Prologue

by Rachel

  “Bastian doesn’t even know I’m here, does he?”

  “No. I couldn’t figure out a way to tell him we’d spoken and that you were coming for a visit. It’s not exactly easy to say something he doesn’t want to hear.” Kaylee spread a paper napkin across her lap. She quickly took a bite of her sandwich before she said something she might later regret.

  “I’d like to see him. I know that might be difficult for you, but it would mean a lot to me.” Angie took a bite of her hamburger.

  “How long has it been?” Kaylee wiped her mouth with her napkin, and Angie looked vacantly at the table as though she were seeing something different than what was really there.

  “A lifetime. Maybe longer.” She blinked and looked at Kaylee. “What time will he be finished?”

  “In a few hours. It depends on what he’s doing. But I don’t know if he’s ready for this.” Kaylee took a deep breath. Beneath the table, she clenched the napkin in her fingers and balled it up. She looked at the half-eaten sandwich and suddenly felt a dull pain blooming behind her eyes. The throbbing sensation quickly stole her appetite.

  Angie frowned and placed both of her hands in her lap. “Why did you call if you don’t want me to see him? There’s no point in me being here.”

  “I didn’t say I don’t want you to see him,” Kaylee argued, trying to blink away the growing pain. “It’s just… complicated. Bastian is complicated.”

  Angie nodded. “Tell me about it. He’s always been that way.”

  “He’s just so...angry… and I don’t want him to hate me for doing this.” Kaylee lifted her hand and began massaging her temples.

  Angie peered closely at Kaylee. “Are you all right? You’re a bit pale.”

  Not now, Kaylee thought. I can’t have an episode right now. “I’m fine actually. I just have a headache, that’s all.”

  “I know you’re worried about how Bastian is going to deal with all this, but if you’re waiting for him to be less angry, it’s not going to happen. He’ll be just as mad tomorrow or next year. It seems there’s not a statute of limitations on some things.” Angie took another bite and a sip of her soda.

  “I know,” Kaylee replied in a quiet voice. She briefly thought about telling Angie that next year would be too late, but knew she didn’t want to open that can of worms. She reached into her purse and found what she was looking for: a picture she’d taken of Bastian as he’d sat at the kitchen table. He’d flashed her a rare smile, and, looking at the camera, he’d appeared so much younger, as though the burden of time had been erased.

  “I know this isn’t what you want, but maybe it will help.” She offered the photo to Angie.

  With a trembling hand Angie accepted the photo and stared at it. Her forefinger brushed over the area where Bastian’s face was. “He looks so different.”

  “Time does that to everyone,” Kaylee managed, touching her forehead.

  “Yeah, I guess it does.” She slipped the photo into her purse. “How did you meet my brother?” Angie picked up her Styrofoam plate and put it on the tray to be dumped.

  “I had a...problem. He helped me out.” She cringed at that word, but didn’t know what else to say. Despite the pounding in her head that seemed to get worse every minute, Kaylee focused on putting the left-over food on a tray, but the savage throbbing slowed every movement.

  Angie grabbed her wrist. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look positively ill.”

  “I’m okay,” Kaylee managed, smiling weakly and thinking, I am ill. It’s so nice of you to notice. The pain left her dizzy, and the food in front of her blurred. I have to get out of here. I have to.

  Kaylee rose from the table and walked toward the dumpster as her field of vision dimmed to a pinprick of light and the voices around her quieted against the blanket of white noise in her head. Sweet Jesus, I can’t make it home.

  The blackness took over, and Kaylee knew nothing save the silence of sleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The flow of people in the waiting room was as thick as the lunch hour traffic. The ambulance Angie and Kaylee had ridden in had ploughed through, but even with flashing lights and wailing sirens, the cars had refused to budge.

  Angie shifted her weight, trying to ease the stiffness in her buttocks. Even though twenty-five people filled the room and the heater spewed hot air, Angie still wore her coat, trying to drive away a chill that refused to leave. It came from seeing a woman barely younger than herself lying on a gurney wheeled into a hospital because no one could revive her. Angie closed her eyes and remembered Kaylee’s pale face as she’d fallen.

