Chapter 9
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
After the events of yesterday, I want to go and see Edward first thing in the morning, but I resist the temptation. I'm sure he's still exhausted and recovering from what happened, and he doesn't need me bothering him. I make it until lunchtime, but by then, not knowing how his day is going is driving me insane, so I call Alice just to make sure he's okay. She can't give me any details about his condition because I'm not family, but she gives me a curt "yes" and tells me he was asking about me earlier. It seems he was worried that what happened yesterday upset me, and he wanted to make sure I was okay. Um, well this is new. I wonder what kind of visit is in store for me today.
As I walk through the door, he smiles at me. This is the first time seeing me has provoked that kind of response from him, with the exception of when he was high on morphine, and the satisfaction I feel blooms into an excited grin. He looks tired and weak, but peaceful. His hands are resting on his belly, and I'm struck again by how much flatter it is. But the best thing of all is the even rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, seemingly without effort. In all the time I've known him, he's always had to struggle to breathe.
"Hi, Bella," he says, greeting me first.
I grin again at the obvious change in our usual routine. "Hello, Edward. How are you doing today?"
"Much better." He smiles again, and this time, it reaches his eyes, making their emerald depths sparkle. "I'm still tired from everything that happened yesterday, but this is the best I've felt since I got the blood infection. I'm in a lot less pain, and it feels amazing to be able to breathe again."
Suddenly, he looks down, focusing on his fingers as he runs them over the weave of the blanket, which I realize is a nervous habit. "Thank you. For what you did for me yesterday. I don't think I would have made it through the day without you."
His words are so honest and sincere that they smite my heart, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat. "You're welcome. It was no big thing. I'm just glad I could be there for you."
"No big thing, huh?" he repeats, cocking an eyebrow at me. "That's interesting because I seem to remember thinking at the time that you looked as terrified as I felt."
I don't like being called out, but the fact that Edward feels comfortable enough with me to do it is a major step in the right direction. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep it from turning up into a grin. "Okay, so I was as scared as you were. Is that important?"
"Well, to me it is. The fact that it scared the shit out of you and you still stayed with me means—" He trails off awkwardly, looking embarrassed.
"Means what?"
"Well, it means more to me," he says quietly, his cheeks turning crimson.
Oh my.
"I'm glad you let me do it," I tell him, looking into his eyes and covering his hand with my own.
Somehow, that's more than he can handle because he looks away from me, so I pull back my hand.
He stares out the window as if he's trying to make up his mind about something, so I sit and wait patiently.
After a few minutes, he seeks my eyes again, looking somber and resigned.
"I think I owe you an answer to another question. A harder one this time."
"What makes you say that?"
"Well, I still don't understand why, but what you went through with me yesterday has made me understand that you really want to be here. You want to know about me, and … I've got nothing to lose by telling you."
"Okay, Edward."
He draws in a deep breath, bracing himself for me to ask the all-encompassing question: "Why are you alone?" But I know he's not ready to tell me. He's maneuvered himself into this space between a rock and a hard place. If I try to take all the walls away at once, he'll fall apart, and he'll never see what I need him to see: that the end of his life needs to be about what he needs, not about what he can spare other people from.
So I take aim at just a piece of the puzzle. "Was someone with you when you had your chemo?"
He releases the breath he was holding in a whoosh, his relief palpable.
I know immediately that I've made the right choice.
"Yes, I have some very close friends who helped me through my chemo after my diagnosis, and then again after my first relapse. When I relapsed again, I … decided I just couldn't burden them any longer. So … I pulled away from them all. Most don't know I've relapsed again, so I distanced them by just drifting away. A few of my closest friends know about my relapse, so I told them other friends were looking after me, when actually, no one was."
"Do you think they'd understand your decision?"
"No, probably none of them would. But this is my problem, and I just couldn't bear to watch them suffer with me. It's bad enough that I have to go through it, but watching people I care about suffer because they feel bad for me …" He trails off, raising his eyes to mine for affirmation and understanding.
"So you did this for them."
"Yes."
"But what about you?"
