“I'll pick you up at eight, or is that too early?” He looked suddenly worried about her.
“It's fine. Are you sure?” she asked him again. “What if you want to pick up girls?”
“It's a big house. I'll lock you in your room. I promise.” They were both smiling as she walked him to the door. She couldn't believe she had let him talk her into it, but she was looking forward to it suddenly. She knew she had four and a half months of sickness ahead of her, but something had happened to her. He had saved her spirit. She wanted to go with him, wanted to cling to life. But more than anything now, she wanted to make it. She knew she had to.
Chapter 16
The days in Vermont were the happiest Alex had had in ages, ever since before her sickness. She had called Sam and Annabelle to let them know she was there, and Sam sounded surprised to hear it.
“I didn't know you could still travel,” he said, sounding concerned. “Are you sure it's all right for you to be there? Who's with you?”
“A friend from work. I'm fine. I'll see you in New York on New Year's Day.” She gave him the number, but they never called her.
The house Brock had borrowed was simple, but very cozy. There were four bedrooms, and a kind of dormitory. He gave her the biggest room upstairs, and he took a small one downstairs so he wouldn't disturb her. And they sat around together like old friends, reading and doing crossword puzzles, and having snowball fights like two children.
She went for long walks in the snow with Brock, and she even tried skiing one day, but it was too much for her. After the chemo, she just didn't have the strength. But she felt healthier than she had in weeks. She only had one really bad day. But she stayed in bed, and by evening she was better.
He found an old sled in the garage the day after they arrived and he pulled her around, so she wouldn't get too tired.
He cooked dinner for her at night, and when she told him to go out with friends, he only laughed at her and told her he was too tired. He liked staying home with her. But one night they even went to Chez Henri for dinner, where they had a lovely time, and by the end of the week, Alex was feeling a lot better again. She was at the better end of her chemo, which meant it would be time for another treatment soon, but fortunately not yet. She had never had a nicer vacation, and they became fast friends and spent a lot of their time laughing.
Another day, they met for lunch at the lodge after he skied. She kept pointing out pretty girls to him, and then she discreetly showed him a handful of attractive young skiers, whom she felt he should be with instead of her.
“They're fourteen years old for chrissake. Are you trying to get me arrested?” They were both laughing again.
“They are not! They're twenty-five if they're a day,” she said, pretending to look outraged.
“Same thing.” But even the thirty-year-olds didn't appeal to him. He was happy with Alex. But he never put the make on her, or made her feel uncomfortable. And they talked about Sam a lot. She admitted to him how much it had hurt her when she saw him with the girl at Ralph Lauren.
“I think I'd probably have killed him. Or her,” Brock said, but Alex only shook her head.
“There's no point. It's over. It's not her fault. It just happened. And I guess when I look at myself in the mirror now, I understand it.”
“That's bullshit.” He got angry when she said things like that. “What if it had happened to him? If he'd lost an arm, or a leg, or a testicle? Would you have cashed him in?”
“No. But we're different. And I guess this … is a symbol of femininity. I'm not sure a lot of men weather this well. Not all husbands are like Liz's.” But she had admitted they had had their rough spots too.
“I don't think you fuck up your marriage because your wife loses a breast, or her hair, or a shoe for chrissake. How can you accept that?” Brock was outraged.
But Alex looked over at him with a wise smile. She was ten years older than he was. “I don't have a choice at the moment. The guy's not buying, Brock. It's as simple as that. The store's closed. He's taken his business elsewhere.”
“And that's it? You give up?” He was shocked at her lack of spirit.
“What do you suggest I do? Shoot her?”
“Shoot him,” he said matter-of-factly. “He deserves it.”
“You're a romantic,” she accused him.
“So are you,” he accused her right back.
“So what? It won't pay my rent, or keep my husband. The guy hates deformities. He hates disease. He can't even look at me. He saw me once after the surgery and almost fainted. I make him sick. This is not a great foundation for a happy marriage.”
“Face it. The guy's a coward.”
“Maybe so. But he has great taste in women. She's an awfully pretty girl, Brock. Actually, she's the right age for you. Maybe you should go sweep her off her feet, and provide some stiff competition. He didn't tell her that he'd rather have swept her off her feet. It didn't seem the right moment. And she was so at ease with him, he didn't want to spoil that.
They spent New Year's Eve at the house, watching TV, and eating popcorn, talking about their life's dreams, their careers, what they hoped to find in the years to come. She wished him a wife who would take care of him, and he wished her health and happiness in whatever form she wished it. And at midnight, they sang “Auld Lang Syne” in perfect unison. And then she went up to bed, and thought about their friendship, and the precious rarity of good friends.
They were both sad to leave the next day, but she looked infinitely better than she had when they arrived. Something had changed subtly about her. There was more energy, more fight than there had been for a long time. She was suddenly determined to survive her cancer.
She was quiet on the drive home, thinking of seeing Sam again, even if only for one night. She knew he was leaving for Europe the next day, and she assumed she knew why. To meet his little friend there. Brock asked her from time to time if she was all right, and she said she was, but she was very pensive. He held hands with her for a while, driving on the freeway, to comfort her. He was her friend, and her colleague. They were pals.
They got home late in the afternoon, and he looked genuinely sad when he dropped her off at her apartment. She sat in the car for a minute, looking at him, and she didn't know how to even begin to thank him.
“You gave me my life back, you know. I had a great time.”
“So did I.” And then he touched her cheek gently with his fingers. “Don't let anyone make you feel like less than you. You're the greatest woman I know.” He had tears in his eyes when he said it, and she was touched by him again. He had a way of getting to her heart with very little effort.
“I love you, you know. And you're very silly. The great one around here is you. You're going to make some lucky girl a terrific husband.”
“I'm waiting for Annabelle,” he said with a grin she loved. The one that made him look fourteen again.
“She's a lucky girl. Thanks again, Brock.” She kissed him on the cheek and the doorman took her bag.
And when Sam and Annabelle came home that night, they found Alex looking infinitely better.
Annabelle was full of tales of Disney World. She was yawning and laughing and half asleep all at the same time. And she barely made it to her pillow, as she kissed Alex.
“It sounds like she had a great time,” Alex said, smiling at Sam. He could see something different about her too. Nothing had changed but it was as though she had made peace with herself and what was happening.
“I had a great time too,” Sam said. “She's good company. I hated to bring her back.”
“I really missed her,” Alex admitted to him, but neither of them claimed to have missed the other. That was gone now too. The pretense that they still had a marriage. They both knew they didn't.