by Blue Saffire
* * *
For Luka, life had become one thing waiting. For a cure, for a miracle, for the end. With one look at the gorgeous Melia, he allowed himself the one thing he’d never allowed himself to feel, not since that final diagnosis. Hope.
* * *
The one thing that none of them were prepared for though, was that love and the selfless giving of that love could come at a terrible cost... to the heart and the soul.
1
Stage four. Recurrent. Cancer. Terminal.
Luka thumbed the file in front of him repeatedly, sighing. He looked up and studied the woman in front of him. She was clean, neat. Mid-to-late thirties, experienced. Maybe too experienced.
“My last patient recently passed away. It was hard. You get so attached to them, you know?” Her words had the clinical tone of one who perhaps had once believed what she was saying, but had seen too much death to care any longer.
“Well”—he looked at the file— “Ms. Judd, is it?”
The woman nodded.
“I will call you and let you know.” The woman stood and left his office.
Luka sighed and looked at his watch. Three down, one more to go. Fifteen minutes to gather his thoughts before the next interview. He leaned back and rubbed his temples.
Stage four, recurrent cancer. Terminal.
The words tumbled around his mind like laundry in a spin cycle. No matter how often he repeated the string of words they never seemed any cleaner, any more benign. Like a stress-inducing mantra, he clung to those words from the instant he woke up, to the instant — after much tossing and turning — he went to sleep.
Stage four, recurrent cancer. Terminal.
The oncologist had told Luka that Susan’s breast cancer had aggressively metastasized. Like an army, the cancer cells had invaded the healthy areas of her body. There they had multiplied and conquered, and no amount of surgery or chemo was going to bring her back this time. It’s best to try and make her comfortable in the time she’s got left. Dr. Everingham had told him as Susan waited outside. She didn’t want the doctor to confirm what she already felt happening inside of her. At first, there had been rage; he had wanted to flip over the desks and tables in Dr. Everingham’s office, tear down the diplomas on the walls, the certificates. What did they really mean when he had failed to keep Susan healthy? Then the anger dissipated. The doctor had seen Luka and Susan through the first course of treatment; had rejoiced with them when she had gone into remission; had been sad to see her slide back again; had done everything to keep her healthy, to prolong her life.
It wasn’t the doctor’s fault; Susan’s own cells were betraying her.
“A home aide would help alleviate some of the burden of Susan’s care,” Dr. Everingham had said just before they’d left his office. “You can’t — and shouldn’t — try to do this on your own, Luka. It’s too much.”
At home, Luka had crumpled into Susan’s arms and cried. He rarely allowed himself those moments of defeat, of weakness, but for over a year he had been her rock, and now, very soon, he was going to have to put her in the ground.
It wasn’t fair.
There was a light knock at the door. Luka sat up, unclenched his fists, and put his hands under the table.
“Come in.” Luka quickly looked at the file. Melia Carmosino. She came in quietly. He stood up and shook her hand before asking her to take a seat.
“My name is Luka Rossiter.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rossiter. I’m Melia.”
“Thank you for coming in today.”
Her dark, wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore no jewelry, and barely any makeup. She looked him in the eye, her warm, deep brown eyes catching renegade rays of sunshine that filtered in through the window behind him.
“Oh!” He jumped up and lowered the shades. “That’s better, I’m sorry.”
She noticed his uneasiness almost immediately. He seemed rattled by her presence. His tousled hair framed his face and skimmed the tops of his gray-blue eyes lined with thick, long eyelashes. Dark stubble covered his pale face, and when he spoke, his perfect white teeth seemed to sparkle from behind full lips. Too bad he wasn’t the patient. She arched an eyebrow; giving him a sponge bath would definitely be an upgrade. She cleared her throat. She needed to rein in her thoughts before her smart mouth cost her another job opportunity.
“Tell me about your last job,” he asked. “Why did it end?”
Melia wondered if the slight crease between his eyebrows was a permanent fixture, or if he ever smiled. “My last patient moved away. She was dying of lymphoma and wanted to see Japan. Her family thought it would be nice for her to see it before…she moved on.”
“It must be hard. This line of work, I mean.”
“It can be. Sometimes you have to prepare yourself for that reality, that these jobs are somewhat transient in nature.” She couldn’t get a read on him or what he wanted. Did he want the emotive nurse that would cry when her patient died, or the nurse that had nerves of steel? Was this the ad for the man whose wife was dying of breast cancer or the man with a brother dying of lung cancer?
Melia internally berated herself for being so disorganized.
“Why did you become a home nurse?”
Melia shifted in her seat. Usually when they got to this question, she lied. But for some reason she didn’t want to lie to Luka. “I had a rough childhood. I knew what it was like to be lonely and helpless in the beginning of my life. I decided to dedicate my life to taking care of people who were lonely and helpless at the end of theirs.” Melia thought she detected pity in Luka’s expression, and this annoyed her. Pity, was not something she did well with. “Ha. Don’t go crying on me now, Mr. Rossiter.”
So much for honesty. Shit.
