Chapter 13

"Hey, Honey, are these books in here organized in any particular way? Do you care how I box them up?" McCall yells from Mitch's living room. She glances around the room that looks more like a well-used library than a living space and feels tired just looking at all the work ahead of her.

Mitch walks in carrying a box labeled "donate" and sets it on top of two other boxes. His white Reagan/Bush '84 campaign t-shirt is covered in dark gray smudges from the newspaper he's using to pack his dinner and glassware. The smudged handprint on his cheek makes McCall smile.

"I don't think that shirt will ever be clean again," McCall laughs looking up at him from her spot on the floor next to a pile of old manuscripts she's just discovered on a bottom shelf.

He looks down to check out his shirt and replies, "I thought you'd argue that this shirt wasn't clean to start with."

"Yeah, well, that, too," she laughs.

Today was supposed to be their wedding day — the July date they picked after they postponed the wedding the first time. So instead of getting married this weekend, they decided to start living together.

There's not much left in the house besides boxes and bookshelves. McCall spent her off-duty days having much of Mitch's furniture sent to a consignment store to be sold, only keeping his bedroom furniture that will fit perfectly in her empty guest bedroom and a few antique pieces Mitch had inherited from his great-grandparents. The lovely Queen Anne style writing desk will look great in her living room, but the collection of vintage tin signs is going to be a challenge. Now she is taking her first vacation days in over six months to help get the job done before Mitch lists the house for sale.

"The books. Yeah, they are grouped by subject matter." He surveys the room, just as McCall had done a minute ago. "They need to stay organized that way. I'm thinking I can take the ones relating to my courses up to my office. You know, maybe I should do this room and you do the kitchen. I bet I can find a few books that I can get rid of — donate them with the kitchen stuff."

"Really? I didn't think you ever let go of a book."

He smiles to himself. "Guilty as charged, but a couple of months ago I came across my ex-wife's college year books. I think I can part with those."

"Umm, yes, please."

"So, are you ready for all this junk?"

"All the stuff, no," she says and laughs, "but you, yes."

Mitch walks over to her and leans down to kiss her. "I can't wait."

XXXXX

"Hunter! McCall! My office!" Charlie yells from the door of his office. It's meant to sound stern and authoritative, but there's a smile on his face.

McCall smiles, too, for that is a beckon they haven't heard in a while. Once upon a time, Charlie yelling their two names together in frustration/aggravation/exhaustion was standard practice, but now that Hunter's role is largely administrative it's usually only McCall being called into his office.

"What do you think this is?" Hunter asks her.

"I have no idea," she answers as they both stand up.

They walk together into the office and sit in their usual wood chairs across from Charlie. McCall looks over at Hunter to smile at him —this oddly comforting little progression of events almost makes the last several months seem like a bad dream. Almost, but not really, and the beginnings of her smile falter. The man sitting next to her is not the friend and partner she's accustomed to seeing, he's merely a shadow of himself. His once golden tan skin is dry and pale with a grayish tint, as if he's been dusted with ashes. No matter how rested he is, how much time he has taken off, the dark circles under his eyes remain. His dark blond hair is now completely gone. If his head appeared large before, bald and perched on top of skin loosely draped over a skeleton makes it almost cartoonish big.

She has been missing him lately. They see each other briefly here and there, but they are only partners on paper. They may be assigned the same cases, but McCall is mostly working them with other detectives. Then there's the large amounts of time off he's been taking. He's keeping to himself more, leaning on his family when he needs help instead of her. It's a relief, she tells herself, but she can't help but feel pushed aside.

"It's been a while since I've been able to yell your names across the squad room. It felt good," Charlie says, his face lit up in humor.

"So what's this about, Captain," Hunter says, getting right to the point. He seems to be the only one not appreciating the moment.

"Oh, yes, well," Charlie begins, picking up a file folder and opening it. "This case from Hollenbeck has come to my attention. It's a suicide, a female, and she was known to frequent the Regal Beagle in Venice Beach."

