Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  “How old were you?”

  “Four.” As my mouth drops open, his expression turns cunning and mischievous. “I love this game. The strategies are useful in life as well.”

  “Oh, really?” A smile tugs at my lips.

  “Mmm. I’m using one right now, in fact.”

  I laugh, but it’s breathless as he looks me up and down. “Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”

  “And yield my advantage? Never.” He gives me an absolutely wicked grin.

  Caught in his gravitational pull once again, I sink onto the bench. “I haven’t played in years,” I murmur. “My dad tried to teach me when I was in grade school, but I barely remember which piece is which. He loved the game, though.”

  Aron’s smile fades. “Loved?”

  “He died when I was fifteen. He killed himself.” I’m not sure why I felt the need to tell him that.

  “Nessa,” he says gently, putting his arm around me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s been years. I’m okay. I …” I don’t want to end up like him. I want to be okay, to be on an even keel. And I’d been thinking that keeping people at a distance was how I could do it, but right now, it seems like the opposite, and I don’t know how to think about that. “Let’s just play, okay? I need to get my mind off stuff.”

  He places a light kiss on my temple and withdraws his arm. “I promise to curb my competitive streak since you’re having a rough day.” He picks up a knight. “Chess is all about goals. Every move is not about itself so much as it is about setting up future moves.” His eyes meet mine. “During the opening game, at least.”

  Something warm stirs inside me, and I know he’s not only talking about chess anymore. I should be worried about that, but instead I’m drawn in. “Sounds like it takes patience.”

  “It does.” He picks up one of the bigger pieces. The queen, I think. He touches her face with a fingertip while his lips lift into a secret smile. “But it’s worth it.”

  And then Aron begins explaining the rules of chess and setting up the board. I watch him, wondering how he managed to turn around this day for me. All my problems are still there, and my chest tightens a little at the thought of them, but with every minute that passes, with every smile, it feels a bit more manageable. Like the world isn’t ending, like I could push through it, and like I have things to look forward to if I do.

  The time passes quickly, and we have to quit mid-game to get back to the hospital. Aron snaps a pic of the board with his phone. “For the next time we come here,” he says as he stands up and sweeps the pieces back into the box. “Because I was winning.”

  He holds out his hand and I slip mine into his grasp. “Thank you,” I say. “I think you kept my head from exploding.”

  “I had to give you some reason to keep me around.” His tone is light, but there’s something somber under it that draws my eyes to his.

  “I wasn’t going to—” All right, I was, but right now it’s the furthest thing from my mind.

  “I’m not ready for this to end yet.” He lifts my hand and puts it on his chest, then holds my palm there. “I know you have a lot to do. I know you feel like you can’t handle it, but something tells me you can.” He lowers his head. “I watch you, you know.”

  “You do?” I mouth, my heart racing as his fingers skim my throat.

  He nods. “In rounds, and with Finn and his father. You’re so … I don’t know. So present. Every time I see that, I … want it.” He chuckles as I feel his heart beat beneath my palm. “Listen, I understand the demands of your schedule better than most guys would, because I’m as busy as you are. But spending time with you makes me feel lighter, not heavier. More relaxed and less frantic. And I think it’s the same for you. So when you need chess, or turtles, or …” He leans forward, and I close my eyes as his warm lips touch mine. My fingers curl into his shirt, and I rise to my tiptoes. Heat tingles in my belly as his arm slides around my waist, as his fingers burrow into my hair. Just as I’m turning liquid soft beneath his touch, he raises his head and kisses my forehead. “I’ll quit while I’m ahead. But I’m here.”

  He pulls me into a hug, and I squeeze him back, amazed by the happiness that’s swirling inside of me. There’s no way I can express what I’m feeling toward Aron; it’s so intense and so soon that I don’t have words for it. But I can’t push him away now, because he’s the lifeboat in the middle of my stormy sea. So I stand there in that little park, that oasis in the middle of all the steel and cement, and I absorb the comfort of his touch. Whatever strategy he’s using … it’s working.

