She returned to the gallery and peered through the window. It was Knut. Smiling, she hurried to the door. What was he doing here? She thought he'd be waiting at home.
"Hi, darling. What brings you here?” She closed the door behind him and locked it, then turned and reached up to kiss him. His hands clutched her shoulders tightly. With difficulty, she pulled away. “Wow! What did I do to deserve that reception?” She looked up at him, and for the first time, noticed the odd expression on his face. “Knut? What's wrong?"
His face was devoid of color and his eyes wore an eerie look. “Is there anything to drink around here?” he asked in a subdued voice.
"I think Ward has a bottle of Chivas in the back. Knut, did you have bad news from home?"
He shook his head. “How about if we have a drink first?"
"Okay. I'll get it."
She found the bottle in the bottom of Ward's desk and pulled out a wine glass from the cabinet where the supplies were kept. Her hands trembled slightly as she splashed whiskey into the glass. She didn't know what Knut had to tell her, but obviously, it was going to be something she didn't want to hear. When she walked back into the gallery, he was standing at the window staring out at the bright spring afternoon.
"Here."
As he turned to take the glass, his eyes met hers. She recoiled from the stark agony she saw there. “Knut, please tell me what's wrong?"
He lifted the glass to his lips and drained it. “You'd better sit down.” He waited until she sank onto a soft leather sofa. Still standing, he began to turn his wine glass in his hands. Leigh's eyes followed the motion hypnotically. Her hands clutched her skirt.
Knut cleared his throat. “I didn't tell you this before, because I hoped it would all come to nothing. But now, it's obvious that...” His voice caught raggedly and he turned away, unable to face her.
"Honey...” Leigh moved to get up.
"No,” he said quickly. “Please stay where you are. If you come and touch me, I won't be able to go on. I'm trying very hard not to fall apart on you."
Leigh felt the blood drain from her face. Oh God, he was leaving her! And just when she'd finally realized how much she loved him. She tried to speak, but suddenly, she felt as if she were choking. The pain was worse than she ever thought it would be.
But when he finally spoke, she realized she hadn't begun to understand the depth of pain. And with all her heart, she wished her instinct had been correct. “Leigh, they found a spot on my lungs when I went in for that X-ray after we came back from France.” His voice was remote, as if he were talking about someone else.
Leigh shook her head. “No, Knut. You told me you were fine. The antibiotics cleared up the abscess. It was gone, you said."
"Yes. The abscess was gone.” He turned around to face her. “But there was another spot. I went in for a biopsy. It's cancer, Leigh."
Leigh's fingernails dug into her thighs. Panic swept over her as the meaning of that one word sank into her brain. But then she thought of Deanna. Deanna, who'd undergone a double mastectomy, who was now still alive and well in New York. Writing novels. Living a full life. Cancer didn't have to be a death sentence, did it? Quickly, she got up and went to him. “There's surgery, Knut. Chemotherapy."
Shaking his head, he met her eyes. “Come and sit down.” He led her back to the sofa and sat with her, holding her hand. “I have a form of lung cancer called small cell anaplastic carcinoma. According to the oncologist, it's the most aggressive type and it spreads rapidly."
Leigh squeezed his hand. “But surely they discovered it early! You've had no symptoms."
Knut gazed at her solemnly. “I did have symptoms. Coughing, chest pain. Swollen joints, remember? But with this particular type of cancer, even when it's discovered early, only three percent survive for five years or more. And in my case ... it's already spread. It's all through my body, Leigh."
A silent moment ticked by. Outside, the anguished wail of a siren swelled above the city traffic. It was the same sound her heart was making inside her body. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from his and stood up. She moved over to the window.
Out there, everything was just as it had been a half-hour before. Shoppers sauntered down the sidewalks, swinging their purchases in glossy bags from trendy boutiques. Businessmen hurried along in their dapper three-piece suits in an attempt to beat the onslaught of rush-hour traffic. Impatient automobile horns beeped. Vendors on the sidewalks continued to sell their pretzels, popcorn and hotdogs. Nothing had changed in Georgetown ... except that Knut was dying.