"What about me?" he snaps. "I'm going to die either way, so if I can save everyone else the pain of having to go through it with me, then it seems to me I should. Like I told you before, everyone dies alone. I guess I'm just practicing for the big moment."
He's angry about what's happened to him, but it's buried deep and tightly controlled until something makes it rise to the surface. I stare at him impassively, trying to decide my next move. He's made this decision and he's using his anger to fuel his resolve, but what will happen when the anger runs out?
He looks down at the blanket again, biting his lower lip and scratching absently at his arm. "You've already done so much for me … but … I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor."
Wow, now this is progress! "Of course you can, Edward. Anything."
He glances over at me shyly. "If I gave you my keys, would you be willing to go to my apartment? I was brought here by ambulance two weeks ago, and I was delirious at the time. I don't even have my cell phone. There are some things I'd like to have here, and I … left a friend behind."
"A friend?"
"Yes. God, I hate asking you to do this, but I'm worried about him," Edward says, running a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. "I have a cat named Sebastian. I took him in off the street as a kitten the week after I was diagnosed, so he's kind of been with me through everything. I knew I might … disappear, so I made an arrangement with this sweet little old lady who lives down the hall from me. She would check in with me every week, and if I was suddenly gone, she'd look after Sebastian. She has a key to my place, and I'm sure she's taking care of him, but I wanted to ask you if maybe … if I told you where to find it, you could leave some money out for her for food and for taking care of him."
Oh, God, Edward has a cat. And he's worried about who's taking care of it, despite the fact that he's terminally ill, in the hospital, and he nearly died the day before. It's the absolute sweetest thing I've ever heard. Warmth floods through my chest as I look at him, and I'm taken aback by the strength of it. I can do more than see that the old woman is reimbursed. Much more.
"Of course, I can do that—all of it. But … would it make you feel any better if I took care of Sebastian for you? I had a cat when I was at Berkeley, but she died, and I haven't gotten around to adopting another one. Just until you're out of the hospital, of course. I'm sure your neighbor is looking in on him, but at least this way, Sebastian would have some company in the evenings while you're away from him."
"You would … do that?" he asks incredulously, his eyes alight with hopefulness.
"Sure, why not?"
Suddenly, the light goes out. "I can't ask you to do that. It's too much," he says, shaking his head.
"Well, you didn't ask, I offered, so that's a moot point. I wouldn't mind the company in the evenings, and cats aren't much trouble to care for."
"Maybe I was right that first day," he murmurs. "You just might be an angel."
I chuckle, and he gives me a brilliant smile.
"Is that a yes then?" I prompt.
"Yes, I'm sure you and Sebastian will get on famously," he answers, his gaze warming parts of me that it has no right to warm. Edward can apparently be quite the charmer, when he's feeling up to it and isn't too busy trying to keep you at arm's length.
"Would you like me to go today? I have time this evening, if you know everything you want."
"Sure, okay. I'm thinking the easiest thing to do might be to have you call me once you get there. I'm … not exactly sure what state things were in when I left, so I'll probably need to give you some direction," he says, blushing and looking down.
He's seriously worried about whether his apartment will be a mess when I see it? Does he really care what I think that much? "Don't worry about that. You've been sick, and I'm not going to inspect the place. What kinds of things were you wanting?"
"Well, my phone, and I was going to ask you to grab some of my own pajamas—these damn hospital gowns irritate the hell out of my skin and are making me even itchier, and … I wanted some of my art supplies."
"You're an artist?" I ask, my eyes widening.
He grins. "Yes. I think it'll be fairly obvious once you see my place. Mostly, I'm a painter, but since I can't really do that at the moment, I'd at least like to be able to draw a bit, when I'm feeling well enough."
He's a painter? I never would have guessed that, but then again, I never put much thought into what he did before he came here. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Why don't I go now, and I'll stop by your place on my way home? I know you're still recovering from yesterday, and I don't want to keep you up too late. I'll get your things and Sebastian and take them home with me tonight, and then I'll bring everything by in the morning, all right?"
"Bella, thank you," he says, covering my hand with his own. "This really means a lot to me, and I so appreciate you doing it."
