by C. M. Newman
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE: ARMS
“Listen, Mitch…”
“Spit it out. How bad is it?” Mitch said, anything but offhandedly.
“This last round of chemo really put me through the wringer.”
“I know.” Mitch sighed over the phone. Vince wondered if, just like Angela, Mitch knew what was coming.
“I think the costs far outweighed the benefits. I decided the other night that I’m done with chemo. I have an appointment with my oncologist in a couple of hours to go over my latest scans, but I’ve already made up my mind. He was kind of surprised I wanted to do that last round, anyway.”
“What—what does this mean, then? How long…”
Vince coughed into his hand. “Excuse me. I don’t know. He said two to three months a month ago, no matter whether I went through that last round of chemo, like I told you. No new information since then. So I guess unless things went worse than he expected, then I have a month or two.”
“Are you gonna set up your in-home hospice stuff now?” Mitch said, his voice faltering ever so slightly.
“Yeah. We’ll start setting it up after we see my oncologist. We need to talk to Charlie and Jenna first, though…make sure everyone’s prepared for how things are going to change around here. The staff won’t be over here much in the beginning, I don’t think, but still.” Vince looked around the side of the still bedroom that he could see from where he lay, imagining people coming and going, poking and prodding.
“Would it be all right with you if I came into town tonight?” Mitch asked.
“What? Mitch, no, you can’t risk your—”
“My bosses know what’s going on. They all said if I need to take some time, I can. Just…let me be there for the transition. I can run errands, help with Charlie, whatever you need. Besides, it’s been too long since I’ve been out to see you. Almost two months.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you here, Mitch—”
“As long as you don’t not want me there, then I’m coming. I can’t find someone to cover today’s shift on this little notice, but they hired someone new a couple weeks ago at my main job, so the hours are spread a little thinner. I shouldn’t have a problem getting my shifts covered for the rest of the week at either place,” Mitch said, sounding rather panicked for how smoothly he was claiming things would go.
“Are you sure? We can manage. The hospice staff is supposedly really helpful. That’s kind of their job. And we won’t even really need them that much for a while. Not much is changing except for me dropping the chemo.”
“I’m positive. It’s not gonna be too much for you, is it, though? An extra person in the house?”
“Of course not. I do want to see you. But only if you’re okay with sleeping on the couch, or we could get you an air mattress.”
“Whatever works. I’m not picky. Couch is fine.”
“Let me know which bus works for you and I’ll get you a ticket.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“All right, not worth the fight. Just let me know what time you’re getting in and I’ll have Angela come get you at the bus station.”
“Sounds like a plan. Me being there won’t mess with…Charlie, and school and all that, will it?”
“Friday’s his last day, actually.”
“Oh. Wow…done with first grade, huh?” Mitch said with a laugh. “I know I haven’t been back in the picture all that long, but still.”
“Time flies,” Vince said glumly. “Anyway, it’s his last week of school, but it’s not like he has finals or anything. Things are pretty laid back. If you’d like to take him out for a day while you’re here, I’d be okay with that.”
“I’d love that. Listen, I should go pack some stuff and find myself a ticket so I can take off right after work. Let me know if anything pops up. Got my phone on me.”
“Will do.” Vince set his phone down and slowly rose to a seated position, finding that the pills had done a good enough job and he was able to get up by himself this time.
—
“I understand your decision. We’ll get you in touch with our hospice staff once we’re done here, unless you planned on using another service.” Vince’s oncologist folded his hands in front of him on his blotter.
Vince shook his head. “Probably best to work with people who are already connected with you. So that’s fine. I looked into it already and I understand it’s a well-renowned team.”
“Indeed it is.”
“Do they…start right away?” Angela asked.
“They’ll want to meet you and do their own evaluation. This particular team is very flexible and their care is patient-driven. Now…even taking into consideration your decision to stop treatment, I’d still recommend you look at the most recent scans. But that’s up to you.”
Vince nodded. “Of course—do you want to see? You can leave if you want,” he offered to Angela, but she shook her head.
“All right. As you can see,” the doctor said, turning his computer monitor and pointing, “you have two new tumors on your liver on top of the two that were already there. The ones on your pancreas and lymph nodes are all still growing, but the ones on your liver are more worrisome. They’re a major contributing factor to your back pain along with the tumors on your pancreas, of course. Now that you’re in a stage where you’re more…accepting of what’s to come, I will say that it’s common with this type of cancer for either respiratory illness or liver failure to be what takes a patient’s life. As I’ve discussed with you in the past, a liver transplant isn’t an option, so it might just turn into a waiting game with your liver.”
