Lightning

by Danielle Steel

  “What do you mean, ‘all the time’?” She looked shocked as she looked at him. “This happened yesterday, and I've seen you twice in two days for less than an hour each time, I wouldn't say we've spent a lot of time on this.”

  “I don't think ‘we' should have to. It's something you're going to have to deal with and work out.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “I can't help you, Alex. You have to help yourself.”

  “I'll remember that.”

  “I'm sorry you're so angry,” he said quietly, which only made her madder.

  “So am I.” They sat quietly for a few more minutes and then Sam stood up, and looked at her uncomfortably.

  “I guess I should go home to Annabelle. It's getting late, and I promised her I'd come home for dinner.” Alex felt him slipping out of her grasp, and it panicked her. She had said none of the right things to him to elicit his sympathy, and he hadn't said anything right either. She was angry at him for not being there for her. He hadn't been there when she woke up from the surgery, or when they'd told her she'd lost her breast and had cancer, and he hadn't been there all day today. He'd been out with Simon and his clients, at fancy restaurants, making deals and being important. And he didn't seem to understand any of what she was feeling. He didn't understand how shaky she was, or how scared, how unsure of herself suddenly, or of his love for her. And it was too easy for him to just say that one breast or two was unimportant. It was important to her. She cared about how she looked to him, and she cared desperately about whether or not he loved her, and he wasn't saying anything to convince her that he would love her no matter what. In fact, he was reserving judgment to see how it affected him when he saw what it looked like. She was still furious when he left, and she noticed that he kissed her on the forehead again, instead of the lips, as though he was suddenly afraid to touch her.

  She sat in her room and cried again that night. She didn't even bother walking down the hall, or calling Annabelle, and she didn't call Sam either. She just wanted to be left alone, and she had her back to the door, when it opened and she heard someone come in. She assumed it was the nurse, and she didn't turn to see. She just sat in her chair and kept on crying.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder then, and for a wild moment, she thought it might be Sam, but when she looked up, she was startled to see Elizabeth Hascomb. “Did you come to visit me?” Alex asked her, surprised to see her.

  “Yes, I did,” she explained, “but I didn't know it was you until tonight,” suddenly feeling as though she was intruding, but that was just what she needed to do, and she knew it. “I work for the breast surgery support group here, twice a week, and you were on the visiting list tonight when I got here. The card said A. Parker … I couldn't believe it. I asked to be assigned to see if it was you. I hope you don't mind, Alex,” she said gently, and then she put her arms around her like a mother and brought tears to her employer's eyes. “Oh Alex …I'm so sorry …” Alex couldn't even speak for a while, she just sat in Liz's arms and sobbed. She couldn't hold up anymore, there were so many fears and terrors and disappointments to deal with. “I know … I know …just cry …you'll feel better.”

  “I'm never going to feel better again,” Alex said miserably, looking at her through her tears, and Liz smiled.

  “Yes, you will. It's hard to believe now, but you will. We've all been through it.”

  “You too?” Alex was surprised, she didn't know that about Liz.

  “I've had both breasts removed,” she explained, “years ago. I wear a prosthesis. But they do wonderful reconstructive work now. At your age you should think about that. Not yet though,” she said gently. She seemed so wise and loving, and Alex was so relieved that Liz had come to see her.

  “I have to have chemotherapy.” Alex started to cry harder again and Liz sat and held her hand, grateful she had found her. She had never suspected what Alex was going through, although she realized now that she should have.

  “I had chemo. And hormone therapy too. I've had it all, but that was seventeen years ago, and I'm fine. You will be too, if you do everything they tell you to do. You have a wonderful doctor.” And then she looked at her more pointedly. Alex was in bad shape and she could see it. “How's Sam taking all this?”

  “First he wouldn't even acknowledge it was happening, he kept telling me they wouldn't find anything. And now he's annoyed that I'm upset. He thinks I'm making too much of it, and losing a breast is ‘no big deal,' but at the same time he's saying it might bother him, and he just doesn't know how he feels about it, he'll let me know when he sees it.”