  Chapter Nine

  I stare at my chess pieces, shivering when a gust of late October wind cuts right through my cardigan. For the past four weeks, Aron and I have come to the pond nearly every day, and even though we never get more than twenty minutes at a time, it’s been my salvation, like none of my stress can find me here.

  I haven’t exactly mastered the game we’re playing, though. “I have no idea what to do next.”

  “Considering my pawn structure at the moment, you might want to consider a minority attack.” Aron reaches across the table and takes my hand, then grazes my knuckles with his lips. “The middlegame is about controlled and strategic aggression.”

  I glance up at him, tingling at the double-meaning I know is there. He’s intentionally driving me crazy, and has been for the past month. In addition to coming to the pond, we go out for coffee or dinner at least once a week. He walks me to my door and gives me lingering kisses that leave me breathless and craving more. We’ve met at the medical library on a few Sunday afternoons, and those have been my favorite moments, stealing glances at him while he reads. He always senses it, but instead of looking up from his book, he simply reaches for my hand or touches my thigh under the table, a barely there smile on his face. He never pulls me away from what I need to do, never demands more time than I have. I’ve gotten so much done—I even turned in my application to the Institutional Review Board a few days ago—and I’ve never felt better. I’m so busy, but I’m happy, and there’s one reason why. He’s grinning at me from across the table as he moves his bishop.

  Aron is winning, and he knows it.

  But tonight I’m going to turn the tables. Maybe it’s time I showed a little strategic aggression.

  I have to get through this day first, though. “I’ll attack you later,” I say. “First I have to get through this session.” I’m scared to death—with some coaching from Aron, I did go back to Dr. Feldman and ask for another chance. I promised not to tell Ursula anything without permission. I wouldn’t have, anyway, but my assurances, along with my apology for speaking out of turn, seemed to soothe Dr. Feldman. Aron was right—Joanna Feldman hates the idea of losing a patient, and the helplessness infuriates her. Once I understood where her attitude was coming from, I knew how to approach her. But then I had to show her she hadn’t made a mistake by putting her faith in me. After weeks of meeting with each of them, I finally convinced them to have a family session. It was a big deal to even get them all in the room with me at the same time, and Dr. Feldman told me yesterday that she’s planning to be there as well. No pressure.

  Aron snaps a pic of our unfinished game with his phone, just as he always does. “I know. And I have to check on a few test results. I’ll try to make it to the cafeteria by one.”

  I gaze up at the cloudy sky as we walk back to the hospital and wonder if it’s going to rain on all the trick-or-treaters. I let go of Aron’s hand when we reach the plaza, already mentally preparing for what’s ahead. He kisses my cheek. “You’ll be brilliant,” he murmurs, sending chills to my toes. “Good luck.”

  He heads in the direction of the labs while I ride the elevator up to the onco unit. As I step out, my phone buzzes. It’s Frank. “I know you’re probably rushing between things,” he says, sounding breathless and tired.

  “You sound like you’re the one who’s rushing. What’s up? Are you okay?”

  “Stressed abo
ut the tenure review next week. But I’ve been more worried about you.”

  “I’m … good, actually.”

  I hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Yeah? I’ll be honest—that’s not what I expected you to say after what you’ve had to do in the last month!”

  “Well, I took your advice,” I reply, thinking of Aron, our chess games, the way I feel when I’m in his arms, when I can shed the heaviness of my to-do list and just be. “I’m taking time to live while I live, I guess.”

  “That’s wonderful. And I’m calling with good news. I talked to the head of the review board, and he’s agreed to expedite the process. You should have approval to begin the study by next week.”

  “Really? That’s awesome! Thank you so much, Frank!”

  He laughs. “It’s my job. And I’ll help you recruit. My other grad students can collect your data—I’ll train them in your coding system if you send me all your notes and files. We can do this, Nessa. You might not have to come back at all. I’ve been thinking about it, and I could help you manage it remotely.”

  “That’s a lot of work for you, though,” I say. He sounds so weary already.