An uncomfortable silence followed her outburst, and Melia spent every second of it kicking herself for talking too much. She sent yet another silent prayer into the universe, promising to learn when to stop talking if only she got this job.
“This is a live-in arrangement. I own this bookstore, and I’m leaving it in the care of my general manager during the next few months while I tie up some loose ends. But I need help with some of the more technical aspects of this home care situation. Sometimes, I’ll need to step out for business or house-related tasks, and I would feel so much better with someone who was available twenty-four seven. There is a room with its own separate bathroom, a TV, unlimited books. We will offer meals, and of course, some time off provided you help me learn how to deal with some of the more basic things. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, that’s perfectly fine.” She fought the urge to tell him that she had recently fallen on hard times and had moved in with her best friend from college. A live-in situation with her own bed and not a lumpy old couch to sleep on? “Yeah, I can definitely make arrangements to make that possible.”
“That about sums it up for my questions for you. Do you have any questions for me?” he gives a smile that’s equal parts warm and bleak.
Are you single? Will my room be next to yours? “Hmm. I don’t think so. I guess it would be helpful to know a little bit more about the patient.”
The pain that flashed across his face made her wish she had never asked him the question.
“Susan. Susan is…” Luka’s frown deepened. He cleared his throat. “My wife is funny. Strong. Independent. She’s the kind of woman that, well, she…”
It had been a long time since Luka had talked to someone new about Susan. Recently, he had ceased to talk about her at all, as if like those that believed a photograph could steal your soul, every mention of her name, of her very existence, somehow pushed her closer to death. He peered at Melia from over the reading glasses he used to keep the people in front of him slightly out of focus. Often they felt like a shield he could hide behind. There was a softness to her eyes. Eyes, he thought, that had expressed some disappointment when he’d said the word wife.
“My wife, Susan, laughed a lot. She is t
he kind of person who walks into a waiting room and begins cracking jokes until everyone is in tears. For a moment, people can just forget they’re sick, because she’s entertaining them. Everyone always felt at ease around her, uh”—he cleared his throat— “and she’s kind, and easy to get along with. Everyone wants to be her friend.”
Damn it.
He blinked hard and titled his head back, looking up at the light.
They never fully trained anyone for these situations. What words could possibly offer this man any solace? Instinctively, she leaned forward and squeezed his hand and for a moment, he accepted the gesture, and in the next, his hand recoiled like someone who had touched an open flame.
Melia looked at her lap, her face burning in shame. That was probably not the right thing to do, but she couldn’t watch him suffer on his own. Something about him seemed so helpless, as if he was lost in grief. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him any of the mundane, run of the mill shit that everyone spouted when faced with the imminent death of somebody else’s loved one.
Time stretched on as they sat opposite one another, the desk an eternity between them, and every minute that ticked by Melia felt like she was drifting further and further away.
At least it wasn’t your mouth this time. Saying the wrong thing was a specialty of hers and had cost her dates, jobs— and now this. She couldn’t stand it any longer. Abruptly she stood up and held out her hand, hoping it didn’t shake. She quickly thanked Luka for his time and ran for the exit. and thanking Luka for his time.
She fought back tears as she half-ran, half-walked to her car. She dropped her keys once before fumbling them into the lock and sliding into the worn driver’s seat. Clutching at the steering wheel, she pressed her forehead against the cool leather and allowed the tears to come. She told herself she was crying over thinking the interview, the stress of watching a husband grieve for his dying wife — and tried to ignore the overwhelming feeling of loss she’d felt the instant he pulled away his hand.
2
Luka waited in the car in front of Susan’s sister’s house and gathered his thoughts. He watched Susan walk slowly down the front steps, taking them one at a time, her too-frail hands clutching the handrail tightly as she slowly navigated the stairs Susan’s brother-in-law had installed for her. As she reached the last stair she looked up and beamed triumphantly. Luka waved at her and mustered a smile. From the bottom of the stairs to the door of the car, she leaned on her sister and shuffled her way to the car.
Susan’s cancer had caused her cells to begin to retain water, and her face had swollen the chemo had claimed her eyebrows and her long blonde hair. It had claimed her pale skin touched with rosiness, and had turned it slightly gray. It had dulled the shine of her big blue eyes. But it hadn’t taken the cheer out of her voice.
“How were the interviews? Did you find the one?”
Luka kissed her on the forehead and laughed. “How can you be so excited about this?”
“Well, when you get cancer and need help bathing or wiping your own ass sometimes, you can tell me what you won’t do to at least keep the idea of romance somewhat alive.” Susan coughed and her whole body shudders. “I don’t want you doing all of that stuff for me,” she said when she had caught her breath again. “We’ve already talked about this. So were they any good? Did you see any that you liked?”
Luka watched the palm tree-lined street zip by before pulling the car into their driveway. He looked at her, thinking. “I can show you the files. I think this batch was better than last week’s.”
It took a couple minutes to get Susan inside but eventually Luka helped Susan to her favorite rocking chair and covered her with a blanket. He laid three files across her lap.
“Oh, this one looks kind of promising,” said Susan as she looked through the file. Luka looked over her shoulder.
