Fierce (38 page)

But I wasn’t that man, and she was right about something else, too. That we were a mismatch. She needed somebody who could love her back the way she deserved to be loved. And that wasn’t me. 

On Wednesday, I went down to the Publicity department. I needed to talk to Martine about Shades of V, now that the deal was about to be signed. Of course, I could have had her come to my office. But if I wanted to see that Hope was there, that she was all right...well, of course I did. I didn’t want to text her, much less call her. Prolonging all of this would be a mistake. I’d always believed in a clean break. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to make sure she was all right. 

Women’s Wednesday. Tonight, she’d be sitting on the couch with Karen. Karen’s feet in Hope’s lap, Hope’s hands stroking over her sister’s legs, giving her that love that came so easily to her. They’d be doing all of that, as long as Hope was all right. I needed to check, that was all. 

Except that she wasn’t there. I walked by the cubicle and cast a casual glance inside. No laptop. No papers. No coat. Nothing.

I couldn’t have said what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking anything. I was walking into Martine’s office without knocking, having her look up with a frown from her phone call, then end the conversation with a hasty word before turning to me.

“Yes?” she asked. “What is it?”

I thought about being subtle. For about a tenth of a second. “Hope,” I said. “Where is she?”

Something in Martine’s expression shifted. “She was out half the day yesterday, and she hasn’t come in at all today. She isn’t eligible for sick leave yet, and this isn’t acceptable. I know you asked me to hire her, but I’m afraid she’s not up to the job. I need reliable assistants. To mention only one of my concerns.” 

I wasn’t listening to that. “Why?” I demanded. “Why hasn’t she come in?”

Martine shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Who knows? It certainly isn’t because she’s sick. All I got was a lame excuse. I’m guessing she’s hoping to be laid off and collect unemployment, considering her pattern of absences. Not to mention that I’ve had to speak to her about her work several times. If she does come back, whenever that is? I’d prefer that you found her another spot, if you’re determined to...keep her.”

I wasn’t listening. I was already gone. 

The knock on the door made me jump. It was more hammering, really. Something was wrong. 

“Who is it?” I asked through the front door.

“Hemi. Open the bloody door.”

The last person I’d expected. The last person I needed to see right now. “I can’t talk.”

“You’d bloody well better talk, if you’re not trying to lose your job.”

Oh, no.
I unfastened the chain, slid the deadbolt back, and opened up. “How...how did you get in?” 

“How do you think?” There wasn’t one bit of tenderness in the eyes that bored into mine, not that I would have expected any. “Your security is rubbish. I walked in behind a bloke who didn’t even ask me what I was doing here. I could have been anybody.”

I couldn’t handle his anger, not now. I couldn’t handle him being here. “This isn’t a good time.” 

His face was closed, set, and hard as iron, and the skin prickled on my arms, because this was Hemi at his most formidable. “You’re not at work, and you weren’t there yesterday, either. You didn’t answer my text. How the bloody hell do you expect me to protect your job if you don’t do it?”

“I turned the ringer off on my phone.” I was getting flustered in spite of myself, even though this was
my
apartment,
my
space, and Hemi and I were done. We were
done.
“Because I couldn’t talk. But...my job? But I
told
Martine. I
told
her.” This was the worst thing, the thing I hadn’t dared to think about. 

“What did you tell her? And why do you keep looking back into your apartment?” Something in his face changed again. “Oh, no. You’re joking.” He was walking straight past me, straight to the bedroom, and opening the door. 

A cry from inside, and I was rushing through behind him. “It’s OK, baby,” I said as Karen moaned and rolled over, her arm going up to shield her eyes. “It’s OK.”

“Ohhh…uhhh…” Karen was fumbling for the plastic bowl, heaving herself to her elbows, and I held her head as she was sick. Nothing to come up, because she hadn’t been able to keep anything down all day.

I helped her get comfortable again when the sickness had passed, picked up the bowl, and handed her a water bottle. “Try to sip, sweetie,” I coaxed. “Tiny sips. You need to stay hydrated.”

“Make him go away,” she moaned. 

“I will,” I promised. “Right now. You rest. I’ll be right back.”

I carried the bowl out of the bedroom, but Hemi had already left. He’d retreated the moment he saw Karen, and I knew why. Because that was way too much real life for him. It was too much for me, too, but I didn’t get to choose. 

“What—” he began.

“Give me a minute.” I wanted to tell him to leave, that I didn’t need this, not today. But my job...

So instead, I forced my feet to move to the kitchen sink to wash out the bowl, and didn’t speak to him until I’d returned it to Karen’s side, had seen her resting again, her eyes closed. She’d sleep now, I hoped.

When I came back out into the living room, Hemi was standing there, staring out the window at the brick wall across the air shaft. At nothing. 

 He turned at my approach. “What’s going on with Karen? This is why you haven’t been at work?”

I sank onto the couch. “Yes. But I told Martine. Is she really...is my job in jeopardy?”

He sat beside me, and I wished he’d hold my hand and knew he couldn’t, and that made it so much worse, somehow. Even though it didn’t matter, not anymore.

“No,” he said. “Your job’s OK, now that I know. I’ll tell Martine. But what’s wrong with Karen? The migraines worse?”

I passed a hand across my forehead and tried to think straight, tried to climb out of the fog of worry that had clouded my mind for the past two days. “I guess. I guess it’s migraines. But it’s...it’s really bad now.”

“She needs a specialist.” He was frowning. “Why isn’t she seeing one?”

