Lightning

He called his office again, and then strode purposefully out of the room to the nurses' station.

“I'd like to check on Mrs. Alexandra Parker,” he said curtly. “She was scheduled for a breast biopsy at nine. They said she'd be finished before ten. It's almost eleven now. Could you call and check if there's been a delay. I can't wait around here forever.” She raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't say anything. He looked important and well dressed, and he was very good-looking. And he had an aura of command about him, which even she responded to, though she had no idea who he was, or why he shouldn't have to wait like everyone else in the world. But she called upstairs anyway, and they told her that everything was running late. After all, this was Monday. They had all the leftover surgeries from the weekend, arms and legs and hips that had waited to be set since the night before, and appendectomies that hadn't been too hot to wait through the weekend.

He was reminded again of checking on flights, and waiting interminably at the airport. That had happened to them once when she had promised to meet him in Washington for a party, while they were dating. There had been a storm in New York, and he had waited six hours for her at the airport. This was beginning to feel like that. And he was truly exasperated by eleven-thirty.

“This is ridiculous. She's been up there long enough for open-heart surgery. They took her up three hours ago. They could at least let us know how late they're running.”

“I'm sorry, sir. There could have been an emergency that had to be put ahead of your wife's case. We can't help that.”

“Can you at least find out where she is and what's happening?”

“She's probably in the recovery room by now, unless everything went haywire and they bumped her. I'll call. Why don't you have a cup of coffee and wait in her room, and I'll come in as soon as I hear something.”

“Thanks very much.” He smiled at her, and she decided he was difficult but worth it. She called the surgical floor for him again then, and got very little information, except that Alexandra Parker was still in the O.R. They started late, and the nurse on the phone had no idea when they'd be finished.

The nurse walked back to Alex's room and found Sam and relayed the message, and he called his office again, apologizing for the eleven o'clock partners' meeting he was missing. He told them he'd catch up with them when he could, maybe even as late as one o'clock at La Grenouille. He just didn't feel right leaving without knowing what had happened.

It was finally twelve-thirty when they told him Alex was in the recovery room, four hours after she'd gone upstairs. The delays were ridiculous, he complained. And the nurse told him that Dr. Herman would be down to speak to him in a few minutes.

It was ten to one when he arrived, and Sam looked like a caged lion pacing the room, as he waited. He had been there for long enough with their dismal decor, and their antiseptic smells, and their endless waits designed for people who had nothing else to do with their lives. He had a business to run, and he couldn't sit around all day cooling his heels waiting to talk to some damn doctor.

“Mr. Parker?” Dr. Herman entered the room in his operating gown, with his mask still around his neck, and what looked like socks over his shoes. He extended a hand and shook Sam's, and very little showed in his eyes as Sam watched him.

“How's my wife?” He didn't waste any time, he assumed she was fine, and he was almost late for lunch with Simon, his assistant, and their new clients, after waiting for an entire morning.

“She's doing as well as we can expect right now. She lost very little blood, and we didn't have to give her any transfusions.” That was important to everyone these days, and he assumed it would be to Sam, but he looked unimpressed and a little confused when he heard it.

“Transfusions for a biopsy?” There was a long moment's silence. “Isn't that a little unusual?”

“Mr. Parker, as I suspected, your wife had a large mass deep in her breast, involving mainly the ducts, but it has infiltrated the surrounding tissue, although the margins of the tumor were clear. We'll have to wait another two or three days to tell us about possible lymph node involvement. But there was no question that it was a malignancy, and I believe it was a stage two cancer.” Sam's head suddenly reeled as he listened. It was not unlike what Alex had felt when she'd first heard that she had a shadow on her mammogram. All the information after that was just a jumble of sounds and noises.

“We're hoping that we got all of it,” Herman went on, “but I had already discussed with your wife the danger of a recurrence. Recurrences of breast cancer are more often than not fatal. And the important thing in successful treatment of cancers such as these is removing all of it, while it is still encapsulated, before it has spread to any other part of the system. To that end, we try to espouse extremely aggressive measures. With luck, if her lymph nodes are not excessively involved, I think we got it.”

“Just exactly what does that mean?” Sam asked, feeling sick, just asking him the question. “You took the mass out of her breast?”

“Obviously. We took the breast too, of course. It's the only way you can be absolutely sure there won't be a local recurrence. You can't have a recurrence in a breast that isn't there. It could recur in the chest wall, or travel elsewhere, of course, or metastasize, but that will depend on how advanced the tumor is, and how many lymph nodes are involved. But eliminating the breast solves a lot of problems.” Alex had understood that.

“Why didn't you just kill her? Wouldn't that solve the problem too? What kind of barbarian bullshit is that to just chop off her breast so it wouldn't spread? What kind of medicine do you people practice?” Sam was livid, and shouting.

“Cautious medicine, Mr. Parker. We endorse aggressive attacks against cancer. We don't want to lose our patients. And just so you understand, we did some axillary dissection too, which means we removed her underarm nodes, but I'm hoping she doesn't have a lot of nodular involvement. That will be confirmed by pathology in the next few days, and we'll have the results of her hormone receptor tests in about two weeks, and then we'll have a better idea how to treat her.”

“How to treat her? What else are you going to do?” He was still shouting at him. With one stupid move, they had butchered poor Alex.

“Depending on the lymph node involvement, we're probably going to have to do some fairly aggressive chemotherapy, just to make sure that there won't be a recurrence. There could be an issue of hormone therapy too, but we don't know that yet. And at her age, it's doubtful. Since we took the breast, there's no need for radiation. We won't be starting chemo for a few weeks. She'll need time to get on her feet, and we need time to assess her situation. Our tumor board will be meeting to discuss her case, of course, once we have all the pathology reports. I can assure you that your wife's treatment will be given very serious consideration.”

“Just like you gave her breast?” How could they do that to her? He still couldn't believe it.

“I promise you, Mr. Parker, there was no choice,” Peter Herman said quietly, he had dealt with outraged husbands before, and frightened ones, and those who just couldn't cope with the reality, like this one. The husbands were no different than the patients. But he had a feeling that Alex Parker had understood all the dangers better than he had. “We did a modified radical mastectomy on her, which means that we took the entire breast, and breast tissue, extending toward the breastbone, collarbone, and ribs, and her minor pectoral muscle. This means that she'll be able to have reconstructive surgery in a few months, if that's her wish, and if she's up to it during the chemo. If not, she can wait, and wear a prosthesis.” He made it all sound so simple, and even Sam knew it wasn't. Dr. Peter Herman had changed everything with a single stroke of his scalpel. And just listening to him now made her sound like a mutant.

“I can't understand how you could do this.” Sam stared at him in uncomprehending horror, and Peter Herman realized that it was just too soon for him to absorb it.

“Your wife has cancer, Mr. Parker. We want to cure her.” That said it all, and there were tears in Sam's eyes as he nodded.

“How good do you think her chances are for survival?” It was a question Dr. Herman hated to answer. He wasn't God. He was a man. He didn't know. He wished he could give them all guarantees of long life, but he couldn't.

“That's hard to know right now. The tumor was deep and large, but the whole purpose of radical surgeries, and aggressive treatment afterwards, is to wipe out the entire cancer. If we even leave point zero one percent, it could eventually do her grave harm. That's why we can't afford to leave the breast once it's diseased to the extent that hers was. And sometimes finding it early enough, and attacking it radically, can mean the difference between success and failure. We hope that we got all of hers, that it was contained, that it has not infiltrated, and that her nodes are not too excessively involved. We hope that, for her, radical surgery was the answer, and chemotherapy will be the additional guarantee she needs. But only time will tell us if we've been truly successful. You're both going to have to be very strong, and very patient.” She was going to die then, Sam decided as he listened. They were going to butcher her piece by piece, cut off one breast, then the other, scoop her insides out, and boil her guts with the poisons in the chemo, and then she'd die anyway. He was going to lose her. He couldn't stand it. And he was not going to hang around and watch her die, just as he had his mother.

“I don't suppose I should bother asking what your success rate is with these kinds of cancers?”

“Sometimes excellent. We just have to be as aggressive as your wife can tolerate. But she's in good health, which is in her favor, and she's a strong woman.” But not a lucky one. At forty-two, she was going to have to fight for her life. And there was a good chance that she wouldn't win it. He just couldn't believe it. It was like one of those bad movies where the heroine dies, and the husband is left alone with the children. Just like his father, and it had killed him. But Sam already knew he wasn't going to let this kill him. He couldn't let her do that to him. His eyes filled with tears as he forced himself not to think of her body the way it had been, and the way it would look now. The words were all so ugly …reconstructive surgery …prosthesis … he didn't even want to see it.

“Your wife will be in the recovery room for the rest of the afternoon, I'd say. I think she should be back here by about six or seven. I think she might do well with private nurses for the first few days. Would you like me to arrange that?”

“That would be fine.” Sam looked at him coldly. The man had destroyed his life in a single moment. It was impossible for Sam to accept the fact that the doctor hadn't given her the cancer, he had tried to cure it. “How long will she have to be here?”

“I'd say until Friday. Possibly sooner, if she does well. A lot will depend on her attitude, and her recovery. It's actually a fairly simple operation, and there's less pain than one would expect, especially in a case like hers where the involvement was mainly ductal. That's more the ‘plumbing' of the breast, and there aren't a great many nerves there.” Sam felt sick hearing about it. He'd already heard a lot more than he wanted.

“Get her round-the-clock nurses, please. When can I see her?”

“Not until she comes back from the recovery room, early this evening.”

“I'll be back then.” He stood looking at the doctor for a long moment, unable to thank him for what he'd done. He might as well have killed her. “Will you be seeing Alex again today?”

“This evening, when she's a little more awake. If there's any problem before that, we'll call you. But I don't anticipate any complications. The operation went remarkably smoothly.” Sam's stomach turned over as he heard the words. To him, the only thing that was remarkable was that they had butchered Alex.

The doctor left the room then, well aware of Sam's hostility, and Sam left his office number and the number at La Grenouille at the nursing desk, and then he hurried out of the hospital, feeling frantic. He needed air, he needed room, he needed to see people who hadn't lost anything, who weren't sick, or dying of cancer. He couldn't stand being there for one more moment. He felt like a drowning man as he gulped the cool October air, and by the time he found a cab, he felt slightly more human.

He gave the driver the address of La Grenouille, and tried not to think of anything Peter Herman had said about Alex, about how little they knew, and how much they hoped, and nodes, and tumors, and tests and biopsies, and metastasis, and chemo. He didn't want to hear another word about it. Ever.

The lunch crowd at La Grenouille was in full swing, and it was almost two o'clock when he got there. He felt as though he had just returned from another planet.

“Sam, my boy, where have you been? We got drunk as skunks waiting for you, and finally, just so we didn't fall out of our chairs, we had to order.” Generally, their Arab clients didn't drink, but there were a few less religious, more sophisticated Moslems who did when they weren't in Arab countries. The men Simon had brought with him today were all dramatic-looking, handsome men, who had lived in Paris and London for years, and had enormous oil fortunes they'd invested in the world markets. Simon himself was roughly Sam's age, though heavier built, with wavy blond hair, blue eyes, and if you were tall enough you could see that he was slightly balding. But he had a very aristocratic British air, he was given to tweeds, handmade shoes, and impeccably starched shirts, and remarkably important clients. Sam had finally even decided that he liked him. He had a great sense of humor, and he was anxious to become friends. He had a wife he'd left “at home,” they were separated, though they vacationed together frequently and seemed to have an interestingly open arrangement. And he had three kids, all boys, at Eton.

And sitting next to him was the young woman he had mentioned to Sam. The Oxford graduate in economics. Her name was Daphne. She was a striking-looking young woman in her late twenties. She had long, straight dark hair almost the color of Sam's, and it shone as it hung almost to her waist. She was tall and lithe, with creamy English skin, and dark eyes that danced as she looked at Sam. She seemed always about to crack a joke, or to say something unbearably funny. And he saw when she went to the ladies' room after a little while that she was not only very tall, but she had an incredibly good figure, and her skirt barely covered her bottom. She had an Hermes Kelly bag slung over one arm, and she was wearing a short black wool dress, silky black stockings, and a string of pearls. She reeked of sex and class and youth, and it was obvious that every man at La Grenouille thought she was gorgeous.

“Pretty girl, eh?” Simon smiled at him after he saw Sam watch her cross the room with a look of admiration.

“I'll say. You certainly know how to hire your assistants,” Sam teased him, wondering briefly if he had slept with her.

“Smart too,” Simon added softly as she returned. “You should see her in a bathing suit, and she's dynamite on the dance floor.” Sam saw a glance pass between Daphne and Simon and wasn't quite sure what it was, camaraderie or cohabitation, or maybe just desire on Simon's part. Daphne seemed very cool in the company of half a dozen men, and he overheard her having a very intelligent conversation about oil prices with one of the Arabs.

For Sam, it was a blessed afternoon, a huge relief to be in the midst of busy, healthy, living people, after his hellish morning at New York Hospital. But he knew he still had to go back and face her. As a result, he drank a little too much wine, and made a few too many overtures to the Arabs, but they didn't seem to mind. They were very excited about Sam's firm, had heard good things about them from friends and associates, and they seemed pleased that Simon was becoming a partner.

It was only after Sam got back to the office and had met with their attorneys, that he started to come down, and think of what lay ahead of them, as he thought of Alex. He was staring into space, thinking about it, and the shock of knowing that she had cancer.

“Bad time?” He hadn't seen anyone come into the room, and he started when he heard her voice almost next to him. It was Daphne.

“Not at all. Sorry. I was spacing out. What can I do for you?”

“You looked a little ragged when you got to the restaurant,” she said, looking honestly at him, as her long, shapely legs couldn't help but catch his attention. But she could carry it off, and with brains too, it made for an interesting combination. It was difficult not to be bowled over by her, but Sam was also aware that she could be someone's girlfriend. He had never cheated on Alex, but Daphne was certainly young and appealing. “Bad day?” she asked, slipping into a chair, and watching him.

You could say that. “Not really. Just complicated. Some days are like that. A deal I was working on went a little wild. But things are in control,” he explained, not wanting to tell her, or anyone, about Alex. He wasn't sure why, but there seemed something wrong about it, as though they had done something terrible, as though she had something to hide now. An ugly secret called cancer.

“Some deals are like that,” she said coolly, appraising him. She crossed, and then uncrossed her legs, and he tried not to watch her. “I wanted to thank you for letting me join you. I know Simon is new here, and he's a bit brash about putting his own people forward sometimes. I didn't want you to feel that you had to put up with me, because of Simon.”

“Have you known him for a long time?” She seemed awfully young to have been involved with anyone for long, but Simon had told him she was twenty-nine. But she laughed in answer.

“Very long. Twenty-nine years actually. He's my cousin.”

“Simon?” Sam looked amused, he had assumed a much racier relationship than that one, although anything was still possible, but it seemed a little more unlikely. “How lucky for him.”

“I'm not sure about that. He's actually quite close to my brother. He's always said that I'm a terrible brat. He's only been impressed with me since I went to Oxford. My brother's fifteen years older than I, and he and Simon are quite keen on going hunting. Not my thing, I'm afraid.” She smiled at him, and Sam tried to pretend he didn't notice how beautiful she was as she uncrossed her legs again. There was something very unsettling about her, and he was wondering if it was going to be a good idea to have her around the office. Simon was hoping to have her work with him for a year, and then she wanted to go back to England, and go to law school. And in some odd ways, she reminded Sam a little bit of Alex. She had the same fire, the same bright, alive look she had had when he met her.

“Do you like it here? In New York, I mean. I suppose it's not terribly different from London.”

Big cities were fun and busy, and alive. Like Daphne. “I like it very much, though I don't know anyone, except Simon. He's taken me to some clubs, and he's dear about letting me tag along. I suppose it's a great bore for him, but he's very patient.”

“I'm sure it's not a bore for him at all, he must love it.”

“Well, he's very kind. And so are you. Thank you very much for letting me be here.”

“I'm sure you'll be an asset to the firm,” he said formally, they exchanged a smile, and he watched her admiringly as she left his office.

Five o'clock came all too soon, and then six, and he couldn't decide whether to go home to Annabelle, or back to the hospital to see Alex. He didn't want to call and wake her, and the doctor had said she probably wouldn't even be in her room until seven. So he went home first to see Annabelle, ate dinner sitting next to her, watching television, and then put her to bed with a story. Carmen asked if he'd heard from Mrs. Parker, and Annabelle complained that Mommy hadn't called her. And Sam explained that she was probably in meetings all day, and couldn't call them, but he looked unusually somber as he said it. And Carmen was watching him with a look of suspicion. She just knew something was wrong. She had noticed the small tote bag too, and the absence of a real suitcase.

At eight o'clock he changed into jeans, and seemed to hesitate before going back to the hospital. He knew he had to go, but suddenly he didn't want to see Alex. She would be woozy and sick, and probably in a lot of pain, in spite of what the surgeon had said about “ductal” tumors being less painful. They had lopped off her breast after all, how good could that feel? It made him feel sick again as he thought of facing her. Who was going to give her the news? Or would she just know? Could she feel it?

He looked grim when he got to the hospital, and went up to the small, ugly blue room, and much to his chagrin, she was wide awake when he saw her. She was lying in bed, with an IV pole next to her, and an elderly nurse reading a magazine in the light of the single lamp that was lit in the room. Alex was crying softly and staring at the ceiling. But he wasn't sure if she was in pain or if she knew about her breast, and he could hardly ask her.

The nurse looked up as he came in, and Alex explained that he was her husband, and then the nurse nodded and left the room as discreetly as she could, and took her magazine with her. She said she'd be just outside in the hallway.