With an effort, Leigh tried to compose her expression before she turned to face him. Her voice came out hoarse, “What about chemotherapy? Radiation? Isn't there something they can do?"
Knut rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at the mauve Oriental rug. “My doctor has suggested adjuvant chemotherapy where three or four agents are combined for treatment. He's been very blunt with me. I will be violently ill, my resistance to infection will be dangerously low and, of course, my hair will fall out.” He looked up at her, face stark. “With that, there's no evidence to suggest that my survival time will be any longer. And even if a remission is reached, it will be but a reprieve. Two or three years at most."
"And if you do nothing?” Leigh's voice was a whisper.
His eyes dropped back to the rug. “Three months ... more or less."
Leigh whirled away. “No! I can't believe this!"
Knut crossed the room and took her into his arms. She clung to his light spring jacket, her body trembling. This couldn't be happening! He didn't try to console her with words, for there weren't any in either of their languages to make the pain any less. Instead, he just held her close. After a long moment, she drew away slightly.
"What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice cracking because of the huge lump in her throat.
"I haven't decided."
As she leaned against him with her face plastered against his solid chest, it was impossible to believe that a virulent disease was eating away at him, taking him from her. “You can't take too long,” she said.
"I know."
His voice was a pleasant rumble in her ear. Oh God, how could this be happening? She drew away and reached up to touch his face. Lovingly, her fingers traced the bones of his cheeks, the laugh lines around his blue eyes, his warm smooth lips. “You don't look sick,” she whispered. “Could it be a mistake? A mixed-up chest X-ray?"
Gently, he took her hand away from his cheek and kissed it. “It's no mistake, Leigh."
Her hands dropped to his waist. She leaned her forehead against his chest, wishing she could find the strength to cry. But she was too eaten with fear, still too full of shock to do anything but hold him close.
Chapter 34
That evening there was no more discussion of the calamity that had befallen them. It was only in the middle of the night when they were in bed that the horror of the situation sank upon them. Leigh had awakened from a nightmare of ghostly faces and bottomless pits, and for a moment she lay frozen, wondering where she was. Next to her, Knut turned restlessly in his sleep and moaned softly. He reached for her. She took him into her arms, rocking him back and forth as he shuddered against her in unabashed fear. Slow tears tracked down her face as she tried to give him the comfort he so desperately sought.
"It's going to be okay, Knut,” she whispered. “I'll be with you through this. No matter what happens, you won't be alone."
* * * *
Erik sat at a traffic light, hypnotized by the swish of the windshield wipers against the glass. Because of the darkness of the day, his headlights were on, casting a dim, lonely glow onto the slick blackness of the street. A horn honked behind him, and startled, he glanced up to see the light had changed. He eased out the clutch and moved through the intersection.
It was a rainy morning in late May with thick gray clouds scudding in from the North Atlantic. The night before, there had been gale warnings out along the coast and today,
throughout the city, the spring storm had left reminders of its violent visit. Broken branches and other debris littered the streets, and many areas of Oslo were impassable because of flooding from streams and rivers.
Again, Erik wondered why Dr. Oien had asked specifically to see him alone this morning. Surely he knew Margit would want to be included when he was told the results of his tests. After all, this concerned their future.
With a baby, please God, maybe that future wouldn't look so bleak. Reality had returned as soon as they'd arrived back in Norway. His determination to find Kayleigh had been nothing more than wishful bravado. He'd realized that as the airliner sped down the runway and lifted into the skies. Kayleigh had made sure he wouldn't find her. That meant only one thing. She was happy with her new life. Once Erik realized that, he knew his only choice was to continue to make a go of the marriage with Margit. And a baby just might make that more tolerable.
After they'd arrived back in Oslo, Margit had received a phone call from her gynecologist concerning the fertility tests she'd undergone after Christmas.
