by Owens, Wendy
Here we go, I think as we make our way down the aisle, so much uncertainty awaiting us.
WHEN WE ORIGINALLY planned our honeymoon we’d dreamt of taking weeks off to travel around the world together. It was supposed to be a time for us to celebrate our marriage, focus on one another, and enjoy the newfound intimacy and security of being a married couple. The cancer changed our plans. Plane tickets were exchanged, and we shortened our trip to a quick five days up to Henry’s family home in the Hamptons.
The doctors want to get him in for chemotherapy treatments as soon as possible, which means by next Friday we need to be back in New York, prepared to fight the battle of our lives. Even though Henry continually apologizes for the inconvenience, I actually am enjoying the last minute change in venue. Long walks on the beach, the sound of the ocean through our open windows at night, the cool breeze as it rolls in off the icy water. For him, these surroundings have always been a normal part of his life, but I rarely saw places like their summer home.
I open my eyes, deciding I had lain around in bed, pretending to be asleep, long enough. Much to my surprise, Henry is leaning over me, watching. “Good morning beautiful,” he sighs.
“What are you doing?” I ask, shoving him gently, a little startled.
“I’m waiting patiently so I can greet my wife with a kiss on our first morning as a married couple,” he tells me before delivering a devilish grin.
“Why Mr. Wallace, are you trying to put the moves on me?”
“Most certainly, Mrs. Wallace, is it working?”
“I don’t know, keep trying, and we’ll see.” I smile.
Henry laughs softly, leans in close, and grazes my lips with his. The previous night’s lovemaking flashes through my mind. Though Henry now tires much easier, his skills in the bedroom have not diminished with his illness. I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect wedding night, other than a groom who isn’t suffering from a brain tumor.
A brain tumor. My husband has a brain tumor. Even though I’d thought about it all the way to the house last night, I refuse to share my anxieties with Henry. There seems to be a lot of things I don’t speak to Henry about these days. I keep telling myself that when he’s well, I will be able to share more with him. However, right now, the last thing he needs is more stress.
Yet, no matter how many times I tell myself the secrecy is for his benefit, I am plagued by guilt. Like what happened between Christian and me. Telling him about what went on in Texas, or even that Christian tried to break up the wedding, will only serve to upset him, which is the last thing I want to do right now.
“Hello? Earth to Paige?” I hear Henry’s voice break through my thoughts.
“Huh?”
“What’s going on with you?”
I look at him, puzzled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I delivered you a pretty damn good kiss, if I do say so myself. I’ve been nibbling at your neck in such a way I doubt I could even resist myself, and you’re just staring off into space. What are you thinking about in there?”
“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I guess I’m still waking up. Here, try some more, let’s see if you can get my attention.” I shove his head back against the line of my throat.
He convulses slightly with laughter. I feel his hot breath against my neck, sending a chill through my body. “Oh yeah, how’s this?” he asks, and then with wet, full lips begins pressing against my skin, tickling at my flesh and sending shivers down my spine. I arch my back in delight.
“Henry,” I whisper softly, pushing into the motion with which his body is now moving. I can feel the anticipation increasing between my legs.
Suddenly there’s a booming knock. Pulling away, I clutch the sheets to cover my bare breasts. “Is that someone at the door?”
Henry thinks about the question for a moment, and then bowing his head, moans, “Damn it, the chef.”
“What? Who?”
“I hired a chef to come prepare an incredible brunch for us,” he explains.
“Can you tell them to go away?” I ask, frustrated.
“I think that would be rude, don’t you?”
“As rude as not keeping your new wife sexually satisfied on her honeymoon?”
“Oh—now you’re just playing dirty. You stay here. I’ll let her in so she can get started, and I’ll be back in bed before you know it.” Henry explains.
I furrow my brow, confused by what he is suggesting. “You want to have sex while that poor girl is in there cooking for us?”
“Great plan, right?” He smirks. “By the time we get done, we’ll both be famished.
“Are you crazy?” I gasp. “Go let her in. We’ll wait and eat like civilized people, and then it’s back to bed.”
He grins at me. “You’re such a cock tease.”
“Is that right?” I laugh, sitting up and slipping on my robe.
Henry jumps into a pair of sweats, then over his shoulder confirms, “Yes, yes it is.”
“Mrs. Wallace, I’m going to ravage,” he promises and then is out of the room, off to answer the door. I feel a tingle spread through my lower half. He has probably called me Mrs. Wallace a couple dozen times since we exchanged our vows, and I can’t hear it enough. It literally makes my toes curl and my knees weak when he says it.
HENRY AND I have been having such a fantastic time on our honeymoon, I find myself forgetting just how sick he is. He’s no longer the man I left in New York when I headed to Texas. Often, the slightest thing, like an icy breeze picking up off the water, can cause his chest and bones to ache. Though he tries his best not to complain, I can see the pain on his face.