Sam walked slowly to her bedside, and stood looking down at her. She looked as beautiful as ever, but very tired and pale, a little the way she had looked right after Annabelle was born, but this time she looked anything but happy. He took her right hand in his own, and he could see that her left side and her whole upper body were heavily bandaged.

“Hi, kiddo, how are you?” He looked uncomfortable, and she did nothing to hide her tears. There was reproach in her eyes when they met his.

“Why weren't you here when I got back to the room?” She couldn't have been there long. They had said around seven.

“They told me you wouldn't come back here until tonight. And I wanted to be with Annabelle, I thought that's what you'd want.” It was partially true, and partially he just hadn't wanted to come back here. And she knew that.

“I came back to the room at four. Where were you?” She was relentless in her anguish.

“I was at the office, and then I went home to see Annabelle. I just put her to bed, and then I came back here.” He made it sound innocent and easy, and as though he couldn't have come back a moment sooner.

“Why didn't you call me?”

“I thought you were sleeping,” he said, looking nervous.

And then she looked at him and the floodgates opened. She cried as though she would never stop. Peter Herman had seen her when she came back from the recovery room, and he had told her everything, about the tumor, the mastectomy, the risks, the dangers, the nodes he had taken too, the fact that he thought, and hoped, that the tumor had clean margins and hadn't spread beyond them, which he thought looked very hopeful, and the fact that most likely in four weeks they would be starting chemo. From where Alex was looking at it, she thought her life was over. She had lost a breast, and she could still lose her life. She was disfigured now, and for the next six months she was going to be desperately ill on chemo. She would very probably lose her hair, and just as possibly be permanently sterile after the treatment. Right now, it seemed like there was nothing left, not even her marriage. Sam hadn't even been there for her when she woke up. He hadn't been there when the doctor had told her the devastating news. Herman hadn't wanted to wait to tell her any of it, he didn't want her worrying or guessing, or discovering that the breast was gone, or hearing it from the nurses. He was a firm believer in telling his patients everything, and he had. Alex felt as though he'd killed her. And Sam had done nothing to stop it, or help her.

“I lost my breast,” she kept saying over and over as she cried. “I have cancer …” Sam listened without saying a word, he just held her, and cried along with her. It was much more than he could cope with.

“I'm so sorry …it's going to be all right. He said he thinks they got it.”

“But he doesn't know” Alex sobbed uncontrollably, “and I probably have to have chemo. I don't want it. I want to die.”

“No, you don't,” he said sharply. “Don't even say that.”

“Why not? How are you going to feel when you look at my body?”

“Sad,” he said honestly, which only made her cry more. “I'm very sad for you.” He said it as though it was her problem, and not his. He was very sorry for her, but he didn't want this to become his problem. He didn't want it to kill him, as it had his father, once his mother had cancer. In his mind the two deaths were linked and he was fighting now for his own survival.

“You'll never want to make love to me again,” she sobbed, concerned with lesser problems than he was.

“Don't be stupid. What about blue day?” He tried to make her smile, but he only made her feel worse as she looked up at him in anguish.

“There won't be any more blue days. I have a fifty percent chance of being sterile after the chemo. I'm not supposed to get pregnant for five years, or it could cause a recurrence. And five years from now, I'll be too old to have a baby.”

“Stop thinking the worst about everything. Why don't you just relax and try to look at the bright side?” he said, trying to show an optimism he didn't feel. But Alex wasn't buying.

“What bright side? Are you crazy?”

“He says that losing the breast could mean saving your life. That's goddamn important,” Sam said firmly.

“How would you like to lose one of your testicles? How would that be?”

“It would be miserable, just like this is. I didn't want this to happen, neither did you. But we have to make the best of it.” He was trying, but she didn't want to hear it.

“There is no ‘best of it,' there's me too sick to move for the next six or seven months, disfigured for the rest of my life, and unable to have more children. And then maybe too there's a recurrence.”

“Is there anything else you can think of to depress yourself? How about hemorrhoids and prostate? For chrissake, Alex, I know this is terrible, but don't make it worse than it is.”

“It couldn't be much worse. And don't tell me how to look at it. You're going to walk out of here and go home tonight. You're going to be with Annabelle, and I'm not. You're going to feel fine all year, and when you look in the mirror tomorrow morning nothing will be different. Everything in my life has changed. So don't tell me how to look at anything. You don't understand it.” She was shouting at him, and he had never seen her as miserable or as angry.

“I know. But you still have me, and Annabelle, and you're still beautiful. And you still have your career, and everything that matters. Okay, so you lost a breast. You could have had an accident too. You could be crippled. You can't let this destroy you. You can't do that.”

“I can do anything I damn well want. Don't make me speeches.”

“Then what do you want from me?” he asked, exasperated finally. He didn't know what to say to her. This was not his forte, or the place he wanted to be, or the situation he wanted to be in.

“I want some reality, some sympathy. You wouldn't even listen to me for the last two weeks when I told you this could happen. You didn't want to know how I feel, you don't want to know how scared I am of everything that's going to happen to me. You just want to mouth a lot of platitudes and feed me a lot of bullshit. You weren't even here for chrissake when they told me what had happened to me. You were at your office, making deals, and at home, watching fucking TV with our daughter, so don't tell me how to feel. You don't know shit about what I'm feeling.”

“I guess not,” he said quietly, stunned by her venom. She was furious, at anyone, and everything, and him, because nothing would change this. “I don't know what to say to you, Al. I wish I could change it, but I can't. And I'm sorry I wasn't here.”

“Me too,” she said, and started to cry again. She felt so alone, and so scared, so vulnerable, and so helpless. “What am I going to do?” She looked at him pathetically. “How am I going to work, or be a wife to you, or take care of Annabelle?”

“You just have to do what you can, and let the rest slide for a while. Do you want me to call your office?”

“No.” She glared at him miserably. “I'll call them myself in a few days. Dr. Herman says I might be able to work when I'm on chemo, it'll just depend on how I feel. Some people do, but I don't think they're trial lawyers. Maybe I can do some work at home.” She just couldn't imagine how she was going to manage. Six months of chemo seemed like an eternity to Alex.

“It's too soon to think about all this. You've just had surgery. Why don't you take it easy?”

“And do what? Go to a support group?” The doctor had told her about those too, and she refused even to consider it. She wasn't going to sit around with a lot of other misfits.

“Why don't you just relax?” he said as Alex bristled, and the nurse suddenly appeared and offered Alex a shot for the pain, and some sleeping medicine. The doctor had left orders for both, and Sam told Alex he thought she should take it.

“Why?” She glared at him. “So I stop yelling at you?” She looked like a kid to him and he bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

“Yeah. So you'll shut up for a while, and get some sleep, before you drive yourself crazy.” Everything she had feared had happened to her, in a single morning. And now she had to learn to live with it.

She had a rough road ahead of her, and she knew it. She understood perfectly what lay ahead. Unlike Sam, who still wanted to deny it. “I love you, Alex,” he said gently after the nurse gave her the shot, but Alex didn't answer. She wasn't sleepy yet, but she was too miserable to tell him she loved him. And then, a few minutes later, she started to doze off. She didn't speak to him again, she just fell asleep, holding his hand, and he stood there and cried as he watched her. She looked so tired and so sad, and so broken, all covered in bandages, her beautiful hair like flame, and her body so badly injured.

He tiptoed quietly from the room once she was asleep, and signaled to the nurse that he was leaving. And as he rode down the elevator, he thought of what Alex had said to him. That he could walk away from this, and go home. It wasn't happening to him, just to her. And as he walked slowly home, he couldn't deny it. He was still whole, he wasn't in danger. He had nothing to fear, except losing her, which was so intensely frightening, he couldn't face it. He looked at himself in a store window on the way home, and saw the same man he had always been. Nothing had changed, except that he knew he had lost part of himself that afternoon, the part that was irretrievably bound to Alex. She was leaving him, bit by bit, just as his parents had left him, and he wasn't going to let her take him down with her. She had no right to do that to him, to expect him to die with her. And as he thought of it, he walked home as briskly as he could, as though there were muggers running after him, or demons.

Chapter 7

When Alex woke up the next day, there was a woman sitting in the chair, waiting for her, and the nurse was changing her intravenous. There was relatively little pain, just as Dr. Herman had said, but there was a weight on her heart the size of Hoover Dam as she remembered what had happened.

The woman smiled at her, she was wearing a flowered dress and she had gray hair, and Alex had no idea who she was as she watched her.

“Hi, I'm Alice Ayres. I thought I'd come to see how you're doing.” She had a warm smile and lively blue eyes and she looked old enough to be Alex's mother. Alex tried to sit up, but that was hard, and instead the nurse raised her bed, so she could talk to the woman who'd come to see her.

“Are you a nurse?”

“No, just a friend. I'm a volunteer. I know just what you're going through, Mrs. Parker. Or may I call you Alexandra?”

“Alex.” She stared at her, unable to comprehend what the woman was doing there. Alex's breakfast arrived then, but she told the nurse she didn't want it. It was all soft diet after surgery but all she wanted was a cup of coffee.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Mrs. Ayres said to her as Alex waved her breakfast tray away. “You need your strength and plenty of nutrition.” She was a little like the Fairy Godmother in “Cinderella.” “How about some oatmeal?”

“I hate hot cereal,” Alex said, sounding belligerent, and staring at the older woman. “Who are you and why are you here?” It was all very surrealistic.

“I'm here because I've had the same operation that you did. I know what it's like, and how you feel, probably better than most people do, maybe even your husband. I know how angry you are and how scared you are, and how shocked, and how you feel about the way you'll look. I've had reconstructive surgery,” she explained, handing Alex her cup of coffee. “I'd be happy to show it to you, if you like. It looks pretty good, in fact, it's very good. I don't think most people would know I'd had a breast removed. Would you like to see it?” Alex thought that sounded disgusting.

“I'd rather not, thanks.” Dr. Herman had already explained that she could have an implant put in, and her remaining nipple either “shared” with the other breast, or an artificial one tattooed on the implant. The whole thing sounded horrible, and not worth the trouble. She was wrecked anyway. Why not just leave it? “Why did you come and see me? Who asked you to?”

“Your surgeon put you on the list for visits from our support group. Eventually, you might want to join us for a group, or talk to some of the women about their experiences. It can be very helpful.”

“I don't think so.” Alex glared at her, wishing she would leave, but not wanting to say it. “Pd rather not discuss this with strangers.”

“I understand.” Alice Ayres stood up, smiling gently. “It's not an easy time. And I'm sure you're worried about chemo. We can answer some of those questions too, but so can your doctor. We have a men's group too, if your husband is interested.” She put a little booklet next to Alex's bed, and Alex ignored it.

“I don't think my husband is interested either.” Sam go to a group of husbands of women who lost their breasts to cancer? Not likely. “Thanks anyway.”

“You take care, Alex. I'll be thinking about you,” she said gently, as she touched a foot under the covers, and then left the room. She reported to the nurses that it had been a classic first visit. Alexandra Parker was angry and depressed, completely to be expected. They planned to visit her again on a regular basis, and Alice Ayres made a note to the parent group to send out someone younger. She thought a woman Alex's own age might be more helpful to her. Their youngest group member was twenty-five and she visited most of the younger women. But there were plenty of women Alex's age to draw from.

“What was that all about?” Alex barked at the nurse who had just come on duty for her.

“I think it's fairly routine. They're good people, and they help a lot of women,” her nurse explained as Alex predictably dropped their brochure in the garbage. “Now how would you like a little sponge bath?” Alex glared at her in answer, but she had no choice but to live within the hospital routine. They “bathed” her and she brushed her teeth. She stared out the window from her bed, and then lunch came. More soft, bland food. She didn't touch any of it, and just after that, her surgeon came, and looked at the dressing and the drain. Alex was afraid to look at herself yet, and she looked up at the ceiling, wanting to scream while he changed it. And as soon as he left, Sam called. He was at the office, and planning to come by later that afternoon, he had thought it would do her good to rest and get some sleep. Annabelle was fine, and he said he couldn't wait to see her, and Alex didn't believe him. If he was so anxious to see her why hadn't he come by that morning, or at lunch? He explained that he was going to the Four Seasons with one of his oldest clients. He wanted to introduce Simon and his assistant to some of his clients too. But he was going to drop by and see her on his way home, he promised.

She wanted to hang up on him, but she didn't. She called Annabelle instead, and they had a nice chat about school, and her “trip,” and Alex promised her she'd be home by the weekend. And after that she had a shot for the pain, but she had to admit there wasn't much. But it was easier to drift in and out of sleep and drugs than to contemplate her future, and the absence of her husband. And when she woke up, she called her office. Matt Billings was out, as was Brock, but Elizabeth Hascomb told her that everything was in good control. There had been no emergencies since she'd been gone, and they all missed her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding concerned, but Alex's voice was strong and she sounded a lot better than she had even that morning.

“I'm fine. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“We'll be waiting.”

That afternoon, Dr. Herman told her that she could eat regular meals now and leave as early as the next day, or she could wait until she felt a little stronger. But the incision was healing nicely.

“I'd rather stay,” she said quietly, and surprised him. He had figured her for someone who'd want to rush out in two days. It would have been possible for her, but he always recommended staying just a little bit longer.

“I thought you'd be anxious to leave us.” He smiled, not unaware of the trauma she had gone through.

“I have a three-year-old at home. I'd rather be in better shape when I go back to her, so I don't have so much to explain.”

“I'd say you'll be in pretty good shape by the weekend, and the drain can come out by then, which will leave only the dressing. You've had major surgery, so you'll be tired, but I don't think you'll be in pain. We can handle that with some medication if it's a problem. All you have to do after that is get your strength back. And then in three or four weeks, depending on the rest of your tests, we'll begin treatment.” “Treatment.” Such a benign word for chemotherapy. Just thinking about it made her heart ache.

“What about work?”

“I'd say give it another week. Until the dressings are off, and you're stronger. And then, of course, once you start chemotherapy, you'll have to see how well you're able to cope with work, but if we adjust the doses correctly, you should be able to handle a moderate workload.” When was the last time her workload had been moderate? Maybe the day she'd had Annabelle, and never before or since then. But at least he wasn't saying she couldn't work. He was saying she'd have to try it. That was something.

He left her then, and she sat quietly in a chair staring out the window. She had gone for a walk down the hall, and found that she felt weak and dizzy and oddly out of balance. Her dressings hampered her, and she couldn't move her left arm, but at least she wasn't left-handed.

She was alone in her room when Sam arrived at five o'clock, carrying a big bunch of red roses. And he hesitated in the doorway when he saw her. The look on her face was one of such despair that he didn't even know what to say to her. She'd been sitting there, contemplating her fate and her future. And for just an instant, he had remembered a terrifying image of his dying mother, and wanted to run out of the room, screaming.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” he asked, trying to sound casual, as he set the flowers down, and she only shrugged and didn't answer. How would he feel? But she didn't see that he was shaking.

“I'm okay.” She sounded anything but convincing. Her chest was throbbing a little bit, and the drain annoyed her, but that was to be expected. “Thanks for the flowers.” She tried to sound enthused, but didn't quite make it. “Dr. Herman says I can go back to work after next week.” That was something anyway. And Sam smiled when he heard it, and felt better.

“Well, that ought to cheer you up. When are you coming home?”

“Maybe Friday.” She sounded anything but pleased, and she was worrying about taking care of Annabelle, and what she would tell her about the dressing. “Will you ask Carmen to spend the weekend? I know she needs a day off, but I don't think I can manage yet without her.”

“Sure. And I can take care of Annabelle. She's no problem.” Alex nodded, missing her terribly, and then she looked up at Sam, wondering what their life would be like now. They had spent so much time and energy trying to have another child, and making love on schedule, what would life be like now without that? What would it be like without a breast? How would he look at her? What would it look like? Dr. Herman had showed her photographs so she would be prepared, and they had terrified her. It was just a clean flat slab of flesh, with no nipple, and a diagonal scar where the breast had been. She couldn't even imagine how Sam would react to that when they finally took off her dressing. Dr. Herman had told her she could shower once the drain was removed. The sutures would take longer to dissolve, and after that, she would be left with the same flat, scarred chest she had seen in the pictures.

“Why don't we do something this weekend?” Sam suggested casually, and she stared at him. He was acting as though nothing had happened. “Why don't we call someone and have dinner with friends, or go to a movie, if we have Carmen.” Alex stared at him in disbelief. How could he?

“I don't want to see anyone. What would I say? Gee, I just lost my breast so we thought we'd go out to dinner to celebrate, before I start chemotherapy? For chrissake, Sam, have a little sensitivity. This isn't easy.”

“I'm sure it's not, but you don't have to sit around feeling sorry for yourself either after this. There is life after breasts, you know. You weren't that big anyway, for heaven's sake, so what's the big deal?” He tried to joke with her, but it was a very big deal to her. She had lost a part of her self-image and her self-confidence, and her life was at stake now. That was about as big a deal as you get, no matter how small your breasts were. She hadn't wanted to lose one.

“How are you going to feel about me now?” she asked him honestly, facing him from across the small room. She wanted to hear it, since he had never reassured her about it before the operation. But he felt that the fact that he was there told her everything. To Alex, it didn't. He was passing through once a day for an hour, between office and home, and the rest of his busy life. That was a little too easy.

“What does that mean?” He looked annoyed at the question.

“I'm asking you if it's going to gross you out to see me the way I am now.” She hadn't even seen it herself yet, so she wasn't sure what she was talking about, but she was desperate for reassurance.

“How do I know what I'm going to feel? I can't imagine it makes that much difference. Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it?”