Too much information, Vince thought repeatedly. It didn’t matter how well he understood that the end was near; he didn’t want a preview. He let his eyes drift shut and tried to think of something else—his moonlit swim with Angela…Charlie’s baseball game that weekend…Harry’s toast at their wedding reception…
“You okay?” Angela murmured to Vince, her hand sliding up and down the length of his back. When Vince opened his eyes, he saw her and the oncologist staring at him.
“I’m fine,” he said, nodding.
“Now,” the doctor continued, “in terms of respiratory health—”
“I’ve been coughing quite a bit lately,” Vince admitted.
His doctor frowned. “You should’ve called about that. I’ll up your antibiotics. The chemo did a number on your immune system, so it’ll need all the help it can get. That’s probably enough details for right now. One last thing I’d like to discuss with you privately, Vince.”
Angela waited for Vince to tell the doctor that she was his wife and that she could stay, but he did no such thing. He just let go of her hand, so she quietly let herself out of the room.
“Now that you’re out of the chemo trial, I can contact the researchers and find out which drug you were on,” the doctor told Vince once the door was shut. “Would you like to know?”
Vince shook his head. “No, actually. It wouldn’t change anything. Either way I’d be left wondering, and I’d find a way to make myself feel guilty. Just…is that all?” Vince felt a strong need for fresh air now. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“That’s all. I’ll introduce you to our hospice coordinator. I’ll consult with them sometime within the next few days, and then they’ll meet with you whenever you’re ready.”
—
“Daddy says I get to be with Auntie Jen during the week and Angela on the weekends and then you for a whole week and then four weekends every year after he goes to heaven,” Charlie said later that night, getting comfortable on the couch with Mitch, in pajamas and stalling over going to bed.
“That’s right,” Mitch said, ruffling his nephew’s hair. He saw the fatigue dragging down his brother’s face, though, and as much as he wanted to keep Charlie up an extra half hour just for the fun of it, he knew Vince didn’t like going to bed before Charlie. “Listen, I think it’s bedtime now. But as a consolation, how about…you and I go out
and have some fun one day this week instead of you going to school?”
Charlie’s eyes and mouth widened hopefully as he whipped around to face his dad. “Can we, Daddy?”
Vince smiled languidly. “Sure.”
“Yeah! Can you tuck me in tonight?” Charlie asked, giving his uncle his puppy dog eyes.
“You betcha. Let’s go.”
“Can I get you anything?” Angela asked Vince once they were alone. She stood behind the couch, gently massaging his shoulders.
“I’m good. We should do something with the furniture in here, spread it out a little so there’s more room. If we move the coffee table over to the side, we can put that air mattress down. He can just lean it up against the wall during the day.”
“I’ll work it out with Mitch when he gets back out.”
“Am I being told to go to bed?” Vince asked playfully, craning his neck back and eying Angela.
She rolled her eyes and smiled, circling around to the front of the couch and sitting next to him. Figuring they had a few minutes’ privacy, they got wrapped up in each other, not for the first time that day, but for the first time without tears. “I’m glad he came to see you,” Angela said.
“Me, too. It’s good to have everyone together.”
“Yeah. What about the team? How do you plan on letting them know?” Angela walked her fingers over the top of Vince’s head, letting her short fingernails tickle his scalp.
“I don’t know. Telling you, telling Mitch, telling Jen, even telling my doctor…it’s been exhausting, and I haven’t even told Charlie yet…” Vince sighed and melted into the couch cushions.
“Feeling drained?” Angela said.
“Beyond drained.”
“Do you want me to tell them for you? I can even just give Fitz a call and he can tell everyone else. I know the last thing you want is all of them over here for something staged…”
“You’re very right about that. I think I can handle telling Harry, though. He’s been one of my best friends for years. I owe him that.”
“Nobody’s keeping score,” Angela said softly. “He wouldn’t be hurt if you didn’t have it in you to tell him.”
“I know, but I still feel like I need to. Thank you for offering, though.” Vince offered up a lingering kiss on the lips. “I think if it was a normal Tuesday, I wouldn’t be so tired, but with all the drama today, I think I’m just about spent. Think I might turn in.”
