Lightning

by Danielle Steel

  “You don't have to do that, Brock. I can do it later.”

  “Sure, why not? Able to leap buildings in a single bound, right? So what about Vermont? I didn't come here for my health, you know. I came here for yours.” He looked her straight in the eye, and as always she was grateful to him.

  “I don't think so.”

  “I'm not giving up. Liz thinks it would be good for you too,” he said firmly.

  “What is this? A committee?” She laughed, amused suddenly but touched too. “Doesn't anyone care what I think?”

  “Frankly, no.” He discounted her veto completely.

  “Don't you have anyone real to spend this week with?”

  “You look pretty real to me,” he said, with a determined look, and she shook her head and pointed at her wig.

  “Don't let this piece of fluff fool you. I'm too tired to ski, I'm too old to woo, I'm too sick to be fun, and besides, I'm married.”

  “Not from the sound of it, or not for long anyway.” He was being very blunt with her and she was still laughing.

  “That's a nice thing to say. Well, let's say, I'm used goods.” And then she looked at him in amusement. “Are you telling me you're asking me as your date?” It was obvious she didn't believe that, and he laughed too.

  “No. But if it makes you feel better to think that, be my guest. I'm asking you as a buddy, a buddy who would like to see you get that pale face in some sunshine, and sit in front of a fire and keep warm and drink hot chocolate, and go to sleep at night, knowing she's with friends, and not alone in a lonely apartment in the city.”

  “You make it sound pretty good, for a kid your age.”

  “It is. And I have a lot of experience in the care and feeding of old bags like you. My sister was, is, ten years older than I am.”

  “Give her my condolences,” she grinned. “You sure make it difficult to refuse.”

  “That's why I came to see you,” he said, looking down at her with a gentle smile, and she was reminded again of how much she liked him.

  “I thought you came for a free meal,” she said, still laughing at him.

  “I did, but I came to talk to you too.”

  “It must have been pretty boring in Connecticut.” She was relentless with him and he was loving it. They knew each other well, and had fun together.

  “It was boring in Connecticut. So are you coming, or what?”

  “You mean I have a choice? I was beginning to think you were going to throw me over your shoulder and take me.”

  “I might, if you don't act right.”

  “You're really crazy, you know. The last thing you need, is me puking on you all the way to Vermont, and then sick as a dog when we get there.”

  “I'm used to it by now,” he smiled, “I wouldn't know what to do without it.”

  “You're nuts.”

  “You're cute, and this is what friends are for.”

  “Is it?” she said, touched by him again. “I thought they were only to Christmas shop, and do all your cases for you, and peel you off the bathroom floor when you're sick.” It was what husbands were supposed to be for, but hers wasn't.

  “Just shut up and pack your suitcase. You're embarrassing me.”

  “That's impossible.”

  “I'll pick you up at eight, or is that too early?” He looked suddenly worried about her.

  “It's fine. Are you sure?” she asked him again. “What if you want to pick up girls?”

  “It's a big house. I'll lock you in your room. I promise.” They were both smiling as she walked him to the door. She couldn't believe she had let him talk her into it, but she was looking forward to it suddenly. She knew she had four and a half months of sickness ahead of her, but something had happened to her. He had saved her spirit. She wanted to go with him, wanted to cling to life. But more than anything now, she wanted to make it. She knew she had to.

  Chapter 16

  The days in Vermont were the happiest Alex had had in ages, ever since before her sickness. She had called Sam and Annabelle to let them know she was there, and Sam sounded surprised to hear it.

  “I didn't know you could still travel,” he said, sounding concerned. “Are you sure it's all right for you to be there? Who's with you?”

  “A friend from work. I'm fine. I'll see you in New York on New Year's Day.” She gave him the number, but they never called her.

  The house Brock had borrowed was simple, but very cozy. There were four bedrooms, and a kind of dormitory. He gave her the biggest room upstairs, and he took a small one downstairs so he wouldn't disturb her. And they sat around together like old friends, reading and doing crossword puzzles, and having snowball fights like two children.

