Sandy had just put away his last client file. He'd needed to rewrite the draft proposal four times before he felt confident enough to hand it to another staff member to look over. He'd muttered a rough apology, unable even to form a coherent sentence that needed to consist only of the word sorry. He was taking shorter breaths, checking his watch every thirty seconds, unable to concentrate. Surely she'd have the results by now. Surely she should have called by now, giving him news that he'd either be overjoyed or suicidal about. Sandy resisted calling her, knowing that she'd resent the over-protective implications. She'd kissed him this morning, like she had most mornings since the biopsy; with one arm crossed protectively in front of her breast, keeping it from touching him. He knew the stitches were still pulling, knew she was aching with the fear that they might have to go deeper than that. Knew not knowing was killing him as well.
"Sandy?" She stood in the doorway, looking pale under the illuminating down lights. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were smudges under her eyes where shadows threatened to invade. She was wearing a jumper but she still shivered in the air conditioning.
"I forgot how cold it was in here. It's kind of strange… seeing it from an outsider's perspective." She was looking around Sandy's office, noting interior changes, decorating differences since she'd spiralled downward and left the company. Her arms crossed over her body and she shivered again.
"I thought you would have called." Sandy moved from his chair to slowly walk around in front of her. He stopped, inches from touching her. She wasn't wearing heels today, and she looked up into his eyes as she delivered what he'd been dreading to hear.
"It isn't good. I need to go in for an operation tomorrow, and then they'll…" Kirsten's eyes filled with tears, and Sandy reached out to envelope her, careful of the stitches. She cried silently into his chest, and Sandy felt a tear slipping slowly out of his own eye. He was reluctant to wipe it away, wanting instead to pay homage to how Kirsten must have felt since the doctor had delivered the bad news.
Sandy led her to the couch, eased her into it. Her face was still in his chest, her back rising up and down in time to her sobs. Sandy rubbed her back, ran his fingers through her silky hair. He remembered her mother, how sick she'd been, how she'd lost her hair and most of her body weight and her vitality. He thought of his own mother, so lifeless and grey before remission. He prayed to anyone, anywhere, that the same fate would not befall Kirsten.
"It's a malignant growth. They're taking out everything they didn't get with the biopsy, then checking my lymph nodes. They'll know whether I need chemo or radiotherapy after that. And Seth's coming home…" Kirsten lifted pearly, crystalline eyes to meet his. Smudges of mascara rimmed each, and Sandy carefully lifted a hand to wipe each of her eyes.
"Did you tell Seth?" He asked. Kirsten waited until his thumbs were a safe distance from her eyes before she shook her head.
"He'll be home week after next. We'll know more about what's going on then. If we can call Ryan and get him home at the same time, we can break the news to both of them." Kirsten rested her head against Sandy's shoulder, and he reached around her with his arm. Sandy stroked her hand, the silky skin on it still bearing remnants of a summer tan which was fading fast. It seemed to him that since they'd been considering thoughts of cancer, Kirsten had been getting progressively paler. He thought back to a few months before. After Suriak, Kirsten had begun going to bed earlier, had been taking more headache capsules and just hadn't been her usual thousand-miles-an-hour self. He'd put it down to alcohol withdrawal, but now knew it might have been the cancer all along.
"At least now we know." Sandy said. He felt Kirsten nod slightly and he held her closer.