It feels like we just got here yesterday, but it’s already time to return to the city. I can see how much Henry loves it here, and I’d give anything to figure out a way to stay. To shut out New York, the doctors, and hospital visits, and stay here, in this moment together. The real world brings with it reminders of my mistake with Christian and of Henry’s sickness. At least here I’m able to pretend that life is perfect.
I zip up the last bag and make my way into the main living area. Henry is napping in an oversized leather chair in the corner, the fireplace flickers and pops in front of him. I cross the room and sit on the arm of the chair next to him, staring into the orange dancing flames.
Without warning, I feel his arms wrap around my waist and pull me onto the chair with him. I grab onto the edge, trying to steady myself, and prevent the full force of my body weight from resting on his slender frame.
“I’ve got you,” he says reassuringly.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I explain.
“I said I’ve got you.” With a deep breath, I release my grip and fall back onto his lap.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I say.
“That was my plan.”
“Is that right? You pretended to be asleep on the off-chance I would come over here and sit next to you?”
Henry snickers. “No, I pretended to be asleep so you would pack all the bags.”
“Henry!” I exclaim, a huge smile spreading across my face. He pulls me in, close against his body, and kisses my neck. I sigh as the warmth of the fire surrounds us both. The moment couldn’t be any more perfect.
“I love you,” he whispers softly.
Pulling away, I look into his eyes, and before I even think about it, I suggest, “Let’s stay here.”
“What?” he asks obviously surprised.
I surprise even myself with the statement. Though I had the thought earlier, it never crossed my mind we could actually stay. But here, in this moment, I see no reason why we can’t. “What if we stayed? I mean, I know Manhattan is our home, and I’m not saying we would never go back, but this place it’s—”
“Magical.”
“You feel it, too.”
“I thought you wanted me to go through with the treatment?” Henry asks, confused.
“I do,” I quickly add. “But why can’t you go through the chemotherapy
at a facility here? And then once the tumor shrinks, and you’re ready for surgery, we can head back to New York.”
Henry thinks about my proposition for a moment. “I suppose I can call Dr. Abbott and ask his opinion.”
“Yes, there, that sounds like a brilliant idea,” I agree, and my heart begins to race with excitement and anticipation.
“Winter in the Hamptons is absolutely incredible,“ he continues, naming off all of the positives he can think about with this plan. “And I’ll really get some quality rest here. We can also have that chef we’ve been using come in and cook for—”
“Hey, wait, slow down, I think I can cook a few meals for my husband,” I interject.
“Oh … well, I mean, I guess, if you really want to.”
I laugh, pushing my shoulder into his. “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.”
“No, but I wouldn’t exactly call you that good of a cook either.”
“Too bad, our vows said for better or worse, and I do believe the worse part includes enduring my terrible cooking,” I inform him, smiling gleefully.
“All right, if I must,” he relents in a humorous tone. A silence falls over us, lingering for a moment. “There’s something else I want to talk about with you.”
He sounds so serious all of the sudden, I feel a flash of anxiety fill my chest. “What is it?”
“I don’t want you to get angry with me.”
“What on Earth could I ever get angry with you about?” I ask, now nervous.
“I’m serious. I want you to hear me out,” Henry urges.
I sit upright, shifting my weight back to the arm of the chair. “You’re starting to scare me.”
“I don’t mean to scare you, but we need to talk.”
“So talk,” I reply pointedly.
Henry sighs; he looks to the fire as if he were searching the colors for the right words.
“What’s going on?” I demand.
His gaze shifts back to mine, as he takes my hand into his. “Paige, I love you more than anything in this world. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“I love you, too,” I add hesitantly. “Is this a bad thing?”
“No, I know you love me, and that’s why this is so important for me to say,” he begins again. “I want you to know that I’m going to fight this the best I can, and I promise, I won’t quit until I have nothing left in me.”
“You’re going to beat this, Henry. We’re going to beat this.”
“Please, just let me get through this. I love you, and I am so happy that I get to wake up every morning for the rest of my life to your beautiful smile and terrible cooking. I want nothing more than to sit next to you when we’re old and gray, in our rocking chairs, and watch the waves crash against the shore. But no matter how hard I fight, there’s still a strong chance I’m not going to make it through this.“
“Don’t say that!”
He sighs and squeezes my hand tighter. “One of the few things that makes me really sad is the thought of you being alone if I don’t make it.”
“Stop it! You’re going to be fine.”
“Paige, please, this is important to me. If something does happen to me, and I don’t make it, I want you to promise me something.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I insist, then start to stand up, trying to pull away.
Henry tightens his grip, pulling me into him. “You need to let me say this. I can’t bear the thought of you never allowing yourself to love again. If something happens to me, I want you to be open to being happy again. Promise me.”
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.
Henry huffs, and I can see he’s tired.
“We haven’t even been married for a week, and you’re talking about me finding someone else. You do realize how fucked up that is, don’t you?”
“This entire situation is fucked up. Should I wait until I’m sicker, until this conversation might be too hard for me to have? I know you, and I know how you’ll be if things don’t work out. You’ll retreat into yourself, never opening up to anyone ever again.”
