Chapter 6
Having sunk to the carpeted floor, Chandler decided to stay there until the pains eased. He knew they would. They had to. Squeezing his eyes shut to try to block out the incredible discomfort and the sudden onset of chills, he leaned the back of his head against the wall, cradled his mid-section with his arms, and slowly rocked back and forth, waiting for relief.
Half an hour later, he began to feel human again. He gingerly pushed himself away from the wall and slowly rose to his feet, thankful he could stand under his own power without feeling like he might faint.
He retrieved the phone where it lay on the floor, with the receiver off the hook, and before he could talk himself out of it, he placed the call to the ship's doctor and explained what he had experienced. Dr. Mills asked for his cabin number and told him he would be there shortly.
**
"How about if we hit the dance floor?" Daniel suggested.
He saw Monica's hesitation and blamed Chandler.
"You think you're going to run into him, don't you?"
Monica shrugged. "I don't know. That's the problem. We did a good job of avoiding each other for four months even though we live in the same area and share some of the same friends."
"That must have been rough."
"It was. It could've been worse, but we were determined. I need to be just as determined now. He is not going to ruin this vacation for me. I would love to spend the night dancing with you. Give me time to change into more appropriate clothes. I'll meet you in the lounge."
Monica refused to become a hermit. She had spent too much of the past months hiding, fearing, fretting and questioning. She was having a good time with Daniel. She wanted it to continue.
The "Coral Sea" was a large vessel, she reasoned. Chances are she wouldn't see Chandler again. But just to make sure she knew what part of the ship his cabin was located, she called to find out which deck he was on. The clerk wouldn't give out that information but offered to ring his room. Monica politely declined.
**
Ready to meet Daniel, she walked along the dark-paneled passageway, observing how many cabins and staterooms were on her side of the boat. She only hoped Chandler's was not among them. She found herself catching up to the back of a tall man with silver-white hair. He carried what looked to be a medical bag. He stopped in front of a room that was at the end of the same long hallway as her cabin and knocked on the door. Monica planned to continue towards the staircase, but when she saw who opened the door to allow the man to enter, her feet wouldn't budge another inch.
"Chandler?" She looked closer at the bag the man was carrying and knew he had to be a doctor. "Is something wrong?"
Even though the attack had left him weary, Chandler couldn't help but notice how lovely Monica looked, wearing a flowing print dress, obviously ready to spend the evening with Blondie. His insides churned once more.
"It's nothing serious," he said. He didn't want her sympathy or her pity. "You'd better get going. I wouldn't want to be the cause of you keeping your 'date' waiting."
Monica looked to the doctor who inclined his head towards her and then gently shut the door after stepping inside. She let out an audible sigh and leaned back against the paneling, realizing she could not leave until she knew for sure that Chandler was all right.
**
"You've been under a great deal of stress, haven't you?" Dr. Mills asked, after he'd completed his examination.
Chandler's blood pressure was elevated, he had a slight fever, and his temper was short.
"I guess," he said, suddenly very tired. He wished the doctor would give him something to knock him out for about a week. Yeah, that would work. "I never really stopped to think about it."
"Well, you should. Slow down. Take it easy. I'm going to give you a tranquilizer to help you relax. I know it's going to be hard, but you should watch what you eat while on this cruise. Diet is very important, too."
"No problem there. I have no appetite."
Dr. Mills frowned as he withdrew a bottle of pills from his bag and placed it on the nightstand.
"That's not good. How long has that been going on?"
Five months, Chandler thought, without hesitation. Since the day he'd moved out of Monica's apartment, nothing tasted good. Nothing smelled good. Nothing looked good. So, sometimes, he forgot to eat. Wasn't that hard, really.
"Off and on," is what he answered. "It's probably part of that stress you're talking about."
"You get some rest, young man. And make sure you eat something, even if it's just chicken noodle soup. I'm going to follow up with you tomorrow afternoon. If you're not feeling better, you'll need to be checked out when we dock at St. Croix."
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Chandler said. The thought that this could be something major was not one he wanted to entertain. "I'll take that tranquilizer and get some much-needed sleep. That should be all I need."
"Make sure you eat, too. And drink plenty of fluids."
"Okay."
"Call room service. They'll bring you soup and a pitcher or two of water. If you have another attack, call me."
"I will."
**
Monica, who had been waiting around the corner for the doctor to emerge, called out to him as soon as she heard the door close. Dr. Mills stopped, two cabins away from Chandler's, and waited for her to reach him.
"How is he?" she asked, brushing the dark bangs away from her eyes. "I-I'm a friend."