My stomach flutters as electricity shoots up my arm. He's touching me. Why am I reacting like a schoolgirl? Get a grip, Bella! I smile at him sweetly, and the warmth of my blush stings my cheeks. "Think nothing of it, Edward. So … I guess this means I get to come back tomorrow?"
He chuckles, and for the first time, it doesn't cause him to wince. "Yes, you can come back tomorrow, although I still don't understand why you want to."
"That's my business to mind," I say teasingly. "Tell me where your keys are and give me your address, and I'll go grab my stuff and head there now."
Edward gives me what I need, and I hurry down to my office and grab my things. Edward has an apartment on the southwest side of the city in Pioneer Square, a historic neighborhood known for its many art galleries.
I find parking in a deck around the corner and walk quickly to the address Edward gave me. He lives in a five-story building that spans the block, with an art gallery and a few storefronts taking up the first floor. The building is red brick and has lots of evenly spaced windows, with a filigreed terra cotta relief sculpture under each one. It's obviously very old—maybe even a historic landmark. Wow.
I glance up at the twin griffins carved in the pediment overhead as I push through the outer doors and grin. I love old buildings.
I make my way up to the fourth floor, eager to learn more about the still-mysterious young man I just left at the hospital. Nothing could have prepared me for what I am about to see. The apartment is a gorgeous loft, with hard wood floors and red brick interior walls climbing to a ceiling that is at least twelve feet high, but what draws my eye and has me clutching at the doorframe is the absolutely stunning picture of the nighttime Seattle skyline that takes up most of the living room wall.
As I stare, a gray blur catches my eye as it flies down the hallway, breaking the trance I'm in. I push the door closed behind me, not taking my eyes off the picture, and slowly cross the room toward it. Oh my, it's a painting. The detail is so precise and so realistic, I was sure it was a photograph, but as I get closer, I can see the rich strokes of Edward's brush on the sky and the trees surrounding the rooftops in the foreground. It's breathtaking. And enormous. The painting is at least six feet tall, mounted over a low leather couch. It's unbelievable.
Suddenly, my legs give out as I remember that the beautiful, artistic soul who painted this is dying in a hospital all alone, and I'm the only person he's currently allowing to care about him. I swallow past the lump in my throat as a few tears trickle down my cheeks. Oh, Edward.
I sit there on the floor for a moment, trying to gather myself and taking in the other artwork that adorns the walls of Edward's apartment. There's a smaller painting of the skyline of a city on the water hanging over the table in the dining area, and paintings of other cities and architectural structures everywhere I look. I decide that I'd better take a walk through the place before I call him, in case I react to anything else the way I did to the painting of Seattle.
The loft is small, but cozy, despite the hardwood floors and high ceilings. Edward has scattered area rugs about the space, and the furniture is a rich cherry, the couch and chairs overstuffed and comfortable-looking. The kitchen is basically a wall off the living room, with range, dishwasher, fridge, and sink all falling in line, and there are dishes strewn across the countertops. The sight contrasts sharply with the impeccable neatness of the apartment, but then I remember Edward was very sick when he left here. Otherwise, I'm sure I would have been able to eat off those countertops.
I proceed down the hallway to his bedroom, and I'm stunned again. Over the simple double bed with no headboard hangs a painting of San Francisco that is at least as large as the one of Seattle in the living room. The view of the city is from across the strait, and the Golden Gate Bridge is angled in from the left, twinkling streetlights dotting the span. The city is lit up against a velvet purple sky, and there's something … inviting about it. Edward has never said where he comes from, but I suddenly wonder if San Francisco is home. His bedroom is decorated with two other smaller paintings of San Francisco—a closer view of a portion of the skyline, and a row of brightly colored two-story houses on a swiftly sloping street. I would bet a good amount of money that one of them is home.