  What was wrong with her?

  Two chairs down, a toddler in a dirty white shirt and jeans shorts screamed and threw himself onto the floor. Angie stared at the child and his indifferent mother, who chatted with a woman next to her. The screaming child quickly woke a sleeping baby across the room who cried and writhed beneath its thick swaddle of blanket. The father, a frowning man in his mid-thirties dressed in a suit and tie, glared at the woman, who’d managed a feat no one else in the room could—she ignored her child.

  Amid the clamor, an elderly volunteer in a blue coat circulated among the people and, with a trembling hand, offered coffee and newspapers. When the volunteer came to her, Angie smiled, politely and waved the woman away.

  What am I doing here? Angie wondered, rubbing her forehead where she could feel the stirrings of a headache. Perhaps she’d been a fool to believe she’d ever see Bastian again. Toying with the strap of her purse, she felt tears heatedly stinging her eyes, and everything blurred.

  “Are you here with Ms. Renard?”

  Angie blinked rapidly until her vision cleared then looked up to find a forty-something doctor in front of her. She stood.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m David Smith, Kaylee’s physician.” He offered his hand.

  “Angie Connelly,” she said, shaking his hand. “How is she?” Why did it sound like Kaylee had been to see this guy a lot?

  “She’s exhausted and needs rest.” He pulled off his hat and looked at the toddler still lying on the ground. The blond boy no longer cried but simply stared with rapt attention at the doctor’s face, as if even the toddler knew that the doctors controlled the universe inside these walls.

  “What happened?” Smith turned back to Angie.

  “I don’t know. She picked me up at the airport, and we were having lunch. She stood to dump her tray and passed out.” Angie slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

  “It’s happening more and more frequently,” he said quietly, staring not at Angie but at the ground and speaking to himself in frustration.

  “What is?” she asked.

  “Are you Ms. Renard’s sister, by chance?” The doctor looked as though his thoughts had been elsewhere and he’d finally returned.

  “No,” Angie shook her head. “I’m not a relative, just a friend.”

  He frowned and rested his hands on his hips. “How long have you known her?”

  “Not very,” she replied, trying to read between the lines in his forehead. What was going on? A nervous tickle fluttered in Angie’s stomach, and her left hand touched her abdomen.

  “Do you know how to contact her family?”

  “No, we really haven’t known each other that long, and I’ve never met any of them.”

  “Is there anyone Ms. Renard would want to know she was here? It’s important. Her file is incomplete, and she’s asleep.” Smith stared at the ground and shook his head.

  “Is this serious?” Angie’s purse strap slid off her shoulder, and the bag dropped to the floor.

  “I really can’t discuss her case with you before I speak to Kaylee or her immediate family. We have no information in her paperwork, and, in the past, she’s been particularly obstinate about not divulging personal information, so I'm at a loss here.” The doctor looked back at the triage desk.

  Bastian would want to know. Angie picked up her purse. “Wait. There is some
one you can call, someone she’s been seeing for a while.” She rifled through the contents of her billfold until she came across the scrap of paper on which she’d scribbled Kaylee’s number. She copied it onto another bit of paper and wrote “Bastian Connelly” at the top. She handed it to the doctor.

  “Call this number and ask for Bastian. He’d want to know Kaylee’s here.”

  Smith took the paper. “Thank you. I’ll have one of the nurses contact Mr. Connelly ASAP.”

  “Is Kaylee going to be all right?” Angie asked as the doctor turned back to the triage desk.

  “She’s in room 105, where she’ll be staying at least overnight, and probably longer. You can see her for a few minutes, but that’s all. She really needs to rest.” The doctor faced her, trying without success to mask the grim frown that gouged his forehead. He strode away, leaving Angie to wonder why he hadn’t answered her question.

  As she stared around a room filled with people waiting on doctors and news, she sank back into her chair.

  What do I do now?

  * * *

  Hours after Bastian had gone to work, he finally returned home, but to an empty house. He walked in the door and set his keys on the kitchen table.