“Like when? Next week? Tomorrow? Now?” There were tears in her eyes again, he wasn't saying what she needed to hear, or what she wanted. And he looked faintly panicked by her question. “Do you want me to show it to you, or would you rather see a picture first, so you're forewarned? Dr. Herman has some great ones, very clear, very graphic. It just looks like a flat piece of meat with no nipple.” Alex saw him go pale and he looked suddenly angry.

“Why are you doing this? Do you want to scare me, or just turn me off before we even start? What's the deal here, Al? Are you mad at me, or just pissed off at life? Maybe you better reconstruct your attitude, before you start worrying about getting your breast back.”

“Who said I was trying to get my breast back?” She looked surprised at what he'd said to her.

“Dr. Herman said you could have reconstructive surgery in a few months, if you were up to it. That sounds like a good idea to me.”

“Would you rather I stay hidden till then?” she asked nastily, and he threw up his hands in obvious irritation.

“You're being a real bitch about this. I'm sorry you lost your breast. I'm sorry you've been ‘disfigured.' I don't know how I'm going to feel when I see it. Okay? I'll let you know. All right?”

“Be sure you do that.” But he had said none of the right things for her. There was no reassurance that it didn't matter to him, that she was beautiful anyway. He just wanted to go on with their life, and pretend it hadn't happened. Dinner and a movie with friends sounded fine to him. He refused to realize how distraught she was over what had happened. And she was making no effort yet to get out of her depression, and he certainly wasn't helping.

“Why don't you just concentrate on getting your strength back and getting home? You'll feel a lot better once you're home with Annabelle, and you can go back to work, and get your life back to normal.”

“How normal do you think it's going to be while I'm on chemotherapy, Sam?” she asked him bluntly.

“As normal as you're willing to let it be,” he said brutally, but not really understanding what was in store for her either. “You don't have to make such a big deal of this, you don't have to punish us too. It's going to be hard on Annabelle if you stay angry like this. You're going to have to make your peace with what happened.” It had only been a day though. “I'm not even sure anymore I know how to help you.”

“Apparently not,” she said unhappily, “you seem to be a little too busy with your own life to be inconvenienced by all this, from what I can tell. You seem to be awfully busy at the moment with Simon and his new clients.”

“I have a busy professional life, so do you. If this were happening to me, you wouldn't be staying home from work, or canceling trials or meetings with your clients either. Try to be realistic. The whole world didn't come to a shrieking stop yesterday because of what happened to you.”

“That's reassuring.”

“I'm sorry,” he said unhappily. “I feel like everything I say just makes you madder.”

“You could try saying it doesn't matter to you, that you love me anyway, with one breast or two, if that's the case. And if not, then I guess you're saying what's true for you. Maybe that's all that matters.”

“How do I know what I'm going to feel? How do you? Maybe you'll never want to have sex with me again after this. What the hell do I know?” He was being painfully honest with her and she wasn't ready for it. Her doctor could have told him that, or any therapist, or even Alex herself, but he wouldn't have listened. He was telling her the truth, as he knew it. And she didn't want to hear it.

“I know that I would love you, no matter what happened to you, no matter how disfigured you were, even if you lost your face, or your balls, or your hair, or had to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.”

“That's very noble of you,” he said coolly, “but it's also a lot of bullshit. How do you know what you would feel if something like that happened to me? You don't know zip until you get there. It's very easy for you to pretend it wouldn't affect you, but maybe it would. Maybe it would turn you off, even if that wasn't the politically correct thing for you to be feeling.”

“Are you saying it will turn you off?”

“I'm saying I don't know, and that's honest. I can't tell you it won't scare me, or make me a little nervous at first. Hell, it's a big change. But at least we can make an effort not to let it rock us to the core. This doesn't have to be the big deal you're making of it. Besides, there's more to life than just breasts and sex and bodies. We're friends too, not just lovers.”

“But I don't want to be just friends,” she said plaintively, starting to cry again, while he tried to hide his exasperation.

“Neither do I, so give it a rest, Al. Just let it be for a while. Let us both get used to this, and see what happens.” Why couldn't he lie to her? Why couldn't he tell her he loved her anyway? Because that wasn't Sam. She had always loved his honesty and integrity, even when it hurt her. And it was hurting her now, terribly. “What I don't understand is how your whole identity can be wrapped up in one breast, and not even a very big one at that. I mean for chrissake, you weren't a topless queen, or a go-go dancer. What's the big deal? You're an attorney. You don't need boobs. You're an intelligent woman. You lost your breast, not your brain, so what's all this craziness about?” It was about losing her life, and a part of her identity, and possibly her sex life. She no longer even felt like the same person.

“I just lost a breast, which even if it was small, I'm still vain enough to not want to be scarred for life … I may lose my hair …my ability to have children …everything's changed, and you're even telling me you're not sure how you're going to feel about me physically. How could I not be freaked out by this, Sam? I'd have to be dead not to feel it.”

“Maybe I just don't get it. If I found out I was sterile next week, I'd be sorry, but I'd be happy we had Annabelle, and let it go at that. Stop making such a big deal out of everything. Your identity is your brain and your life and your career, and everything you are and do and represent, not one boob or two. Who cares?”

“Maybe you do,” she said honestly.

“Yeah. Maybe so. So what? So screw me. Learn to live with it yourself, then maybe I'll feel better about it. But I'm not going to sit around and wring my hands with you, it would drive us both crazy if I did.”

“So what are you saying to me?”

“I'm telling you to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and forget it.” There was something positive in what he said, and yet there was another part of him that was being deeply insensitive to what she was feeling. “I don't want to think about your having cancer all the time. I can't do it.” That was more honest than she knew.

“What do you mean, ‘all the time’?” She looked shocked as she looked at him. “This happened yesterday, and I've seen you twice in two days for less than an hour each time, I wouldn't say we've spent a lot of time on this.”

“I don't think ‘we' should have to. It's something you're going to have to deal with and work out.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“I can't help you, Alex. You have to help yourself.”

“I'll remember that.”

“I'm sorry you're so angry,” he said quietly, which only made her madder.

“So am I.” They sat quietly for a few more minutes and then Sam stood up, and looked at her uncomfortably.

“I guess I should go home to Annabelle. It's getting late, and I promised her I'd come home for dinner.” Alex felt him slipping out of her grasp, and it panicked her. She had said none of the right things to him to elicit his sympathy, and he hadn't said anything right either. She was angry at him for not being there for her. He hadn't been there when she woke up from the surgery, or when they'd told her she'd lost her breast and had cancer, and he hadn't been there all day today. He'd been out with Simon and his clients, at fancy restaurants, making deals and being important. And he didn't seem to understand any of what she was feeling. He didn't understand how shaky she was, or how scared, how unsure of herself suddenly, or of his love for her. And it was too easy for him to just say that one breast or two was unimportant. It was important to her. She cared about how she looked to him, and she cared desperately about whether or not he loved her, and he wasn't saying anything to convince her that he would love her no matter what. In fact, he was reserving judgment to see how it affected him when he saw what it looked like. She was still furious when he left, and she noticed that he kissed her on the forehead again, instead of the lips, as though he was suddenly afraid to touch her.

She sat in her room and cried again that night. She didn't even bother walking down the hall, or calling Annabelle, and she didn't call Sam either. She just wanted to be left alone, and she had her back to the door, when it opened and she heard someone come in. She assumed it was the nurse, and she didn't turn to see. She just sat in her chair and kept on crying.

She felt a hand on her shoulder then, and for a wild moment, she thought it might be Sam, but when she looked up, she was startled to see Elizabeth Hascomb. “Did you come to visit me?” Alex asked her, surprised to see her.

“Yes, I did,” she explained, “but I didn't know it was you until tonight,” suddenly feeling as though she was intruding, but that was just what she needed to do, and she knew it. “I work for the breast surgery support group here, twice a week, and you were on the visiting list tonight when I got here. The card said A. Parker … I couldn't believe it. I asked to be assigned to see if it was you. I hope you don't mind, Alex,” she said gently, and then she put her arms around her like a mother and brought tears to her employer's eyes. “Oh Alex …I'm so sorry …” Alex couldn't even speak for a while, she just sat in Liz's arms and sobbed. She couldn't hold up anymore, there were so many fears and terrors and disappointments to deal with. “I know … I know …just cry …you'll feel better.”

“I'm never going to feel better again,” Alex said miserably, looking at her through her tears, and Liz smiled.

“Yes, you will. It's hard to believe now, but you will. We've all been through it.”

“You too?” Alex was surprised, she didn't know that about Liz.

“I've had both breasts removed,” she explained, “years ago. I wear a prosthesis. But they do wonderful reconstructive work now. At your age you should think about that. Not yet though,” she said gently. She seemed so wise and loving, and Alex was so relieved that Liz had come to see her.

“I have to have chemotherapy.” Alex started to cry harder again and Liz sat and held her hand, grateful she had found her. She had never suspected what Alex was going through, although she realized now that she should have.

“I had chemo. And hormone therapy too. I've had it all, but that was seventeen years ago, and I'm fine. You will be too, if you do everything they tell you to do. You have a wonderful doctor.” And then she looked at her more pointedly. Alex was in bad shape and she could see it. “How's Sam taking all this?”

“First he wouldn't even acknowledge it was happening, he kept telling me they wouldn't find anything. And now he's annoyed that I'm upset. He thinks I'm making too much of it, and losing a breast is ‘no big deal,' but at the same time he's saying it might bother him, and he just doesn't know how he feels about it, he'll let me know when he sees it.”

“He's scared, Alex. It's frightening for him, too. That's small consolation for you, but some men just can't cope with the threat of their wife having cancer.”

“His mother died of cancer when he was a kid, and I think this reminds him of it. Either that, or he's just being a bastard.”

“Maybe a little of both. What you need to do now is concentrate on you. Never mind him. Sam can take care of himself, especially if he's not going to take care of you. What you need to do is get as strong as you can, and stay that way. You have to fight the disease. You can worry about everything else later.”

“But what if he's disgusted by me, if my body frightens him?” That was terrifying her, as Liz looked at her calmly. All her sympathy was for Alex, not Sam. She knew. She'd been through it, and it hadn't been easy for her either. Her husband had had a hard time coping at first, but eventually he had come around, and been a big support to Liz. But she knew, better than anyone, that with or without Sam, Alex had to survive this.

“He'll have to grow up, won't he? He's a big boy, he can figure it out. He knows what you need now, but if he can't provide it, then you have to get it from friends, or family, or a support group. We're here for you. I'm here, anytime you need me.” Alex started to cry again then, and Liz took her in her motherly arms and held her.

She gave Alex a few exercises to do, and told her some things to think about, and she didn't leave her any booklets. She knew Alex too well to do that. Alex had no patience with brochures or superficial information. She got right to the heart of things. And for her, the heart of things right now was survival.

“When are you going home?”

“Probably Friday.”

“Fine. Get strong, sleep a lot, take the medications, if you're in pain. Eat regularly, get as healthy as you can before you start chemo. You're going to need all your energy for that,” she said wisely.

“I'm coming back to the office after next week.” She said it tentatively as though asking Liz's opinion. It was suddenly very comforting to have someone to talk to who'd been there. And Liz had survived it.

“A lot of women go back to work, even during chemo. You'll just have to figure what works best for you, when to rest, when to stay home, when to take the most advantage of your energy. It's a little bit like waging a war. All you want to do is win. Never forget that. And no matter how miserable it is, chemo will help you win this.”

“I wish I believed that.”

“Don't listen to the horror stories, and just keep your focus on the goal. Win, win, win. Don't even let Sam distract you from that. If he can't help you, forget him for now.” Alex laughed at the vehemence with which Liz said it.

“You make me feel better.” And then she looked at her secretary sheepishly, amazed at this other life she'd known nothing about. It was incredible how there were things about people no one knew, and that were so important. Just as no one had known she was coming to have a biopsy, and possibly surgery, while she was away from the office.

“I think I was very rude this morning to some woman from your support group. Alice something,” Alex said apologetically, and Liz smiled at her.

“Ayres. She's used to it. Maybe one day you'll do something like this. It means a lot to a lot of people.”

“Thank you, Liz,” she said, and meant every word of it.

“May I come back and see you tomorrow? Maybe at lunchtime?”

“I'd love that. Just don't tell anyone at the office. I don't want them to know. Although eventually, I'll have to tell Matthew, probably once I start the chemo.”

“That's up to you. I won't say anything.”

They embraced again, and Liz left, and when Alex went to bed that night, she felt better than she had in days, and surprisingly less angry. She lay in bed thinking about everything, and she decided to call Sam and tell him she loved him.

But the phone rang for a long time, and eventually Carmen answered. It was ten o'clock by then, and she sounded as though she'd been sleeping. “I'm sorry, Carmen. Is Mr. Parker there?”

Carmen hesitated for a moment, and then answered with a yawn. She could see their bedroom door open at the end of the hall, and no light on.

“No, sorry, Mrs. Parker. He's not here. How are you?”

“I'm fine,” she said, sounding a little more convincing than she had that afternoon. “Did he go to a movie?”

“I don't know. He went out after Annabelle had dinner. He didn't eat with her, so maybe he went out with friends. He didn't tell me, and I think he forgot to leave me a number.” It was always Alex who remembered to leave the number where they could be reached when they went out for the evening.

She wondered where Sam had gone, but he'd probably been upset after their conversation at the hospital, and he'd gone out for something to eat, and a walk. He did that sometimes when he was troubled. Sam needed to be alone to resolve his problems.

“Well, just tell him I called.” She hesitated again, and then, “And tell him I love him. And kiss Annabelle for me in the morning.”

“I will, Mrs. Parker. Good night …and God bless you.”

“God bless you too, Carmen …Thank you.” She wasn't sure if He had blessed her lately or not, but at least she was alive, and in three days she'd be back home with her daughter. And three weeks after that, the fight would begin in earnest. But after talking to Liz, she was determined to win it.

She sat in her hospital bed that night for a long time, thinking of Liz, and Sam, and Annabelle, and all the good things in her life she was going to have to concentrate on if she was going to win the war…. Annabelle, she reminded herself, as she drifted off to sleep after a shot …Annabelle …Sam …Annabelle, and as she thought of her, she remembered holding her in her arms, and nursing her as a baby.

Chapter 8

After he'd left the hospital, the phone had rung as soon as Sam sat down to dinner with Annabelle. It was Simon. He had arranged an impromptu dinner with some clients from London. Did Sam want to join them? He explained that he was just about to have dinner with his daughter.

“Well, stop eating, man. They're a grand bunch, Sam. You'll like them. And I think they're important. They represent the biggest textile mills in Britain, and they're aching to make investments over here. They're good men, you really should meet them. And I've got Daphne with me.” Was that supposed to be an incentive? Sam wasn't sure, and he argued for a little while. After haranguing with Alex for over an hour, he was exhausted. But he was also depressed, and the prospect of sitting around alone at home after Annabelle went to bed depressed him further.

“I really shouldn't.”

“That's nonsense.” Simon held firm. “Your wife's out of town, isn't she? Why don't you give your tot a little kiss, and come out with us? We're meeting at Le Cirque at eight, and then Daphne has found some ridiculous place downtown to take them dancing. You know the Brits, they've got to party while they're away or they feel they've been cheated. They're worse than the Italians, because it's so fucking boring in England. Come on, man, stop whining. We'll expect you at eight. Done?”

“Done. I'll be there. I might be there five minutes late, but I'll come.” He wanted to put Annabelle to bed and read her a story.

He went back to the kitchen then and sat with her, until bedtime. And after he'd read Goodnight Moon to her again, and turned off all but the night-light, he went to his bedroom and changed his shirt and shaved, and thought about Alex. It had been a rough couple of days for both of them, and he was beginning to wonder just how rough it would be when she got home on Friday. She was making a real issue of the surgery and the missing breast. And the truth was that it frightened him more than a little. Who wouldn't be worried about seeing that? There was no way it could be anything but very ugly. But lie didn't want to tell her that. He wished she wouldn't push him about it. He remembered his mother asking him again and again if he loved her, before she died, and he had to close his eyes and force her voice out of his head, as he thought of Alex.

He brushed his hair, washed his face, and splashed on some after-shave, and by the time he left, he looked as though he had just stepped off the cover of GQ in a dark gray suit, and a white shirt. He looked like just what he was, one of the most exciting businessmen in New York, and heads turned, as they always did, when he got to Le Cirque. Half the people there knew who he was, and had read about him, the others wondered who he was because he was so good-looking, mostly the women. He was so used to it, he never paid attention to it anymore, and it was usually Alex who teased him about it. She accused him of leaving his fly open in the hope that women would watch him. And he thought of that now as he made his way across the restaurant and smiled, thinking of his wife. But when he thought of her, it was as she had been before, not as she was now, deformed and angry, at New York Hospital.

“Glad you could make it, Sam!” Simon stood up and greeted him the moment he arrived, and introduced him to everyone. There were four Englishmen, and three American girls that someone had introduced to them. They were all very pretty, two were models, and one was an actress. And then there was Daphne, which left only Sam and Simon unescorted. They were a large group in a small restaurant, and the noise was deafening. Sam managed to have an intelligent conversation nonetheless with one of the Englishmen, and on his other side was Daphne, who spent a lot of time talking to one of the models. They finally got to talk to each other over dessert, while the others drank and chatted.

“I hear your wife is a very important attorney,” she said conversationally to him, and he nodded. Somehow, right now, talking about Alex seemed painful, and it was easier not to.

“She's a litigator with a firm called Bartlett and Paskin.”

“She must be very intelligent, and very powerful.”

“She is.” He nodded, but something in the way he said it told Daphne that this wasn't a comfortable subject.

“Do you have children?”

“A little girl named Annabelle,” he smiled at that one, “she's three and a half and adorable.”

