‘It seems like that now.’ She squeezed his fingers. ‘But things will get better.’
‘Will they?’ He removed his hand from hers, using it to push back his hair again. ‘You know this from your vast experience, do you?’
Hannah felt like she’d been slapped, and for the first time, she got angry with Charley.
‘I’m not just some Pollyanna off the street. I’ll know all about losing someone who’s another part of me very soon. And I have to hope that things will get better, otherwise why go on?’
‘Sorry.’ He shook his head, set his hand on her shoulder. ‘That was insensitive.’
‘It was.’
His lips curved, not a real smile, but something. That heady feeling she’d first had after he’d praised her layout of the basketball hoops essay returned, and she swayed in his direction.
‘Whoa!’ His hand still on her shoulder, he braced her, pushing her back a little.
Her cheeks burned. What had she been thinking?
Foolish things – which were all she ever thought about Charley Blackwell.
‘I’m OK. Probably need to eat.’
Considering her ass, she didn’t need to eat for a month, but what was she supposed to say?
You smell so good I’d like to lick you all over?
Her cheeks flamed now.
‘We could go and get some—’ he began.
The sound of retching had them running for Heath’s room.
Charley stayed through Thanksgiving. He’d planned to go home, then his wife had called and said she was going to visit her friend in New York City.
‘See the Macy’s Parade.’ He shrugged and glanced away when he told them. ‘Everyone wants to.’
More than they wanted to spend a holiday with the love of their life?
Apparently.
Charley had finally gotten his hair trimmed at Heath’s insistence, which only made it appear grayer, his face paler.
At the sight of his sad eyes, Hannah wanted to punch something. Or maybe someone.
Heath rallied on Thanksgiving, perhaps because Charley was there. He even ate turkey and kept it down.
Hannah felt a spark of hope.
‘Maybe if you continue to improve, they’ll prescribe DDI.’
The new drug had been approved in October. It was too early to tell if it was having much effect, but Hannah couldn’t believe the Food and Drug Administration would have allowed DDI to become available if it hadn’t been shown to work somewhere on someone.
‘It’s just a placebo to keep the rabble rousers quiet,’ Heath said.
‘When did you get so crabby-pants?’
‘When I got the first leprosy lesion.’
‘They seem a lot better.’
Heath peered at his hands, which looked like those of a very old man – something he would probably never, ever be. ‘They’re still there, and they most likely always will be.’
That tiny spark of hope went poof and died.
After Thanksgiving, Charley began to go into the National Geographic offices a few days a week.
‘Since you left they’ve been short-staffed.’
‘You’re editing slides?’ Hannah asked, half kidding.
‘Someone has to.’
That someone should not be Charley Blackwell.
His cameras continued to gather dust next to the door.
The idea of his still being with them for Christmas was both exciting and terrifying. What did it mean?
She agonized over what to get him for a gift – over if she should get him a gift. She finally settled on a new camera strap, both practical and personal since she had it monogrammed.
She hadn’t heard Charley talking to Frankie in a long, long time. That just meant she hadn’t heard them. It certainly didn’t mean he was in DC for her. She wasn’t even sure he was in DC for Heath any more, though he was a great help.
The two of them spent a lot of time listening to jazz. The mellow sounds seemed to be one of the few things that calmed Heath enough to sleep.
Charley brought home a new album every other day. The most recent was by Yellowjackets. The two of them listened to their recording of ‘Seven Stars’ over and over again.
Hannah started to wonder if this was the way it would always be – the three of them together, though not really together, each of them wanting, needing, hoping for different things, except for that one thing they all wanted. A cure for AIDS.
Which was as likely to happen as any of the other dreams they dreamed.
The day before Christmas Eve, Charley came out of Carol’s room with his bag. ‘Thanks for letting me stay. Have a merry Christmas.’ He winced after he said it.
How could any of them be merry this Christmas?