"He had a severe pancreatic attack. I gave him something to help him sleep. He seems to be under a good deal of stress. He needs to slow down. If you're a friend, maybe you could help him with that."
Monica tried not to react to the irony of the doctor's statement.
"Do you think it would be all right if I saw him now? Or would whatever you gave him already have taken effect?"
"I gave him a bottle of tranquilizers. He hadn't taken one before I left. You could knock on his door and see if he answers."
"Thank you. I'll do that."
Dr. Mills smiled and turned to continue walking when he had a sudden thought.
"By the way..."
"Yes?" Monica said.
"See that he eats. At least soup, but nothing heavy."
"I can do that," Monica assured him.
**
Chandler was not surprised at the knock on his door. He'd noticed Dr. Mills had left his thermometer on the nightstand. He had expected his return. What he hadn't expected was to see Monica standing on the other side when he opened the door.
"May I come in?" she asked, her voice hopeful.
"Monica, what are you doing here? I told you I'm fine."
"I know, and I'm glad that you are. But is it okay if I see for myself?"
"All right. Here's me, standing here, talking to you. Don't I look fine?"
"You look tired."
"I'm about to remedy that."
"Before you do, let me get you something to eat. Some soup, maybe?"
Chandler eyed her warily. "Did you listen in when the doctor was here?"
"No!"
"Then you must've talked to him. How else would you know about the soup?"
"Isn't that what all sick people eat?"
"I'm not sick, okay? I just...oh, hell, you might as well come in."
"Thank you," she said because she meant it.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Chandler, the last thing I want you to be is si...unwell. You're one of the healthiest people I know. For you to call the doctor, I know it had to be bad. What did the doctor say?"
"You mind if I sit down?"
"No, of course not."
Chandler sank gratefully onto the mattress. He still hadn't fully recovered from the pain. Monica pulled up a chair and sat close to him, watching him carefully.
"I had the worse stomach pains earlier. The doctor thinks it's all related to stress. You know, not getting enough rest, not eating right..."
Monica had to admit she could identify with those symptoms.
"He gave me something to take for the pain. He's going to check on me tomorrow."
"Are the pains gone?"
"Yeah. I'm sore, and I'm tired. I really do just want to sleep."
"Let me go to the dining room and get you something to eat. It'll be quicker than calling room service, I'm sure. Once I've seen that you've eaten, then I'll let you sleep. I'll be right back."
**
Monica stopped at the lounge and explained the situation to Daniel.
"I couldn't not check on him," she said. "We've known each other a long time."
"It's okay. The music isn't very good tonight. I think I'll head back to my cabin. If you feel like it, stop by."
He held out his arms; Monica stepped into his embrace. His lips found hers as they shared a tantalizing kiss. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, letting his warmth comfort her.
"All you have to do is knock," he whispered in her ear.
**
Chandler swallowed two spoonfuls of the hot vegetable soup and then placed the container on his nightstand.
"You have to eat more than that," Monica gently scolded.
"I can't," he said. "I told you. I have no appetite."
"At least eat a couple of crackers and drink some 7-Up or water. You can't let yourself become dehydrated."
"Yes, Dr. Monica," Chandler said, his tone mocking. He still wasn't convinced she hadn't listened at the door.
"Chandler, stop it. I'm only trying to help. I'm worried about you, all right?"
He saw her furrowed brow and noticed that she kept tucking her hair behind her ears, a sure sign she was nervous.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This isn't easy for me. I don't want to feel like this. I want to be healthy."
"Are you concerned you might have another attack if you eat?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I guess I'm feeling something like that."
"Drink one glass of water for me, take your pill, and then I'll leave you alone so you can sleep. Deal?"
"Deal. Under one condition."
"What's that?"
Spending time with Monica, alone, had weakened his resolve. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yeah," she said. She smiled at him for the first time in over five months. "I can do that."
"One more thing?"
"What?"
"When you leave, don't turn out the light."
"Yeah, I can do that, too."
**
An hour later, Monica found herself leaning against the railing once more as she look out at the star-studded night sky. She'd finally spent some time alone with Chandler, and they had both survived it. It had been awkward but not horrible. He was Chandler. The one who'd been her friend before anything else had developed between them. He was the one she'd been able to talk to about anything on her mind. He listened. He tried to understand. He offered...well, not exactly advice, she thought with a wry smile, but his perspective. Usually it was wrapped in cynicism with a touch of sarcasm and realism...that was vintage Chandler.
So, why, when the perfect opportunity had presented itself, did she leave his room without telling him the one thing she knew, sooner or later, he would have to be told?