“What happened to a positive attitude? You said the doctors told you that is important. It’s like you’ve already given up,” I argue.
“No, I haven’t, and if you’ll just promise me that you’ll move on when I’m gone, then I won’t have to think about it anymore, and I can refocus all my thoughts on more positive things.”
“I don’t want anyone else, that’s why I married you.”
“I get that, but you might not have that option, and the idea of you spending the rest of your life alone out of some sick loyalty to me, or because you’re scared of getting hurt again, makes my heart literally ache.” His voice is starting to crack, and I can see how much the conversation is taking a toll on him.
I look down at my hands, fidgeting with my fingers and twisting my wedding ring in circles. I don’t want him to worry about me. I want him to put all of his energy into getting well. I glance up; his eyes are already watching me. I take a deep breath, and with a slight nod, I say, “I promise.”
Henry pushes himself out of the chair, wrapping his arms around me, and my head presses against his chest. “Then let’s call Dr. Abbott and see if I can get my treatments moved.”
I STARE AT the words in the letter, struggling with pinpointing exactly how they make me feel. We were so excited to hear that Henry seems to be getting better. The two of you are always in my thoughts. As soon as Henry’s feeling up to it, Colin and I would love to have you two come down for a visit. Colin keeps joking about the forever-long honeymoon you two seem to be on, but I swear, I haven’t said anything about Henry’s condition, though I hope you will soon.
I’ve now been Mrs. Henry Wallace for over two months. In that time I’ve taken my husband to more chemo appointments than I care to count and watched as his body shift into one I barely recognize. He has become lethargic, sleeping most of our days away. He’s always nauseous and has wasted away even more over time, his body appearing bruised, as if it is being used as a punching bag. And if all of these things aren’t bad enough, he also gets to deal with the loss of his hair. I’ve been by him through all of these things, careful to never come unraveled or project any of my concern onto him. But it does seem he is now finally showing improvement, and we have the opportunity to come out of our seclusion. It infuriates me that one thought continues to plague me—Christian.
I want to see Emmie and Colin more than anything, to spend time with Olivia, but going to Texas means I’ll have to see him. I can’t figure out if my concern is that he will reveal my indiscretions to Henry, or if it’s simply the lingering guilt still haunts me. No matter the cause, the cloud is hanging over me, and even if we might be able to visit my Emmie eventually, I cannot think about that right now.
“Is that a letter?” I hear Henry’s voice over my shoulder.
Quickly folding up the page and sliding it between the couch cushions, I turn and smile at him. “Oh yeah, it’s just Emmie. Lots of Olivia stories, you know how she is. How are you feeling?”
“Actually,” he says, pausing for a moment. “I feel great.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean it’s hard to believe we’re heading into the city already to see Dr. Abbott.”
I stand and walk over, slipping my arm around his slender body, his bulky sweater slightly masking the change in his appearance. “I have a really good feeling about this,” I announce.
“Me too,” he adds and then pulls me in close, placing a tender kiss on my forehead.
“I can’t believe he wouldn’t give you some hint as to how the brain scan came out,” I complain, picking up the last suitcase at our feet, and carrying it to the front door.
“He’s a doctor, that’s how they’re supposed to act. I think they just want to be able to explain all the big words in person.” I laugh at his comment, then slip the keys off the entry table and into my hand.
“How about I drive?” He
nry offers.
I look at him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, I don’t think so. You might be feeling much better, but you still can’t sit in a car for more than ten minutes without falling asleep.”
“Yes I can … I can last at least fifteen minutes,” he insists.
“Exactly, now get your cute little ass in the car so we’re not late. We have a two hour drive ahead of us.”
“You know, I find this bossy side of you very sexy,” Henry remarks playfully, leaning over to give me a kiss as he walks by.
I take a deep breath, preparing to leave the life we’ve made here in the Hamptons and take in whatever news the doctors have for us. I know there is a very good chance in a matter of days Henry could be heading in for surgery, and while it’s terrifying, I also know it’s the best news we could possibly receive.
I watch Henry as he walks down to the car. Everything has seemed to change over the past couple months. His face is now so slender most people can tell something is wrong with him. He walks with an arched back, as though he’s trying to curl into himself as he moves.
Sometimes I tiptoe down the beach jut to get a good cry out, determined to never let Henry see me come unhinged. A good purge every week has seemed to do the trick. But here we are, about to find out the news that could be the salvation for both of us. I lock the front door then stop on the steps, taking in a deep breath and smelling salt in the air. It’s time, no more waiting.
HENRY SCOOPS MY hand up into his, causing me to stop picking at my cuticles. It is a habit I’ve picked up in recent months from all of the long waits in doctors’ offices. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“Don’t be nervous, everything’s going to be fine,” he reassures me. Henry always leaves me wondering where he gets his strength. Let someone cut me off in a parking lot, and I have no issues finding the courage to put the fear of God into them, but something like facing your own mortality, and I know I would be a complete basket case.