"Uh, what's the Regal Beagle?" Hunter asks, confused.

McCall answers, "The staged suicide we had a few months ago, her ex-husband's girlfriend owns it." She reaches her arm out across Charlie's desk. "Can I see the file?"

"So what does this mean?" Hunter asks while McCall reads through the reports.

"I want you two to see what you can dig up. It's possible this wasn't a suicide. Hunter, I'm including you on this one because it was your case originally. I want to keep you in the loop."

"Okay, I guess I'll get started with a trip to the bar, see what I can find out there. You want to dig through the reports and make some calls?" she asks Hunter as she quickly flips through the information in the file.

"No, I'll go with you. I'm tired of my desk," he responds.

"Yeah? Are you sure you're feeling up to it?"

"I need to get out of here. I'll read you the reports on the way."

She shrugs her shoulders and leads the way back out of Charlie's office. This hasn't seemed like one of Hunter's better days to her, but perhaps his irritability and lethargy today have more to do with depression than any physical discomfort. Getting out in the field might be what he needs after all.

XXXXX

The Venice Beach dive bar is busier this time than when McCall and Charlie had visited it in November. Standing just inside the doorway, a large overhead garage-style door making the outdoors and indoors blend into one another, Jimi Hendrix fills their ears. Hunter slowly pulls off his aviators and McCall blinks several times adjusting to the light. The bar is lined with tanned and toned bodies sporting various shades of bleached hair. The scent combo of beer, fried fish, cigarette smoke and Hawaiian Tropic makes McCall wrinkle her nose, and she peers over at Hunter to see him rubbing his nose and pulling at the knot in his tie. McCall spots Kristin Musgrave, the owner, working behind the bar and starts walking toward her. Hunter pulls his tie off completely and unbuttons the neck of his shirt before following her.

Kristin recognizes McCall before she's even finished squeezing herself between two thirty-something-year old men that look like they bathe in the ocean instead taking actual showers. She had been casually chatting with the men before seeing McCall's approach.

"You can't possibly be here to ask more questions about Michelle," Kristin says with irritation, popping the tops off a handful of beer bottles as she does.

"No, I'd like to ask you about Dinah Franks," McCall replies.

"Never heard of her."

"Really? I've been told she came here often."

"Must have paid in cash. I don't know anyone named Dinah."

"So it wouldn't mean anything to you to know that she was found dead two days ago." As McCall says this the older of the two surfers flanking her snaps his head to look at her. Kristin, however, quickly breaks eye contact and walks away, distributing the beers to their waiting patrons.

McCall continues to watch Kristin, making note of her body language until the guy on her left starts talking to her. "Did you say Dinah's dead?"

She turns her attention to his direction, and notices that Hunter has cozied up to group of women at the end of the bar. "Yeah, did you know her?"

"Yeah, she's in here all the time. We'd hang sometimes. All the dudes here know her."

"How is that?"

"She was friendly, flirty."

"How friendly?"

"Nah, not like that. For a while I thought she was hooked up with Eddie, but that's over if they were and she kept comin' round. Think she said somethin' about crashing with a friend down the street and hangin' here so that she didn't bother her friend."

"Do you know anything—" a commotion interrupts McCall. She quickly looks around to locate Hunter, and not finding him she knows instantly that he's involved.

Pushing past the group of women surrounding him, she finds Hunter lying in a heap on the floor. "Rick, Rick, are you with me?" she frantically asks as she gently taps his cheek with her hand. His skin feels cold and damp to the touch. With no response from him, she checks his pulse. It's fast.

"Someone call an ambulance!"

XXXXX

An elderly man in a wheelchair looks around at the waiting faces, the fear in his eyes grabbing McCall's attention. He's clutching his chest in between squeezing his left hand. She wonders if this is his first heart attack, or one of many. The woman who wheeled him in is talking to the triage nurse. She's a little younger than the man, who presumably is her husband. She looks frantic, scared. McCall continues to watch the couple, as the woman sits down in a chair opposite him. She grabs hold the man's hand, the one he was just shaking as if he was trying to regain feeling in it, and holds it as she says something to him. He nods his head at whatever it was she said, and she reaches up to adjust his shirt that had become askew with him rubbing his chest before gently patting his shoulder. The care and affection of this woman for this man makes tears well up in McCall's eyes. To love someone for so long, and then to face the loss of that person, how do you survive that?