“I understand.”
Vince mustered up a grin and nodded. “Goodnight. Love you.” He left her with one last warm kiss.
“Love you, too.” Angela returned. She watched Vince amble down the hallway, stopping by Charlie’s room to say goodnight to him and Mitch. Once he was shut inside his own bedroom, Angela got up and started brainstorming furniture arrangements.
“Redecorating?” Mitch asked.
Angela smiled and looked up, tugging the loveseat backwards, thinking ruefully of how her semi-private nighttime mourning hideout was occupied for the rest of the week—or, if her instincts were right, the next couple of months. Tonight, she specifically wanted a space to herself to pray for a few miracles, but it looked like that would have to happen in the bathroom. “Making some room for you. We got you an air mattress. Just trying to figure out how to fit it in here.”
“Not saying I’m not grateful,” Mitch said as he helped Angela with the loveseat, “but I would’ve been happy on the couch.”
“Maybe for a night, but not for five.”
“Well…thanks.”
“Of course. How are you doing?” Angela asked. “With the news, I mean.”
“Well, it’s not ‘get to know your brother again’ time anymore. It’s ‘watch your brother waste away’ time. It’s not fun. I’m sorry. That’s not what you wanna hear,” Mitch said, shoving the couch out of the way.
“I didn’t ask you to tell me what I wanted to hear,” Angela pointed out.
“Fair enough,” Mitch conceded. “What about you? How’re you taking it?”
“In stride, I guess,” Angela lied. Though she’d had a good cry with Vince that day, she hadn’t taken a shower since the news had been delivered that morning. It was there that she usually let it all out, sticking her face under the hot spray and letting it rinse her tears clean off her cheeks. She was still waiting for that opportunity. After that, she might be able to say with truth that she was faring well enough.
“What’s the caregiver thing like?” Mitch inquired.
“They haven’t come to train me yet, so to speak. We talked to a coordinator just quickly on the phone today and she reminded us about twelve times that being a caregiver is a big undertaking. Ugh. As if Vince didn’t feel guilty enough. You’d think since she knew we were married, she’d lay off. I mean, what capable wife wouldn’t want to take care of her dying husband? I know she was just doing her job, but I don’t remember wanting to smack someone so hard. Not even his oncologist. I’m sorry. Talk about a tangent…”
Mitch shrugged dismissively. “There are things I wanna say, but not to him. I don’t want to upset him. I think you’re probably in the same spot. We could probably both use a sounding board.”
“Yeah.” Angela didn’t exactly look forward to fielding grievances from yet another person, but she supposed she’d signed on for that duty by marrying the man who was dying. Besides, Mitch was her family now. If this was how they would get to know each other, she knew she would have to accept that.
“And…” Mitch sighed and sat down to tug the air mattress out of its box. “I was thinking…I already asked my bosses at both my jobs, and I can take FMLA if you need extra help. And it’s—it’s not so much that I think you can’t do it on your own—I know you can—but I wanna be here. With him. Do you think Vince would be okay with that? Would you? I wouldn’t have to live here. I could get another apartment.”
“Your employers both employ over fifty people? You’re not guaranteed your job when you come back otherwise,” Angela asked skeptically, having done her research now.
“Yeah, actually. So, would I be all right with you, for starters?”
“Pssh…it doesn’t matter what I think. That’s up to your brother.”
“Well, assuming he says yes, what do you say?”
“Whatever he wants, he gets. Simple as that,” Angela said, wiping her hands off on her thighs to signify that she was done working and wanted to be done with this conversation as well. “Sorry if that sounds cold, or like I don’t want you here. I’m just not in a chipper mood today.”
“I totally understand,” Mitch said, holding up a hand. “I’ll ask him tomorrow.”
“Best wait till his pain pills have kicked in. Just a warning. Are you going to tell him you lost your jobs?”
“Of course not—I mean—oh, come on—” Mitch clenched his eyes shut. “How did you know?”
“You took off for an alleged six-day trip with virtually no notice, and this isn’t the first time you’ve taken off. You packed an awful lot of stuff for less than a week’s stay, and you were too obvious in trying to make me believe that your jobs were safe. And don’t get me started on your body language.”
“That’s not annoying at all,” Mitch said sourly.