  “He's scared, Alex. It's frightening for him, too. That's small consolation for you, but some men just can't cope with the threat of their wife having cancer.”

  “His mother died of cancer when he was a kid, and I think this reminds him of it. Either that, or he's just being a bastard.”

  “Maybe a little of both. What you need to do now is concentrate on you. Never mind him. Sam can take care of himself, especially if he's not going to take care of you. What you need to do is get as strong as you can, and stay that way. You have to fight the disease. You can worry about everything else later.”

  “But what if he's disgusted by me, if my body frightens him?” That was terrifying her, as Liz looked at her calmly. All her sympathy was for Alex, not Sam. She knew. She'd been through it, and it hadn't been easy for her either. Her husband had had a hard time coping at first, but eventually he had come around, and been a big support to Liz. But she knew, better than anyone, that with or without Sam, Alex had to survive this.

  “He'll have to grow up, won't he? He's a big boy, he can figure it out. He knows what you need now, but if he can't provide it, then you have to get it from friends, or family, or a support group. We're here for you. I'm here, anytime you need me.” Alex started to cry again then, and Liz took her in her motherly arms and held her.

  She gave Alex a few exercises to do, and told her some things to think about, and she didn't leave her any booklets. She knew Alex too well to do that. Alex had no patience with brochures or superficial information. She got right to the heart of things. And for her, the heart of things right now was survival.

  “When are you going home?”

  “Probably Friday.”

  “Fine. Get strong, sleep a lot, take the medications, if you're in pain. Eat regularly, get as healthy as you can before you start chemo. You're going to need all your energy for that,” she said wisely.

  “I'm coming back to the office after next week.” She said it tentatively as though asking Liz's opinion. It was suddenly very comforting to have someone to talk to who'd been there. And Liz had survived it.

  “A lot of women go back to work, even during chemo. You'll just have to figure what works best for you, when to rest, when to stay home, when to take the most advantage of your energy. It's a little bit like waging a war. All you want to do is win. Never forget that. And no matter how miserable it is, chemo will help you win this.”

  “I wish I believed that.”

  “Don't listen to the horror stories, and just keep your focus on the goal. Win, win, win. Don't even let Sam distract you from that. If he can't help you, forget him for now.” Alex laughed at the vehemence with which Liz said it.

  “You make me feel better.” And then she looked at her secretary sheepishly, amazed at this other life she'd known nothing about. It was incredible how there were things about people no one knew, and that were so important. Just as no one had known she was coming to have a biopsy, and possibly surgery, while she was away from the office.

  “I think I was very rude this morning to some woman from your support group. Alice something,” Alex said apologetically, and Liz smiled at her.

  “Ayres. She's used to it. Maybe one day you'll do something like this. It means a lot to a lot of people.”

  “Thank you, Liz,” she said, and meant every word of it.

  “May I come back and see you tomorrow? Maybe at lunc
htime?”

  “I'd love that. Just don't tell anyone at the office. I don't want them to know. Although eventually, I'll have to tell Matthew, probably once I start the chemo.”

  “That's up to you. I won't say anything.”

  They embraced again, and Liz left, and when Alex went to bed that night, she felt better than she had in days, and surprisingly less angry. She lay in bed thinking about everything, and she decided to call Sam and tell him she loved him.

  But the phone rang for a long time, and eventually Carmen answered. It was ten o'clock by then, and she sounded as though she'd been sleeping. “I'm sorry, Carmen. Is Mr. Parker there?”

  Carmen hesitated for a moment, and then answered with a yawn. She could see their bedroom door open at the end of the hall, and no light on.

  “No, sorry, Mrs. Parker. He's not here. How are you?”

  “I'm fine,” she said, sounding a little more convincing than she had that afternoon. “Did he go to a movie?”

