Listed: Volume V (12 page)

He
hugged her back. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t really need to.

When
they finally pulled apart, Paul glanced down at her. She was still wearing the
prim librarian outfit and very high heels. “Did you want to show me your
dance?” he asked, a new note entering his voice.

Emily
sighed. “I do, but maybe not tonight. I’m actually not feeling all that great
right now.”

Paul’s
expression changed. He raised a hand to feel her forehead and then her cheek.
“Why don’t you just take some Tylenol and go to bed?”

She
nodded. “I might take a bath first.”

Paul
went to draw her a bath while she took off her sexy clothes and dumped them in
a heap on the closet floor. Paul had poured the lemon and eucalyptus oil into
the bath, and the familiar soothing fragrance made her feel a little better
immediately.

Paul
sat next to the tub while she soaked. He didn’t say much. She didn’t either.
The evening had taken all the energy she had, and she could feel another fever
coming on.

But
she was glad Paul was beside her. At one point she reached over to take his
hand, and she didn’t let it go.

He
was an intensely complicated man. He was guarded and needy, controlling and
generous, possessive and deeply loving, experienced at everything except being
in a real relationship.

He
was her husband.

When
the water in her bath was starting to cool, she opened her eyes and looked over
at him. He’d been gazing at her, something deep and aching in his expression.

A
couple of tears streamed down her cheeks. She was feeling too sick now to stop
them. “Thanks for not making this evening hard for me, Paul. I know it took a
lot for you to…to be all right with me doing this.”

After
a moment's hesitation, he admitted, "It shouldn't have been as hard for me
as it was."

She
gave a little shrug. "But it
was
hard, and I understand why. And it
means so much that you…that you…" She couldn't figure out how to finish.

She
didn't have to. Something cracked on Paul’s face for just a moment before he
composed it. "It's about you, baby. It's not about me."

Emily
shook her head. "It's about both of us."

He
helped her out of the bath, and she dried off and pulled on some clean pajamas.
Then she brushed her teeth, went to the bathroom, took some pills, and climbed
into bed.

Before
she lay down, though, Paul went to get a well-worn piece of paper and a pen.

Emily
was able to cross one more item off her list.

***

Today was one of
Emily’s “good” days, but it wasn’t very good.

They’d
gone to the hospital for another one of Dr. Franklin’s treatments and another
blood test that had shown the virus was still getting worse. It was progressing
a little slower than before she’d started the experimental treatments, but it
just wasn’t getting any better.

When
Emily had felt that drop of despair in her stomach that morning and seen a
matching expression on Paul’s face, she’d made a decision. She wasn’t going to
get hit by this sledgehammer every other day for the last few weeks of her
life. She just wasn’t. And she wasn’t going to let Paul get hit by it either.

So
she’d asked Dr. Franklin not to share the results with them until there was something
noteworthy to report—noteworthy meaning that she was about to die in the next
few days or she was going to get better.

Paul
hadn’t been happy. In fact, he had objected to this idea quite strenuously. She’d
dug in her heels, however, and—since she was legally in control of who had
access to her health information—Dr. Franklin had agreed to her wishes despite
Paul’s vocal disapproval.

“Don’t
sulk,” she said at last, tired of his silent glare from where he sat in the
back of the chauffeured car beside her.

He
turned his head and arched his eyebrows speakingly.

She
made a face. “Don’t give me that look. You know it’s better for our mental
well-being if we’re not constantly on this roller-coaster every two days.” She
sighed. “Especially since the roller-coaster isn’t doing anything but plunging
down.”

“Stop
it,” Paul gritted out, “It’s too early to give up hope.  Dr. Franklin said
there are other options he could try. There’s no reason to assume nothing is
going to work.”

Emily
shook her head and looked out the window. She didn’t want to argue with
Paul—not when she knew how much he was hurting, how much he was torn up over
being powerless to save her.

But
he
wasn’t
going to be able to save her. She was dying. She felt worse
every day. She’d been delirious with fever most of the day yesterday, and today
large doses of ibuprofen were barely holding off the unbearable achiness. Even
her eyes seemed to hurt.

It
used to be that her fevers were pained, blurry blips, interrupting the cycle of
her life. Now her life was a blurry downward spiral, interrupted by her good
days like short, disconnected blips.

She
glanced back over to his to find he was staring out his window as she’d been
doing. Today, he wore a French blue dress shirt and black trousers, since he’d
gone into the office that morning. His clothes were expensive, and he wore them
with the ease and authority with which he wore everything. But he looked tired,
pale, tense. His forehead under his dark hair glinted slightly, as if he were
perspiring.

He
was only twenty-three. Much too young to watch his wife die.

Much
too young to be a widower.

“I’m
not giving up,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I just think it would
be better if we have longer between the updates. There’s nothing we can do with
the information every other day except worry about it. I don’t want you to
worry so much.”

His
mouth twisted and he reached out to cup her cheek briefly before he dropped his
hand to the seat between them. “I’m going to worry about you anyway.”

“I
know. But I don’t want to give you any more ammunition. Dr. Franklin will tell
us when there’s something we need to know.”

He
nodded his head stiffly. He wasn’t happy. He didn’t approve. But he wasn’t
going to argue.

She
thought he understood.

“It’s
still all right for us to leave for Hawaii on Thursday?” she asked, thinking
about her list still left unfinished in her nightstand drawer.

