by C. M. Newman
CHAPTER FIVE: ANGELA
With every person with whom he had shared his news, Vince’s death had become less about him and more about the people by whom he would be survived. With Angela, however, his inner discourse was more complex. It was more selfish, in that he lamented the fact that now he certainly had no future with her. On the other hand, he was worried for the first time that she felt the same yearnings. He’d thought from time to time over the years, between Angela’s boyfriends that never stuck around for long, that his feelings may have been requited. But it had always been with hope, not the feeling of dread that now rooted itself deep within in his stomach.
“Vince,” Angela murmured with a gentle concern he knew all too well. She leaned further toward him. “What is it?”
With difficulty, Vince gathered himself and told his story yet again, as insufficient as his words felt. He could think of nothing different, nothing more satisfactory or fitting. He knew no better way to tell the woman he loved that he was going to die. The fatigue came back full force throughout telling his tale. It darkened his vision, making him brace the arms of his chair. He looked at Angela only a couple of times, her parted lips and round, chocolate eyes too painstaking to focus on for long.
On Angela’s side of the desk, the room seemed to move in circles, in and out of focus. She heard the words coming somberly from Vince’s lips, but processing them was an entirely different matter. Cancer. Metastasized. Inoperable. Six to eight months. Resigning. He was crying. Just a little, sure, but a single tear from him always seemed like too much to her. He hadn’t even cried when he’d been shot. What did these things mean? How did they go together? It was her inability to think for more than a moment about any individual detail that allowed Angela to maintain her composure. Vince said something about questions. “What?” she murmured.
“I asked if you had any questions,” Vince said, folding his hands on his desk and trying to read her. He supposed it wasn’t worth his time to wonder, though. He didn’t need to study any of his friends’ expressions today to understand that they were devastated. He wanted to know nothing further about Angela’s emotions in particular. That wouldn’t do him any good now.
“I don’t even know what this is, what this means,” Angela said vaguely, as if she were speaking to no one in particular. “It’s like I can’t even think straight.”
“I’m sure it will sink in. When it does, I’m here. Well, not literally. Like I said, I’ll be done working soon, but…”
“Okay,” Angela breathed, nodding slowly. “I—I haven’t had to deal with death in my family since, I don’t know, decades ago when my grandparents passed away, and I was so young I can hardly remember that. I’ve been fortunate. But that means I’m not prepared for this. I don’t know how to…lose somebody. So I guess, in a way, that’s a good thing.”
“How so?”
Angela bowed her head. “I can’t begin to fathom how much it will hurt. It already hurts badly enough and I still can’t even comprehend the situation at this point. But at least I don’t already know how bad it’s going to get, you know? I don’t have to go the rest of the time knowing how much it will break me.”
“I wish I didn’t have to be the one to teach you.”
Angela nodded. “Me, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t say that. That’s…sick. You’re not in control of this at all. I can’t imagine how that must feel.”
“It’s scary. I won’t lie.”
“Does Charlie know?”
“Not yet,” Vince said. “I think I’ll tell him tonight.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Angela had beaten Vince to the punch. He’d been about to ask her the very same thing. “You can keep the team running smoothly. I’ve recommended Harry as my replacement, but the team looks to you a lot for emotional guidance. I don’t know if you know that, but they do.”
“No pressure,” Angela muttered, sitting back and looking at the ceiling.
“I’m sorry. It isn’t your job to babysit the team.”
“It’s okay,” Angela insisted. “If you think I’m capable of that, then maybe I am. I’ll try.”
“Are you going to be okay?” Vince asked. His desk phone rang, startling them both. “Excuse me.”
Angela didn’t take this as a directive to leave the room. She listened instead.
“Yes, ma’am, but I’ll need a few minutes. I’m speaking with Agent Hawkins right now. Thank you.” Vince hung up after his short conversation and massaged his forehead with his fingertips.
“Was that Hanson?” Angela asked.
Vince nodded. “I think it’s about my resignation.”
“Then don’t let me keep you.” Angela got up, happy to have an excuse to leave before she cried. She didn’t know why it felt like such a crime, especially after having watched everyone else leaving Vince’s office a mess to some degree. If she broke down now, it wouldn’t be her first time in front of Vince. But somehow, crying in front of a dying man who was holding it together himself felt disrespectful.
“Angela, hang on.” Vince pulled himself up with more effort than he liked. “Hanson can wait. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?”
“I’m sure.” She wanted to stride back across the office and hold him, but after holding his hand in the hospital, she’d spent over three years having done nothing less innocent than touching his arm consolingly from time to time. She didn’t know what kind of doors might reopen if she were to get any closer to him now. They were doors she had shut, opened, and shut again so many times.
All of a sudden, she felt sick for even thinking about such things.
“All right,” Vince said softly as Angela left the room. He followed not far behind, taking a moment to stop and look at his downtrodden team in the bullpen, save for Harry, who had nabbed his own office the year before.