  She went for long walks in the snow with Brock, and she even tried skiing one day, but it was too much for her. After the chemo, she just didn't have the strength. But she felt healthier than she had in weeks. She only had one really bad day. But she stayed in bed, and by evening she was better.

  He found an old sled in the garage the day after they arrived and he pulled her around, so she wouldn't get too tired.

  He cooked dinner for her at night, and when she told him to go out with friends, he only laughed at her and told her he was too tired. He liked staying home with her. But one night they even went to Chez Henri for dinner, where they had a lovely time, and by the end of the week, Alex was feeling a lot better again. She was at the better end of her chemo, which meant it would be time for another treatment soon, but fortunately not yet. She had never had a nicer vacation, and they became fast friends and spent a lot of their time laughing.

  Another day, they met for lunch at the lodge after he skied. She kept pointing out pretty girls to him, and then she discreetly showed him a handful of attractive young skiers, whom she felt he should be with instead of her.

  “They're fourteen years old for chrissake. Are you trying to get me arrested?” They were both laughing again.

  “They are not! They're twenty-five if they're a day,” she said, pretending to look outraged.

  “Same thing.” But even the thirty-year-olds didn't appeal to him. He was happy with Alex. But he never put the make on her, or made her feel uncomfortable. And they talked about Sam a lot. She admitted to him how much it had hurt her when she saw him with the girl at Ralph Lauren.

  “I think I'd probably have killed him. Or her,” Brock said, but Alex only shook her head.

  “There's no point. It's over. It's not her fault. It just happened. And I guess when I look at myself in the mirror now, I understand it.”

  “That's bullshit.” He got angry when she said things like that. “What if it had happened to him? If he'd lost an arm, or a leg, or a testicle? Would you have cashed him in?”

  “No. But we're different. And I guess this … is a symbol of femininity. I'm not sure a lot of men weather this well. Not all husbands are like Liz's.” But she had admitted they had had their rough spots too.

  “I don't think you fuck up your marriage because your wife loses a breast, or her hair, or a shoe for chrissake. How can you accept that?” Brock was outraged.

  But Alex looked over at him with a wise smile. She was ten years older than he was. “I don't have a choice at the moment. The guy's not buying, Brock. It's as simple as that. The store's closed. He's taken his business elsewhere.”

  “And that's it? You give up?” He was shocked at her lack of spirit.

  “What do you suggest I do? Shoot her?”

  “Shoot him,” he said matter-of-factly. “He deserves it.”

  “You're a romantic,” she accused him.

  “So are you,” he accused her right back.

  “So what? It won't pay my rent, or keep my husband. The guy hates deformities. He hates disease. He can't even look at me. He saw me once after the surgery and almost fainted. I make him sick. This is not a great foundation for a happy marriage.”

  “Face it. The guy's a coward.”

  “Maybe so. But he has great taste in women.
She's an awfully pretty girl, Brock. Actually, she's the right age for you. Maybe you should go sweep her off her feet, and provide some stiff competition. He didn't tell her that he'd rather have swept her off her feet. It didn't seem the right moment. And she was so at ease with him, he didn't want to spoil that.

  They spent New Year's Eve at the house, watching TV, and eating popcorn, talking about their life's dreams, their careers, what they hoped to find in the years to come. She wished him a wife who would take care of him, and he wished her health and happiness in whatever form she wished it. And at midnight, they sang “Auld Lang Syne” in perfect unison. And then she went up to bed, and thought about their friendship, and the precious rarity of good friends.

  They were both sad to leave the next day, but she looked infinitely better than she had when they arrived. Something had changed subtly about her. There was more energy, more fight than there had been for a long time. She was suddenly determined to survive her cancer.

  She was quiet on the drive home, thinking of seeing Sam again, even if only for one night. She knew he was leaving for Europe the next day, and she assumed she knew why. To meet his little friend there. Brock asked her from time to time if she was all right, and she said she was, but she was very pensive. He held hands with her for a while, driving on the freeway, to comfort her. He was her friend, and her colleague. They were pals.