“Lie better,” Angela said with a shrug. “So, are you going to tell him?”
“No. He’d feel guilty knowing I’m out of work and soon my apartment because of him, and he doesn’t need that. So please, don’t say anything.”
“He and I don’t lie to each other,” Angela said frankly.
“I’m not asking you to lie outright…just don’t bring it up,” Mitch all but begged.
“You get one pass,” Angela said, holding up her index finger. “But I am warning you, he’s not stupid. He’ll probably figure it out and start asking, and then you’re on your own. I’m not going to cover for you. Are we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mitch said with a grateful twinkle in his eye.
—
Angela squ
inted against the harsh bathroom light in the middle of the night. Set on getting in some communication—an area she’d neglected far too much—she had waited for Vince be completely still, then she’d slipped out of bed. He still snored loudly enough for her to hear it through the bathroom door.
Please, she thought, not even getting to the next word in her head before the tears burned down her tired, tense cheeks. Let me keep him or at least let me keep a piece of him. I know I really messed things up the first time…but I also know I’m forgiven for that. Give me another chance. Please.
She’d certainly planned on something more elaborate, more faithful and adoring, less despairing and self-absorbed, but she found an ironically overwhelming comfort in knowing that God knew what was in her heart either way.
Her weeping stretched out for some time, prompting her to turn out the light, as she didn’t need two things giving her a headache. “Please, I can’t do this alone,” she said in a squeak. Her own words shocked her even though she’d given her lips permission to say the words. “I can’t do this.”
She hadn’t heard Vince sneak into the bathroom, so she jumped a little from her seat on the rug against the bathtub when he placed a strong but gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hi,” she said with a sniffle, wrapping her arms around him.
But it wasn’t Vince. And it only took her a moment to figure out who was there in his place. It was a prayer answered with invisible but solid arms wrapping her up and letting her cry without shame.
—
“What time is it?” Vince said hoarsely when the sunlight hit him square in the eye the next morning, rousing him just as Angela crossed the bedroom.
“Eight-thirty. Don’t worry, I got Charlie ready for school and Mitch went to drop him off. Charlie was a slow-poke and missed the bus.” Angela was already dressed and ready for the day.
“Again with the…taking things over. I appreciate you trying to help, but—”
“Nuh-uh,” Angela said, wagging a finger at him. “You don’t get to go off on me. I woke you up at seven and you said to give you fifteen more minutes. I woke you up again at quarter after seven, and you fell back asleep in about thirty seconds.”
Vince sighed and, to his surprise, sat up without his back protesting too much. “I forgot. I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“You’d think that if you woke up twice, it would all cancel out and you would’ve woken up on the right side,” Angela quipped, more amused than anything by Vince’s snapping at her.
“Well, I woke up three times.”
Angela sat down next to Vince and pressed her lips to his cheek. “How are you feeling?” she asked much more serenely.
“Stiff, but not too bad. I think if we get a memory foam topper or something, this would be just fine. No need for a hospital bed like they were talking about.”
Angela slipped a hand up Vince’s back and gave him a good-morning back scratch, one that earned her a little groan of appreciation. “You don’t want a hospital bed?”
“If I wanted a hospital bed, I’d go to a hospital. Or to a hospice center. I want to die in my home. My bed is part of my home.”
“I understand completely,” Angela said, “but you’re going to be spending more and more time in bed. Don’t you want to be able to sit up, and get yourself in and out more easily? We can rent the nicest one they have.”
“Please, force anything upon me that you see fit, except for this. I’m not using a hospital bed. End of discussion. We have room for the recliner in here. If I want to sit up more comfortably, I can use that.”
“Okay,” Angela said, biting her tongue. “No hospital bed. But since you can’t say no to anything else, at least not for another couple hours, I vote you take a shower and we go for a little walk. Just you and me.” Angela squeezed Vince’s knee and got up to leave the room.
“What about Mitch?”
“If we turn on a cartoon for him, he can babysit himself,” Angela called back.
—
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Vince noted as they stepped into the sunshine. Angela was craving French toast but they were out of bread. The closest diner was only half a mile away, so they decided to walk there. Mitch had turned down Vince’s guilt-driven invitation to join them, graciously giving them some time with one another.
“I wouldn’t say a good mood. I just feel…consoled, I guess. I don’t think that’s the word I’m looking for.”