“I have a four-year-old son in England,” she said easily.

“You do?” He looked startled. Somehow she seemed too young for a husband or children, although he knew she was twenty-nine, but still it surprised him. Everything about her suggested she was single.

“Don't look so shocked,” she laughed at him, “I'm divorced. Didn't Simon tell you?”

“No, he didn't.”

“I was married to a shocking rotter at twenty-one. He finally ran off with someone else and we got divorced, which was why everyone in the family thought it would do me good to get away for a year. Therapy, I think you call it here. We call it a bit of a holiday,” she smiled at him.

“And what about your son?”

“He's very happy with my mother,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You must miss him.”

“I do. But we're not quite as sentimental about children in England as you are over here. We ship them off to boarding school at seven, you know. He'll be away at school in three years, and eventually at Eton. And I think it'll do him good to get a bit detached from Mummy in the meantime.” It was not the kind of thing he could imagine himself doing. He would have been heartbroken without Annabelle, but Daphne was very cool, and very aware of what she wanted. “Does that shock you?” She could see in his eyes that it surprised him.

“A little,” he said honestly, with a smile. “It's not exactly the image we have of motherhood over here.” But on the other hand she didn't look like a motherly type, and maybe she wanted some freedom before she was any older.

“I think as a nation we're a bit more cold-blooded than you are. Americans seem to get terribly wound up about what they ought to be doing, and what's expected of them, and what they should be feeling. Britons just do it. It's rather simple.”

“And a little self-centered.” He liked talking to her, very much in fact. She was smart and honest and totally open about who she was and what she wanted.

“It's terribly simple, you go after what you want, when you want it, without apologizing, or pretending that you're doing anything other than what you are. I rather like it. Things seem a bit more exaggerated here. Everyone's always apologizing for what they're doing, or not doing, or not feeling.” She laughed, and Sam liked the sound of it. It was an unbridled sound of almost sensual amusement, and he could imagine her easily with her clothes off and totally unembarrassed. “Have you ever been divorced?” she asked bluntly, and he laughed at the question.

“No, I haven't.”

“Most Americans have, or at least that's the impression they give me.”

“Was your divorce very traumatic?” It was an oddly personal conversation between two strangers, but he was enjoying it. There was something totally open and abandoned about her.

“Not at all. It was a great relief. He was a complete bastard. For the life of me, I can't imagine how we stayed married for so long, seven years. It was quite dreadful, I assure you.”

“Who did he run off with?” He liked being somewhat forward with her. It was fun playing the game of discovering things about her.

“A barmaid, naturally. Quite a pretty one though. He's already left her. And he's living in Paris with some girl who says she's an artist. He's quite mad, but fortunately he takes good care of Andrew, our son, so I don't need to panic.” She seemed anything but panicked, she seemed completely in control of any situation. And more than one of the Englishmen were eyeing her with interest. She looked as though she could have had anyone she wanted.

“Were you in love with him?” Sam asked her, feeling brazen.

“Probably. For a while anyway. At twenty-one, it's awfully difficult to tell the difference between love and good sex. I'm not sure I ever figured out which one it was.” She smiled cheekily at him, and as he looked at her, he wished suddenly that he were young enough to have her. She was terrific. But then he thought of Alex. And it was as though Daphne saw that.

“And what about you? Are you in love with your wife? I hear she's very pretty.” She was, for forty-two, for any age. But she was not quite as outrageous or even as striking as Daphne and he knew it.

“Yes, I love her,” he answered firmly, as Daphne watched him intently.

“That's not what I asked you, is it? I asked if you were in love with her. There's a difference,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Is there? We've been married for more than seventeen years. That's a long time, you get very attached to someone by then. I love her very much,” he said, as though trying to convince himself, but he still hadn't answered Daphne's question.

“Are you telling me you don't know if you're still in love with her? Were you ever?” she persisted, playing cat and mouse with him, but he didn't mind it.

“Of course I was.” He sounded shocked at the question, and Simon was amused by the intense look on their faces from across the table. They were huddled together, as though solving all of life's greatest problems.

“Then when did it change? When did you stop loving her?” Daphne accused, sounding like a lawyer, and Sam wagged a finger at her.

“I never said that. That's a terrible thing to say.” Especially now. But all he could think about as he looked at her was Daphne.

“I didn't say it. You did. You said you were in love with her, but you don't seem to be able to tell me if you are now,” she said, looking incredibly sexy as she persisted.

“Sometimes marriage is like that. There are dead spots in the water sometimes, when you kind of run dry and get stale, and none of the right things seem to happen.”

“Is this one of those times?” she asked, her voice a velvet purr that tore at his insides.

“Maybe. It's hard to say.”

“For any particular reason? Did anything happen?”

“That's a long story,” he said almost sadly.

“Have you had affairs?” she asked bluntly, and this time he laughed at her.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're outrageous?” And beautiful …and sensual …and have skin like velvet….

“Completely.” She smiled dazzlingly at him. “Actually, I pride myself on it.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't,” he tried to chide her unsuccessfully.

“At my age, I can do almost anything I want. I'm not quite old enough to be held seriously accountable, and old enough to know what I'm doing. I hate really young girls, don't you?” She leapt from one subject to another, as she flipped her long black hair over her bare shoulders, and she was incredibly alluring. In some ways, she was so much like Alex, and in others she was very different. She was much bolder, more outrageous, yet she had that razor-sharp mind, and the same long, lanky body. But she was much more overtly sexual than Alex had ever been, and Sam was embarrassed to admit that he liked it, but he hoped that no one knew it. She made him constantly want to tease her back, to play with her, to play a game that neither of them could lose. But he also knew full well that he was not free to play it. She knew that too. But it didn't seem to stop her from playing.

“What about you?” he teased her in answer to her question about young girls. “Do you like young men, or old ones?”

“I like all men,” she said naughtily, “but I prefer men your age,” she said smoothly.

“Shame on you,” he scolded softly, “that was pretty obvious.”

“I'm always obvious, Sam. I hate wasting time.”

“Me too. I'm married.”

“Is that a problem?” Her eyes bore straight into his, and he knew he had to be fair here.

“I think so. I don't do this.”

“That's too bad. It could be amusing.”

“I want more in life than ‘amusing.' That's a dangerous sport. I haven't played it in years. That's a game for a single man. The lucky devils.” He laughed right into her eyes, wishing for just an instant that he were younger and free again. She made him feel good, even if just for a minute. It was like eating cream puffs.

“I like you,” she said honestly. She liked the way he played fair and square and she thought his wife was a lucky woman.

“I like you too, Daphne. You're a terrific girl. You almost make me wish I were single.”

“Will you come to the discotheque with us after dinner?”

“I probably shouldn't. But I might.” He smiled at her, thinking about how much he'd have liked to dance with her, but how dangerous it might be, particularly right now, with Alex in the state she was in, and the tension between them.

But after they left the restaurant, the limousine was just standing there, and Daphne took his hand and pulled him in with the others, and he didn't have the heart to resist her. They went all the way downtown, to a place in SoHo he'd never heard of, and there was a wonderful blues band wailing away, and it seemed inevitable that they wound up in each other's arms, dancing in the dark nightclub, as he felt her body pressed against his, and he had to force himself repeatedly to think of Alex.

“I should go,” he said finally. It was very late, and there was a growing feeling of duplicity to what they were doing. There was no fooling himself now. He was married and she wasn't. No matter how attractive she was, he couldn't do this.

“Are you angry at me?” she asked softly, as he paid for their drinks, and he prepared to leave her with Simon.

“Of course not. Why should I be?” He was surprised by her question.

“I've made a shocking play for you tonight. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was apologizing for her behavior.

“You didn't. You flattered me. I'm twenty years older than you are, and believe me, if I could, I'd be after you in a flash, but I can't.”

“You flatter me,” she said demurely, looking at him with eyes that tore his heart out.

“No, but I'd like to.” And then he volunteered something he hadn't meant to. “My wife is very sick.” He looked away as he said it, trying not to think of everything that had happened in the last two days, or the words that had passed between them. “It made things a little difficult. I'm not sure what's going to happen.”

“Very sick?” She didn't want to say the word “cancer,” but he understood what she was asking.

“Very sick,” he confirmed to her with a look of sorrow.

I'm sorry.

“Me too. That's not easy for her, or for me. And it makes things a little confusing.”

“I didn't mean to add to the confusion,” she said, sitting so close to him that he could see down her dress and he loved what he saw there.

“You didn't add to the confusion at all. Don't apologize. This is the most fun I've had in years …and I need it, very badly.” He looked at her again and something came between them just then that surprised him, there was an exchange of real feelings. This wasn't playtime anymore, this was a person he could talk to, and suddenly he didn't want to leave her. “Shall we have a last dance?” It was not what he had intended at all, and he was annoyed at himself for a moment, and then overwhelmed with tenderness and desire for her as they danced cheek to cheek to the music. Her body molded against his, it was as though he'd been made for her and she for him, and they danced through two more songs, and finally he forced himself to leave her. He walked her back to Simon, regretfully, like a borrowed jewel he hated to return, but knew he had to.

“You two seem to be having a good time,” he said pointedly. He could see what had been happening, and he was intrigued by it. Sam didn't seem the type for extramarital adventures, but he was sure coming on to his cousin. Then again maybe he was all talk, he was going home, wasn't he? “She's a little vixen, isn't she?” Simon teased.

“Take good care of her,” Sam said seriously, and then left them. He was lost in thought all the way home in the cab, remembering what it had been like dancing with her. It was a memory he wouldn't soon forget, and as he walked into the apartment, he felt guilty toward Alex. And even more so, when he walked into his bedroom and saw Carmen's message from her on his pillow. But that night it wasn't Alex's face he saw as he drifted off to sleep. It was Daphne's.

Chapter 9

He called Alex the next morning when he got up, but the nurse said she was in therapy, and wouldn't be back for half an hour. And by then, he was on his way downtown to the office. He had a client waiting for him, and a thousand phone calls to make, and he didn't have a chance to call her again. And after his clients left, he ran into Daphne in the hallway. Her face lit up like spring the moment she saw him, but she was extremely polite and businesslike as they chatted for a few minutes, and then she walked slowly back to his office with him and said that she hoped she hadn't made a nuisance of herself the night before. She had gotten carried away, and from now on, it would be strictly business, she promised.

“How disappointing,” he laughed at her. “I think I was the nuisance.”

“Not at all.” Her voice was a caress, but her behavior was completely proper, and very English. “I don't usually make a habit of chasing married men. You're just so attractive, Sam, you really should be sprayed with dark paint, or have a bag over your head before you go out with strangers. You're really quite dangerous.” She flattered him and she played, and he loved it.

“I suppose I should have stayed home,” he said unconvincingly, “but I had an awfully good time, particularly at the nightclub.”

“So did I,” she said hauntingly, and suddenly they both realized they were flirting.

“What do we do about this?” He acknowledged it with a smile before she did.

“I'm not sure yet. Cold showers, I suppose. I've never tried that.”

“Maybe we should try them together,” he said, and then regretted it. He couldn't seem to handle being anywhere near her, all he wanted was to be with her, and charm and seduce her. This had never happened to him before, and he had no idea what to do to stop it. They were like matchsticks near a flame, and the conflagration was instant. “We're just going to have to behave,” he said finally and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she saluted him with a smile, and then disappeared down the hall to her office next to Simon's. But as she went, he stood there watching her, unable to keep his eyes off her figure.

“Watch out!” Larry, his old partner, said as he passed him in the hall. “She's dangerous …English girls are,” he whispered.

“Why has no one ever warned me?” Sam pretended to moan as he went back to his own office. And as though to clear his head, he called Alex.

“Where were you last night?” she asked plaintively. “I called you.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I was out with Simon and some new clients from London. He called after I got home and talked me into it. We went to Le Cirque for dinner.” He suddenly felt as though he was saying too much and owed her an explanation. “How are you feeling today?”

“Okay,” she said, still sounding depressed. “I saw Liz Hascomb last night, it turns out she's a volunteer here for one of the support groups.”

“That's nice,” he said, feeling alienated from her. All she talked about was her illness and the things that related to it. “Do you think she'll tell people at your office?” He knew how much she wanted to keep this private, but she sounded confident when she answered.

“I don't think so. Liz is very discreet. But she was pretty surprised when she saw me …and very help-fizl”

“I'm glad.”

“How's Annabelle?”

“Great. She's getting all excited about Halloween. She keeps trying on her costume.” Tears sprang to Alex's eyes as she listened.

“Are you coming up today?” She said it hesitantly, as though she wasn't sure if she could count on him anymore, and hearing that in her voice hurt him.

“Of course I am. I'll stop by on my way home.” She'd been hoping he'd come for lunch, but she didn't want to press him. He told her he was staying in, and trying to get some work done.

But when he tried to concentrate, all he found he could think of was Daphne. It was nightmarish. He had a sick wife, a young child, and a load of responsibilities, and all he could think of was Simon's hot little cousin from Britain. It put him in a rotten mood by the time he saw Alex. He was feeling guilty and on edge and he was sorry he'd ever met Daphne. He didn't need any more complications in his life, but he was suddenly obsessed with her, like a drug he had to have and had never tasted.

“What's up? You're all wound up.” Alex spotted it immediately, which annoyed him even more. It was like a neon sign someone had hung around his neck and it kept flashing the word “Daphne.”

“Don't be silly,” he snapped at her, without meaning to, “I'm just worried about you. We can't wait for you to come home on Friday.”

“Have you said anything to Annabelle yet?”

“Of course not.”

“I think we ought to tell her I had a little accident on my trip.”

“Why say anything?”

There it was. Denial again. It never ceased to amaze Alex. “I'm wearing a bandage. I'm going to have a scar, my breast is gone. I'm not feeling well. She can't jump all over me. How do you think we'd get away with not telling her anything, Sam? She's not stupid.”

“You don't have to parade around naked in front of her.”

“For the rest of my life? She takes baths with me, she watches me get dressed. I've never hidden my body from her. Besides, in a few weeks I'm going to be sick, and apparently very tired, from the chemotherapy. She needs to know that.”

“Why do you have to keep making so much about this thing? Why does it have to be Annabelle's problem, and mine? Why can't you just live with it quietly? I don't understand it.”

“Neither do I. I don't understand how you can keep pretending this isn't happening. It's not just happening to me, it is happening to all of us, at least to the extent that you both have to understand it.”

“She's three and a half years old for chrissake. What do you want from her? Sympathy? Is that it? Alex, this is sick.”

“I think you're crazy.”

“Stop whining about everything, stop turning it into a nightmare for everyone. Talk to a therapist, do something, go to a group, but don't put it on me and Annabelle like a lead weight. Don't punish us for your misfortunes.” She turned her back on him then and looked out the window.

“I'd like you to go now.” Her tone was icy.

“That would be a pleasure.” He stormed out of her hospital room and he never called her that night. Nor did she call him. She called Annabelle and kissed her good night, but she didn't ask to speak to Sam, which only Carmen noticed.

He stayed home alone that night, thinking of what lay ahead of them, and he didn't like it. She was going to make a big deal about everything, her scar, her missing breast, her health, and eventually her “treatment,” her chemotherapy, and then they were going to have to hear about her hair, or the lack of it, and how sick she was, and then months and years of waiting to hear if her tests were all right, if it had recurred, if she was going to live another year. He just couldn't take it. It was just like his mother. And this was not how he wanted to spend the rest of his days, listening to her daily reports about her cancer. Suddenly he saw her as a tragic figure trying to swallow him alive and ruin his life. The Alex he had known and loved had disappeared, and in her place was this angry, frightened, depressing woman.

They spoke twice on Thursday about Annabelle, but they agreed it was better if he didn't come to see her. But Liz Hascomb did. She had come every day since discovering that Alex was there, and what had happened.

And on Friday, Sam came at noon to take her home from the hospital. It was the first time he had seen her in two days, and she looked suddenly very fragile when he saw her. She was wearing a dress she had asked him to bring her. It was a loose knit that fit easily over her bandage, and for the most part concealed it. And he had brought her a bright blue coat to wear over it. She hadn't bothered to put any makeup on, but she looked tall and thin, her hair was clean, and falling generously over her shoulders. She looked better than he had expected her to, but she also looked very frightened. Her eyes seemed huge, and her face pale, and he saw that her hands shook, as she put her nightgown away in her tote bag.

“Are you feeling all right, Alex? Are you in pain?” He was surprised by how unnerved she looked. She had actually looked better to him on Tuesday and Wednesday, and he wondered if she had had some kind of surgical setback. It made him feel guilty again for not seeing her the day before, but he just couldn't take the pressure. But now she looked so upset and so nervous.

“I'm okay,” she said a little hoarsely. “It's just kind of scary going home. No nurses, no help with my dressings, no volunteers from the support group. Suddenly, I have to go out in the world again, and everything is different, or at least I am. And what do I say to Annabelle when I see her?” Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of it, she had cried about it with Liz Hascomb the night before, and Liz kept reassuring her that everything Alex was feeling was completely normal.

“Then why does Sam keep acting like I'm crazy?” she had asked her.

“Because he's scared too. And that's normal too. The only problem with Sam is that he doesn't admit it.”

And he didn't look afraid now, as he put an arm around Alex and picked up her tote bag. He looked completely in control, and very calm, as they rode downstairs in the elevator and got into a limousine he had hired for the occasion.

The car drove them home, and the apartment was quiet when they got there. Carmen had picked Annabelle up at school, and taken her straight to ballet. Alex wanted to settle in before she got home, and change into a dressing gown, but she was amazed at how exhausted she was by the time she got there. She was drained by all her emotions. And it depressed Sam to see her change into her nightgown. She had her back to him, and she put her dressing gown on before she turned around, so all he saw was pink satin when she turned to face him.