  “Kaylee? I’m home.” Still, only the echo of his voice greeted him. “Kaylee?” His steps quickened as he searched the house and found himself alone.

  “Where the hell is she?” he mused aloud, taking off his coat and draping it over a chair. He walked to the refrigerator, took out a twenty-ounce bottle of Coke, and forced himself to sit and pretend to read the paper spread open as Kaylee had left it. Still, the black print formed words he didn’t care about, and his eyes lingered upon all the expensive decorations in the room. For the first time, Bastian actually saw things from Kaylee’s perspective. This was just a house, and without Kaylee, it seemed too empty. He stared at his watch. This wasn’t like her. Had she gone to visit her mother?

  The phone rang, jarring Bastian from his chair. He strode to the counter. Maybe it wasn’t her. Then again, maybe it was.

  “Is Bastian Connelly there?” a female voice asked.

  “Speaking,” he replied tersely, wondering if a bill collector had finally caught up with him. He ignored the urge to hang up.

  “Mr. Connelly, this is Sheila Reynolds from Johnson County Hospital. I’ve been advised to call you on behalf of Kaylee Renard. She’s been checked in to our facility.”

  “Oh, God—is she all right?” Bastian’s fingers loosened, and he almost dropped the phone. His heart slammed against his chest, and he fought to keep his breathing normal. He couldn’t lose her, not now.

  “She’s stable but will be staying in the hospital. She’s in room 105. Once you get here, Dr. David Smith, Kaylee’s physician, would like to speak with you.”

  “I’ll be right down,” he replied and hung up. The grandfather clock down the hall chimed seven times as he stood there. His whole body shook from a coldness he’d only felt when he’d found his mother. He willed his body to move, but it seemed impossible. Right at this moment, even breathing seemed difficult.

  In a pain-induced stupor, he grabbed his keys and flew out the door. He wouldn’t remember the drive or even darting down the hospital corridor to get to Kaylee. His first real memory of the episode would be seeing Kaylee asleep in bed, just as he had seen her the night they’d met. Once again, her long, dark hair lay spread about her head, and she appeared tiny and frail beneath the blankets. She’d lain in a small, sparsely decorated room like this one. A chill swept through Bastian, and he couldn’t chase it away. He quietly walked to the chair beside the bed and sank into it without looking away from Kaylee’s face.

  “Kaylee? Are you awake, baby?” he whispered, taking her hand in his.

  “Bastian?” Kaylee’s eyelids fluttered and opened. “Where am I?” She blinked a few times, gazing up at his face. A few seconds later, her gaze traveled across the room, starting with the chair beside her bed and ending with the IV pole next to her. Her mouth opened in a panicked O.

  “The hospital.” He stroked her hand. “Do you remember what happened?”

  “No. Head hurts like hell.” Kaylee tried to sit up, but even as she half-lifted her back from the bed, pain seized her head, and she touched her temple.

  “Okay, so don’t push your luck. Do you want me to call a nurse?” Bastian placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to lie back. He gritted his teeth and hovered over her. His hand joined hers in massaging her temple.

  “No. If they give me more drugs, I’ll sleep. How did you know I was here?” Kaylee caught his hand and pressed it to her cheek.

  Brushing his thumb across her cheek, he laid his head on her stomach. “I picked up the phone, thinking it would be you calling to tell me why you weren’t home. Instead, one of the nurses told me you were here. I drove here like a race car driver. I thought....” His voice faltered, strangled by tears. He’d played the “What If” game one too many times and had lost repeatedly. This was no different. It was just a matter of time.

  “Sweet Jesus.” He clung to her, wrapping his arms around her mid-section. His fingers now tangled in the blankets, twisting, groping, holding. His body convulsed with sobs.

  It’s okay, Boyscout. I’m here. You couldn’t get rid of me that easily if you tried.” Kaylee set her hand on his head and stroked his hair.

  “Looks like I’ll be sleeping on an uncomfortable couch again.” Bastian closed his eyes and nestled deep in her warmth for a few moments before he finally sat up. Down the hall, he heard a squeaky cart being pushed toward her room. It’s probably the dinner cart, he thought.