As I return to the hallway, I'm confronted by a portrait of a gray tabby cat with hazel eyes, who I think I might be getting acquainted with shortly. Lastly, I turn to the second bedroom across the hall. Canvasses line the walls, finished and unfinished work alike, the skylines of at least a dozen more cities, storefronts, landscapes, a few castles in Europe, but the piece that draws my eye is the skyline of New York City that takes up the entire right-hand wall of the room. It's unfinished. Edward has gotten about two-thirds of the way across the large canvas, then the buildings abruptly stop. I wonder when he was last able to work on it. It's the most detailed—and the most beautiful—of his paintings that I've seen yet. As I stare at it, I can almost hear the car horns honking in the distance and the gentle hum of white noise that pervades all large cities.
I suddenly realize I've been here almost twenty minutes already, and Edward is probably wondering why I haven't called yet. I head back out to the living room, dialing the phone as I go.
Edward picks up on the first ring. "Bella," he answers softly, and I hear relief in his voice.
"Hi, Edward. I'm at your apartment."
"Did you have any trouble finding it?"
"Nope, none at all. The building is gorgeous, and your apartment is lovely."
"How bad is it?"
I glance around the immaculate living room, unable to hide my snicker. "Bad. You're a total neat freak. I don't think I can handle it."
He chuckles. "Funny, Bella. But seriously, is my place a disaster?"
"No. There are some dishes lying around that I'm going to clean up, but other than that, the place looks fine."
"You don't have to do that," he says, and I can tell he's uncomfortable.
"Don't worry about it. I'm a girl—most of us have this instinctual need to set things right. If I leave these dishes here, I'm going to know they're sitting out and it's going to bother me, and I'll just have to come back and do it later, so I'd rather just do it now. I won't snoop, I promise."
He chuckles again.
"Have you seen Sebastian?"
"A gray blur flew down the hallway the minute I opened the door, but I haven't seen him since."
"Okay, he'll be hiding under my bed, then. That's where he goes when he's scared. If you look in the cupboard to the left of the sink, there are treats in there for him. That should be enough to lure him out, and there's a carrier in the closet in the hallway."
"I'm sure he and I will do just fine. Where are the rest of the things you wanted?"
"Well, I'm hoping you'll find my phone somewhere in my room."
I walk back down the hall to his bedroom and find his phone on the nightstand next to the bed. It's a wonder the paramedics didn't think to grab it. "I found it, Edward. It was sitting on the nightstand."
"Okay, good. You should find some pajamas in the top left drawer of the chest."
I follow his directions and find several silk nightshirts folded neatly in a pile. "Silk?"
"Yeah," he says nervously. "It's the only thing I've found that doesn't irritate my rash, and … I … had to get shirts because it hurts too much to wear pants."
I suddenly remember what he told me about his lymph nodes "down south" being swollen and painful, and I curse myself for accidentally delving into what is obviously a very touchy subject for him. Fuck. "I'm sorry, Edward, I didn't mean—"
"It's fine," he says hastily. "I just didn't want you to think … Never mind."
Time to change the subject. "You also said you wanted some art supplies?"
"Yes. I do my work in the other bedroom."
"Okay, I'm heading over there."
"As soon as you walk in, you'll see a set of plastic drawers on the floor to your left. In the top drawer, you'll find a silver tin with charcoals and pencils in it. I usually use it if I'm drawing somewhere outside the apartment."
"Got it."
"In the drawer below that there should be a few blank hard-bound sketchbooks. If you can grab a couple of those, that should be all I need."
I look into the drawer he indicated and pull out two blank sketchbooks, one red and one black. "Okay, I think I've got it all."
"Oh, you'll need things for Sebastian too. His litter box and food and water dishes are in the kitchen, you'll find his food with the cat treats, and I keep the litter in the closet around the corner from the kitchen."
Edward proceeds to tell me where to find a pen and paper, dictates a note for Mrs. Cope, his neighbor, and tells me where to find the cash to leave on the counter for her. "I want you to take some, too, for taking care of him," he finishes.
"No, Edward. I volunteered to take him and I'm happy to have a friend for a while."
"Bella—"
"Edward, I'm here and you're there. I'm going to win this argument."
"For now," he concedes, and I swear I can see the pouty look on his face even through the phone. I have to stifle a giggle. "Oh, and there are some toys for Sebastian in the basket next to the couch."