“Why don't you stay dressed? It might worry Annabelle to see you in your nightgown.”

“I'm really tired. I thought I'd lie down.”

“You can lie down in your dress,” he reproached her. He thought she was playing invalid again, and she knew it. But he didn't know how tired she was, or how worn out, or how afraid of seeing their little girl and what she would say. It was all very upsetting and desperately scary. And as she lay on their bed and turned on the TV, she saw Sam put his coat on. He had brought her the lunch that Carmen had left for them and now suddenly, he was disappearing.

“Where are you going?” She was afraid to be alone. She was suddenly afraid of everything, and she was sorry she had come home, but eventually she had to.

“I'm going back to the office,” he explained. “I'll try and come home early this afternoon. I've got a meeting with Larry and Tom I just couldn't cancel. Call me if you need me.” She nodded and he blew her a kiss, but she noticed that he didn't come near her. He hadn't kissed her properly since her surgery, and she wondered how long it would be before he would come near her again.

The last thing she wanted to do was pressure him, but she felt so lonely while he kept his distance.

Alex lay quietly on their bed for a long time, waiting for Annabelle to come home, thinking about what to say to her. She thought of many things, but the moment she saw her, everything she'd planned to say to her was suddenly forgotten. All she could think of was how adorable she was, how much she loved her, and how much she had missed her.

Annabelle gave a huge squeal when she saw Alex standing there, waiting for her, in the doorway to her bedroom. Alex had heard the elevator, and then Carmen's key in the front door, and her whole body was shaking as she waited.

“Mommy!” she screamed, and then hurled herself into Alex's arms, as Alex tried to protect herself from the blow, but she couldn't. She winced painfully, and Carmen saw it. But Annabelle only saw that her mother was home, and she was quick to step back and look up at her impishly.

“What did you bring me from your trip?”

Suddenly Alex realized that she had completely forgotten, as Annabelle's face fell. “You know what? They didn't have anything good at all, not even at the airport. I think maybe you and I will have to go to F.A.O. Schwarz next week, and see what we can find there. How does that sound?”

“Wow!” Annabelle clapped her hands, instantly forgetting her disappointment. She loved going to F.A.O. Schwarz with her mother. And then she looked surprised when she saw Alex was in her nightgown.

“Why are you in your nightie?” she questioned her suspiciously just as Sam had said she would. In many ways, she was a lot like Alex. She saw everything, and wanted to know why things happened.

“I was taking a nap before you came home, and I had kind of a little accident in Chicago.”

“You did?” Annabelle looked impressed, and then very worried. “Did you get hurt?” She looked as though she was about to cry, and Alex quickly kissed her to reassure her.

“Kind of.” She was still working on her story.

“Did you get a Band-Aid?” Alex nodded. “Can I see it?” She opened her dressing gown with trembling hands, and Carmen gasped when she saw the enormous dressing. She knew instantly that something terrible had happened, and her eyes flew to those of her employer. “Does it hurt?” Annabelle asked, still fascinated by the size and location of her bandage.

“A little bit,” Alex said honestly, “we have to be a little bit careful we don't bump it.”

“Did you cry?” She nodded, and instinctively looked up at Carmen, whose eyes filled with tears when she saw her. She reached out and gently touched Alex's arm, and the gesture touched Alex deeply. Annabelle ran to her room then to get her doll, and Carmen scolded her.

“Why didn't you tell me, Mrs. Parker? Are you okay?”

“I will be,” she said flatly. It was clearly her breast, but Carmen still didn't know the full extent of the damage, although she had already guessed it from the shape of Alex's profile.

Annabelle came bounding back into the room, carrying three dolls and a book, and she was full of tales from ballet and school, and she had made a drawing for her, and could hardly wait for Halloween. There was going to be a parade at school, and Katie Lowenstein was giving a party. She had a thousand news items to share, and Alex suddenly wondered how she had survived five whole days without her. Just seeing her brought her back to life, and gave her something to fight for.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Parker?” Carmen asked her repeatedly while the two played on Alex's bed, and she brought her a cup of tea and a chicken sandwich, and urged her to eat it. And although she wasn't hungry, she remembered Liz's words about building up her strength, and she forced herself to eat it. Liz called that afternoon, to see how she was doing at home, and she was happy to hear Alex sounding so much better. Annabelle had improved her spirits immeasurably, but later, when she took off her dressing gown because she was warm, she noticed that Annabelle shied away from her a little bit. The dressing scared her. Quietly, Alex put her dressing gown back on and reminded herself not to let Annabelle see the bandage more than she had to. In some ways, Sam was right. She didn't have to make it their problem, and she didn't intend to. She needed their love and their support, but the one thing she didn't want was their pity, or to scare them. In some ways, Sam was just as skittish as their daughter.

Late that afternoon, Carmen came to take Annabelle for her bath, and she asked to bathe with her mother instead, in the marble tub, with her Mommy's fancy bubbles.

“You can take a bath in my tub, sweetheart, with my bubbles. But I can't get my big Band-Aid wet till next week.” In the hospital, they had been putting a big garbage bag over it when she took a shower. “You go ahead and take a bath without me. Okay?” Annabelle agreed, as Alex glanced at the clock. It was five, and she had thought that Sam said he would come home early. But Alex knew Friday afternoons were always long for him. It was always hard, wrapping up all the loose ends before the weekend.

As it turned out, Sam was at his office taking care of the details of his latest deal, but he was also stalling.

“Still hard at work?” Daphne asked casually as she glanced into his office at five-fifteen. She was just leaving for the weekend herself. She and Simon were going to Vermont with friends from England. Everyone had told them about the remarkable turning of the leaves, and Daphne had insisted she wanted to see it.

“It's beautiful,” Sam confirmed, wishing he were going with her. He ran a hand through his hair, and looked somewhat grim. He knew it was time to go home, but he'd been dreading it. The tension with Alex was palpable, and even Annabelle wouldn't ease it.

“What about you? Are you doing something fun?” she asked, hating to leave him. He looked so sad and so alone, as though he had no place to go, and didn't want to leave the office.

“Not really. My wife just came home from the hospital. I think we'll be taking it pretty easy.”

“I'm sorry, Sam,” she said softly, as their eyes met dangerously again and he smiled gently.

“Thanks, Daphne. Have fun. I'll see you on Monday.” She nodded, wanting to walk across the room and put her arms around him, but he looked so serious she didn't dare. Instead, she just watched him for a moment, and then blew him a kiss and left the room, wishing she could spend the weekend with him and not Simon and their friends from England.

And at five-thirty, he ran out of excuses. He put on his coat, and went downstairs, and walked a few blocks before taking a cab home. He was home before six, and Alex looked up at him in surprise when she saw him. She had been playing with Annabelle and reading her a story. Carmen was making dinner for them, and she had insisted that she wanted to stay for the weekend.

“Hi. How was your day?” She tried to sound casual, but he looked awkward with her, and when he answered, he sounded like a stranger.

“Fine. Sorry I'm late, it was a crazy afternoon.”

“No problem. I kept busy with Annabelle. We had a great time.”

They all had dinner at the table in the kitchen, and Annabelle talked more than either of them. And much to Alex's surprise, she didn't seem to sense the tension between her parents. She was so happy to have her mother home, she was flying high and full of funny stories and jokes and new songs, and unintelligible tales about her friends. It was a lively dinner. And then they put her to bed, and Carmen cleaned up the kitchen. But when Alex and Sam went to their own room, suddenly the conversation ran dry and she didn't know what to say to him, and he seemed to have nothing at all to say to her. He looked tired and distracted.

“Everything okay at work?” she asked, wondering why he was so nervous.

“Fine.” But he couldn't ask her the same thing. She hadn't been to her office all week. Everything she knew was about her illness.

He turned on the television, and sought refuge in it, and eventually he fell asleep, as Alex watched him. She was drained from the emotions of coming home to them, but she was glad she was here. She just didn't know what to do with Sam. But Liz had reassured her again, when she called her that afternoon, and told her to be patient. She said she'd had the same problems with her husband at first too, the awkwardness, the fears about her illness, the resentment too, but eventually he had adjusted.

Sam woke up after the late news, stirred, and looked up at her, as though surprised to see her there next to him, and then, without a word, he went to change into his pajamas. She had already bathed as best she could, and changed her nightgown again, and then she'd put on a bed jacket so the dressing wouldn't upset him. But when he came back to her after he'd showered, which seemed an eternity to her, he seemed to hesitate before coming back to bed again.

He was suddenly afraid of her, as though she might taint him with her problem. She wanted so much from him, and he just didn't know how much he had to give her. His own inadequacy frightened him more than anything. It was easier not to be around her.

“Is something wrong?” She looked at him, confused. It was as though he wasn't sure if he should sleep with her. But with Carmen in the guest room, there were no other options.

“I …would it be …will I hurt you if I sleep here?” Suddenly she couldn't help smiling at him. He looked so uncomfortable in his own skin, and so ill at ease with her. It was tragic in a way, except that it had made her feel both sad and angry. And yet she felt for him too. He looked so awkward.

”You won't hurt me unless you hit me over the head with your shoe. Why?” She tried to pretend that everything was normal, but they both knew it wasn't.

“I just thought maybe …if I rolled over … or touched you …” He was treating her like a piece of glass instead of a woman, and he seemed to go from one extreme to the other. One minute he wanted to pretend there was no problem at all, and the next he wanted to go to the ends of the earth to avoid her. It was more than a little distressing.

“You won't hurt me, Sam,” she said quietly, trying to reassure him. But he slipped into bed as though there were a land mine on her side of it and he was afraid to set it off. He lay there stiffly on the edge of the bed, keeping as far away from her as he could. And doing that made her feel like a pariah.

“Are you all right?” he asked her nervously before he turned out the light. “Do you want anything?”

“I'm fine.” Or at least she wished she were, and she was certainly fine enough to sleep beside him. But it was obvious that he didn't want to. Eventually, he fell asleep clinging to the edge of the bed, as Alex watched him. It was as though, with the absence of one breast, overnight they had become strangers. And once he was asleep, she lay in bed and cried, pining for her husband.

He woke up on Saturday long before she stirred, and by the time she got up, and changed her bed jacket for the dressing gown again, he and Annabelle were dressed and tailing about going to Central Park to fly a new kite he had bought her.

“Want to come?” he asked hesitantly, but she shook her head. She was still very tired, and it would be easier to wait for them at the apartment.

“I'll wait here. Maybe Annabelle and I can make cookies when you come home,” she said, trying to be entertaining.

“Yum!” Annabelle announced. She liked both plans. The cookies and the kite. And she and Sam went out half an hour later, with their kite, in high spirits. He had hardly spoken to Alex since she got up, it was as though now that she was back in the apartment, she was a real threat to him. He was even less communicative than he had been when she was in the hospital. It was very unnerving.

They came home for lunch, and Alex made them soup and sandwiches. Carmen had gone home for a few hours, and Alex insisted she didn't need her, but she said she'd come back anyway. She wanted to be there to help Alex.

Annabelle explained excitedly that they had flown the kite really high for a while, near the model-boat pond, and then it had flown into a tree, and Daddy had to climb way up to get it.

“Well, not as ‘way up' as all that,” he confessed, looking amused. They'd had a good time. And they'd bought chestnuts and pretzels.

Alex had done her hair while they were gone, and she had dressed. She was wearing a full sweater and jeans, and you almost couldn't see anything of what had happened to her. You barely saw the swell of either breast in the oversized sweater. But Annabelle noticed it later when she was sitting on Alex's lap and leaning against her.

“Your hurt boobie has gotten smaller, Mommy,” she said, staring at her chest as though she was surprised. “Did it fall off when you got bumped?”

“Kind of.” She smiled, trying to retain her composure. It had to be discussed eventually and now was as good a time as any. Better sooner than later. Sam was in the other room, and he looked a little startled when he came back and heard what they were saying.

“Will it look different when you take the bandage off? Is it all gone?” Annabelle looked amazed that a part of her mother had actually disappeared. She looked more than puzzled.

“Maybe. I haven't looked yet.”

“Could it just fall off?”

She didn't want to frighten her or mislead her. “No, it couldn't. But it got pretty hurt. That's why they gave me the big bandage.”

“How did it happen?” Annabelle looked surprised at what had happened to her mother on her trip, but Sam looked annoyed at her. Fortunately, Annabelle left the room to get a game, and forgot to listen to the answer to her question, for which Alex was very grateful, because she didn't have one. “How did it happen?” was one question she didn't want to answer.

But Sam had been listening and he didn't like the subject of their conversation.

“Why did you have to explain it to her? Why does this have to be a topic of conversation with her? She's three and a half years old for chrissake. She doesn't need this.” Neither did he, and he was almost fifty.

“Neither do I, Sam, but we're stuck with it anyway. And she asked me. She was sitting on my lap, and she felt the difference.”

“Don't sit her on your lap then. There are plenty of ways around it.”

“So I've noticed. You seem to be finding all of them.” He was avoiding her at every turn, and later that afternoon, he said that he had to go to the office, which surprised Alex. He rarely ever went there on the weekend. But she knew why he was doing it now. He just couldn't stand being near her.

Alex and Annabelle stayed home, making cookies and watching Peter Pan and The Little Mermaid. It was three o'clock by the time he left and the atmosphere between them was so tense that Alex thought it was just as well he'd gone out for a while. She really couldn't stand the tension. The air between them was electric.

“Why is Daddy mad at you?” Annabelle asked as they cut cookie dough, and Alex was astonished at the question.

“What makes you think Daddy's mad at me?” she asked, intrigued by the little girl's perception.

“He's not talking to you. Unless he has to.”

“Maybe he's just tired,” Alex explained, rolling out some more dough while Annabelle picked up big chunks and ate them.

“He missed you while you were away. So did I,” she said gravely. “Maybe he's mad at you for going.”

“Maybe so,” Alex agreed, unwilling to bring their daughter into their problems. “I'll bet he'll be fine when he comes home.” She kissed the tip of her freckled nose, and handed her another lump of cookie dough to munch on.

But sitting in his office downtown, Sam was looking glum. He had very little work to do. His work required people and clients, and deals to make. He didn't have the kind of avalanche of paperwork that Alex constantly lived with. And he had come to the office merely to escape, and now that he was here he felt stupid. He was running away from her, and he knew it. But he was afraid to see her body now, or her pain, afraid that he couldn't live up to what she wanted. It was so much easier to be angry at her, and hard on her, and avoid her.

“What are you doing here?” He heard a voice from across the room and jumped a foot as he looked up. He had been absolutely certain there was no one else in the office. The alarm had been on, and the watchman downstairs didn't tell him anyone was there. She must have just come in. It was Daphne. She was wearing a tight black jersey shirt and a pair of black leggings that made her legs seem endless. Her hair was in a long braid, and she was wearing little black suede boots that looked very English.

“I thought you were in Vermont,” he said, still looking very startled.

“I was supposed to be. But Simon got the flu, and his friends didn't want to go without him, so we stayed here. And I thought I'd use the opportunity to catch up on some work. I hope you don't mind, Sam. I didn't mean to intrude. You looked a million miles away when I saw you.” She said it sympathetically, and she looked very young and very sexy as she stood in the middle of his office. “How are things going?”

“Not so great, I guess, or I wouldn't be here,” he said honestly, as he stretched his legs out under his desk and played with a pencil. It was odd how he could say anything to her, and nothing to Alex. He stood up and walked over to her then. “I don't even know why I came in.” He looked at her unhappily, and then he smiled. “Maybe I just had a sixth sense you'd be here.”

“That's not worthy of you,” she teased, “but I'll accept it anyway. Can I make you a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, I'd like that.” He followed her into their pantry, faintly aware of her perfume. It smelled musky and warm and sexy. “I'm sorry,” he said suddenly as she turned to look at him, “I've been acting like a lunatic this week. I don't know if I'm up or down or sideways. It's been hell, and I have no right to take it out on you.”

“If having dinner with me at Le Cirque, and taking me dancing downtown is ‘taking it out on me,' then please feel free to do so anytime you'd like, Sam.” She smiled at him enticingly, but there was more than just sex appeal to her, there was something very warm and sympathetic. She was mischievous and playful, but she seemed very caring too, and he liked that about her. There were so many things about her that reminded him of the best of Alex. And then she turned his stomach over with the bluntness of her next question. Her voice was very soft as she looked at him, but he wasn't prepared for what she asked him. “Is your wife dying, Sam?”

For a long moment he wasn't sure how to answer her. “She could be. I don't know. She's very sick, I suppose, although I don't completely understand it.”

“Is it cancer?”

He nodded. “She had a breast removed this week, and she's about to start chemotherapy.”

“How difficult for you, and your little girl.” All her sympathies were with them, and not with Alex.

“I suppose it is … or it will be …Chemotherapy sounds like a nightmare. I'm not sure I'd do it.”

“That's what we all say, until we're faced with it, and then we fight like dogs and try anything we can, to cure it. My father died last year, and he tried everything including some sort of magic pills he got in Jamaica that were nothing but voodoo. I can't blame her for trying. But it's hell on you. Poor Sam.” They were standing in the small airless room while the coffee brewed, and her voice was barely more than a whisper.