Angela sat down at her desk and immediately opened up a case file, but Vince could tell that her flipping through it didn’t involve any reading.
—
Fifteen minutes later, the entire team gathered in the conference room. Angela stood behind everyone, knowing that if she didn’t sit at the table, she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye. Anyone but Vince, anyway. And even he could be avoided if she found something else interesting enough to look at. Right now it was a motivational poster depicting a group of skydivers.
“Angela?” Vince asked. “Would you like to sit?”
“I’m good,” she said, still with dry eyes. She had avoided contact with anyone since Vince had told her his news, knowing she wouldn’t be able to remain collected if she opened up about the news.
“All right. I just spoke to Hanson. Like I said, my treatments start next Wednesday. So Tuesday will be my last day. Everything’s all set.”
“Who’s going to replace you as ASAC, sir?” Sophie asked.
Vince shared a cautious, awkward glance with Harry for a split second before addressing the entire team. “I don’t know yet. I probably won’t until next week. That decision involves more people than just Hanson and me.” When no one had anything else to add or ask, he felt it his duty to continue. “I’m sorry that this news had to come in the middle of the week when you’re all trying to work, but I couldn’t imagine trying to hide it from you.” He looked around the table, seeing every eye either watering or already spilling over. Angela still faced him but expertly avoided his gaze.
“We’ll be here for you every step of the way, sir,” Sophie said shakily. “You know that, right?”
Vince’s lip twitched and he nodded. “I do. And I appreciate that more than you know. I don’t know what my remaining days will be like. I might have to call in some favors.”
“Don’t even hesitate,” Marshall said, reaching over and clutching Vince’s shoulder. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we wish we could be by your side throughout all of this.”
“You look beat,” Harry noted to Vince.
&n
bsp; “To be honest, I am.”
“To be honest,” Sophie echoed, “I don’t think you should stay. Not today, not this week, not next week. If you’re fatigued, it’s your body fighting off the illness. It’ll work more efficiently if you’re resting.”
“That’s a nice thought, but I’ll appreciate the distraction. I might not be here all day every day, depending on how I’m feeling. Some days lately I’ve fought the urge to go home early, and I might start listening to my body for change.”
“If today’s a bad day, then you should go home,” Marshall insisted. “Get some rest.”
“I might. I don’t know. I appreciate the concern, either way. I know I’ve asked you all this already, but do you have any more questions? I honestly don’t know everything myself, yet. I’ll know a bit more about the treatment process once it starts. And I guess I’ll learn about the rest along the way. But if there’s anything I forgot to cover…”
“Are you getting a second opinion?” Sophie asked.
“I’m going to try to get an appointment before my treatments start, but I was told not to expect a different answer. Anything else?”
“Cancer is highly hereditary,” Marshall said matter-of-factly. “Do you know if it came from either side of your family?”
“As far as I know, there hasn’t been cancer on either side except for my great aunt’s breast cancer.”
“Do you think Charlie’s at risk for—”
“Marshall.” Angela finally engaged herself in the conversation. “What is the matter with you?”
“It’s okay,” Vince said, eying Marshall with hesitance. “That is something worth thinking about. The only thing I can do for Charlie in that respect is to make sure that, once he gets older, he understands he might be at risk and needs to live as healthy a lifestyle as he can.”
“I’m sorry,” Marshall mumbled. “I wasn’t thinking.”
Angela’s first tears came at the vision of Vince’s own eyes looking panicked, she figured from Charlie being brought into the conversation. As much as she knew Marshall had just been trying to help, she wanted to do him bodily harm. “I agree with Soph. I really think you should go home,” she said. “You look far too tired to be here.”
“Please,” Sophie said quietly. She glanced at Harry and got a nod from him.
“Go,” Harry said. “We’ll behave.”
—
Angela hadn’t even been back at her desk for five minutes before the guilt nagged at her so relentlessly that she couldn’t think straight. “I’m sorry,” she said waveringly to Marshall, turning in her chair. “For snapping at you in there. I know you were just trying to help.”
“I was, but it’s okay. You were right. He didn’t need to add that to his plate. Are you okay?” Marshall asked somberly. They paused to watch Vince heading for the door, finally heeding everyone’s gentle commands.
“No,” Angela said, laughing pitifully. “This kind of stuff…it really makes me question what little faith I still have. What kind of god puts someone through all of this? Vince doesn’t deserve this.”
“Nobody deserves terminal illness,” Marshall said. “It’s one of the worst ways to die. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But I don’t think you should question your faith because of it. Maybe you should do some digging instead.”
“You know, I’ve never lost anyone close to me—to death, that is—not since I was little,” Angela admitted, ignoring Marshall’s suggestion. “Have you?”
“I was rather close to my mother’s parents when they died of old age. That’s about it.”
“How did you cope?”
“You’re asking me for advice?”