Did he seriously just tell me where to find toys for his cat? I smirk and wonder if I'm going to be smothered by the cute. "Okay," I say quickly, trying to keep the smile out of my voice.
"What?"
"Nothing! You're just … very … detail-oriented."
"I'm sorry! I know I'm asking too much of you."
"No, it's not that at all. It's … cute."
He actually laughs this time, and it's a beautiful sound, right up to the point when I hear him hiss in pain. It's the first time I've ever heard him laugh, and I know I don't want it to be the last. I also realize we were having a normal conversation for the last few minutes. He sounded relaxed, and even a bit … happy. For a moment, I forgot what I'm doing here and how we know each other. For a moment, we were something else, and as I hear him clear his throat, I feel the loss of it keenly.
"Thank you, Bella, for doing all this," he says, a quaver in his voice. "It really means a lot to me. There's no way I could do it for myself."
"You're welcome. I want to be your friend, and these are the kinds of things friends do."
"Yes … well …"
"Listen, I should go round up Sebastian and get him settled at my place, and it's past your bedtime. I'll bring your things by in the morning, all right?"
I hear him chuckle again. "That's great, Bella. Have a good evening."
"You too. I'll see you tomorrow."
Tears sting my eyes as I hang up the phone. I've learned so much about Edward in such a short span of time today, and all of it seems to be pulling me even closer to him. He told me quite a few things, but coming here and seeing the life he leads and the things he cares about has given Edward a dimension for me that I would have never gotten in the hospital. A dimension I've never had for any of the other terminal patients I've befriended because I never saw them outside the hospital walls. I'm grateful and heartbroken all at the same time.
I shake myself, looking up at the clock on Edward's wall and realizing it's already almost eight, and I have a lot of work to do. There's no way I'm leaving Edward's apartment as I found it, for him to clean up when … if he returns.
Once the kitchen is in order, I go to the bedroom and strip his bed, stuffing the sheets into a duffel bag I find in his closet so I can take them to my place to wash them. I collect the towels from his bathroom, and I spy his laundry hamper and take everything in there, too. Finally, I gather together all the trash in the apartment and take it down to the disposal on the first floor.
By the time I'm ready to tackle Sebastian, it's past nine o'clock. I locate the crate and the treats, and go looking for the frightened cat in the bedroom.
He's right where Edward said he'd be, sitting like a sphinx directly under the center of the mattress.
"Hey, Sebastian, your buddy Edward sent me to be your friend for a while. He wishes he could be here himself, but I'll take good care of you until he comes back, okay?" I say softly to him, placing a treat on the carpet in front of me. Slowly, he shimmies toward me and ducks his head to sniff my offering. I offer my hand as well, and apparently, I pass muster because he comes out from under the bed and sits down in front of me to eat his treat. Slowly, I caress his downy head and scratch gently behind his ears.
He's as beautiful as the portrait in the hallway—his intelligent hazel eyes sizing me up as I offer him affection. He's all smooth and sleek gray fur with a darker gray pattern of tabby stripes, with white socks on each of his paws, the color going a bit higher on the hind ones. As I continue to scratch, he suddenly rolls over and offers me his belly, purring deeply as he arches his back, trying to get me to relocate my attentions. Oh, yes, Sebastian and I are going to get along just fine.
A few more moments and he allows me to pick him up and put him in the carrier, and then I gather everything up to head back to my car. It takes me two trips to get everything, but finally, I close up Edward's apartment and head back to my place. Not for the first time, I think about Edward sitting alone in that hospital room, and I hope what I've done today will at least make it a little easier.
A/N: Oh, oh, oh! I have been WAITING and WAITING to get to this chapter so you could all truly meet my sweet artistward. There's so much more to him than meets the eye! LOTS of things to share this week: pictures of Sebastian, Edward's apartment, and his artwork can be found in Shadow Fics. There will be a Thursday posting this week, and a little teaser in Shadow Fics on Tuesday. Thank you all for your amazing responses to the last chapter. I'm thrilled that you found it so powerful! Until Thursday!
Music for Chapter 10: Force of Nature by Bea Miller. The link can be found in the Come Back Tomorrow playlist on YouTube and in Shadow Fics.