'I'll shouldn't feel sorry for me,” he whispered back, not sure why they were speaking so softly, they were the only people there, but all he wanted to do was get closer to her and speak softer still. “I'm fine …”

“Aren't you though,” she replied, and then he was completely unprepared for what happened next. She put her arms around his neck, ran her fingers down the back of his neck until he had chills, and kissed him. And he felt his whole body respond with a surge that almost frightened him, it was so beyond his control. He wanted to tear her leggings off and lay her on the floor next to him, but he didn't dare do more than kiss her, and allow his hands to drift hungrily down her body. She was all muscles, and tight stomach, and splendid little behind. She was built like a ballerina, and her breasts filled both his hands. Their mouths and tongues were relentless. It was Daphne who broke away first, breathlessly. She had started an avalanche that she herself could no longer control, it was so exquisite, it was almost beyond bearing. “Oh God, Sam … I can't … oh God …how I want you …”

“I want you too,” he whispered back, devouring her neck and her breasts with his lips, and then he was kneeling next to her, and nuzzling her where her thighs met. She let out a long, soft moan, and as he pulled her closer to him, he suddenly came to his senses. He couldn't do it.

“Daphne … we can't …” He stood next to her again, holding her close to him, feeling guiltier than ever toward Alex. But he was consumed with desire for Daphne. “I can't. I have no right to complicate your life like this … or do this to my wife.”

“I don't care,” Daphne said hoarsely. “I'm a grown woman, I have a right to make my own decisions.”

“It won't go anywhere …you deserve more than this. I'm half out of my mind with wanting you. I have been ever since we met, but what does that give you?”

“A leg over, I hope.” She laughed suddenly at him, using the English expression for a piece of ass. But fortunately, he knew it.

“I'd like to give you something better than that, but I don't have it to give. Not now.” Not yet. And maybe never.

“It would do for a start,” she said playfully. “I don't ask for much.”

“You should. You deserve it.” And then without saying more, their lips met again, and he held her and felt her next to him for what seemed like hours until neither of them could stand it any longer. “We're going to have to do something about this, if it keeps up.” And with that, they both laughed at his very obvious erection. She was stroking it through his jeans, and the touch of her hand was driving him crazy.

“I was suggesting something like that.” She smiled and kissed him again, and then bent to nibble at the lump in his blue jeans.

“Stop it,” he said unconvincingly, “…no, don't … oh God …Daphne …I'm going to profess undying love in a few minutes if you don't stop.” She was driving him into a frenzy, and he loved the sensation.

“I was hoping you would.” She smiled mischievously at him, and then she stood up and poured him a cup of coffee.

“How can I do this?” he asked, thinking of both his wife and daughter.

“Things happen sometimes. Those are the realities of life. It doesn't always work out just as we planned. In fact, I'm not sure it ever does. My life certainly doesn't.”

“Mine is a disaster at the moment.”

“Are you close to her?” she asked, as they sipped their coffee, and tried briefly to forget each other's bodies.

“I thought I was. Now we can't seem to talk about anything. The only thing there is, is her disease. It's all she can think about, all she's interested in, all she knows. I can't stand it.”

“I'm not sure I blame her. But it's a lot to expect of you, though, isn't it?”

“I suppose I owe her that.” And then he confessed his darkest secret. “My mother died of cancer when I was fourteen. I hated her for it. It's all I remember about her, how sick she was, how she talked about it all the time, and had endless operations. They chopped her up in little bits, until they finally killed her. And her dying killed my father. I felt like she tried to kill all of us. She would have killed me too, except I wouldn't let her. I wouldn't let her poison me like she did him. I refused to become a part of her tragedy. That's how I feel now about Alex. It's as though I have to keep away in order to save myself.” It was a terrible confession, but he felt better once he said it. And she seemed to understand exactly what he meant, and in a way that Alex hadn't understood yet. She was too wrapped in herself to see his terror clearly.

“You can't do it alone though, can you?” Daphne said in the husky voice that drove him to distraction.

“I'm not sure,” he said. “I think I probably should try. But you're not making it any easier.”

“Actually,” she said, touching the bulge in his jeans again until it grew in her hand and he closed his eyes in pleasure, “I rather thought I was making it harder.”

“You certainly are.” He kissed her, wanting her desperately, but firm in his resolve not to have her. He owed that much to Alex. He wouldn't let her have his soul. But at least he owed it to her to be faithful. It was just bad luck that Daphne had crossed his path at that particular moment. Or maybe it was meant to be that way. Maybe this was his reward for what he was losing.

They stood there together in the pantry for a long time, and it was dark when they looked outside. He felt as though days had passed since he had come there. His voice was ragged with desire for her, as he held her for a last time, and then they put their coffee cups in the sink, and she washed them and put them away, and she followed him back to his office.

“Are you going to stay?” he asked. He hated to leave, but he knew he had to. He had to get home. And he had done absolutely nothing except paw Daphne.

“I'll take my work home,” she said easily. He went to her office with her while she got it, and then he kissed her there too. She fell backwards against the desk in his arms, and the temptation to take her right there was almost irresistible, but again he forced himself to remember that he was married. The leggings she wore didn't make it any easier for him. It was like holding her with no clothes on. He could feel every inch of her beneath his hands, and there was nothing that she tried to keep from him. Eventually, he freed her breasts from the shirt she wore, and they were so beautiful he almost cried. They were perfect and round with pink nipples that stood erect in his fingers, begging for him, and she asked for him as he played with her relentlessly and kissed her.

It was another half hour before she put her shirt on again, and they finally left the office. It was almost seven o'clock by then, and Sam felt like a kid as they got into a cab, and he told her he'd drop her off and then started necking with her in the backseat while she giggled.

“You'd better start locking your office door,” he warned. “I'm not sure I can control myself when I see you.” It certainly didn't seem like it, but Daphne didn't appear to mind.

He dropped her off on East Fifty-third where she'd rented an apartment in an old town house. It had been owned by a movie star, and there was still quite a bit of furniture there, but Daphne said it was pretty shabby.

“Want to come up?” she invited him, standing outside the cab in her outrageously appealing leggings, but he shook his head.

“I don't trust myself to behave.”

“Neither do I,” she laughed, and then looked suddenly serious as she reached into the cab and took his hand in hers. “Come back whenever you want to. Even if you just want to talk. I'm here for you, Sam. And crazy as it sounds at this point … I think I love you.”

“Please …don't … I can't …but thank you.” He kissed her gently again, and she waved and stepped back, as he made a mental note of her address and knew he shouldn't.

He was home by seven-fifteen, and Alex looked anything but pleased when she saw him. But she didn't say anything. She had guessed correctly that he was avoiding her, but she would have been even more upset if she'd known what he'd been doing. For a moment, he thought he smelled Daphne's perfume on him, and he went to wash his hands, and change his sweater.

“You must have had a lot of work,” she said cautiously after Annabelle went to bed. Carmen had finished the dishes and had already disappeared into the guest room.

“I did.”

“Business must be very good. You've never had to do that.”

“Simon's bringing in a lot of new clients. He's really terrific.”

“Are you watching how he's handling things? His style may not be yours or Tom and Larry's. You don't want some shiny flash in the pan screwing up your business.”

“He won't. He had a great reputation in London for bringing in business, and big money.”

“Clean money?”

“Obviously.” He looked annoyed again. She was always questioning everything. She was a true attorney in that she was always suspicious. He had been leery of Simon at first too, but he was convinced by now that Simon was going to do great things for their business. And he had brought Daphne with him …what more could he want? Sam found himself drinking of her again as he sat down to dinner with Alex.

“So what were you working on?” she asked, looking interested in what had kept him at the office all afternoon, and he almost choked on his salad when he heard the question.

“Nothing much …just a few things …some housekeeping.”

“Since when do you do that?” she asked. She seemed skeptical but not suspicious. It was obvious to her that he was simply staying away so he didn't have to see her, which was true. What she had no way of knowing, fortunately, was what he'd been doing with Daphne.

Their dinner together was anything but warm, or even interesting. They seemed to be groping for subjects of mutual interest, which was unusual for them, but at least they were together and she was home. The worst had already happened, or almost, and now all she had to do was hang in and survive the treatment. Their marriage would fall into place again after that. She was sure of it. It was just rough now, as they both adjusted to a new situation.

But he was just as cautious about lying next to her that night as he had been the night before. He was solicitous and polite, but he made no attempt at all to come near her. And once again, when he fell asleep, she lay on her side of the bed and cried. Just a little kiss or a hug would have meant so much to her, even if he was afraid of what lay beneath her nightgown.

The strain between them was so great, it was a relief to both of them when the weekend ended. Sam left for work at eight o'clock on Monday morning. And she took Annabelle to school for the first time since her operation. And at nine o'clock, she had an appointment with Dr. Peter Herman. He was going to check her sutures and her dressing. She was desperately afraid of what she would see when he changed it.

But she would have been even more afraid if she could have seen what Sam had waiting for him when he got in. Daphne was wearing a little navy blue Chanel suit, with a miniskirt and her long, sexy legs, and she only wanted to confirm to him that Saturday had been no mistake, and she had no regrets. She wanted Sam more than she'd wanted any man in years, and she said so.

“I just want you to know,” she whispered as she closed the door to his very luxurious office, “that I'm in love with you. You don't have to do anything. You don't even have to want me. But I'm here for you, anytime, any way that works for you. I accept who you are and your responsibilities. But I love you, Sam. And I'm yours, whenever you want me.” Daphne Belrose was the ultimate temptation.

He kissed her then, longingly, with all the anguish and hunger he felt, and she returned it, and then stood back, smiling at him, and let herself quietly out of his office.

Chapter 10

Alex only had to wait for half an hour in the waiting room, and then Dr. Herman took her into his office and asked her how she was doing. She told him she was still tired after the surgery, but had very little pain, and he was very pleased at what he saw when he took off her dressing. He said it was very clean, and the sutures were healing nicely. In fact, she was doing even better than he'd hoped. And he'd had the final results of her tests. They had been pretty much as he'd expected, four of her lymph nodes were involved, the tumor was hormone receptor negative, and she was the perfect candidate for chemo. In a little more than two weeks, he was going to start her on chemotherapy, as soon as she was stronger.

To Alex, it was not good news, but it was also not unexpected. And he had already explained the process to her. She had a minimum of nodular involvement, which was a good sign, in spite of her Stage II tumor.

“The wound is very clean,” he explained, “if you decide to go ahead with reconstruction later on, your plastic surgeon will be very pleased.” He seemed quite happy with everything, and Alex wanted to be too, but the fact was that she had lost a breast the week before, and had been told she had cancer. These were hardly causes for celebration. And now she knew for sure that she had to face chemo.

And then the doctor turned to her with curiosity, wondering how she was doing. She seemed a little more somber than usual, but that was also to be expected. “Have you looked at the wound yet yourself?” She shook her head at him, looking frightened.

“Perhaps you should. You have to prepare yourself. And what about your husband?”

“He hasn't seen it either.” She had the suspicion that he was terrified, and she was right of course. But she couldn't blame him, she didn't want to see it either.

“I urge you to look at it. You'll be bathing again soon, and of course you'll see yourself, but a good look in the mirror won't hurt. It's time to face it.” But nothing he had said to her prepared her for what she saw, when she went home and slowly removed the bandage to shower. She had taken off her dress, and the bra she'd worn, and then slowly pulled off her dressing, and with a determined look, she walked over to the mirror. She tried to keep her eyes on her face, but slowly, she let them drift down, until she screamed, and took a step backwards from the mirror. It wasn't possible. It was hideous beyond belief it was so ugly. Where her breast had been, there was a flat slab of flesh. It was pink now, but it would be white one day, and across it was a red scar where they had made the incision, cut away her breast, and its skin and even its nipple, and then sewed it together. She thought it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen, and even knowing that it might have saved her life did nothing to console her. She felt sick after looking at it, and she sat down on the carpet on the bathroom floor and hugged her knees as she sobbed. It was almost an hour later when Carmen heard her. She was still sitting there, crying like a child, hiccuping and sobbing.

“Oh Mrs. Parker …Mrs. Parker …what happened? … are you hurt? Should I call the doctor? …Mrs. Parker?” Alex couldn't stop crying. All she could do was shake her head, as she cried and clutched her knees close to her single bosom.

“Go away … go away …” she cried, sounding like Annabelle, and Carmen got down on her knees next to her, crying for her as she would for an injured child.

“Don't cry …don't cry … we all love you …” she said, as she put her arms around her.

But Alex could only shake her head and cry louder. “He hates me …I'm so ugly … he hates me….”

“I will call him,” she said reassuringly, and Alex let out a scream, and dropped her head down on her knees, begging Carmen not to call him.

“Just leave me.” Carmen tried to hold her but Alex wouldn't let her, and eventually Carmen didn't know what else to do, and went back to the kitchen. She sat there listening to her cry, dabbing at her own eyes, until finally Alex stopped. “Will you please pick Annabelle up?” Alex said to Carmen in an exhausted voice that was completely devoid of emotion.

“Why don't you do it, Mrs. Parker? She will love to see you.”

“I can't,” she said in a voice that sounded more dead than alive. They had killed her.

“Yes, you can. If you want, I will go with you. Come … we go together …” She led Alex back to her little dressing room, and took out a loosely knit dress and held it out to her. “Annabelle likes this.”

“I can't, Carmen. I can't do it.” She started to sob again, but this time Carmen clung to her shoulders and held her.

“Yes, you can.” They were both crying by then. “I will help you.”

“Why?” Alex wanted to give up and die, but Carmen was holding her and wouldn't let her.

“Because we love you. We are going to help you until you are strong again. You will be fine very soon,” she said confidently, trying to give Alex courage. But Alex only shook her head as she stepped into the knit dress Carmen held for her.

“I won't be fine. They're going to give me chemotherapy.”

“Ah no …” She looked horrified, and then, “All right … we will get through it.” Carmen was determined to help Alex. She was a good woman, and a good employer, and she didn't deserve this. She had a husband who loved her, and a little girl. She had to live for them, and Carmen was going to help her do it. “We go to pick up Annabelle, and then we have lunch. And then you take a nap, and I will take Annabelle to the park.” She was speaking to her like a child, and Alex responded to it from the depths of her anguish. She had never seen anything as ugly as what the surgeon had left her.

But she went with Carmen to Annabelle's school, and then they walked home quietly. Alex was silent, but Annabelle didn't seem to notice. And once they were home, Carmen gave them homemade tomato soup, and a turkey sandwich for each of them. And then she tucked Alex into bed, and told Annabelle that her mother needed a nap, which Annabelle thought was a game. She helped Carmen tuck her Mommy into bed, and then they went to the park and played.

She told her Daddy about it late that afternoon, and he wondered if Alex had been playing invalid again, as he put it.

“What's up?” he asked casually, after Annabelle went to bed. “You sleeping all afternoon?” In his voice was a barely concealed tone of disapproval. He didn't want her languishing in front of Annabelle, he had lived with that as a boy, and the memory of it still drove him crazy. Even as an adult now, he had an almost phobic hatred of illness.

“I just took a nap. I was very tired. I went to see Dr. Herman.” Her voice was lifeless as she looked at him, and her eyes gave away nothing.

“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.

“You look pretty good,” Alex said as she put the last of his Dracula makeup on him. Standing in front of him in the bathroom under the lights was the longest they had been close to each other since her operation. It would have been the perfect opportunity for him to say something to her, or put his arms around her, or even kiss her, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He was too scared of what would happen after that, what she might expect from him, and he might not be able to deliver. Nothing about her turned him on right now. She was intrinsically too ill, her body had changed too much, there was too much fear and too many bad memories for him even to want to try it.

She handed him his Dracula teeth, and Annabelle gave a squeal of happy terror when she saw him. “Oh Daddy, I love you!” she said, and then she giggled. He laughed, and Alex grinned. It was the happiest they'd been in a month, and the rest of the evening was just as pleasant. They stopped and visited friends, shared a glass of wine with them, ate candy with the kids, and by the time they got home, Annabelle was half asleep, and her parents were both in very good humor.

“That was fun,” Alex said happily. It always was. Halloween had been magical ever since they'd had Annabelle. Before that, it had meant nothing. Thinking about it made Alex sad again, knowing that she would probably never have more children. It was just too unlikely now, with the statistics of sterility after chemo and the importance of not getting pregnant for the next five years. And by then, she'd be forty-seven. The prospect of another baby was over.

She also knew that, at forty-two, she would probably go through menopause, as a consequence of having chemo. It was still difficult to understand the words, to absorb them, to make them hers, mastectomy, malignancy, chemotherapy, nodular involvement, metastasis. It was incredible. Her entire vocabulary had changed in a month, and with it her life and her marriage. There was no hiding from what it had done to them, and to her relationship with Sam. He was completely removed from her now, in all the ways that mattered. But he wouldn't admit to it, of course. He was completely committed to pretending nothing had happened, which made it even harder. How could you fix something no one would admit was broken?

“Are you going to bed?” She looked surprised when he got undressed and got into bed after they'd gone trick-or-treating. It was only ten o'clock and neither of them seemed tired when they got home at nine-thirty.

“There's nothing else to do,” he said as she looked at him. “I thought I'd turn in early.” In the old days, that would have meant a little romance, but now she knew he'd be asleep, or pretending to be, before she got out of the bathroom, as indeed he was twenty minutes later. He just couldn't face her, or bear to deal with his “obligations.” And that was the last thing she wanted anyway. If he didn't want her, she'd rather do without, forever if she had to.

She read late into the night, she was feeling better by then. And she was going back to work on the Monday following the Halloween weekend. She had a lot of work to catch up on and a lot of organizing to do. She had two weeks until she began chemotherapy, two weeks in which to feel pretty good and do all the work she could, two weeks to get her office in order before her life turned upside down again. It was a lot to deal with.

And on Monday when she left for work, and dropped Annabelle off at school, she almost felt like her old self again, except that Sam barely spoke to her at breakfast. He never even took his nose out of the Wall Street Journal to kiss her good-bye, but she was getting used to it. And at least now she'd have her work to keep her busy, and her colleagues to talk to. The last two weeks had been the loneliest in her life, and she couldn't imagine anything worse than what had happened.

