Two days later Jaime found herself at Oscar's house again. It was Callahan's turn, but she had come down with a nasty head cold and didn't want to come near the patient.
In truth, Jaime was happy to go back. She valued her time with Oscar, in a sad sort of way. He greeted her in pajamas and bathrobe, and though he was fragile, he had come a long way since she had left him two days before. He also seemed pleased to see her.
She had barely put down her purse when, for the hundredth time, the piano in the next room caught her eye. She always wondered if he played it, but it only just now occurred to her to ask. As she passed into the living room, he followed, albeit slowly.
"Do you actually play this thing?" Jaime asked, passing her hand over the lid.
"You think I keep it for decoration?"
"It could be an heirloom. Well then, let's hear you - come on. Twenty five years and I've never heard you play a note." She lifted her chin as a sort of challenge, and thought how rotten it was of her to push him. Somehow she knew he wouldn't mind.
"All right." He eased himself on to the bench and she seated herself beside him. He gazed at her thoughtfully. "Some Cole Porter, maybe." Lifting his hands to the keys, he began to play.
It was a pretty little introduction and he played it flawlessly. Then to add to her amazement, he sang…
My story is much too sad to be told,
But practically everything leaves me totally cold.
The only exception I know is the case
When I'm out on a quiet spree
Fighting vainly the old ennui
And I suddenly turn and see…
Your fabulous face.
Jaime was dazzled, and realized she was grinning like an idiot. He turned to her and laughed a little, his eyes warm and a little mischievous. Right then she felt it – that old magic they used to have – the spark.
I get no kicks from champagne,
Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all,
So tell me, why should it be true,
That I get a kick out of you…
I get a kick every time I see
You standing there before me,
I get a kick though it's clear to me
You obviously don't adore me…
The song was upbeat. He played it at a clip, but like most Cole Porter songs, the sadness came through anyway.
Jaime felt herself crumpling inside, and she leaned against him. He stopped playing.
"I don't want you to die." she said, haltingly.
"Well," he sighed, "I appreciate that, but I think it's a done deal."
"You're so calm. How can you be so calm? I'm not calm!"
"I guess that means I'm ready."
"Do you believe in an afterlife?" she asked, sitting up again. If he wasn't crumpling, she couldn't very well crumple.
"Mmm. I think my afterlife will be in your memories of me. So …try to think positively, okay?"
She smiled sadly and nodded. "I will."
"Do you believe in an afterlife?" he asked gently, ducking his head to look into her eyes.
"Yeah." she replied. "I do. At least I think I do. Not fluffy clouds and angels, but I do believe in energies - that we become part of the big picture. I can't believe it just… ends."
"Hmm. I don't know. You know me. I like rational explanations."
"Well science is never going to answer that one, Oscar."
"Can't argue with you there." He was so relaxed, so unburdened by the thought of death he might as well have been talking about the weather. "Hey - how about you play me something? You've never played for me either, you know."
"I haven't? All right. Fair's fair." It had been a while – she stared at the ceiling a moment, trying to recall a song she knew by heart. The one that came to mind off the top of her head was too melancholy, but it was pretty, and this was not a moment to dither.
Not surprisingly, her voice sounded thin and emotional and quivery to her. Fortunately it was a Neil Young song, and as his voice was thin and quivery too, it suited it just fine.
When you were young
and on your own
How did it feel
to be alone?
I was always thinking
of games that I was playing.
Trying to make
the best of my time.
But only love
can break your heart
Try to be sure
right from the start
Yes only love
can break your heart
What if your world
should fall apart?
Feeling self conscious, she finished with a flourish, though there were still verses to be sung. Perhaps he'd had enough anyway.
"Beautiful." he smiled. "Really beautiful."
"You're generous." She removed her hands from the keys. Try to be sure right from the start…
"Listen," he said, sounding one low chord with his left hand. "I owe you an apology."
"What for?"
"That…what I said to you at your party…about how you should have married me. It was inexcusable."
"Well…apology accepted," Jaime shrugged, "but not necessary. I'm…flattered." This was only a thin proximity of what she felt, and it almost embarrassed her to have said it.
Oscar pensively sounded another chord. Jaime responded in kind.
"You meant it, didn't you?"
"No. I was drunk."
"In vino veritas."
"No." Oscar insisted. "You married the best of men – the best."
"I know." She punched out something a little dissonant on the keys, and shook her head lightly. "Sometimes your dogged sense of loyalty can get tiresome, you know. Tell me. Just between you and me."
Oscar replied with a pretty succession of three chords. "If you'd married me, look what you would have ended up with."
"I'm looking." she replied. "Come on."
He sat back and regarded her carefully. "I…mmm…" He winced, obviously struggling. "The dying don't necessarily have the right to mess with the living, you know."
She sighed and gave him a wilting look.
"It…well, all I'm going to say is that it has something to do with dependence and independence – that balance. I think…we would have found a good balance."
This was an insightful comment – apparently he had perceived one of the weaknesses in her marriage. 'I thought you were happily married to the OSI." she replied flippantly, hoping to cover her real discomfort. Were she and Steve so transparent?
"I told you I shouldn't say anything."
"I'm fine." she protested. "This is such an emotional situation. I don't know how you can be so cool."
"Can I say something?" He shifted to face her, and took her hands in his. "I don't want you to be offended, but I think it's important."
"Okay...." she said uncertainly.
"Somewhere along the line, you've – I don't know how to put this – you've lost your joy. I thought you'd find it again when you married Steve, but you haven't."
"I feel joy." Jaime replied, struggling to veil her defensiveness.
"I know – it's not that though, it's an approach to life – a zest for living, joie de vivre, an irreverence – whatever you want to call it."
"Maybe I just grew up."
"No. You were always grown up. Besides, if that's growing up, then some regression is in order. You're always giving yourself to other people – to Steve, to your patients - to me."
"You're a fine one to talk. You're not exactly a barrel of monkeys either, you know." She felt a little silly for deflecting his comments this way, but she was feeling terribly off balance.
"That's different. I never was a barrel of monkeys."
"That's not true!" she protested. "We used to have fun. Don't you remember? We had a lot of laughs – a lot of fun. Remember the lengths we went to trying to ditch those horrible Carstairs?"
"I do." That familiar soft, sweet look crossed his face – a look she hadn't seen in a long time. "Listen to me. Replenish yourself, Jaime. That is my dying request. Be a little more self centered, a little more irreverent. Rediscover your inner cheekiness. Will you do that for me?"
"This isn't about me working less and spending time on Steve's boat, is it?" She suddenly had that horrible feeling of having been the topic of a critical conversation. "Because I love my work and I…"
"No no no." he interrupted gently. "It's not that – it's nothing to do with Steve. I know you love your work – but you approach it with a bloody minded determination, and you don't need to do that. Nobody can stop you, Jaime. You've made it. You can let off the gas pedal."
"Okay." she said, with a frown. "I'll see what I can do … if I can figure out what you're talking about."
"You don't have to figure it out. You just have to do it." he replied, squeezing her hands earnestly.