“I took her to the doctor yesterday.” I wished I didn’t sound so defensive. Did he really understand so little of what life was like for regular people? “Of course I did. They need to do a CT scan, they said, and maybe an MRI, and who knows what else. And, yes, she needs to see a neurologist for that. All kinds of things, and it’s thousands of dollars, and I can’t even charge it, because I don’t have the credit limit. I have to wait until my new insurance kicks in, because I can’t…” I had to stop for a minute to get hold of myself. “It’s only another week, but I’m not sure I can keep my job for another week like this, and I’m...”

I blinked the tears back.
Be strong. You can be strong.
I took a deep breath and continued. “They won’t do it until I get the preauthorization from the insurance. So...I don’t want to ask you. It’s the last thing I want to do. But I need my job. Please. I’ll work doubly hard afterwards. I’ll work from home, if Martine will let me. I asked, but she said no. But...please. I need the insurance, at least. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help? Why didn’t you even tell me?”

“Because I…I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk...I broke
up
with you, Hemi.”

“You think I’m that kind of bastard? That I’d take the chance to have you sacked? That I wouldn’t help you, just because you don’t want to sleep with me anymore?”

I was shaking. I couldn’t deal with this, too. Not on top of everything else. It was too much. “I don’t...I don’t know,” I managed to say. “I’m sorry. I can’t—”

“Oh, bloody hell.” And then he’d pulled me into his arms, and I was shaking against him and
not
crying. Taking deep breaths and pulling myself together, because I couldn’t afford to let go.

I sat up again, finally, moved away from him, tried to get a grip. “I’m all right.” It had to be true. No choice. “I just need a week. One week. Please. If you can give me some assignments, so I can get paid, because I don’t have any sick leave, either, and there’s rent, and...” I swallowed. “If Marketing needs any help, or anybody. Proofreading copy, or spreadsheets, or anything. I’ll do whatever there is. I wouldn’t ask, but I don’t have any choice.”

“No worries,” he said. I tried to read his expression and couldn’t come close, but it didn’t matter, did it? “We’ll get that sorted. And Josh will call you about an appointment for Karen as well. We’ll find out what this is, and we’ll fix it.”

“But why?” I was still shaking. I knew it was weak, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m...sorry. Thank you. I’ve been pretty...pretty desperate. I didn’t know what to do. But why? Why would you help me?”

“Because—” He broke off, then shrugged. “Because I can. Because it needs to be done.” He stood up, and I rose with him. “I’ll let you get back to Karen.”

I wanted him to hold me, and I knew I couldn’t ask him to. That it wasn’t possible. That that wasn’t what we had, no matter how much it felt like it. He’d help me for some reason of his own. Or because that was what he did. I knew that, too. But he wouldn’t love me.

I was right. He didn’t hold me. Instead, he put out a hand and touched my cheek for a moment, and his eyes weren’t hard anymore. 

“Try not to worry,” he said. “You’ll keep your job, and we’ll get Karen sorted. You’ll see.” 

Brain tumor.
When I heard the words on Monday, I thought I’d faint. 

I didn’t faint, of course, because I was holding Karen’s hand. The doctor—a Manhattan neurologist whom I would never in a million years have gotten for Karen on my own—pushed the box of tissues across the table, and I didn’t take them.

“Wow,” Karen said. “That sucks.” Being strong, because Karen
was
strong. But she wasn’t going to have to be strong alone.

“No,” I said. “It doesn’t suck. It means that now we know what’s wrong, and we can fix it. Can’t we?” I pressed her hand harder, looked at the doctor, and willed the answer to be
yes,
as if my will would have any influence whatever on the outcome. 

“I can’t give you any guarantees,” he said. “That’s not how this works, and unfortunately, there’s no way of telling for sure until we’ve gone in there and biopsied it. But it’s showing all the signs of a meningioma, and in about 95% of cases, especially in patients as young as Karen, that’s a benign tumor. And as it happens, it’s in a good spot as these things go. Right here at the crown of Karen’s head.” He pointed to the circle of white on the MRI again, that damning space that shouldn’t have been there. The alien thing that had been pressing on her brain, blurring her vision, making her hurt, and making her sick. Growing for months, or even years, he’d said. “So, best case? We go on in there and take it out, and there’s not even any need for radiation, because we’re done. I’ve got some literature for you here, because I know it’s a lot to take in. You can go on and read these after you leave here. They should help answer some questions, and anything else you want to know, you can call my office and ask.”

He handed me a sheaf of handouts.
About Brain Tumors
, I read in big, damning black letters at the top, and I had to stop myself from putting a hand over my mouth. The lunch I’d barely been able to eat was threatening to come up again, and I had to swallow hard before I spoke again.

“Thank you,” I said. “We’ll do that.” Trying to make this be normal, even though it was nothing like normal. Trying not to think of our mother, the way I’d been trying not to do all along, and failing completely. 

Karen wasn’t our mother, though, and this wasn’t the same thing, because surely that would be too cruel. It wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be.

“And to answer your next question, the one I can tell is on the tip of your tongue—” the doctor said. “Yes, there are risks, of course. There are always risks. But I’m referring you to Dr. Feingold, and he’s pretty good. In fact—I’ll go out on a limb here and say that he’s the best.”

“What if it’s...something else?” I managed to ask. I didn’t want Karen to hear it, but at the same time, she had to hear it. She was a very bright girl. She knew what “probably benign” meant, almost as well as I did. “What do we do then? What’s the…”