  “Nessa, when I took you as my graduate student, I committed myself to getting you through the program. And you’ve held up your end every step of the way. I will not let you down so close to the finish line.” His voice is warm, gentle, and I remember the choice I made, turning down other grad school offers to go work with this first year assistant professor in Wisconsin. The program was great, and I was fascinated by his research—but also, I knew we would get along.

  “I know you won’t,” I say. “You never have.”

  “You’ll hear from me next week once we’ve got approval.”

  “I look forward to it.” Grinning, I hang up as the doors to the onco unit swing wide for me. I hope this is an omen—it feels like everything is falling into place.

  Finn is sitting up in bed when I peek in on him. He looks so much better than he did when I first met him, though he’s still frail. Aron says two rounds of induction chemo may have done it—we’re just waiting for the results of the bone marrow biopsy.

  “There was a monster here,” Finn says to me as I walk in. “It was friendly, though.” He holds up a neon green squishy skeleton, which I assume was a gift from the monster.

  “Cool. I bet Shawn will be sad that he missed it.” We’ve been talking a lot about Finn and Shawn and their dad, how they’re a team, each of them with key positions. I’ve talked to Greg about how he’s the manager, how he can be there for his players and make sure they have what they need, but he has to let them play their game—and trust that they’re strong enough to do it once he’s provided for them. Over the past few weeks, it seems to have taken hold for them, judging by the rough crayon drawing of the three of them that’s hanging by the window. Shawn made it for Finn in my last meeting with him, and when we showed it to Greg, he started to cry.

  Finn grins and offers further evidence that he appreciates his younger teammate: he holds up a second squishy skeleton. “I asked the monster to give me one for Shawn. Dad’s bringing him this afternoon and I’m going to give it to him.”

  “He’ll love that,” I say, a little hoarsely. We chat for a few minutes, and then a nurse comes in to do some hygiene stuff with Finn, so I take off with a promise to return later. I check the clock as I hustle myself to Ursula’s room. I’m two minutes early, but Mr. and Mrs. Crandall are already there, and so is Dr. Feldman. Ursula is sitting up in bed, but she looks like even that is exhausting her. She gives me a ghostly smile as I enter. Her mother, a stout little woman with a round face, flutters at her bedside, wearing a huge fake grin to cover up how she’s really feeling. That’s what we’re here to talk about.

  After the initial courteous greetings, Dr. Feldman says, “Nessa, you called this meeting, so we were all thinking you’d get us started.”

  Ursula’s fingers twitch over her sheet while Mrs. Crandall’s expression freezes. Mr. Crandall swipes his hand over his thinning comb-over and puts his arm around her.

  My stomach is in knots, but I manage to say, “I really appreciate you guys meeting with me like this. I know we’ve all been talking separately, but since you’re a family, it seemed like it was time to get together.”

  “We’ve always been close,” Mrs. Crandall says defensively. Of all of them, she trusts me the least.

  “I didn’t say you weren’t …” I pause, rearranging my thoughts. Strategy, Aron whispers in my mind. “I think that’s been part of the issue, actually. You all love each other so much that you can’t bear to think of causing each other pain.”

  Dr. Feldman tilts her head. Ursula wiggles her shoulders, like she’s trying to sit up a bit straighter. Her mother catches her efforts immediately and helps her, and I latch onto that image. I gesture at them. “See? I’m glad I’m getting to see you guys together, because it’s even more obvious now. Mrs. Crandall, you picked up on her need instantly, and you met it automatically.”

  Mrs. Crandall blinks. She’s avoided a lot of meetings with me, probably scared I was going to criticize her choice not to tell Ursula about her prognosis. “I guess I’ve always done that,” she says.

  “You have, Mom,” Ursula replies, her voice hoarse.

  “You do it, too, Ursula,” I prompt.

  She swallows, and it looks painful. But we’ve gone over this, how she has to tell them what she needs even if she thinks it’s going to hurt them. “I do.” Her gaze locks with her father’s. “I know you guys aren’t telling me how bad it is, and I haven’t fought you. I don’t want to fight you.”