  They got home late in the afternoon, and he looked genuinely sad when he dropped her off at her apartment. She sat in the car for a minute, looking at him, and she didn't know how to even begin to thank him.

  “You gave me my life back, you know. I had a great time.”

  “So did I.” And then he touched her cheek gently with his fingers. “Don't let anyone make you feel like less than you. You're the greatest woman I know.” He had tears in his eyes when he said it, and she was touched by him again. He had a way of getting to her heart with very little effort.

  “I love you, you know. And you're very silly. The great one around here is you. You're going to make some lucky girl a terrific husband.”

  “I'm waiting for Annabelle,” he said with a grin she loved. The one that made him look fourteen again.

  “She's a lucky girl. Thanks again, Brock.” She kissed him on the cheek and the doorman took her bag.

  And when Sam and Annabelle came home that night, they found Alex looking infinitely better.

  Annabelle was full of tales of Disney World. She was yawning and laughing and half asleep all at the same time. And she barely made it to her pillow, as she kissed Alex.

  “It sounds like she had a great time,” Alex said, smiling at Sam. He could see something different about her too. Nothing had changed but it was as though she had made peace with herself and what was happening.

  “I had a great time too,” Sam said. “She's good company. I hated to bring her back.”

  “I really missed her,” Alex admitted to him, but neither of them claimed to have missed the other. That was gone now too. The pretense that they still had a marriage. They both knew they didn't.

  He packed his bags that night, and left for London the next morning while Annabelle and Alex had breakfast. He promised to call once he got to Switzerland, and Annabelle reminded him to be back for her birthday. And then she looked at Alex in surprise after he left and pointed out that Sam had forgotten to kiss her mother. But she didn't ask why this time. She knew. Even Annabelle could tell the difference.

  The rest of the week flew by, Alex managed to take her to ballet, and to spend a quiet weekend with her, and the following Monday the nightmare began again. It was time for another intravenous treatment. And this time she was even sicker than usual. The first one of the month always hit her hard, especially combined with the Cytoxan pills. By the time she got back to the office, she felt as though she were dying. She had had to go home early in the afternoon, and when Annabelle saw her she cried, watching her mother throw up mercilessly, and she was shocked to see her with her wig off.

  Alex went to work the next day, but it was an endless day for her, and by five o'clock she crawled home. This time it was Carmen who was in tears, and all Alex could get out of her at the door was a flood of hysterical Spanish. But the moment she saw Annabelle she understood it. She had cut her beautiful red curls to the scalp, trying to look more like her mother.

  “Oh baby, why did you do it?” Alex cried, sick and exhausted, wondering how she would explain it to her father.

  “I want to look like you,” Annabelle cried, feeling guilty over what she'd done, and frightened over her mother's illness. And her father had been gone for a week by then, and that made her nervous too.

  Alex tried to explain her illness to Annabelle again, and they read Mommy's Getting Better, but none of it seemed to help. Alex was too sick to put much conviction or energy into her explanations and Annabelle was just too upset to be reasonable. Even her school had just called Alex to say she was having a very hard time, and talked a lot about her mother's treatments and illness. She didn't express it, but her teacher felt that Annabelle was terrified her mother was going to die. And Alex was almost too sick and frightened to help her, and neither of them got any real support on the subject from Sam.

  And worse yet, it seemed as though each month the chemotherapy made Alex more sick instead of less. And by the end of the week, she couldn't even make it to the office, but she still had to organize Annabelle's birthday party. And she knew how important that was. Annabelle needed normalcy and the reassurance of familiar goings-on. And she had looked forward to her birthday for a long time.

  Once again, Liz bought most of the presents for her, and the paper goods. But when the day came, the bakery sent the wrong cake, and Alex had forgotten to call the clown. Annabelle's best friend got the flu, and so did three more of her friends, and her party slowly fell apart. The entire day was a disaster, even with Carmen's help, and Alex cried when she saw the disappointment in Annabelle's eyes.