  “I don't know. He went out after Annabelle had dinner. He didn't eat with her, so maybe he went out with friends. He didn't tell me, and I think he forgot to leave me a number.” It was always Alex who remembered to leave the number where they could be reached when they went out for the evening.

  She wondered where Sam had gone, but he'd probably been upset after their conversation at the hospital, and he'd gone out for something to eat, and a walk. He did that sometimes when he was troubled. Sam needed to be alone to resolve his problems.

  “Well, just tell him I called.” She hesitated again, and then, “And tell him I love him. And kiss Annabelle for me in the morning.”

  “I will, Mrs. Parker. Good night …and God bless you.”

  “God bless you too, Carmen …Thank you.” She wasn't sure if He had blessed her lately or not, but at least she was alive, and in three days she'd be back home with her daughter. And three weeks after that, the fight would begin in earnest. But after talking to Liz, she was determined to win it.

  She sat in her hospital bed that night for a long time, thinking of Liz, and Sam, and Annabelle, and all the good things in her life she was going to have to concentrate on if she was going to win the war…. Annabelle, she reminded herself, as she drifted off to sleep after a shot …Annabelle …Sam …Annabelle, and as she thought of her, she remembered holding her in her arms, and nursing her as a baby.

  Chapter 8

  After he'd left the hospital, the phone had rung as soon as Sam sat down to dinner with Annabelle. It was Simon. He had arranged an impromptu dinner with some clients from London. Did Sam want to join them? He explained that he was just about to have dinner with his daughter.

  “Well, stop eating, man. They're a grand bunch, Sam. You'll like them. And I think they're important. They represent the biggest textile mills in Britain, and they're aching to make investments over here. They're good men, you really should meet them. And I've got Daphne with me.” Was that supposed to be an incentive? Sam wasn't sure, and he argued for a little while. After haranguing with Alex for over an hour, he was exhausted. But he was also depressed, and the prospect of sitting around alone at home after Annabelle went to bed depressed him further.

  “I really shouldn't.”

  “That's nonsense.” Simon held firm. “Your wife's out of town, isn't she? Why don't you give your tot a little kiss, and come out with us? We're meeting at Le Cirque at eight, and then Daphne has found some ridiculous place downtown to take them dancing. You know the Brits, they've got to party while they're away or they feel they've been cheated. They're worse than the Italians, because it's so fucking boring in England. Come on, man, stop whining. We'll expect you at eight. Done?”

  “Done. I'll be there. I might be there five minutes late, but I'll come.” He wanted to put Annabelle to bed and read her a story.

  He went back to the kitchen then and sat with her, until bedtime. And after he'd read Goodnight Moon to her again, and turned off all but the night-light, he went to his bedroom and changed his shirt and shaved, and thought about Alex. It had been a rough couple of days for both of them, and he was beginning to wonder just how rough it would be when she got home on Friday. She was making a real issue of the surgery and the missing breast. And the truth was that it frightened him more than a little. Who wouldn't be worried about seeing that? There was no way it could be anything but very ugly. But lie didn't want to tell her that. He wished she wouldn't push him about it. He remembered his mother asking him again and again if he loved her, before she died, and he had to close his eyes and force her voice out of his head, as he thought of Alex.

  He brushed his hair, washed his face, and splashed on some after-shave, and by the time he left, he looked as though he had just stepped off the cover of GQ in a dark gray suit, and a white shirt. He looked like just what he was, one of the most exciting businessmen in New York, and heads turned, as they always did, when he got to Le Cirque. Half the people there knew who he was, and had read about him, the others wondered who he was because he was so good-looking, mostly the women. He was so used to it, he never paid attention to it anymore, and it was usually Alex who teased him about it. She accused him of leaving his fly open in the hope that women would watch him. And he thought of that now as he made his way across the restaurant and smiled, thinking of his wife. But when he thought of her, it was as she had been before, not as she was now, deformed and angry, at New York Hospital.