  “You don’t have to stay. I’m a big girl, you know.” she said in a sleepy voice. Her eyes blinked a few times before closing.

  “Like hell. I’m not leaving you again. Ever,” he replied, shaking his head. He held her hand and shifted his weight in the chair, watching her chest rise and fall. The motion suggested Kaylee had drifted back to sleep. He leaned back in the chair and tried not to feel the tension throughout his body. Tilting his head from side to side, he tried to loosen the tense muscles in his shoulders and back.

  “I love you, Kaylee,” he whispered, hoping like hell she’d heard him from whatever dreamland she was visiting. Maybe he could never have said that in daylight, but he felt it. How he felt it.

  As he held her hand, he noticed movement at the corner of his eye. Turning, he spotted a tall woman with long, blonde hair. She stood in the doorway, staring at him. Bastian matched her gaze, focusing on something familiar but distant in her eyes, the shape of her face, the voice he had yet to hear. Then he knew.

  “Bastian? Is that you?” She finally edged into the room. More steps, closer and quicker.

  “Angie? What…are you doing here?” he finally managed, releasing Kaylee’s hand and standing. His gaze traveled back to Kaylee, and he frowned. “Jesus, she called you, didn’t she?”

  “She was only trying to help,” Angie replied. She reached to touch his shoulder, but Bastian abruptly shoved past her.

  “I don’t need any help.” He clenched his teeth and stepped into the hall, hoping like hell to get outside alone for some fresh air to clear his fogged thoughts, but he knew by the tapping of heels on linoleum Angie had followed him. In front of him, a doctor carrying a clipboard stopped him.

  “Are you Mr. Connelly?”

  “Yeah,” Bastian replied, nodding.

  “I’m David Smith, Kaylee’s physician.”

  “How is she?” Bastian stared at the clipboard and wondered how it was so easy to sum up what was killing the woman he loved in a file that was only a quarter of an inch thick. He shoved both of his hands in his pockets.

  “Kaylee has made you aware of a certain medical condition she is facing?” Smith tapped the clipboard with his other hand.

  A nurse pushing a squeaky cart walked toward the two of them, forcing Bastian to take a step back to let her pass. He massaged the base of his neck, where a pain blossomed so dee
p his fingers could never reach it.

  “I know about the tumor, and I know that’s the reason she’s here. What I want to know is how she’s doing.” He stared at the clipboard, wishing he could just yank it out of the doctor’s hand and have a peek for himself.

  “Not well.” He stopped tapping the clipboard and gripped it in both hands. “I just looked at the cat scan from earlier today. The tumor has greatly increased in size.”

  “So what are you going to do about it? What about chemotherapy?” Bastian asked, gritting his teeth. He planted both feet firmly on the ground as if that would get rid of the light-headedness he felt. Yeah, right. His shoulders sank slowly.

  “Chemo isn’t effective with brain tumors. The brain recognizes that chemo is poisonous and shuts it out.”

  Smith shook his head and focused not on Bastian’s face but on a picture hanging on the wall behind him, a picture the doctor hadn’t noticed in five years of practicing medicine at this hospital. A little girl danced through a field of blooming wildflowers, blue blossoms matching her simple dress. The yellow daisies accented her blonde hair.

  “Then what? What can you do?” Bastian paced the hallway.

  Smith leveled his gaze at Bastian. “Has Kaylee talked to you about what she wants?”

  Bastian turned and laughed incredulously, glaring. “Yeah, she has. She said she didn’t want a fucking tumor, but God didn’t ask her. She said she wanted to have kids with me and grow old together so I could chase her around a nursing home. She said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me. What can you do to make any of that happen? Aren’t you doctors supposed to have some sort of God complex? Don’t you have any fucking powers to go with that ego?”

  “I’m not God, Mr. Connelly. I’ve never made that mistake. The hardest part of my job is watching someone like Kaylee suffer when I’m helpless to change things, just like you.” He held offered the folder to Bastian.

  As Bastian began reading, the doctor went on. “Kaylee expressly stated that she did not want to prolong things with treatments that would not enhance the quality of her life. It’s all there. You can read every word of it if you like.”