“Did we have a conversation I don’t remember?” Vince asked, taking her hand.
“No, but funny enough, I did think you were a part of it.”
“Do tell. I’m getting confused over here.”
Angela giggled softly. “I was just…so worked up last night, and I felt like I really needed to pray, which I haven’t been doing enough. I felt really out of touch with God, you know?”
Vince knew the feeling all too well. “Of course.”
“So once I knew you were sleeping deeply, I locked myself in the bathroom and just…let it out. It was a completely amateur prayer—I have nothing to brag about or anything. But…I was begging for God not to leave me here alone. I was telling Him I couldn’t do it all by myself. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I thought it was you.”
“I slept through the night.”
Angela gave a rickety sigh. “I know it wasn’t you. You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but…it was God. He was right there in the bathroom, and He just…held me while I cried like a baby.”
“Why would I think you’re crazy?” Vince asked, slowing them to a stop and taking her other hand captive so that she had no choice but to face him.
“I don’t know, because it’s easy to hallucinate when you’re stressed. We both know how the brain works.”
“Exactly. Angie, I trust that you experienced what you say you did. You’re smart, you’re discerning…can I just say that I’m kind of jealous, though? Nothing like that has ever happened to me.”
“It’s not something that happens to every Christian?” Angela asked, perplexed.
“Pastor Fenwick told me about the first time he truly felt the presence of God in a room. Not just…the chills you get when you sing a particularly meaningful hymn, or when you see someone you love come to faith. But really feeling like He’s in the room, like if you could see where He was, you could reach out and touch Him. He said it didn’t happen to him until five years after he was ordained. Five whole years.”
“Wow,” Angela stammered. “That doesn’t make sense, though. God can be everywhere all at once. He is. Why hasn’t everyone felt that?”
“Maybe it’s just a matter of taking notice,” Vince proposed, though this one was a head-scratcher and definitely warranted a chat with his pastor. It had been too long, anyway. “Whatever the case may be, I’m so happy for you. How do you feel?”
“Like I said…consoled…but that’s not the word. I mean, it’s true, but if there was one word…” She held up one finger to tell Vince to give her a moment. “Stronger.” She smiled and hugged her husband with fervor in the middle of the sidewalk. “I feel stronger.”
—
“You don’t have to go to the hospital anymore?” Charlie asked Vince. They sat in the middle of Vince’s bed Wednesday evening after dinner. The bedroom door was closed.
“Maybe a couple times to see my doctor, but not for chemo or radiation. They aren’t making me better anymore. They’re kind of making things worse.”
“Is that why you’ve been sleeping all the time?” Charlie asked.
“From the chemo, yeah, that’s a very big part of it. The radiation not so much,” Vince replied.
“Then are you still gonna do that part? Will that still make you better?”
Vince cleared his throat and placed his hand atop Charlie’s shoulder. “I’m not going in for radiation anymore, either. Angela and your uncle and I will be meeting with some people soon; they’re part of what’s called a hospice service.
Their job is to make sure I’m comfortable for the rest of my…for the rest of my time here. But getting hospice care involves agreeing to stop any kind of treatment like chemo or radiation.”
“How come you have to stop?”
Vince expertly thinned his lips and widened his eyes, keeping the tears at bay for now. “Because…when my doctor told me that I was going to die and go to heaven, we decided I would go to chemo and radiation for as long as it would fight off the cancer. Eventually, the cancer got stronger and stronger until the medicine couldn’t help anymore. So instead of continuing to take it, I’m stopping, and the hospice workers are going to help make sure I’m not in pain, and that I’m feeling the best that I can. Part of them agreeing to help me like this involves me accepting what’s happening, so no more trying to fight the cancer.”
“Does that mean you’re gonna die soon?” Charlie asked simply, picking at a loose thread on the sheet.
Vince was lucky he could form words. “I am getting closer now, yes.”
“How close?”
“Well…my doctor said I should expect anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months. I know that’s not very specific, but that’s the best we can do. Hey,” he muttered when he saw Charlie’s face tilt toward his feet. “Look at me, buddy.”
Charlie obeyed reluctantly.
“I love you,” Vince tried, opening up his arms.
Charlie shook his head, his eyes watering. “I don’t want you to die, Daddy,” he cried.