This waiting room chair feels as though it shrinks a little with every tick of the clock. It's been two hours since McCall was forced to leave Hunter's side to be replaced by his mother. Now, she sits and waits, with no updates, no information. When she left, he was still barely coherent.

"Dee Dee." McCall looks up at the sound of her name to see Hunter's sister rushing toward her. The two women quickly hug, McCall arching up as high as she can on her toes just to get her chin above Marie's shoulder. There is no doubt Hunter and Marie are siblings — Marie is at least four inches taller than McCall, with the same dark blond hair, blue eyes and naturally tan skin as Hunter. McCall assumes all these qualities came from their father, because Mrs. Hunter resembles the stereotypical southern Italian woman with a darker complexion and an expressive, affectionate demeanor. Unlike her older brother, Marie inherited their mother's love of food and full figure, making her presence in a room almost larger than life. "What's going on? How's he doing?"

"I don't know. Your mother's with him — they will only let one person back there at a time. When I left his room they had drawn blood and were planning to do a CT scan to rule out a seizure, said he looked dehydrated. That's all I know."

"What happened?" Marie asks. She sits in the chair next to McCall's as she waits for the answer, arranging her broomstick skirt around her legs as she crosses them at the knee.

"I don't know! He just collapsed. He was talking to a group of women one minute and then the next he was on the floor unconscious." McCall follows Marie's lead and sits down in her chair. She continues to mentally chastise herself for allowing Hunter to accompany her to the bar. "He hadn't seemed to feel well today, but it didn't seem like a big deal. He kept insisting he was fine."

"I'm so glad he was with you when it happened. I worry about him all the time. It's getting really tough."

"How has he been lately? He doesn't tell me much anymore."

"He's, um…" Marie looks at McCall for a long moment, sympathy written in her expression. She folds her hands in her lap and takes a deep breath before continuing. "Did he tell you about his last tests?" When McCall shakes her head no, Marie continues. "The cancer has spread. The doctors are telling him…" again she pauses. "Dee Dee, remission is no longer in the conversation."

McCall blinks several times as if the words sting her eyes.

"I assumed you knew," Marie says sympathetically. "God, I wish Mom would come tell us what's happening."

I should have known. I should have seen it.

"I'm going to find out what's going on," McCall says and quickly walks towards triage.

He's been admitted into the hospital and moved into another room while she was waiting, and it takes a few minutes to find him. The door to his room is partially open, so she tentatively walks in. Hunter appears to be asleep, while his mother, Gloria, sits in a chair on the opposite side of the bed. Her attention is turned to the TV as she changes channels looking for something to watch.

"Hi, Dee Dee. Come in," Gloria says, waving McCall in to the room, "we are just getting settled into the room. The doctor is supposed to be here soon."

"Marie is here. She's in the waiting room," McCall says, walking up to the side of the bed.

"Oh, oh good. Maybe I should go talk to her," Gloria says and leaves McCall alone with Hunter.

She stands there for a moment, unsure what to do. "Wheel! Of! Fortune!" blares from the TV. The juxtaposition of joviality and bleakness is jarring.

"Hiya," he says, his voice rough.

"Hi. How're you doin'?"

"Peachy."

McCall shakes her head and walks around the bed to sit in the chair his mother just vacated. "Do they have any idea what's going on?"

"Nah, except I'm a cancer patient. So far that seems to be the diagnosis."

"You scared me there for a little bit."

"Sorry about that," he says. "Did you at least get any information from the bartender?"

McCall thinks for a moment, but comes up blank. "I don't even remember. You?"

"I don't remember. Some detectives we are, huh?"