‘How long will you be gone?’ Hannah asked.
Heath cast her a disgusted glance. ‘He lives there, not here.’
‘I’ll be back after the holidays.’ His gaze went to his camera bag. ‘We’ll get some work done then. Fresh outlook. New Year. Start over. Right?’
The last word was so pathetically hopeful Hannah’s eyes burned.
‘Right!’ Heath agreed, his voice hearty and loud.
Too loud because he started coughing, and then he couldn’t seem to stop.
Hannah rushed to his side. ‘Get some water.’
She heard Charley’s bag hit the floor, the water running.
Her hands fluttered helplessly, patting Heath’s shoulder, smoothing his hair, a stubble too short to need smoothing.
Should she smack his back? Would that help or hurt? She had no idea, so she did nothing.
A glass of water appeared at the edge of her vision. She took it without looking at anything but Heath.
He’d put both hands over his face, pressing the palms to his mouth as if he could stop the frenzied, hacking sounds.
‘Try some water.’ She pulled on one of his fingers.
His gaze, wide and scared, met hers. He lowered his hands.
They were covered in blood.
She dropped the glass. It hit the carpet with a thud and water soaked her toes. She picked up the blanket Heath usually wrapped around himself for warmth and offered it to him like a towel.
Blood had started to come out of his nose. At least he’d stopped coughing.
‘Charley!’ She turned and he took a picture.
She was so shocked, she stuttered. ‘Wh–wh—?’
Had she meant to say ‘what?’ or ‘why?’ She had no idea because she couldn’t finish the word.
Her hands closed into fists. The desire to punch someone returned. She’d been having that desire a lot lately.
‘Put that down,’ she said.
‘It’s OK.’ Heath’s voice was damp, thick, not his own. The blanket pressed to his face made it sound even more alien.
‘It’s not!’ she snapped.
‘That’s why he’s here, remember? Be glad he picked up a camera at last.’
True, but why did it have to be now?
‘I should probably go to the hospital.’
‘Hospital?’ Her voice went as high as Alvin on speed, but with none of the chirpy-happy tone to keep it from being super annoying.
‘It’s not stopping.’
‘Put your head on the pillow. Feet up. I’ll get an ice pack for the back of your neck.’
‘It’s not going to help.’
‘We can try!’ she cried.
Heath started to get up. Dizzy, he fell back to the couch. ‘Maybe by the time you get a cab, I’ll …’ His eyes fluttered closed.
‘Heath!’
‘We need an ambulance.’
Hannah spun.
Charley held the phone to his ear. He rattled off the situation and the address before hanging up. Then he lifted his camera and kept shooting.
‘Why …?’ she managed, though she wasn’t sure what, exactly, she was asking.
Why was he taking pictures again?
Why was he here?
Why was Heath
bleeding?
Why Heath? Why her? Why anyone?
Charley answered a different question altogether.
‘A cab driver isn’t going to allow anyone bleeding as badly as Heath is into his cab, even if we could get him from here to street level without making him worse.’ Charley snapped a picture. ‘And I don’t think we can.’
Heath moved, moaned and she forgot everything but him.
‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘You took a little nap.’
‘No. I …’ He tried to lift his head but it fell back. ‘I heard you. Nine-one-one to the rescue.’ He grimaced. ‘Can you put a pillow or two under my head? The blood is backwashing.’
Hannah snatched every pillow in the room and began to build a pyramid beneath her brother’s neck. ‘Better?’
He gave a small nod, though from his expression, and the continued spread of the bloodstain on the blanket, he wasn’t better by much.
The buzzer rang.
Moments later Charley opened the door for the EMTs. At least this time he didn’t have to threaten them with a Time magazine exposé if they didn’t do their job. They arrived gloved up, put on masks as soon as they saw Heath and did exactly what she’d planned to. Elevation of the head and feet, ice pack on the back of the neck.
