still laughing at him.
“I did, but I came to talk to you too.”
“It must have been pretty boring in Connecticut.” She was relentless with him and he was loving it. They knew each other well, and had fun together.
“It was boring in Connecticut. So are you coming, or what?”
“You mean I have a choice? I was beginning to think you were going to throw me over your shoulder and take me.”
“I might, if you don't act right.”
“You're really crazy, you know. The last thing you need, is me puking on you all the way to Vermont, and then sick as a dog when we get there.”
“I'm used to it by now,” he smiled, “I wouldn't know what to do without it.”
“You're nuts.”
“You're cute, and this is what friends are for.”
“Is it?” she said, touched by him again. “I thought they were only to Christmas shop, and do all your cases for you, and peel you off the bathroom floor when you're sick.” It was what husbands were supposed to be for, but hers wasn't.
“Just shut up and pack your suitcase. You're embarrassing me.”
“That's impossible.”