  “We don’t want that either, sweetheart,” he says. “You need to focus your energy on getting better!” His voice has gone reedy and plastic, as it always does when he pretends everything’s all right.

  “I don’t think I’m going to get better,” she whispers. Her eyes dart to me, and I nod. She looks back at her parents. “And it’s okay to talk to me about that. It would be easier on me if you’d just be honest.”

  “But we are—” Mr. Crandall begins, but he pauses when his wife puts a hand on his arm. Mrs. Crandall is staring at her daughter’s face like she’s never seen it before.

  “You’ve seemed so optimistic,” she says to Ursula, then gives me an accusatory look.

  Like I’m the one bringing her daughter down. My heart is hammering now. One wrong move and I’m going to be blamed for everything. I take a breath and let it out. “Like mother, like daughter,” I say gently. “And I mean that in the best way possible. You care so much that you cover up all the fear and pain to protect each other from it.” Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for the response.

  Mrs. Crandall looks away from me and slowly takes her daughter’s face in her hands. “You’re trying to protect us? You don’t have to do that!” She blinks and a tear slips down her cheek. “We don’t need that. All we want is for you to have hope!”

  “I love you just as much as you love me,” Ursula squeaks as tears fill her eyes. “I want you to have hope, too.”

  I’m feeling some hope of my own as Mrs. Crandall hugs her daughter. “See how strong she is? Being able to share her fears with you will make her stronger. It takes a lot of energy to hide.” I catch Mr. Crandall’s eye. “That goes for all of you. It’s natural to respond to a situation like this with fear and sadness. It means you’re human,” I say, recalling what Aron told me the day I felt everything crashing down around me.

  Mr. Crandall’s forehead wrinkles, and his eyes are full of sorrow. This is not fair for them. For any of them. But maybe they can move forward together instead of in separate bubbles of silent misery. With the walls of pretense crumbling away, the three of them embrace, a knot of need and sacrifice and caring. I give Dr. Feldman a sidelong glance, and she nods. “I’ll check in with you all later,” I say softly, and then we get out of their way.

  “You did a good job,” she says as we walk down the hall. “They were able to hear
you, because you acknowledged what they were trying to do. I appreciate your collaboration with me on this.” She pauses. “I think I might have been a bit unfair to you initially.”

  I smile at her. “I’m glad you gave me a chance.”

  Her expression lifts, as close as she ever gets to a smile. “You have more than me to thank for that. Dr. Lindstrom let me know you’ve done good work on one of his cases as well. Keep it up.”

  Feeling like I’m walking on air, I ask Carol if I can bring her back a coffee, then head down to the cafeteria and grab myself a bowl of soup. I find an empty table and sit down to do some journal club readings while I wait for Aron. But of course, all I can do is smile as I think about what he’s been up to—apparently he decided to take matters into his own hands when it came to combating the negative rumors about me.

  “Hey, Nessa, can I join you?”

  I look up to see Mark standing there with his tray. “Sure.”

  He smiles when he sees my gaze scan the cafeteria. “Aron’s still at the Hematology lab trying to weasel some test results out of the techs. He’ll be jealous that I got you to myself.”

  I lean in as he sits down with his salad. “We should have a scintillating conversation that you can brag about to him later,” I joke. “Or we could make one up.”

  He pokes his fork at me. “Careful. That sounds just this side of intentionally cruel.”

  I’ve been thinking of Aron’s perfectly gentlemanly—and, no doubt, strategic—behavior the same way. “Maybe he deserves it.” I pinch my thumb and forefinger together. “Just a little.”

  Mark laughs. “Aron’s met his match,” he says quietly, and he doesn’t look away when I meet his eyes. “It’s true, Nessa. I’ve known him for four years, and—” He presses his lips shut, considering. “Forget I said a word. Now, Aron said you’re coming to the party tonight, but he claims you’re being very coy about your costume.”