"I'm fine,” Margit had told him. “Nothing wrong with my reproductive system. Dr. Wassmo has suggested you see a urologist, unless you want to just keep trying for a few more months."
"No. I'll go in for the tests."
Somehow, he hoped if he and Margit could share something as special as the birth of a son or daughter, their marriage would be strengthened. Maybe he could even fool himself again. Pretend he was in love with her. Just as he had after Gunny's hospitalization.
Erik made a left-hand turn into the parking lot of a new office building. The rain drummed against the windshield, falling harder now. He reached into the back seat of the Volkswagon and drew out a large black umbrella. Opening the door to get out, he was overcome with a feeling of foreboding as black and heavy as the leaden skies.
* * * *
Dr. Oien, a slight bald man with wire-rimmed glasses, sat at his desk, looking over a collection of scattered papers. With a glance up at Erik, he motioned for him to take a seat and then cleared his throat. His thick white fingers reached for a yellow folder. “Ah ... yes, Mr. Haukeland. Just a moment, and I'll be right with you.” He pushed his glasses up on his squat nose and opened up the folder.
Erik glanced at his watch. How long was this going to take? He needed to get over to the university to talk to Dr. Stalsett, his counselor. After returning from France, he'd made the decision to start work on his thesis again. The year of hard labor had been good for him, but now it was time think about a secure future for his family. Margit was thrilled about that, of course.
While Dr. Oien silently perused the contents of the folder, Erik glanced around his office. Just as in Bjorn's, there were the usual diplomas and certificates on the walls, heavy medical books laden with dust on a shelf in the corner and a wilting plant on the physician's desk. To the right of the desk, hung a thin curtain that surrounded an examination table. Suppressing a yawn, Erik glanced up at the ceiling. His eyes widened at the sight of a full-page color centerfold of a nude beauty taped to the ceiling above the examination table. So, that's what the guys concentrated on during vasectomies. Somehow, he didn't think even a buxom blonde could take his mind off what was happening down below his waist.
The thought of a vasectomy brought to mind something he'd been meaning to discuss with Margit. What form of birth control would they use after she had the baby? As much as the thought filled him with dread, he had to admit vasectomy would be the right choice. His eyes scanned the blonde again.
How about a date, love? Maybe this time next year?
Dr. Oien cleared his throat and looked up. “Mr. Haukeland, you had mumps as a child."
Erik answered blankly, “I had most of the childhood diseases. I suppose mumps was one of them."
The doctor dropped his chin onto folded hands and stared at him. “According to your records, you were thirteen. Are you aware that mumps can cause sterility?"
"I guess I've heard that. Doctor, are you telling me Margit can't get pregnant because I had the mumps?"
His expression softened. “Son, your sperm count is extremely low. I'm sorry, but it's practically impossible for your wife to become pregnant. It was the mumps, you see. Apparently, you suffered an inflammation of the testicles at that time, and the result is—technically, you're sterile."
Erik felt as if he couldn't breathe. This was the last thing he'd expected to hear. All these years, he'd dreamed of being a father, but from the time he was thirteen...
He stiffened, and his eyes drilled into Dr. Oien's. “But it's impossible! You see, I have a son. Gunny was born four years ago. Perhaps there's been a mistake in the laboratory test."
Dr. Oien's face reddened as he looked down at Erik's records. “I'm aware you have a son. That's why I asked you here alone. To prevent embarrassment.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a roll of mints. “Have one? No?” He popped one into his mouth. “No, Mr. Haukeland. The tests were run several times. And the results always come out the same.” His eyes finally met Erik's. “To put it bluntly, you've been sterile since puberty. Perhaps you should go home and talk to your wife. There is no way you could have fathered a son four years ago."
* * * *
Leigh awoke early. For a moment, she lay in bed stiffly, wondering why she felt such a heavy weight pressing down upon her. When the last cobwebs of sleep dissipated and she remembered about Knut, a sledgehammer stab of pain slammed through her body. She turned on her side toward him. He was awake and staring at her, his face streaked with tears.