“Charlie, listen to me, buddy,” Vince said soothingly, laying his hand over Charlie’s head now. Give me the words, he begged silently. “There’s nothing any of us can do about me dying. That’s…God’s plan for me. I know you prayed a lot about it and God didn’t answer that prayer the way you wanted, but think about the prayers He did answer. We got to have fun, we got to go on a really great trip together, and soon it’ll be summer vacation and I can see you even more. And you’re going to be just fine once this is all over. You’ll have your Auntie Jen, Angela, Uncle Mitch…”
“I still don’t want you to die.”
“I know, and I would do absolutely anything to change this, but there’s nothing I can do. Do you understand?”
“But I don’t want you to die,” Charlie wailed again. He dove into Vince’s lap, clinging to his waist. Vince wrapped up his son neatly in his arms that were given a temporary gift of strength.
“I know, Charlie. I don’t wanna die, either. I love you. So much.”
Charlie didn’t return the sentiment; he just buried his face in his father’s chest. Vince took the moment to let all the waiting tears fall while Charlie wasn’t looking. He rocked them both to and fro, not shushing him, though he almost couldn’t tolerate the sound of Charlie so distraught. Together they cried it out, Vince more silently so, until Charlie indicated with one final sniffle and a careless swipe under his nose that he was done.
“Feel a little better?” Vince asked, still holding him close, as if someone might snatch him away at any moment.
“A little.”
“Would it make you feel better to know that Angela is going to be my caregiver? She’ll be the one doing a lot of the work, helping me out, making sure I take the right medicine, eat right, getting me things I need. The hospice workers will come as much as I need them to, but Angela’s pretty good at taking care of us on her own, isn’t she?”
Charlie nodded, his little hands still bunching the back of Vince’s t-shirt. “She made me feel better when I had a cold.”
“That she did. And she’s going to do everything she can to make sure I’m comfortable, and she’s still going to help take care of you at the same time.”
“Can I help her take care of you?”
Vince smiled, kissing Charlie’s crown. “Of course you can. How do you want to help?”
“I could help make your bed.”
“Oh yeah? That would be a really big help.”
“And I could read you stories,” Charlie added.
“Charlie, I would love that. In fact, you know what?”
“Huh?”
“I think you and I should read a big book together,” Vince said. “Not just the bedtime stories we’ve read a bunch of times, but something new and something a little longer. You do such a good job at reading your schoolbooks, I think we could try something a little more challenging. And since we’re reading it together, I could help you with the bigger words and we could take turns. Do you like that idea?”
Charlie nodded. “Can we read one of the Narnia books? I like the first movie. Angela looked on the computer and said the other ones are too scary for me, though.”
“Oh, did she? Well, sure. We’ll go pick up the first book sometime this week and start reading together at night.”
“Just you and me?” Charlie asked hopefully.
“Just you and me.”
—
“You want to stay?” Vince asked his brother the next morning. They sat in the living room with coffee, the news on simply for some background noise. Vince now wondered if Angela’s trip to the store was on purpose—if Mitch had asked her for some time alone with Vince. Charlie was sleeping in, enjoying the beginning of his day off of school.
“Yeah. I mean…why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, you have two jobs and an apartment and a life back in Chicago, for starters,” Vince replied.
“Nothing needs taking care of in the apartment, I can put my life on hold, and the jobs are safe. I can take leave. I actually already kinda did. I assumed you’d be okay with it.”
Vince scratched the back of his head in thought. “I love that you wanna stay, Mitch, I do, but—” He stopped to yawn, too foggy to read into Mitch’s words and behavior. Angela’s unintended advice was helping Mitch out, though, to be fair. He wasn’t letting an unnatural amount of effort come through in his lies.
“No buts, unless they’re about space,” Mitch said, “in which case I’ll rent another place somewhere around here.”
“It’s not about space. I just don’t want you throwing everything away to stay here when I’m asleep half the time and a cranky old jerk the other half.”
“If that’s your only concern, then you’re stuck with me.”
“Well, that’s not my only concern. I doubt Angela will have a problem with it, but I would like to run it by her first. She lives here, too.”
Mitch’s foot shook a little too fast.
“You already asked her, didn’t you?” Vince said, rolling his eyes.
“I just ran it by here to see what she thought you’d think,” Mitch said anxiously. “She seemed fine with it. Actually, she said, and I quote, ‘Whatever he wants, he gets. Simple as that.’”