“Is Daddy still mad at you?” Annabelle asked, as they walked to school. And Alex looked down at her with interest. It surprised her that even she had noticed.

“I don't know. I don't think so, why?”

“He seems different. He doesn't talk to you much, and he never kisses you, and he looks mad when he comes home from work.”

“Maybe he's just tired.”

“Grown-ups always say they're tired when they're mad. But they're mad. Just like Daddy. I think he is. You'd better ask him.”

“Okay, Princess, I will. You were great on Halloween. Best princess in town.”

“Thank you, Mommy.” She threw her arms around her mother's neck, and Alex nearly melted as she watched her run into school with the others. And with that she hailed a cab with her right arm, and hopped into it and headed downtown. Her left side was still a little sensitive, but she felt alive again for the first time in two weeks. It had been exactly two weeks to the day, almost to the hour, since her mastectomy, and she already felt better. Comparatively, she felt great. The only trouble was she hadn't yet started chemo.

“Well, look who's here.” Liz Hascomb beamed at her as soon as she saw her, and came around her desk to give Alex a warm hug.

And when Alex walked into her office, she found flowers on her desk from Liz, and neat stacks of the files Brock had worked on and completed.

“Wow! It looks like you guys did just fine without me.

“Don't believe that for a minute,” Liz reassured her. There was a fist of messages an arm long, most of them with the information as to how the matters had been resolved, some had been passed to Matt, some to other partners, and Brock had handled all of the details and research. There was a handful of names who had chosen to wait the two weeks for Alex, and she sat down and read the names and information, as Liz went to get her a cup of coffee.

She looked up when Liz came back in, and smiled. It felt great to be back in her chair, to be here among friends, and to feel useful. She felt up to it again, although she was still a little bit tired. But it was like getting an important part of her identity back again. It was only half of it, but it made a difference.

“How're you feeling?” Liz asked quietly as she set down the cup of coffee.

“Fine. Great actually. I'm really surprised. I just get tired.”

“Give it time. Don't rush anything.” She went back to her own desk then, and Alex just sat there, looking around, savoring being back in her office. It was wonderful just being there. She sat back in her chair with a smile and took a sip of the hot coffee. And just as she did, Brock Stevens poked his head in.

“Welcome back,” he beamed.

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly in answer. He looked more than ever like a big blond kid. He was wearing glasses, and a lock of hair hung over his eyes, and there was a constant look of mischief about him. “It looks like you did all my work while I was gone. Maybe I should just go on permanent vacation.”

“Not a chance. I've been saving all the hard stuff for you. Jack Schultz called about two hundred times, by the way, just to thank you.”

“I'm glad we won,” she smiled. “He deserved it.”

“So did you.” He'd never seen anyone work as hard as she did to win his case, and it couldn't have been easy for her. He knew now that she'd been sick when she did it. Sick or in some kind of trouble. He knew she'd been out for surgery, though he still didn't know exactly what had happened. But something about Liz's eyes when he asked about her told him that this was no small matter. “What are you going to do today?” He thought she looked thin and a little tired but very pretty.

“Catch up on my files, read what you've done, try and figure out what's left for me to do now.”

“Oh, just a few things here and there. We have two new clients, who are being sued by former employees. There are about four new cases that came in, there's a hot libel suit that came in from some movie star. Matt knows more about it.”

“Lucky man. Maybe I'll just let him keep it.” She looked more relaxed than usual, she hadn't hit her stride yet, she was mostly savoring the moment.

“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.”

“This doesn't sound fair to you.” He was devastated to hear what she had told him. But he could also see that she was determined to work through it. “Are you sure?”

“Totally.” She was amazing. He respected her enormously, and as they left the restaurant, he put an arm around her shoulders.

Everyone was being so kind to her that it brought tears to Alex's eyes frequently. Everyone wanted to help her, except Sam, who just couldn't. It was odd how life worked sometimes. The one person she needed most couldn't be there for her. But at least she had the others.

“What can I do to make this easier for you?” he asked as they strolled back to the office. It was a cold day, and the wind chilled her to the bone even with a coat and a tweed suit on.

“You're doing everything you can already. I'll let you know how I'm doing. And Matt,” she looked up at him pleadingly, “please don't tell more people than you have to. I don't want to be the object of curiosity, or pity. If someone needs to know because they're being asked to share my workload, or work on a case with me, fine, but let's not take out billboards.”

“I understand.” And he thought he was discreet. But within a week it seemed as though everyone in the law firm knew something about her problem. Word spread like wildfire among secretaries, partners, associates, paralegals, even one of her clients. But much to her surprise, although it embarrassed her, everyone was supportive. They sent her notes, stopped in to say hi, offered to do things for her. At first, she found it irritating in the extreme, but eventually she came to understand that these people cared, they wanted to help her, they wanted to do everything they could to help her make it. Their regard for her professionally translated instantly into how much they cared about her as a person.

By the following week, her office was filled with flowers, notes, letters, and homemade baked goods. She had cookies, brownies, baklava, and some fabulous apple strudel.

“Oh for heaven's sake,” she groaned as Liz came in with a German chocolate cake, while she was working on a brief with Brock Stevens. “I'm going to weigh two hundred pounds when this is all over.” But people had been so sweet to her. She hadn't stopped writing thank-you notes since she'd come back to work. And she'd been secretly giving Liz and Brock her goodies to take home with them. She'd already taken as much as she felt she could home to Sam and Annabelle, and Carmen.

“Would you like something to eat?” she asked Brock with a grin when they stopped for a cup of coffee. “It's like running a restaurant.”

“It's good for you. It reminds you that everyone loves you.” He had heard the news again and again …had a breast removed…mastectomy …chemotherapy …Alex Parker …she could be dying … By now, he knew a lot more than she'd told him. But Matt Billings had been so upset he'd told his secretary and four other partners right after his lunch with Alex. And they had told their secretaries, who told associates, who had told other partners, who had told their paralegals, who had told … it was limitless. But so was their affection.

“It sounds a little crazy to say right now, but I'm very lucky.”

“Yes, you are. And you're going to stay that way,” he said firmly. He was always very definite with her now about the future, and it made her wonder if he was religious.

At home, things were no different than they'd been. Sam had gone to Hong Kong for three days to meet a connection of Simon's, and he had made an extraordinary deal that had made the front page of the Wall Street Journal. Sam's professional life had always been faintly Hollywood anyway, filled with financial stars and enormous hits, but with the arrival of Simon it was suddenly even more so. It seemed as though none of their deals could miss, and he was busier than ever. But his three days away from her seemed to have put even more distance between them. And he had told her nothing about the deal until she'd read about it herself in the paper. And the night he got home, she couldn't help telling him how she felt about it.

“Why didn't you say anything?” she asked, hurt that he hadn't told her himself about a deal that was that important.

“I forgot. You've been busy too. I hardly saw you all week.” But she knew as well as he did that a deal like that hadn't happened in a few days. He had to have been working on it for a month, or longer. He had just closed up all the routes of communication between them. And for days after the Hong Kong trip, he had gone to bed right after dinner and insisted he was jet-lagged.

“What are you afraid of, Sam?” she asked finally, as he went to get undressed right after dinner. His game now was to be sound asleep before she got to bed. She was staying up to work, catching up on cases that had come in while she was out for two weeks, and trying to get ahead of her work load before she started chemo. “I'm not going to jump you if you stay up past eight o'clock. You might like to stay up sometime to see more than Sesame Street and the six o'clock news on TV, not to mention a little adult conversation.”

“I told you, it's been a rough week. I'm jet-lagged.”

“Tell that to the judge,” she said ironically, and he snapped at her instantly.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, for chrissake. I was kidding. I'm a lawyer, remember? For heaven's sake, what's happening to you?” He was completely humorless with her. They never talked, they never laughed, they never relaxed, they never cuddled. Overnight, they had become angry strangers. All because she'd had a mastectomy. He acted as though it were the ultimate betrayal.

“I don't think that was amusing.” He actually managed to look insulted. “It was tasteless.”

“Oh for chrissake. What do you think is amusing anymore? Surely not me. You haven't said more than five words to me since I went to the hospital, or maybe since I told you about the mammogram.” It had been six weeks since the nightmare had begun, and it was beginning to seem endless. “What's it going to be like, Sam, when I start chemo?”

“How do I know?”

“Well, let's see,” she pretended to be figuring it all out as they chatted, “if you got really annoyed at me about the mammogram, and the biopsy, and then seriously pissed off at me once I had surgery, and have hardly spoken to me since I came home from the hospital, what do you do when I get chemo? Maybe walk out on me? Or just ignore me completely? What exactly do I have to look forward to, and when is this going to end? When it's all over, or when I just give up, and concede that our marriage is over? Give me a clue here.”

“Okay, okay.” He walked slowly back to where she stood, cleaning up their dinner in the kitchen. Annabelle had gone to bed an hour before and they knew she was asleep so she couldn't hear them. “So it's been a rough six weeks. That doesn't have to mean everything is finished. I still love you.” He looked sheepish and awkward and unhappy as he looked at her. He knew how bad things were, he just didn't know how to fix them. He loved her but the pressure of wanting Daphne made it all the harder. Moving toward Alex again would have meant giving up something with Daphne. But getting closer to her meant betraying his wife. And for the moment, he was just standing in the middle, panicking, getting closer to neither. But he also knew that while he agonized over it, he was destroying his relationship with Alex. He knew he had to say or do something to make things better with her, but he just couldn't. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her body. The only body he wanted now was Daphne's. It was a frightening situation.

“I just need time, Al. I'm sorry.” He stood looking at her, wanting to make it up to her, and yet not wanting to make an effort. He wanted time out, and there was no way to get it without hurting her. He didn't want to do that, but he also didn't want to give up dreaming of Daphne and he still wasn't ready to support Alex through her illness.

“I just think this is a rough time for you to go through change of life, Sam. I'm going to need your help while I'm going through the chemo. And to be honest,” which she always was, painfully so, “you haven't helped yet. That doesn't exactly give me much hope for the future.” She was becoming strangely calm about it, and a little less angry.

“I'll do my best. I'm just not real great around sickness.”

“So I noticed.” She smiled ruefully. “Anyway, I just thought I'd mention it. I'm scared,” she said in a gentler tone. “I don't know what it's going to be like.”

“I'm sure it's not as bad as it's cracked up to be. It's like the horror stories you hear about childbirth. Most of them are bullshit.”

“I hope so,” she said, because she had heard some bad ones when she joined Liz a few times at the support group. She went to please Liz but it helped her too. And a few of them had done well with chemo. But most people admitted that chemotherapy was rough. It made you feel worse than anything you could imagine. “Anyway, I'm glad business is going so well for you these days. It looks like Simon really is an asset. I guess we were both wrong.”

“We sure were. You wouldn't believe the people he put me in touch with in Hong Kong. They are fabulously wealthy. Rich Chinese, in the shipping industry. They make the Arabs look like paupers.”

“How much are they investing with you?” she asked as she put the dishes in the dishwasher. She had always been very interested in his business, and that was still a safe subject between them.

He smiled at her now, proud of himself, as well he should be. “Sixty million.” She was hurt though that he hadn't told her about it sooner, it was only now when she pressed him.

“That's a nice chunk of change for a boy from New York,” she praised.

“Cute, huh?” he grinned, looking like the man she'd fallen in love with.

“Very. I'm proud of you.” It was a funny thing to say to a man who wouldn't come any closer to her than to stand across the room, a man who had hurt her as badly as he had. But she was willing to give him his due. A sixty-million-dollar deal in Hong Kong was a real coup. “It must feel pretty good.” It did. And he had had Daphne with him. But more to his own amazement, they had continued to abstain even in Hong Kong. It had driven them both crazy, but he still didn't want to cheat on Alex, no matter how great the temptation. But he also didn't want to sleep with Alex now, he couldn't. The only one he wanted physically was Daphne, and he refused to let himself have her.

He went back to their bedroom then, and watched TV for a while, but as usual, by the time she went in half an hour later, he was asleep, and she shook her head as she looked at him. He was hopeless. He was so afraid of getting close to her again that he would have done anything to avoid it.

“Maybe he's narcoleptic,” she whispered to herself as she picked up her briefcase and went back to the study. Whatever he needed to warm up to her again, he was definitely not getting it, and she was just going to have to be patient. A woman in the group had had similar problems with her husband, and they had even separated for a year. He just couldn't face her raw need, and the fear of her dying, so he had shut her out. And she had left him. But now they were back together. And she had been free of the disease for six years. They had been back together for four of them. Hearing those stories gave Alex hope. But it still didn't make it any easier to deal with Sam. And the next day they had a huge fight after Annabelle's bedtime.

Just before dinner, Alex had explained to Annabelle that the next day she was going to the doctor and they were going to give her some medicine. And it was going to make her pretty sick. Eventually, it might even make her hair fall out. It was pretty bad stuff, but it was kind of like vaccinations. Taking it was going to make her sick for a while, but then strong again, and it would keep her from getting bad sicknesses. But Annabelle was going to have to be kind of patient with her, because sometimes she'd be okay, but sometimes she'd feel sick, and sometimes she'd be very tired. It was the best she could do, and when she was finished, Annabelle looked very worried.

“Will you still take me to ballet?”

“Sometimes. If I can. If I'm too tired, Carmen will take you.”

“But I want you to take me,” Annabelle whined. She was good about Alex's being tired most of the time, but sometimes it really scared her.

“I want to take you to ballet too, but we have to see how I'll feel. I don't know yet.”

“Will you wear a wig if your hair falls out?” She was intrigued by that, and Alex smiled.

“Maybe. We'll see.”

“That would be really ugly. Will it grow back?”

“Yes.”

“But it wouldn't be long anymore. Would it?”

“Nope. It would be short like yours. We could be twins.”

And then suddenly Annabelle looked terrified. “Will my hair fall out too?”

Alex was quick to put her arms around her and reassure her. “Of course not.”

But after she'd gone to bed, Sam was furious and went after Alex with a vengeance. “That was the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. You scared her to death.” His eyes were blazing at Alex, and as always, she was hurt by his complete lack of compassion.

“I did not. She was fine when she went to bed. I even got her a book about it. It's called Mommy's Getting Better.”

“That's disgusting. Did you see the look on her face when you told her about your hair?”

“Look Goddammit, she has to be prepared. If I'm going to be too sick to do things for her while I'm on chemotherapy, she has to know it.”

“Why can't you suffer quietly? You're always making it her problem, and mine. Jesus, have a little dignity for chrissake.”

“You sonofabitch!” She grabbed at his shirt and it tore in her hand, which surprised both of them. She had never done anything like that, but he was driving her to distraction. She had lost her husband, her breast, her sex life, her sense of her own femininity, her own sense of well-being and immortality, her ability to have more kids. She had done nothing but lose things that were really important to her in the last six weeks, and he had done nothing but criticize her for it. “God damn you! All I do is struggle with what's happening to me, and try and manage it so it doesn't inconvenience you, doesn't hurt her, doesn't overburden my partners at the law firm, and all you ever do is bitch at me and treat me like a pariah. Well, fuck you, Sam Parker. Fuck you if you can't take it.” All her anguish of the last six weeks came spewing out of her like a volcano. But he had so much pain of his own that he still refused to hear it.

“Stop congratulating yourself for how noble and long-suffering you are. All you do is whine about your goddamn breast, which wasn't such hot stuff in the first place. I mean, who even notices that it's gone, and the only other thing you do is ‘prepare' us for chemotherapy. Get it over with for chrissake, do it, don't beat us to death with it. She's three and a half years old, why does she have to go through it with you?”

“Because I'm her mother and she cares about me, and my feeling sick is going to affect her.”

“You're making me sick, and that's affecting me. I can't live like this, with the daily cancer bulletins from Sloan-Kettering. Why don't you just take out billboards?”

“You shit! You didn't even ask about the pathology reports when I got them.” It was the day he had first seen her scarred breast and his horror had superseded his interest.

“What difference does it make? They cut your breast off anyway.”

“It might make a difference if I live or die, if that still matters to you, or maybe that's like the breast you care so little about. Maybe if I disappear too, you won't even notice. I don't see how you could. You don't even bother to talk to me anymore, let alone touch me.”

“What's to talk about, Alex? Chemotherapy? Lymph nodes? Pathology? I can't stand it anymore.”

“Then why don't you get out and leave me to it? You're certainly not helping.”

“I'm not leaving my daughter. I'm not going anywhere,” he spat at her, and then stormed out of the apartment. He stood on the street after that, aching to take a cab to Fifty-third Street, to Daphne, but he didn't do it. He wouldn't let himself. He called her from a pay phone instead and burst into tears. He said he was starting to hate his wife, and himself. He explained that she was starting chemotherapy the next day, and he just couldn't take it. And Daphne sympathized completely. She asked if he wanted to come over for a little while, but he said he really didn't think he should.

He knew he was too vulnerable now, he needed her too much. And he couldn't let her be the excuse for ending his marriage. He had to work this thing out, and see it through. He had to do something, but he didn't know what. He didn't understand it, but he hated Alex suddenly. The poor woman was sick, and he hated her for what she was doing to his life. She had brought sickness into it, and fear. She was going to abandon him. She was destroying everything. Without knowing it, she was keeping him from Daphne.

He walked all the way to the East River and back again. And all the while, Alex lay on their bed, staring at the ceiling. She was too angry to even cry, too hurt to ever forgive him. He had abandoned her. He had failed her completely. In six weeks he had negated everything they'd ever shared, denied anything they'd ever felt, and destroyed all the hope and respect they had built in seventeen years together. And the promise of “for better or worse, in sickness and in health” had been completely forgotten.