“Eh, she was all right if you want someone who’s cheerleaderish, bubbly, and hyper-energetic.”
Susan scrunched up her face and shook her head. “Next.”
Luka laughed. Susan had become a far cry from the woman she had been physically, but it was at times like these that he felt a strange sense of relief that what made him fall in love with her hadn’t disappeared along with her golden hair. He smiled inwardly. Her big, blue eyes flashed impishly whenever she used her sharp sense of humor. Her cheeks flushed pink as she laughed, and she flashed him her wide, toothy smile. Susan had always been no-nonsense and since high school had never cared very much for cheerleader-types.
She fell silent for a moment, frowning. Luka studied her. The knit cap on her head hugged her skull tightly, keeping it warm in the rapidly cooling San Victor evening. When Susan retreated into herself like this it worried him. Soon she would go to a place he couldn’t follow her to. To have her so present and yet so distant at the same time hurt him, but he never brought it up for fear of burdening her with his worries.
Susan turned her keen and searching eyes to Luka. “Where’s the other file? Didn’t you have four interviews today?”
Luka stammered. “Y-yes, I must have left it on the kitchen table when I started dinner. Let me go get it.”
In the kitchen, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out Melia’s file. Resting his hands on the kitchen counter, he took a deep breath, confused. Had it been an honest mistake, or had he done this on purpose? His thoughts were so jumbled, he couldn’t remember.
A slight tremor shook the paper file as he handed it to Susan. Her eyes scanned the file then she looked up at him. “Well, tell me about her!”
Luka cleared his throat and frowned. “She’s—she’s qualified, I guess.”
Susan raised a painted on eyebrow.
Luka sighed. “She’s a bit, I don’t know — a bit bratty? She talks too much. Like too familiarly, like we’ve known each other for longer than we do. I don’t know if—”
“Well, that’s her then. Great! We made a choice.” As if to emphasize her point, Susan gathered the papers and tapped them on her knees twice.
Luka’s mouth fell open.
“What? The girl has spunk! I don’t want a cheerleader, or someone who’s dead on the inside. I want someone who will breathe life into this household even if I’m going to die in it, goddamn it!” Susan’s chest heaved and Luka rushed to her side, rubbing her back until her breath returned to normal.
Susan shook him off and stood up. She stiffened and looked him straight in the eye. “This is my choice, Luka. I want her.”
Luka suppressed a smile. Susan was stubborn and there was no arguing with her when she decided to make a stand. Despite her petite stature, Susan was a formidable woman. Her never-back-down attitude had attracted him starting in high school when in an act of protest and defiance against animal cruelty she had released over a dozen frogs from the science labs into the cafeteria.
“Okay. I’ll call her.”
“Call her now. I want you to call her now.” Susan sighed, then smiled. “And then when you bring me my dinner in bed, I’d like you to tell me why you think she’s bratty and when her first day will be.” She made her way to the master bedroom, dragging her slippered feet every step of the way. When she closed the door, he picked up the phone.
Melia sat at the kitchen table of Victor’s apartment. She leaned her head on one hand while she circled personals in the newspaper. There hadn’t been a lot of patients needing in-home care lately, and she wasn’t making ends meet. She sighed, fighting back the tears. This was not how she had imagined her life ending up. She circled another ad, looking for a part-time barista in a local hipster coffee shop.
Great.
After the interview had gone so badly, Melia had sat in her car feeling sorry for herself for a few minutes. Then she had driven out to the beach and dug her toes into the sand. She listened to the melancholy call of the seagulls and the quiet rush of waves breaking on sand. She still couldn’t fathom what had possessed her to touch a potential employer. No matter how she spun the situation, it all was h
eartbreaking in some frustrating way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
When the setting sun had cast the sky in orange, pink and purple light, she got up and made her way to Victor’s apartment. She wasn’t one to mope and that wasn’t about to change now. She had grabbed a neighbor’s newspaper from the entrance of the building and set to work looking for a part-time job to hold her over until the next patient.
The phone rang and Melia let it go to voicemail. She had long ceased to pick up the phone after the first few times she’d forgotten to relay an important message to Victor. Her hand froze as she heard his voice come over the answering machine. She jumped up and ran to grab the phone.
“Hello?” she all but screamed into the receiver.
“I—uh, it’s Luka Rossiter.” He seemed unnerved at the sound of her voice.
“Yes, I know,” she said, immediately regretting it. She’d have to add learning phone etiquette to her ever-growing list of personal resolutions.
“I was calling to let you know that my wife has chosen you. She’d like, you, uh, to be her…to be her home aide.”
Melia opened and closed her mouth a few times, unable to speak.
“Hello?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Well, would you be okay with that?”
“I’ll have to let you know, Mr. Rossiter. I’ve had a few offers.” There was silence on the line, and Melia wondered what possessed her to say that. She took a deep breath. “That’s perfect. When do you need me by?”
“As soon as possible. If you’re sure…”
Luka and Melia coordinated the details of her moving in during the weekend, so he could be there to introduce her to Susan and help her unpack her bags.
Melia hung up the phone and leaned her forehead into her hands. Victor found her like this when he walked into the apartment.