“Sounds like her,” Vince muttered. He gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I am glad you’re staying. Think you might need some more things, though?”
“A friend of mine is gonna ship what I need when I let him know,” Mitch said, sounding relieved. “I’ll, uh, call him later on. Wanna get the munchkin up and go grab a bite to eat?”
“I’m not really into going out anymore,” Vince said simply, folding his hands in his lap and staring out the window into the green trees that had been coated with a delicate layer of snow only a couple of months ago.
“Oh, not hungry?”
“It’s not the appetite.” Vince now felt that his indirectness was getting annoying, so he said, “I just don’t feel much like myself anymore. It might sound silly, to…be bothered by what people think, at my age, anyway. And at first I got used to the stares.” Vince licked his lips, regretting opening up so readily. He’d never even said this much to Angela. His brother was listening keenly, though, not interrupting or passing judgment of any kind, so Vince let the rest of it out. “I’m just a sack of skin and bones. You can see my ribs even through a t-shirt. You can see every bone in my body. I guess it’s not so much that the staring itself is bothering me again, in the sense that I care what people think. But…you know when you w
alk past a window and you catch a glimpse of yourself and you wonder, ‘Is that what I really look like to everyone else? It’s not what I looked like in the mirror this morning.’”
“Of course. Well, I don’t have that problem personally, but yeah.”
“Funny. Well, take that, multiply it by ten, and that’s about how I feel every time I step out of the apartment anymore. Even just to go to church. And even in the apartment I feel like some sideshow freak, for lack of a better word. I don’t look remotely like the person I was five months ago. I don’t understand how Charlie or Angela even look at me without cringing.”
“Because they love you, man. I could smack you in the face with a shovel and they still wouldn’t see you any differently.”
Vince let out a shaky laugh and scratched at his beard, what he often times felt to be the last remaining manifestation of his masculinity. He had no job. He couldn’t drive. He couldn’t stay on his feet for long. He couldn’t lift his son, let alone his wife. And he probably couldn’t give her a child, either.
Desperate to put an end to the awkwardness, Mitch searched for something else to talk about. “Say, where’re your friends from work? Do they still come around?”
“Lately someone’s been here every couple of nights, but they just left town on a case this morning. I did talk to Harry, though. Told him about my stopping treatment.”
“He’s the guy whose house we were at for the reception, right?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“How’d he take the news?”
Vince shrugged lazily. “The best that he could, I guess. I think out of everyone, he’s been the most levelheaded about things. He’s been my voice of reason. Angela’s, too.”
“I’m not your voice of reason?” Mitch poked.
Vince shook his head. “You’re just a pain.”
—
Angela awoke to an empty bed the next morning, glad for many reasons. First, yesterday had been one hundred percent free of drama. Vince had snoozed for an hour in the afternoon without putting up a stink about it, Mitch had taken Charlie out for lunch and a movie, and the four of them had started transitioning into a household of four rather easily. Charlie was ecstatic at the news that his uncle wouldn’t be returning to Chicago at the end of the week. The addition of hospice staff to the apartment in the coming weeks would definitely make it feel more cramped, but for now, it still felt like home. In addition, Vince had actually managed to stay up as late as Angela without the help of caffeine. They had gotten a rare chance to talk themselves to an uninterrupted sleep.
She walked past the closed bathroom door, figuring Vince was inside, then down the hall for some coffee, yawning contentedly and stretching her arms over her head.
She realized she must have been wrong about Vince being in the bathroom. She spotted a familiar bald head over the refrigerator door.
“Morning, honey,” she said sweetly as she passed by.
When Mitch’s voice returned with a very sneaky, “Well, good morning to you, too,” Angela was rather glad she had foregone a pat on the butt.
“What the—Mitch? You shaved your head!” she hissed, her hand pressed to her chest.
“What, you don’t like it?” Mitch said with a feigned pout as he set down a gallon of milk on the counter. He ran his hand over the still unfamiliar expanse of skin.
“It’s…” Angela crossed her arms pensively in front of her.
“What?” he asked when he turned to face her again, his mouth full of cereal and leaking milk.
She smiled. “That was…oddly sweet of you.”
“Didn’t do it for Vince. I just thought I’d look good bald. Was I right or what?” Mitch said, still with his mouth full as he sauntered into the living room.