"Oh, Knut...” Her hand reached out to touch the wetness on his cheeks.
He covered her hand with his and slowly moved it to his lips. “I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I suppose I'm not being very courageous. I should be strong for you."
Leigh slid over to him and buried her face in the hollow of his throat. “Just don't accept it, Knut,” she said. “Please fight. I can't bear it if you give up."
He was silent. His hand moved slowly over the skin of her back. Finally, he spoke. “Last night. About what you said. I appreciate your offer and I love you for it, but I'm not going to hold you to it. I would never ask someone ... especially someone I love, to go through that."
Leigh pulled away and stared at him. “You didn't ask! Knut, I love you. I can't run away from this, and I won't! We will go through it together, no matter what happens."
His fingers caressed her jaw lightly. “What did I do to deserve you?"
What did you do to deserve cancer? She didn't say it aloud, but suddenly, the question hovered there in both their minds. He was only forty-six. Of course, he was a smoker, but not a heavy one. Leigh's father had put away two packs a day for the last fifty years, and he was still healthy at seventy-one. Anyway, cancer was indiscriminate, striking infants and children as well as the elderly. There was simply no reasoning to it. Just a game of chance. It reminded Leigh of Shirley Jackson's “The Lottery.” This time, Knut had been the one to get the slip of paper with a black dot.
"Leigh...” Knut drew her close and rested his chin on the top of her head. “If I chose not to have the chemo, and I deteriorated to a point where ... well, you know ... where I can't...” he trailed off, and then blurted out, “where I'm no longer human, do you think you could help me die?"
Leigh stiffened. “What do you mean?” It was a stall. She knew what he meant.
"Help me commit suicide."
"Knut, please ... let's not talk about that now. You still have chemotherapy as an option. You haven't ruled it out, have you?"
He was silent for a long moment. Then, “I haven't made a firm decision."
"We could go to New York,” Leigh said. “Deanna had her surgery at Sloan-Kettering. Or we could go to John Hopkins in Baltimore. We don't even have to do that. Howard University right here in D.C. has a cancer center. Knut, I know you can fight this thing!"
He kissed the top of her head. She felt her heart sink. Why was she so sur
e he'd already given up?
"I think I should write Kristin today and tell her,” he said. “Don't you think that would be better than telling her on the phone?"
"Yes,” Leigh murmured, and made a move to get out of bed. Knut's arms tightened around her.
"No, don't go.” His hands moved down her body. “You know, I don't feel sick yet. In fact...” He smiled. “There are parts of me that feel quite healthy."
Leigh pulled away. “Oh, Knut ... I don't think we should..."
"Why not? Don't you want to?” When she didn't answer, he went on. “There will come a time when we won't be able to make love, Leigh. But for now, I need you.” He stared into her eyes solemnly. His voice dropped lower. “When I'm inside you, I feel safe. And I need that right now."
Leigh blinked back tears and leaned down to kiss him. His hands slid the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders and gently, he pushed her back on the bed. “No matter what happens, I'll always be grateful you came into my life when you did,” he said. Then his mouth clamped onto hers, and for a few exquisite moments, she stopped thinking about the cancer cells running amok in his body.
* * * *
For two weeks, Leigh and Knut went on with their life as if it hadn't been destroyed by the deadly report of an X-ray film. By an unspoken pact, they didn't discuss his illness. Leigh wanted to give him time to make a decision about the chemotherapy, and she realized it was something he had to do by himself. Much as she prayed he'd go for the chemo and at least try to save himself, she knew it would do no good at all to plead with him. This was a decision he'd have to be at peace with, and she had no right to try to influence him in any way.
They took two weeks off from work just to be together, spending long lazy afternoons strolling the mall or gazing at the spring explosion of cherry blossoms on the trees surrounding the Tidal Basin. Occasionally, they would pack a picnic basket and spread a blanket below a huge weeping willow near the reflecting pond of the Lincoln Memorial. There, they'd sit back and watch the parade of people go by.
East of the Sun, West of the Moon Page 36