Having sunk to the carpeted floor, Chandler decided to stay there until the pains eased. He knew they would. They had to. Squeezing his eyes shut to try to block out the incredible discomfort and the sudden onset of chills, he leaned the back of his head against the wall, cradled his mid-section with his arms, and slowly rocked back and forth, waiting for relief.
Half an hour later, he began to feel human again. He gingerly pushed himself away from the wall and slowly rose to his feet, thankful he could stand under his own power without feeling like he might faint.
He retrieved the phone where it lay on the floor, with the receiver off the hook, and before he could talk himself out of it, he placed the call to the ship's doctor and explained what he had experienced. Dr. Mills asked for his cabin number and told him he would be there shortly.
**
"How about if we hit the dance floor?" Daniel suggested.
He saw Monica's hesitation and blamed Chandler.
"You think you're going to run into him, don't you?"
Monica shrugged. "I don't know. That's the problem. We did a good job of avoiding each other for four months even though we live in the same area and share some of the same friends."
"That must have been rough."
"It was. It could've been worse, but we were determined. I need to be just as determined now. He is not going to ruin this vacation for me. I would love to spend the night dancing with you. Give me time to change into more appropriate clothes. I'll meet you in the lounge."
Monica refused to become a hermit. She had spent too much of the past months hiding, fearing, fretting and questioning. She was having a good time with Daniel. She wanted it to continue.
The "Coral Sea" was a large vessel, she reasoned. Chances are she wouldn't see Chandler again. But just to make sure she knew what part of the ship his cabin was located, she called to find out which deck he was on. The clerk wouldn't give out that information but offered to ring his room. Monica politely declined.
**
Ready to meet Daniel, she walked along the dark-paneled passageway, observing how many cabins and staterooms were on her side of the boat. She only hoped Chandler's was not among them. She found herself catching up to the back of a tall man with silver-white hair. He carried what looked to be a medical bag. He stopped in front of a room that was at the end of the same long hallway as her cabin and knocked on the door. Monica planned to continue towards the staircase, but when she saw who opened the door to allow the man to enter, her feet wouldn't budge another inch.
"Chandler?" She looked closer at the bag the man was carrying and knew he had to be a doctor. "Is something wrong?"
Even though the attack had left him weary, Chandler couldn't help but notice how lovely Monica looked, wearing a flowing print dress, obviously ready to spend the evening with Blondie. His insides churned once more.
"It's nothing serious," he said. He didn't want her sympathy or her pity. "You'd better get going. I wouldn't want to be the cause of you keeping your 'date' waiting."
Monica looked to the doctor who inclined his head towards her and then gently shut the door after stepping inside. She let out an audible sigh and leaned back against the paneling, realizing she could not leave until she knew for sure that Chandler was all right.
**
"You've been under a great deal of stress, haven't you?" Dr. Mills asked, after he'd completed his examination.
Chandler's blood pressure was elevated, he had a slight fever, and his temper was short.
"I guess," he said, suddenly very tired. He wished the doctor would give him something to knock him out for about a week. Yeah, that would work. "I never really stopped to think about it."
"Well, you should. Slow down. Take it easy. I'm going to give you a tranquilizer to help you relax. I know it's going to be hard, but you should watch what you eat while on this cruise. Diet is very important, too."
"No problem there. I have no appetite."
Dr. Mills frowned as he withdrew a bottle of pills from his bag and placed it on the nightstand.
"That's not good. How long has that been going on?"
Five months, Chandler thought, without hesitation. Since the day he'd moved out of Monica's apartment, nothing tasted good. Nothing smelled good. Nothing looked good. So, sometimes, he forgot to eat. Wasn't that hard, really.
"Off and on," is what he answered. "It's probably part of that stress you're talking about."
"You get some rest, young man. And make sure you eat something, even if it's just chicken noodle soup. I'm going to follow up with you tomorrow afternoon. If you're not feeling better, you'll need to be checked out when we dock at St. Croix."
"I'm sure I'll be fine," Chandler said. The thought that this could be something major was not one he wanted to entertain. "I'll take that tranquilizer and get some much-needed sleep. That should be all I need."
"Make sure you eat, too. And drink plenty of fluids."
"Okay."
"Call room service. They'll bring you soup and a pitcher or two of water. If you have another attack, call me."
"I will."
**
Monica, who had been waiting around the corner for the doctor to emerge, called out to him as soon as she heard the door close. Dr. Mills stopped, two cabins away from Chandler's, and waited for her to reach him.
"How is he?" she asked, brushing the dark bangs away from her eyes. "I-I'm a friend."