They also packed his nose with gauze and gave him ice chips to suck. She wished she’d thought of that.
‘You might have to have that cauterized,’ the younger of the two women said.
The older woman gestured toward the door. ‘Let’s get a move on. You two can meet us there.’
Hannah glanced at Charley. ‘You can probably still catch your plane.’
‘Even if I could, I’m not.’ He took her arm. ‘Let’s get a cab.’
Frankie
Frankie could not breathe, even before Charley asked, yet again, Where’s Lisa?
The night fading, the moon falling, this place almost exactly the same. Him sitting there staring into the water precisely where Lisa had died. What did that mean?
‘Lisa’s …’
She tried to say dead. Couldn’t.
Deceased. Nope.
Drowned. Same issue.
Perhaps she’d have more luck with a word that didn’t begin with ‘d’.
There. Lisa’s there.
Couldn’t say it. Tried to point. Except Lisa wasn’t ‘there’ in the water. Technically, Lisa was in her purple urn back home.
‘Gone,’ she blurted. It appeared to be her go-to word.
‘Camp. Right.’ He flicked one finger toward his forehead then away in a mini-salute before he took her hand.
She was so discombobulated she let him.
He was warm where she was cold. Hard where she was soft. Rough where she was smooth. Crazy when she was not.
She tried to pull away. He was also strong where she was weak. He would not let go.
‘I don’t know why,’ he said in a dreamy voice, ‘but sitting here makes me feel …’
She held her breath. What would he say?
Sad. Guilty. Horrified. Sick. Stupid. Negligent.
‘Close to her.’
Frankie choked.
He didn’t seem to notice.
‘Seems like years since I saw her. I miss her so much.’
Frankie had a problem breathing again. Might help if she actually breathed. She forced herself to let the air out, draw some back in. The pain in her chest eased, but it didn’t go away. The pain in her chest never went away.
‘Me too.’
Had she said that? She hadn’t meant to.
Not that she didn’t miss Lisa, but she certainly didn’t talk about it. Ever. To anyone. That way lay a direct path back to the madness that had threatened right after.
At least Charley didn’t comment. He just continued to stare into the water as the sun rose behind the cottage, framing it in tendrils of golden light, the way those old paintings used to frame Jesus, before peeking over the roof to cast yellow rays across the gently lapping gray-blue water.
Frankie should have done something, anything, but sit there and stare into that water too. Except sitting there did made Frankie feel closer to Lisa than she had since she’d actually been close to Lisa.
When Charley let go of her hand, then put his arm around Frankie’s shoulder, drawing her against his side, memories rushed in, so strong that if she’d been standing she would have staggered. As it was, she sagged against him and he pulled her closer still.
They’d sat like this during the single trip they’d made here together after purchasing the property. Lisa asleep in the cabin, worn out from a day in the sun and water.
Mommy, I’m a fish!
She’d been such a good swimmer. How had …?
Charley kissed the top of Frankie’s head and before she could stop herself, she rubbed her temple against his chin.
They’d sat here just like this, sipping wine they’d bought from a local winery. Then, after she’d run inside and checked to make sure the kid was still crashed out, they’d made love beneath the stars.
She hadn’t thought of that night in a lifetime.
‘You think any of the neighbors are here?’ Charley asked.
She cast a quick glance at the seemingly abandoned houses on either side of them. ‘Mid-week? Doubtful.’
Even when they’d been here, they hadn’t been here but in town, on the bay, riding bikes, playing mini-golf. Frankie shouldn’t still be angry about that. She should never have been angry about that. It wasn’t their fault Lisa had died.
It was Charley’s.
Although if she hadn’t been so intent on having some me time, Lisa would have been safe at home and none of this would ever have happened. So, in the end, wasn’t it her fault?
Try to forget that in the middle of every long, lonely night.
Charley turned his head, captured her lips. Her hands came up to push him away, except she didn’t.