It was two hours later when he came in, and she was still lying there. But he never came to see her. He said not a word to her. She lay there, awake, all night, and Sam slept on the couch in the study.

Chapter 12

The oncologist Dr. Herman had referred her to was located on Fifty-seventh Street, and was a woman. Alex had been told to expect to spend an hour and a half with her the first time, and forty-five minutes to an hour and a half thereafter. There would be two visits a month, unless of course there were any problems, in which case she would see her more often.

Alex had scheduled the appointment at noon, and was expecting to be back in the office at one-thirty.

Both Brock and Liz knew that she was starting chemotherapy on that day, and of course Sam did too. He had left for the office, after their massive argument the night before, without even bothering to have breakfast. And he never called her in the morning to tell her he was sorry, or wish her luck with the chemo, let alone offer to go with her. She had already figured out one thing, she was going to have to get through this without him.

The building was a modern one, off Third Avenue, and the waiting room was well decorated and had an open, airy feeling. It was warmly lit, and decorated in soft yellow, and everything about it was deceptively cheerful. If they had led Alex into a dark tomb, it would have seemed much more appropriate. And for some reason, she was relieved to see that the woman she'd been referred to was her own age. She seemed quiet and capable, her name was Jean Webber. And Alex was pleased to see, from her diploma on the wall, that she had gone to Harvard Med School.

They talked in her office for a while at first, and the doctor discussed the pathology reports with her, and what they meant. It was a relief to be treated like an intelligent human being. She explained that the cytotoxic drugs they would use were not “poisonous,” contrary to common belief, but that their purpose was to destroy bad cells and spare good ones. She explained also that Alex's tumor had been Stage II, which was not great news, but that other than the four lymph nodes involved, there had been no further infiltration. It had gone no further. The prognosis, as far as Dr. Webber was concerned, was good. And like the other doctors involved, she felt absolutely sure that chemotherapy was necessary to obtain a complete cure. They couldn't take the risk of leaving even a fraction of a cell to divide and spread. Only a hundred-percent cure was acceptable, and would assure Alex that she would remain free of cancer. Because of the mastectomy, radiation was not necessary. And because of the nature of her cancer, hormone therapy would not be necessary either. The final results of the tests had indicated that it would not be useful. A chromosomal test had been done too, to examine the DNA of the cells involved, to see if there was a normal or abnormal number of chromosomes, and they had found that Alex's cells were diploid, which meant that they had the normal two copies of each chromosome. She had had the optimum outcome. It was a relief hearing about it, except that even with the good news came bad news. The bad news was that she had had cancer at all, and she had six months of chemotherapy ahead of her now, which profoundly depressed her.

When they talked about it, Dr. Webber understood. She was a small woman with dark brown hair flecked with gray, which she wore pulled back neatly, and she wore no makeup. She had a sympathetic face, and small, neat-looking, immaculate hands, which moved to emphasize what she was saying.

She tried to explain to Alex that while the side effects of chemotherapy could be disagreeable, they were not as fearsome as people believed, and with proper treatment they could be managed. And she assured Alex that none of the side effects caused permanent damage. Dr. Webber said she wanted to hear from her if she was having any problems. And the side effects to be expected, and discussed, were loss of hair, nausea, body pain, fatigue, and weight gain. She might also experience sore throats, colds, and problems with elimination. She could expect to stop menstruating immediately, but she told her that it was not impossible that she would menstruate again after chemotherapy. The eventual sterility rate was fifty percent, but that gave her an even chance of still having a baby, if she still had a husband, Alex thought to herself, as she forced herself to listen to the doctor. And Dr. Webber went on to reassure her that there was no evidence of birth defects afterwards.

There were potential, but remote, problems with bone marrow, though, and her white count getting too low, but these were less than likely. And bladder irritations were not uncommon. Only the weight gain surprised Alex, it would have seemed that with the nausea and vomiting she would lose weight and not gain it, but the doctor explained it just seemed to be an unavoidable factor, like the hair loss. She suggested that Alex go out and select a wig she liked immediately, even several of them. Given the drugs she would be taking, it was almost certain she would lose all or most of her luxurious red hair. But it would grow back afterwards, the doctor reassured her.

The doctor was as informative and as reassuring as she could be, and Alex tried to pretend to herself that she was listening to a new client, and had to hear all the evidence before reacting. It was a good system for her and it worked for a while, but as she continued to listen, what she began to hear couldn't help but overwhelm her. The nausea, the vomiting, the loss of hair, the relentlessness of it made her feel breathless.

The doctor explained that she would have a physical exam each time she came, a blood test, and regular scans and X rays, all of which could be performed in her office. They had the latest state-of-the-art equipment. She told her that she would be taking an oral drug, Cytoxan, for the first fourteen days of every four-week month, and then she would be coming in for methotrexate and fluorouracil intravenously on the first and eighth days of that same four-week month. After the intravenous drugs were administered, she could go back to her office. She wanted Alex to be careful to rest more than usual on the day before they were given to make sure that she minimized the problems and didn't lower her white count.

“I know it all sounds very confusing at first, but you'll get used to it,” she smiled. Alex was startled to realize they had been talking for almost an hour when the doctor led her into the next room for the examination.

Alex undressed carefully, folding her clothes on a chair, as though each moment, each gesture mattered, and she found she couldn't control her shaking. Her hands were shaking like leaves, while the doctor looked at the surgical site and nodded approval.

“Have you picked out your plastic surgeon yet?” she asked, but Alex only shook her head. She hadn't made that decision. She didn't know if she even wanted reconstructive surgery. The way things were going she wasn't sure she cared. And thinking about that brought tears to her eyes, as the doctor pricked her finger for her blood count. Suddenly, there was a catch in her throat for everything, and as the doctor set up the IV, Alex suddenly found herself sobbing and apologizing for it.

“It's all right,” the doctor said quietly, “go ahead and cry. I know how frightening this is. It won't ever be as scary as the first time. We are very, very careful with these drugs.” Alex knew that that was why it was so important to have selected an excellent and board-certified oncologist. She had heard horror stories of people who had been killed by improperly administered chemo. And she couldn't help thinking about that now. What if she had a reaction? What if she died? What if she never saw Annabelle again? Or Sam? …even after the awful fight they'd had the night before. It didn't bear thinking.

Dr. Webber began an IV infusion of dextrose and water first, and then she added the drug to it, but the IV kept backing up, and her vein collapsed just after they started. It was painful, and Dr. Webber immediately took the IV out, and looked at Alex's other arm, and then her hands, which were still shaking.

“I generally prefer the dextrose and water first but your veins aren't looking so great today. I'm going to do a ‘direct push,' and then we'll try this way again next time. I'm going to inject the undiluted medication right into your vein. It stings a little bit, but it's faster, and I think for today you'll be happier if we get this over with quickly.” Alex couldn't disagree with her, but the “direct push” sounded very scary.

Her neat small hands took Alex's hand, and she carefully examined the vein at the top of it, and then injected the medication into it, while Alex tried not to pass out from the sheer emotions. And as soon as she was finished she asked Alex to press hard on the vein for a fall five minutes, during which time she wrote out a prescription for the Cytoxan, and went to get out a single pill and a glass of water. She handed it to Alex, and watched her take it.

“Fine,” she said, satisfied. “You've now had your first dose of chemotherapy. I'd like to see you back here exactly a week from today, and I want to hear from you if you think you're having any problems. Don't be shy, don't hesitate, don't tell yourself you're being a nuisance. If anything seems unusual to you at all, or you just feel rotten, call me. We can see what we can do to help you.” She handed Alex a printed sheet of side effects that were normal, and those that weren't. “I'm on call twenty-four hours a day, and I don't mind hearing from my patients.” She smiled warmly and stood up. She was a lot smaller than Alex and she seemed very dynamic. She was lucky, Alex thought, as she looked at her, she was doing her job. It was just like the people who came to her, with terrible legal problems, and frightening lawsuits. She could take care of them, she could do her best for them. But the problem and the anguish were theirs, not hers. Suddenly, she envied the doctor.

Alex was stunned to realize as she left that she had been at the oncologist's for two hours. It was just after two o'clock, and her hand was still sore as she hailed a cab. There was a Band-Aid over where the doctor had injected the medications. Alex was beginning to learn all the terms and phrases. It was information she would have been happier not knowing, and she felt enormously relieved as she rode back to the office. She didn't feel sick, she hadn't died, nothing terrible had happened to her. At least the doctor knew what she was doing. She thought about buying a wig as they drove down Lexington Avenue. It seemed depressing to be thinking about it now. But the doctor was probably right. It would be less upsetting to have one on hand when she needed it, rather than going to stores, hiding her balding head with a scarf on. The thought of it was far from cheering.

She paid the cab and went up to her office, and Liz was away from her desk when she got in. Alex answered her calls from the messages on her desk, and she started to relax finally a little while later. The sky had not fallen in. So far, she had survived it. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, she told herself, as Brock came in, in his shirtsleeves, with a stack of papers. It was four o'clock, and she'd been busy for the past two hours.

“How'd it go?” he asked with a look of concern. There was always something very nice about the way he asked her. It wasn't cloying and intrusive, it was just very obvious that he cared, and that touched her. He was almost like a younger brother.

“So far so good. It was scary as hell though.” She didn't know him well enough to tell him she'd cried, that she'd been to hell and back, waiting for the injection to kill her.

“You're a good kid,” he said, “do you want a cup of coffee?”

“I'd love one.”

He was back in five minutes and they worked for an hour, and she left promptly at five o'clock, so she could go home to Annabelle. It had been a pretty good day, but a tiring one, all things considered.

“Thanks for all the help,” she said to Brock before she left. They were starting a case together for a small employer who was being sued in a bogus discrimination case. This time the woman had cancer, and claimed she was passed over for a promotion. Her employer had done everything he possibly could to help her. He even had set up a room for the employee at work, so she could rest as much as she needed to, and he had given her three days a week off while she was having chemo, and held her job for her. But she was still suing. She claimed she wasn't promoted because of her cancer. What the woman wanted was to make some money, sit at home, and be able to pay for all her treatments and then some with what she made on the lawsuit. The cancer appeared to have been cured, and she didn't even want to work anymore. But she still had a lot of leftover debts from her treatments. And there was no doubt, Alex had discovered herself, that most insurance plans paid only minimum amounts for cancer treatment. If you couldn't afford the very expensive treatments that saved lives, you were in big trouble. Alex's own insurance was picking up very little of her expenses. But still, the plaintiff in her case had no right to take that out on her ex-employer. He had even offered to help her, a fact that she had later denied, and that he had no proof of. As usual, Alex felt very sorry for the defendant. She hated the injustice of people who thought they ought to clean up just because someone else had money and they didn't. And it was also a good time for her to be taking the case, because she had a lot of very useful firsthand information about cancer.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Brock,” she said as she got ready to leave.

“Take care of yourself. Bundle up. And eat a good dinner.”

“Yes, Mom,” she teased, but they were all things Liz had told her too. She had to keep warm, and make sure she kept her strength up. She wasn't looking forward to the weight Dr. Webber said she might gain. She hated being overweight, although she seldom was, and she knew Sam hated heavy women.

“Thanks again.” She left, and went home, thinking of how nice they all were, and how relieved she was that her first treatment was over. It had been even more traumatic than she'd expected, and she'd been even more undone by it, and yet it had gone pretty smoothly. She wasn't looking forward to going back in a week, but maybe it would be better this time, and after that she had a three-week break before the next one. Liz had filled her prescription for the pills, and she had them in her handbag. It was like being on the pill again, which she hadn't been in years. You couldn't allow yourself to forget them.

Annabelle was in the bathtub when she got home, and she and Carmen were singing. It was a song from Sesame Street, and Alex joined them as she put her briefcase down and walked into the bathroom.

“And how was your day?” Alex asked as she bent down to kiss her after the song was over.

“Okay. How did you hurt your hand?”

“I didn't … oh, that.” It was her Band-Aid from the chemo. “At the office.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nope.”

“I got a Snoopy Band-Aid at school,” Annabelle said proudly, and Carmen told Alex that Sam had called and said he wouldn't be home for dinner. Alex hadn't heard from him all day and she assumed that he was still furious about the night before. But now she couldn't even tell him that the chemo had gone smoothly. She thought of calling him at work, but after all the ugliness they'd exchanged the night before, she thought it was better to wait until she saw him. She noticed too that he was going out a lot more with clients at night than he used to. Maybe it was another one of his ways of avoiding dealing with her, and it was certainly working. She felt as though she never saw him.

She had dinner with Annabelle, and decided to try and wait up for him. But she was so exhausted that she fell asleep at nine o'clock, in bed, with the light on. It had been the hardest day of her life, harder even than the surgery, and she was totally exhausted.

And as she slept, Sam was having a quiet dinner with Daphne, in a small restaurant in the East Sixties.

He looked agonized and she was sympathetic as she listened. She never made demands on him, never pressed him, never reproached him for what he didn't give her.

“I don't know what's happening to me,” he said, his steak untouched and getting cold, as she held his hand and listened. “I feel so sorry for her, I know what kind of need she's in, but all I ever feel for her anymore is anger. Rage at what's happened to our life. It seems like it's all her fault, except I know it isn't. But it's not my fault either. It's just rotten luck, and now she's starting chemotherapy and I just can't face it. I can't look at her anymore, I don't want to see what's happening to her. It's terrifying to look at, and I'm just not good with things like that. My God,” he was near tears, “I feel like a monster.”

“Of course you're not,” Daphne said gently, still holding his hand, “you're only human. Those things are terribly upsetting. You're not a nurse, for heaven's sake. Surely she can't expect you to take care of her … or even to be able to stomach …” she groped for words, “…looking at it. It must be quite awful.”

“It is,” he said honestly. “It's barbaric. It's like they just took a knife and sliced it off. It made me cry the first time I saw it.”

“How awful for you, Sam,” Daphne said warmly, thinking entirely of him and not Alex. “Don't you think she understood? She's an intelligent woman. She can't possibly expect it not to affect you.”

“She expects me to be there for her, to hold her hand, to go to treatments with her, and talk about it with our little girl. I just can't stand it. I want my life back.”

“You have a right to it,” Daphne said soothingly, she was the most understanding, least demanding woman he'd ever met. All she wanted was to be with him, under any circumstances, in spite of all the limitations he'd imposed on their relationship. He'd finally agreed to have dinner alone with her occasionally, as long as she understood he couldn't sleep with her. He couldn't do that to Alex. He'd never been unfaithful to her, and he didn't want to start now, no matter how great the temptation, although everyone in the office already thought he was having an affair with Daphne. And Daphne had made it very clear to him that she was so in love with him she would accept any conditions, as long as he just saw her.

“I love you so much,” she said softly, as he looked at her, consumed with conflicting emotions.

“I love you too …that's the craziness of all this … I love you, and I love her too. I love both of you. I want you but my obligations are to her. But all we have left now are obligations.”

“It's not much of a life for you, Sam,” Daphne said sadly.

“I know. Maybe this thing will resolve itself eventually. It can't be happy for her either. Eventually she's going to hate me. I think she does already.”

“Then she's a fool. You're the kindest man that ever lived,” Daphne said staunchly, but Sam knew better, and so did Alex.

“I'm the fool here,” he said, smiling at her. “I should grab you and run before you come to your senses, and find someone your own age with a less complicated life.” He'd never been as smitten with anyone since his boyhood, maybe not even with Alex.

“Where would you rim to?” she asked innocently, as they finally both began eating their dinner. Whenever they were together, they talked for hours and forgot everything around them.

“Maybe Brazil … or an island near Tahiti …someplace hot and sensual where I could have you all to myself, with tropical flowers and smells,” and as he described it, he felt her hand go to him under the table. It made him smile, and her fingers were deft and artful. “You're a bad girl, Daphne Belrose.”

“Perhaps you ought to prove that to yourself one of these days. I'm beginning to feel like a virgin,” she teased him, and he actually blushed.

“I'm sorry.” He wasn't making life easy for anyone, but he felt so guilty.

“Don't be sorry,” she said seriously. “It'll make it all the more worthwhile when you finally do work it out.” She was certain he would, it was just a question of time. But she could wait. He was well worth waiting for. He was one of the most desirable men in New York, and one of the most successful. Even here, in an out-of-the-way restaurant, people recognized him, and nodded recognition, and the headwaiter had considered it a real coup when he saw them. Sam Parker was one of the biggest fish on Wall Street.

“Why are you so patient with me?” he asked, as they ordered dessert and he ordered the restaurant's only bottle of Chateau d'Yquem at two hundred and fifty dollars a bottle.

“I told you,” she lowered her voice conspiratori-ally, “because I love you.”

“You're crazy,” he said, as he leaned over and kissed her. And then he toasted her with the Yquem. “To Simon's little cousin,” he said harmlessly, but what he wanted to say was “To the love of my life,” but he didn't. It would have been too disloyal to Alex. How could this happen to him? How could Alex get cancer and he fall in love with someone else all at once? It never dawned on him that the two events were related.

“I'm going to be very grateful to Simon one day,” he said conspiratorially, and she laughed.

“Or very angry. That's the bad thing about all this foreplay. You're building up an awful lot of expectations about me. I might turn out to be very disappointing.”

“Not likely,” he said confidently, aching to make love to her right then. Every moment they spent together was a tantalizing caress that tortured his body.

He walked her all the way home afterwards, but as always, he refused to go upstairs with her. They lingered forever, kissing on the doorstep, with her caressing him, and his hands covering every inch of her body.

“We might as well go upstairs, you know,” she tried to entice him with her lips and her hands, and he was about to burst with desire. “I think it might be a great relief to the neighbors.”