She nearly snorts thinking about her conversation with Marie. She certainly hadn't been much of a detective lately — he's been pushing her away and she had let him without even questioning his motives.

"You don't have to stay just to keep me company. I will be fine by myself for a few minutes," Hunter says as if he's reading her mind.

"What if I want to stay?"

"Just sayin' don't feel like you have to."

"Marie told me. She told me that the cancer has spread." This time Hunter doesn't answer. "So what is the prognosis?"

He lets out a long, loud sigh. "They don't know. I think they are just guessing. I mean, everything they have told me so far has been wrong."

She leans forward and takes his hand between hers. He squeezes back.

"I'm sorry," she says and tilts her head back as tears begin the well up in her eyes. She was hoping that Marie had been exaggerating, that he would have an alternate explanation that wasn't so grim. "If there was anything I could do, I would do it."

"I know. And that is exactly why you need to leave."

"Stop pushing me away, Rick. I'm your friend. I love you. I want to be here for you."

He gently rolls onto his side to face her and holds both her hands in his. "But there's nothing you can do. There's no reason for you to bear this burden. Marry Mitch, get a new partner, get on with your life, because I'm not coming back. I'm not."

"Don't say that," she whispers, a tear streaming down her cheek.

"I can continue treatment for as long as I want. The chemo and radiation are prolonging my life, but they aren't going to get rid of the cancer. I can live an extra few months, maybe a year, as long as I can stand the treatments. That doesn't really sound like a life worth living, does it? And really, what am I prolonging it for?"

"For a lot of reasons!"

"Come on, McCall. I'm a cop who can't be a cop anymore. I don't have children to see grow up."

"You have a niece and nephew that adore you."

"It's not the same. I don't even have a wife to live for."

"You have me."

He smiles before he counters her statement. "I'm a burden on you. And my family. I haven't been telling you all of this because I was hoping I could make this happen naturally. But, it's time to face it, Dee Dee, and you need to move on."

"So, what then? You're just giving up?"

"Giving up what? I can be really sick for a long time and then die, or I can go quietly and let everyone else continue on with their lives."

"You really think that if you just stop talking to me then I won't care anymore? That if I don't know you're dying I won't notice when it happens?"

"No, but maybe if I'm not such a big part of your life anymore, maybe it won't hurt as much."

"Unbelievable," she says, pulling one of her hands from his to wipe the tears from her face.

"I know, okay," he says and squeezes her hand a little tighter. "I know. I don't need you at my bedside to know how you feel. I'd rather see you living your dream than sitting here crying."

"Please don't do this. Don't take away the time I have left with you."

"Is it time worth spending? Like this, in a hospital?"

"You know I would have given anything to have one more minute with Steve. Something. Anything. Don't take it away from me this time. Don't do this."

"I know. But I've also watched you grieve him. I don't want you to grieve me. Move on. Now. Please. This isn't how I want you to remember me. Okay?"

The raw emotion in his voice, the tears choking his words, makes her cry harder. She's never seen him cry. Not once. The enormity of the situation and his request is more than she can stand. She reaches up and caresses the side of face, feeling the cold wetness on his cheek.

"You mean the world to me," he says.

"No, don't do this."

"Thank you for being my partner," he continues as if he didn't hear her. McCall continues shaking her head no. "You've been a better friend to me than I ever deserved."

"Stop. This is too soon. I'm not ready to lose you."

"It's going to happen," he says and he turns his head in her hand to place a kiss on her palm. "It's going to happen."

"No," she says because it's the only thing she can think of to say. She refuses to give in to Hunter's good-bye speech, and thankfully he stops talking.

They continue sitting there, with her hand stroking his face and his arm wrapped around her shoulders, until the doctor walks in, breaking the intimate moment. She wordlessly picks up her purse, kisses Hunter on the forehead, lingering for a long moment, and walks out of the hospital.