  “Glad you could make it, Sam!” Simon stood up and greeted him the moment he arrived, and introduced him to everyone. There were four Englishmen, and three American girls that someone had introduced to them. They were all very pretty, two were models, and one was an actress. And then there was Daphne, which left only Sam and Simon unescorted. They were a large group in a small restaurant, and the noise was deafening. Sam managed to have an intelligent conversation nonetheless with one of the Englishmen, and on his other side was Daphne, who spent a lot of time talking to one of the models. They finally got to talk to each other over dessert, while the others drank and chatted.

  “I hear your wife is a very important attorney,” she said conversationally to him, and he nodded. Somehow, right now, talking about Alex seemed painful, and it was easier not to.

  “She's a litigator with a firm called Bartlett and Paskin.”

  “She must be very intelligent, and very powerful.”

  “She is.” He nodded, but something in the way he said it told Daphne that this wasn't a comfortable subject.

  “Do you have children?”

  “A little girl named Annabelle,” he smiled at that one, “she's three and a half and adorable.”

  “I have a four-year-old son in England,” she said easily.

  “You do?” He looked startled. Somehow she seemed too young for a husband or children, although he knew she was twenty-nine, but still it surprised him. Everything about her suggested she was single.

  “Don't look so shocked,” she laughed at him, “I'm divorced. Didn't Simon tell you?”

  “No, he didn't.”

  “I was married to a shocking rotter at twenty-one. He finally ran off with someone else and we got divorced, which was why everyone in the family thought it would do me good to get away for a year. Therapy, I think you call it here. We call it a bit of a holiday,” she smiled at him.

  “And what about your son?”

  “He's very happy with my mother,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “You must miss him.”

  “I do. But we're not quite as sentimental about children in England as you are over here. We ship them off to boarding school at seven, you know. He'll be away at school in three years, and eventually at Eton. And I think it'll do him good to get a bit detached from Mummy in the meantime.” It was not the kind of thing he could imagine himself doing. He would have been heartbroken without Annabelle, but Daphne was very cool, and very aware of what she wanted. “Does that shock you?” She could see in his eyes that it surprised him.

  “A little,” he said
honestly, with a smile. “It's not exactly the image we have of motherhood over here.” But on the other hand she didn't look like a motherly type, and maybe she wanted some freedom before she was any older.

  “I think as a nation we're a bit more cold-blooded than you are. Americans seem to get terribly wound up about what they ought to be doing, and what's expected of them, and what they should be feeling. Britons just do it. It's rather simple.”

  “And a little self-centered.” He liked talking to her, very much in fact. She was smart and honest and totally open about who she was and what she wanted.

  “It's terribly simple, you go after what you want, when you want it, without apologizing, or pretending that you're doing anything other than what you are. I rather like it. Things seem a bit more exaggerated here. Everyone's always apologizing for what they're doing, or not doing, or not feeling.” She laughed, and Sam liked the sound of it. It was an unbridled sound of almost sensual amusement, and he could imagine her easily with her clothes off and totally unembarrassed. “Have you ever been divorced?” she asked bluntly, and he laughed at the question.

  “No, I haven't.”

  “Most Americans have, or at least that's the impression they give me.”

  “Was your divorce very traumatic?” It was an oddly personal conversation between two strangers, but he was enjoying it. There was something totally open and abandoned about her.

  “Not at all. It was a great relief. He was a complete bastard. For the life of me, I can't imagine how we stayed married for so long, seven years. It was quite dreadful, I assure you.”

  “Who did he run off with?” He liked being somewhat forward with her. It was fun playing the game of discovering things about her.

  “A barmaid, naturally. Quite a pretty one though. He's already left her. And he's living in Paris with some girl who says she's an artist. He's quite mad, but fortunately he takes good care of Andrew, our son, so I don't need to panic.” She seemed anything but panicked, she seemed completely in control of any situation. And more than one of the Englishmen were eyeing her with interest. She looked as though she could have had anyone she wanted.