Angela just waited for it.
“Take everything one day at a time, I guess,” Marshall said. “If you think about what his last days are going to be like, for us and for him, you’re going to spend the next several months in a lot more pain than you would if you just, I don’t know, appreciated every day for what it is. I’m sure that’s what Vince wants us to do. Not to mourn over him. He isn’t gone yet.”
“I guess,” Angela said, sighing, trying to expel the exhaustion that came from suppressing her emotions. She’d stopped crying in the conference room almost as quickly as she’d started. She was no fool, though, and no ice queen. She knew once she was alone in her car, homeward bound, she would lose it in the worst way. She would mourn her loss prematurely like everyone else, but she needed to do it alone. “Do you think any of us are going to get any work done today?”
“No, but that’s okay. We should all be here if for no other reason than to support each other, right?”
“Right,” Angela said faintly.
By five o’clock, the collective team mentality seemed to be that they hadn’t been productive all day, so there was no point in staying late. Angela watched as her teammates exited the suite together. She declined their offers to walk out with them.
Once the coast was clear, she made her own way out, starting her car and melting into the driver’s seat as she finally let the tears blaze hot trails down her cheeks. She didn’t stop them. She let herself react naturally for the long drive back to her apartment. She tossed her keys onto the gleaming granite countertop and uncorked a bottle something red, pouring herself only half a glass.
She’d thrown a Christmas party here once before. Just a team gathering around the holiday, an excuse to unwind and have a drink or two with good friends. Vince had stood in her kitchen, in the very spot where she stood now, and had told her how her place was too big for just her. He’d told her she needed to get hitched soon and start a family because she deserved it. Of course, that had been the first Christmas after Vince’s divorce and no one had stopped him from pouring that third drink. At the time, Angela had just given her partner a pitying smile and had told him he talked too much when he drank. But now, as she looked around her oversized, expensively decorated apartment with hardly a sign of being lived in, she saw how right he’d been.
The place had never felt more lonely.
—
Vince didn’t call Jenna to tell her that he was leaving work before Charlie would even get out of school. As much as he wanted to spend every remaining moment with his son, he needed today to refuel for the conversation that was to come. He needed to rest, if his heart and mind would allow for it. Then he needed to figure out how on earth he would break it to his son that he would grow up without either one of his parents.
And he had to talk to someone else, too. The younger Glasser brother had been furious find out that Vince hadn’t contacted him in Chicago when he’d been shot. He’d made the discovery a few months afterward when, with two glasses of scotch in him after a long day, Vince had called him up for a rare talk. Vince had intended to interrogate Mitch about not having the decency to show up for Kate’s funeral, but he’d also let slip a mention of his recent brush with death.
Mitch had ignored Vince’s criticisms and had unleashed his own, berating him for being so gravely injured and not letting anyone contact his brother. His flesh and blood. They fought it out with hurtful words like they often had as younger adults, but they hadn’t hung up that night until they had made up. The brothers had agreed to try harder to reconnect. Neither one of them had done anything of the sort since then, but that moment had at least taught Vince that his brother didn’t hate him.
But no matter how sure he was that he had to break news of this magnitude to his brother, Vince knew it had to wait. Charlie couldn’t be the last to find out and Vince didn’t see himself having the energy for telling anyone else after telling Charlie tonight. Before he could even do that, he needed sleep. A simple nap evaded him entirely, but lying down with his eyes closed seemed to help alleviate the dull aches and pains. While he couldn’t sleep, he thought about what he might say to Charlie. He wondered whether it was best to tell him that he was sick and leave it at that. But he thought he should prepare him further by telling him that he would be going away soon, a luxury
his mother hadn’t had. Hiding it for a while would certainly be easier, but far less fair to Charlie. If Vince left Charlie in the dark, Charlie watch his father waste away to nearly nothing, not understanding just how sick he was, not knowing how it all would end.
Once he knew for certain that he wouldn’t be sleeping, Vince rolled out of bed and looked around his room—clean, relatively undecorated save for a nice mirror and a couple of pictures of Charlie. He dodged a basket full of laundry waiting to be done and padded into Charlie’s room. Vince had been sluggish that morning. He hadn’t woken up Charlie as early as he normally did, so the boy’s bedclothes lay in a heap at the foot of his bed from his rush to get ready. Charlie’s favorite stuffed animal—a brown spotted dog that he’d had since he was a baby—lay on his back in the center of the bed. Vince sat down, setting the dog in his lap and inspecting the ear that was half torn off from serving as a handle for when Charlie carried it around.
Vince clutched the animal to his chest as he folded over and wept like a helpless child. his bellowing cries bounced off the beige walls that he’d said he’d get around to painting blue and green for a couple of years now. He sat like that at the edge of Charlie’s bed for a while, his crying abating when he realized that he couldn’t leave Charlie at his aunt’s all day. It was time to get moving.