  Sam had flown in late the night before, and he was jet-lagged and cranky, and obviously not pleased to be back, and when he saw Annabelle's chopped-off hair, he went absolutely crazy.

  ”How could you let her do something like that? How could you? Why did you ever let her see you without the wig?” he raged.

  “I was throwing up and it was on the floor, for God's sake, Sam. I can't worry about how I look every minute. I'm sick.” She didn't realize it but Annabelle was listening to them argue with frightened eyes.

  “Then she shouldn't be with you,” he accused, and with a look of absolute terror, Alex hauled off and slapped him, as Annabelle began to cry out loud, but still her parents battled on.

  “Don't you ever say that to me! She's not going anywhere! And don't you forget that!” Alex yelled at him and he shouted back.

  “You're in no condition to take care of her,” he roared as Annabelle flew into her mother's arms.

  “Oh yes, I am,” Alex snarled at him, “and if you lay a hand on her, you sonofabitch, I'm going to hit you with the biggest fucking discrimination suit you've ever dreamed of. She's staying with me. Is that clear?” She clung to her child, shaking, as Sam glared at her in fury.

  “Then keep your wig on.” He backed down only slightly in the face of Alex's threats, and his daughter's sobs. She didn't want to be taken away from her Mommy, but she also hated it whenever they fought. She knew it was probably her fault, but she was never quite sure why.

  It was a rough night for all of them, and Sam left as soon as Annabelle went to bed. But the next day, he and Alex sat down and talked in earnest. This wasn't working out. It was time for him to move out, and they both knew it. Their battle in front of Annabelle the day before had shaken them both. But he absolutely amazed her by saying he didn't think he should go until she finished her treatments. As far as he was concerned, the business of Annabelle's hair seemed to prove that. He felt he needed to be there to help watch her, and keep her from getting distraught while her mother was still sick and in treatment.
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br />   “I don't need you here as a nursemaid, Sam. You can leave if you want to.”

  “I'll move out in May when you're finished with your chemo,” he said firmly.

  “I can't believe you're saying this to me. You're staying because of my chemo?”

  “I'm staying for Annabelle's sake, in case you're too ill to take care of her. And when you're finished, I'll go.“

  “I'm impressed. And then what, Sam?” She was pressing him. She wanted to know if he was going to marry his girlfriend. And who she was. But he wasn't ready to let her in on his secrets.

  “I haven't figured that out yet.” But she could guess. It was pretty obvious. He was looking young and lean and very handsome. It was easy to see that he was happy and in love, and she was amazed that he was willing to hang around, even some of the time, until she finished her chemo. The end was still four months away, and nobody wanted it to be over more than Alex herself.

  “Do you think you can stand it till then?” Alex asked him, pressing him again.

  “I can if you can. I'm not going to be here all the time, but I'll be around and available if Annabelle needs me.”

  “I appreciate it,” Alex said grudgingly, half wanting him to go, and half wanting him to stay, and not sure which was worse. It just delayed the inevitable, and she had stopped fooling herself about that. She knew that eventually, now, or in four months, he was going to leave her. And in most ways, he already had.

  And when she told him the next day, Brock couldn't believe the arrangement they had come to. It made sense, for Annabelle's sake, but it was hard on everyone else, and just seemed to drag things out forever. No one was more aware of that than Daphne. She looked like a disappointed child when Sam told her what he had agreed to with Alex, to stay at the apartment with her until May.

  “I so hoped you would move in with me now.” They had had such a good time in Europe. They had made love constantly and had a great time in Gstaad and then he had taken her to Paris and bought her everything they could lay their hands on. They had gone to Carrier and Van Cleef, Hermes and Dior, Chanel and Givenchy, and every little boutique she fell in love with. But what she really wanted was Sam, even though she understood his reason for postponing moving into her apartment. It was too small for both of them anyway. And he was talking about buying a co-op for them in May, after Alex finished her treatment.