Jill smoothed her hair, her fingers gliding through the short locks, now more salt than
pepper. Another thing Jill had just noticed. She closed her eyes, pulling Carrie to her
breast, feeling Carrie burrow there.
"Is there anything I can do?" she whispered.
Carrie squeezed her tight. "No, no. I'm just so tired."
"Then come on," Jill said, pulling away and helping Carrie to her feet. "I'll help you into
bed."
"It's probably time for you to go already, isn't it?"
"Just about. But it's okay. You can rest. I'll leave the soup out. You need to eat something,
Carrie. It'll make you feel better."
"Sure. Okay. Leave the soup out," she said, her words slow, deliberate.
Jill stopped, her eyes searching Carrie's. "Maybe I should stay with you."
"No, it's okay. They gave me something for the headache. It's probably kicking in."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Sure."
Jill pulled back the covers on the bed, then slowly undressed Carrie as she sat mutely on
the edge. She paused, her hand cupping Carrie's cheek.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Carrie closed her eyes. "I'm fine, love."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Jill held up the sack when she walked into the cabin. "I picked up burgers. You feel like
eating out in the garden?"
Carrie shook her head, her eyes moving around the room quickly, then settling back on Jill.
"Please don't say you're not hungry," Jill said as she walked closer. "Getting you to eat
something lately has become a full-time job." She set the bag on the bar then wrapped her
arms around Carrie, smiling when she heard her sigh.
"I love you, Jill."
Her brief kiss became lingering, and Jill closed her eyes, falling into Carrie's embrace, but
Carrie stopped, pulling away.
"We need to talk, Jill," she said quietly.
Five simple words, yet Jill felt her world crumbling. Their eyes fixed on each other,
holding, searching. Jill's breath left her and she shook her head.
"No," she whispered.
"Yes." Carrie took her hand and led her into the sunroom. "Let's sit."
Jill shook her head. "No. I don't want to sit."
Carrie sighed wearily. "Please? I need you to do this for me."
"Oh, God," she whispered. "You're sick, aren't you?"
Carrie nodded. "Yes." She patted the seat beside her. "Come."
Jill took a deep breath then sat down, her eyes searching Carrie's. "How bad?"
Carrie took her hand and brought it to her lips. "Bad. It's bad, Jill."
"Oh, God. Your headaches?"
Carrie nodded. "They found... they found tumors, Jill."
Jill stared, unable to breathe, unable to look away. "No." She shook her head. "No."
"I've been thinking. You know, it's not too late. You can stay with Craig, you can try to
salvage your marriage."
"No! No, no, no," she said loudly. "I don't want him! I don't want my marriage! I just want
you."
Carrie looked away. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, God, Carrie. I'm sorry," she said around her tears. "I'm sorry." She drew Carrie to
her, her lips moving without thought before burying her face against Carrie.
"I love you so much," Carrie whispered. "I'm sorry."
"No." Jill cleared her throat then pulled away. "We'll get through this." She took a deep
breath and wiped at her tears. "So... what do they say? The doctors... what do we do?"
Carrie shook her head. "You don't understand. There's nothing to do."
Jill's eyes widened. "What do you mean? No treatment?"
"No. They're inoperable, Jill."
Her words sunk in and Jill slowly shook her head. "No," she whispered. "No. I won't let you
give up."
Carrie took her hand again, holding it tight. "I'm not giving up. There's nothing to give up,
Jill. There is no chance."
"There are treatments. There are always treatments."
"No. No, I won't go through that. And for what? To prolong this for another month at the
most? No. I don't want my last days on this earth to be in a hospital, hooked to machines,
stuck with needles... sick as a dog. No! I won't do it."
Jill stood, moving away from her, her eyes wide. "I call that giving up."
Carrie closed her eyes, shaking her head. "No, darling. It's just accepting reality, that's
all." She stood, slowly walked across the room to Jill. She took her hands again. "There's
not much time left," she said softly. "I know it. I can feel it. Don't make me go through
chemo." She shook her head again, finally giving in to the tears Jill knew she had been
hiding. "Don't make me do that for you."
Jill broke down then, her sobs shaking her whole body, and she clung to Carrie, taking
comfort, trying to give comfort.
"No, baby, no. Don't cry," Carrie murmured. "This won't help anything. Don't cry," she said
again. "Your tears are too valuable to lose."
"Don't leave me."
"It's not up to me."
"But—"
"No. No," she whispered, her lips lightly brushing Jill's mouth. "Please stop crying. Please?
I can't bear to see you like this."
"I'm sorry," Jill said, her tears still falling.
"We don't have much time, Jill. Not much time at all."
"Oh, God." Jill wiped at her eyes, trying to get herself under control and failing. "I'm
sorry."
"No. I'm sorry." She tried to smile. "I don't suppose there's ever a good time or place to
tell someone news like this." She took a deep breath. "I'll have to tell them tonight."
Them meant her family and the reality of their situation—of their relationship—hit home.
This was what they had. One hour each day. Even now, during this time of sorrow and angst,
that's all they would have. One hour. Her tears fell anew.
"I know, darling. I know," Carrie murmured. "As much as I want to spend my last hours with
you, we both know I can't. I'll be with my kids instead. But know my thoughts will be of you.
My last thoughts will be of you."
"No, no, no," Jill whispered.
"Please don't be sad. Look at me, Jill." Jill raised her face, ignoring the tears that flowed
freely down her cheeks. "Our souls, they're connected. We'll be together again. Just like
before. Just like now, in this life. There'll be others."
"I so want to believe you."
Carrie wiped at Jill's tears then brought their mouths together.
"Then believe."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
"You want to talk about it?"
Jill turned, startled. She shook her head, putting the swing in motion again, but he walked
closer anyway.
"I ordered a pizza for dinner," he said.
Jill cleared her throat. "I didn't feel like cooking." She knew her voice was still hoarse
from crying but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything right now.
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
She sighed. "It's nothing." God, it was everything.
"You've been out here all evening." He walked out of the shadows, the moon casting the
only light. "You've been crying."
She closed her eyes. "Please, Craig. I just want to be alone."
"Is it something I've done? Something I haven't done?"
"Craig, it has nothing to do with you, with us." He stood there with his hands in the pockets
of his shorts, still watching her. "Really. I just want to be alone."
"Okay. Well, I'll let you know when the pizza is here."
"Fine."
She leaned back in the swing, her eyes closed, wishing— hoping—for a different outcome to
the day. She was beyond numb, beyond drained, beyond... empty.
They'd taken the afternoon, after she had called in to Harriet. There were questions but