XXXXX

It's well after dark when McCall arrives home. After leaving Hunter, she needed to get out of the hospital and away from people. The weight of everything Hunter had said pressed down on her, threatening to crush everything she held dear. She didn't want to talk; she didn't want to explain; and she didn't want to pretend everything was okay. Now that Mitch had moved in, she had no place to go to be alone. That's when she found herself driving to Hunter's condo.

She didn't feel some sentimental need to be in his home. This place didn't hold any special memory for her since he just moved in a year ago. The furnishings aren't even his — the beachfront rental had come furnished. But she needed a place to be alone and this was the only one she could think of. Sitting on his balcony, she watched the sunset over the ocean. The beach was crowded with people enjoying the mid-summer evening. A family had taken up residence right in front of her, their arms full of blankets and toys and food when they arrived. They had a picnic on one of the blankets — the mother dutifully passing out food and making sure everyone had drinks and napkins, while the father repeatedly chased after the pudgy and curious toddler who refused to be contained by the boundaries of the faded quilt. That's the life she's been chasing since she married Steve twelve years ago, right? So why does she feel like the wayward toddler, being forced to sit contently where she's told?

The lights are still on in her house as she walks in. She had been hoping to come in and shower, to wash away the smeared mascara and the salty taste on her lips, before having to face Mitch.

He's zipping up a large, fully stuffed suitcase when she walks into the bedroom. He looks up at her when he realizes she's there watching him. The look he gives her isn't anger, or even frustration. There's sadness in his eyes and regret in his posture.

"I'm going to stay a few days at my house. Give you some space," Mitch says, looking around her bedroom at the boxes they had yet to unpack in the two weeks he's lived here.

McCall rubs a finger against her temple and squeezes her eyes shut, willing the clouds in her head to clear enough to have this conversation. "I…um…I'm not sure I understand what's going on."

"I saw you today in Rick's room. I went to hospital right after work to make sure you were okay. Hunter, too, of course." He shrugs his shoulders as he looks down at his bag still on the bed. "I'm sorry about Rick. I really am. I thought I could do this — be here for you as he… But I think, at least right now, we probably both still need our space. So, I'm going to go home now, and I'll wait for you to decide when you're ready for me to come back."

"I'm not sure I will," she says, the words barely croaking out of her mouth. She had already made this decision as she contemplated her life from Hunter's balcony, but hearing the words out loud surprises her.

Mitch looks away, stung by her admission.

"I'm sorry, Mitch."

He picks up his bag and carries it over to where McCall is standing, setting it on the floor next to them. "I'm sorry, too. Goodbye, Dee Dee," he says and lightly kisses her cheek.

XXXXX

The early morning sun is bright in Hunter's room when McCall arrives. Neither his mother nor Marie seem to be here yet, but someone has opened his curtain. He opens his eyes at the sound of footsteps and seems surprised to see her.

"You look a little better than you did when I left yesterday. How are you feeling?" she asks, claiming the chair closest to the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm visiting my best friend who's in the hospital."

"McCall…" his voice is weak and pleading.

"You may have decided to throw in the towel, but I'm not ready to give up on you, yet. You can't tell me to just go away. You mean the world to me, too, and you can't just take my world away and not expect a fight."

"What about what I want? I'm the one that has to live with this."

"It is your life to live, but it's a life worth fighting for. The Hunter I know doesn't give up and he's not a victim, so I'm not going to treat him like one."

"I could force you to leave, you know."

"I know. But you won't."

He closes his eyes and takes several breaths. He's getting frustrated with her, but she doesn't care. At last he mumbles, "Do you know how stubborn you are?"

"That's why you love me," she says, half smiling. Taking a deep breath, she changes her tone to a more serious and sympathetic one. "You've been there for me through some really awful times. We got through them, though, together. We're going to get through this, together."

"Not this—"

"Say it again and I'll kill you myself."

"I'm tired of all of this," he whispers. "I'm tired. I feel like I'm hitting my head against a brick wall and I don't know how much longer I can stand it."

"I'm sorry," she says and reaches out for his hand. "So if…if there really is nothing to stop the inevitable, we'll still face it together."

...to be continued...