"He had a severe pancreatic attack. I gave him something to help him sleep. He seems to be under a good deal of stress. He needs to slow down. If you're a friend, maybe you could help him with that."
Monica tried not to react to the irony of the doctor's statement.
"Do you think it would be all right if I saw him now? Or would whatever you gave him already have taken effect?"
"I gave him a bottle of tranquilizers. He hadn't taken one before I left. You could knock on his door and see if he answers."
"Thank you. I'll do that."
Dr. Mills smiled and turned to continue walking when he had a sudden thought.
"By the way..."
"Yes?" Monica said.
"See that he eats. At least soup, but nothing heavy."
"I can do that," Monica assured him.
**
Chandler was not surprised at the knock on his door. He'd noticed Dr. Mills had left his thermometer on the nightstand. He had expected his return. What he hadn't expected was to see Monica standing on the other side when he opened the door.
"May I come in?" she asked, her voice hopeful.
"Monica, what are you doing here? I told you I'm fine."
"I know, and I'm glad that you are. But is it okay if I see for myself?"
"All right. Here's me, standing here, talking to you. Don't I look fine?"
"You look tired."
"I'm about to remedy that."
"Before you do, let me get you something to eat. Some soup, maybe?"
Chandler eyed her warily. "Did you listen in when the doctor was here?"
"No!"
"Then you must've talked to him. How else would you know about the soup?"
"Isn't that what all sick people eat?"
"I'm not sick, okay? I just...oh, hell, you might as well come in."
"Thank you," she said because she meant it.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Chandler, the last thing I want you to be is si...unwell. You're one of the healthiest people I know. For you to call the doctor, I know it had to be bad. What did the doctor say?"
"You mind if I sit down?"
"No, of course not."
Chandler sank gratefully onto the mattress. He still hadn't fully recovered from the pain. Monica pulled up a chair and sat close to him, watching him carefully.
"I had the worse stomach pains earlier. The doctor thinks it's all related to stress. You know, not getting enough rest, not eating right..."
Monica had to admit she could identify with those symptoms.
"He gave me something to take for the pain. He's going to check on me tomorrow."
"Are the pains gone?"
"Yeah. I'm sore, and I'm tired. I really do just want to sleep."
"Let me go to the dining room and get you something to eat. It'll be quicker than calling room service, I'm sure. Once I've seen that you've eaten, then I'll let you sleep. I'll be right back."
**
Monica stopped at the lounge and explained the situation to Daniel.
"I couldn't not check on him," she said. "We've known each other a long time."
"It's okay. The music isn't very good tonight. I think I'll head back to my cabin. If you feel like it, stop by."
He held out his arms; Monica stepped into his embrace. His lips found hers as they shared a tantalizing kiss. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, letting his warmth comfort her.
"All you have to do is knock," he whispered in her ear.
**
Chandler swallowed two spoonfuls of the hot vegetable soup and then placed the container on his nightstand.
"You have to eat more than that," Monica gently scolded.
"I can't," he said. "I told you. I have no appetite."
"At least eat a couple of crackers and drink some 7-Up or water. You can't let yourself become dehydrated."
"Yes, Dr. Monica," Chandler said, his tone mocking. He still wasn't convinced she hadn't listened at the door.
"Chandler, stop it. I'm only trying to help. I'm worried about you, all right?"
He saw her furrowed brow and noticed that she kept tucking her hair behind her ears, a sure sign she was nervous.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This isn't easy for me. I don't want to feel like this. I want to be healthy."
"Are you concerned you might have another attack if you eat?"
"Maybe. I don't know. I guess I'm feeling something like that."
"Drink one glass of water for me, take your pill, and then I'll leave you alone so you can sleep. Deal?"
"Deal. Under one condition."
"What's that?"
Spending time with Monica, alone, had weakened his resolve. "Stay with me until I fall asleep?"
"Yeah," she said. She smiled at him for the first time in over five months. "I can do that."
"One more thing?"
"What?"
"When you leave, don't turn out the light."
"Yeah, I can do that, too."
**
An hour later, Monica found herself leaning against the railing once more as she look out at the star-studded night sky. She'd finally spent some time alone with Chandler, and they had both survived it. It had been awkward but not horrible. He was Chandler. The one who'd been her friend before anything else had developed between them. He was the one she'd been able to talk to about anything on her mind. He listened. He tried to understand. He offered...well, not exactly advice, she thought with a wry smile, but his perspective. Usually it was wrapped in cynicism with a touch of sarcasm and realism...that was vintage Chandler.
So, why, when the perfect opportunity had presented itself, did she leave his room without telling him the one thing she knew, sooner or later, he would have to be told?