“Yes,”
he said, rubbing his face with his hand. “And we might as well stop at the
Grand Canyon on the way.”

She
perked up. “Really? We’ll have time?”

“We’ll
have time.”

“Can
we—?” She broke off her question before she completed it. The trip to the Grand
Canyon and then to a volcano on Hawaii would already take more time than Paul
could probably afford to give up. She couldn’t let him get on the wrong side of
the board by taking even more time away from Philadelphia.

Paul
frowned. “Can we what?” After a brief pause, he added, “I thought about stopping
in California, so we could finish your list, but I thought that would make the
trip too long.”

“It
would,” she agreed readily. “You shouldn’t be away from work so long right now.
Just the two stops will be perfect.”

His
frown deepened. “I can take as much time as I need. I meant it would be too
long for you. I thought you might not be up to it, since you haven’t been
feeling well.”

Emily
swallowed hard. Let out a deep breath. Admitted, “I’m not sure I’m going to
feel any better. It might be a good idea to do everything we can now.”

Paul’s
face tightened, and he opened his mouth. She knew he was going to object, so
she spoke over him, “I’m not giving up. I promise. But I want to be prepared. I
really want to finish my list—just in case.”

There
was no “just in case” about it in her mind. This was the end. She only had a
limited amount of time and health left to use, and she still had items on her
list that needed doing. But she didn’t want to upset Paul, so she didn’t say it
out loud.

He
looked upset anyway. His shoulders were stiff, and he turned his face away from
her, looking out the window again. After a minute, he turned back. “I want you
to finish your list too. I’ll start to make arrangements to stop in California.
We can do all three on the same trip.”

She
smiled at him, a little shaky. “Thank you. Then all I’ll have left is finishing
Shakespeare. I’ve got one more act to finish in this one, and then it’s just
Hamlet
left.”

Paul
opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. He turned away again.

Emily
didn’t push. She wanted to reach over and hug him, but he was looking prickly
and so she gave him some of the space she knew he needed.

None
of this was fair to him. And, no matter what he said, it was her fault he was
in the position of losing the woman he loved. She had to do what was best for
him.

*
* *

Emily wasn’t exactly
comfortable, but she was still having a good time.

She’d
only recovered from her last bout of fever a few hours ago—so she was drained
and incredibly sore—and the bouncing of the mule didn’t help. Her head hurt a
little from the bouncing, and the sun was hot on her already hot face. Plus,
her thighs were pulled at an odd angle by the position of the saddle.

But
she wouldn’t have traded it for the world—not the chance to see Paul Marino riding
a brown mule along the Grand Canyon.

His
expression was composed and unrevealing, but she knew he would have preferred
to be elsewhere. He’d taken her skydiving, ice-skating, and globe-trotting
without batting an eye, but the undignified mule-ride was stretching his
composure.

He
wore a pair of khakis and a black t-shirt, and he looked as outdoorsy as it was
possible for him to look—which was not very. She was sure he’d ridden horses at
some point in his past because he had no trouble keeping his seat.

But
the sight of him, trying to maintain his dignity and composure on the mule, was
the funniest thing Emily had seen in a long time.

He
knew she was silently laughing at him, which was doing nothing to improve his
disposition.

“Dare
I ask why this particular endeavor was on your list when you were twelve?” he
asked, noticing her slanting discreet, amused looks in his direction.

Emily
giggled. “I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon. It’s something most people want to
see at some point.”

“Sure.
I understand wanting to see it. But why the mules?”

“Well,
if you have to know, I watched a lot of reruns of old TV shows, since that’s
what my dad kept on in the shop, and there was this one episode of…”

Paul
groaned low in his throat and rolled his eyes. Emily burst out laughing.

They
had a private guide, instead of going with one of the normal mule tours in
groups of tourists. It would have been nice to be able to do the full ride, but
that would require an overnight, and there was no way Emily would be well
enough to last that long. She would have a fever again tomorrow, if not
earlier. Three hours there and back was about all she was strong enough to
handle.

It
wasn’t that long ago when she’d been perfectly fit—her health never holding her
back from something she’d wanted to do. There was no use in whining about it
now, though. At least she was still alive. At least she was with Paul. At least
she was able to ride a mule along the Grand Canyon.

The
last months of her life could have been—should have been—so much worse.

They
reached the overlook over the abyss, where they stopped to rest and have a
snack on a blanket, looking out on the breathtaking scenery. Emily was more
tired than she’d realized, and she stretched out on the ground with her head in
Paul’s lap. She fell asleep without realizing it.

She
was stiff and flushed when she woke up, completely disoriented and having no
idea what time it was.

“It’s
just been twenty minutes,” Paul said softly. He was gently stroking her hair.
“You can rest more if you need to.”

“No,”
she croaked, making herself sit up without groaning, even though every move
seemed to hurt. “I’m fine.”

He
pulled her against him until she was reclining against his chest, his arms
around her, holding her almost protectively. “There’s no hurry.”

Despite
the swell of emotion in her chest, her sense of humor flared up unexpectedly.
“You just want to delay getting on that mule again for as long as you can.”

“Of
course.”

She
nestled against him, stroking his flat belly fondly. She loved how firm and
lean he felt—no extra fat on his whole body. “Don’t think I didn’t see you
petting your trusty Brownie before you got off. And then you snuck him a snack
when you thought no one was looking.”

Paul
ignored her blithely, except to say, “Brownie is a ridiculous name for a mule.
I think I’ll rename him Arion.”