He tasted exactly the same. Cinnamon sugar on toast – warm and sweet. How could that be? Over two decades had passed. Shouldn’t he taste like lying, cheating, dying old man?
‘I missed you,’ he murmured into her mouth.
She’d missed him too. This him. Which was the only reason she kissed him back.
With his mouth on hers, with his scent, his taste all around, she could forget for a few minutes everything that had gone before.
The harsh words. The lonely nights. The lies. The betrayal. The divorce.
Her tongue swept into his mouth just as a fish leaped from the water, returning with a splash that brought back the one thing she could never forget.
The dead child.
She pulled away, this time so fast she managed to get away, scooting backward on the dock and out of his reach.
Frankie stood. ‘We should head back. I think we can drop your rental in Sturgeon Bay. Green Bay for sure. No reason to drive two cars all the way to Milwaukee.’
‘Nope.’ Charley focused again on the water.
‘What do you mean “nope”?’
‘It’s slang for no.’
‘Ha-ha. Such a comedian.’ Except he wasn’t. Never had been. A prickle of unease traced the back of her neck. ‘You need to start chemo.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes!’ She said the word so loudly she startled several birds from a nearby tree.
‘What if I don’t want to?’
‘You’ll …’ She paused.
‘Die? I get the impression I’m going to die anyway. I’ve seen people who’ve had chemo. I’ll pass.’
‘Who did you see who had chemo?’
Had he remembered Hannah’s brother … Hell, what was his name? Something with an H. Hannah had mentioned him just yesterday. Frankie couldn’t remember shit any more. She and Charley were quite a pair.
And there was a sentence she’d never thought to think again.
‘Guys at the VA.’ He shrugged and stared at his hands, which were clasped together very tight. ‘I did that story when I
worked at the Journal.’
‘You don’t remember Hannah’s brother?’ she asked.
He lifted his eyes. ‘Who’s Hannah?’
She peered into the endless orbs of blue. If he was lying, he was superb at it. But then, he always had been.
Still, what would be the point of lying now? She couldn’t figure that out.
‘Never mind.’
‘Good. What should we do today?’
‘Go back to Milwaukee,’ she said slowly.
‘Nope.’ He lay on the deck, hands behind his head and stared dreamily at the clouds floating by.
Frankie thought her brain might explode. ‘Charley! Get up!’
He closed his eyes.
She fisted her hands in her hair and walked away. He’d always had the power to make her crazier than anyone in the world.
That had been another perk of divorce. Not having her temper rise until it pulsed behind her eyes when he stubbornly refused to do something, or stubbornly insisted on doing it. Her blood pressure had been pretty good for the past twenty-odd years. She’d bet it wasn’t good now.
She should go inside and call Hannah. But that wouldn’t help her blood pressure either. She called Officer Randolph first.
‘I’m glad you found him. We hadn’t gotten any hits on his car. Have you considered putting one of those tracker watches on him? I think they also have tracker shoes. There’s a lot of new gadgets to help with Alzheimer’s patients.’
‘He doesn’t have …’ Frankie began, then stopped. He kind of did. ‘I’ll check that out. Thanks for your help.’
‘I’m glad it ended well.’
Frankie nearly asked him how dying from brain cancer could possibly be counted as ending well, but such questions made everyone uncomfortable. They solved nothing. Maybe she had learned something in the years of her life.
Before calling Hannah, Frankie needed fortification. Unfortunately, the place hadn’t been lived in for decades. If Charley still owned it – which she should probably find out – he must have paid a caretaker because the inside wasn’t too dusty and the cottage wasn’t falling apart. But there wasn’t any coffee.
She’d passed at least two cafés in Fish Creek. She planned to head to the first one she saw. But could she leave Charley?
He still lay on the dock, eyes closed. She might make it to town and back before he noticed she was gone. But what if he did notice? What if he decided to get into his car and go somewhere else? She’d never find him this time. She was fresh out of ideas.
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