Half the excitement had to be hiding this from her father. Caity enjoyed the freedom of spending afternoons walking and studying, which was relocated to the park as well once the weather permitted. But they always made sure to return in time to start dinner. The exhilaration gave her more energy the longer her antics went undetected. Not that her life had become all secrets. Dr. Miller didn't mind the time they spent together in the evenings, which became more evident as the outside time increased. The mood of the entire house was uplifted, even if he didn't know exactly why. Until one day in late April.
Dr. Miller sighed contentedly as Caity went inside to fetch a sweater. Both she and Peter had lobbied to have supper out in the backyard, though with the setting sun, the air had grown chilly. "I can't help marveling at how well she seems to be doing these days. It's a miracle how this household has changed since you arrived. How do you do it?"
Peter chewed his lip bashfully. Maybe it was time to tell him, and risk the possible response. But no sooner had he opened his mouth when a series of loud thuds reached them from inside the house. Both he and Dr. Miller jumped out of their seats.
Caity was at the foot of the stairs, dazed. A welt was visible on her forehead—she must have hit the wall or banister on the way down—and her wrist was rapidly swelling. It took the combined efforts of Peter and Dr. Miller to gently lift her into the armchair.
"Caitlyn? Caity, can you hear me?" Dr. Miller asked as he set about checking for any serious injuries. She winced when he touched her wrist, but didn't say anything. "I need to fetch my bag and supplies. Watch her for a minute, would you?"
"What happened, Caity?" Peter whispered once Dr. Miller had disappeared. It was a second or two before her eyes focused on him. They were filling with tears.
"I should've suspected when I had trouble getting up the stairs," she mumbled. "The floor suddenly tilted when I was about halfway back down. Father's going to be furious when he finds out…"
"Shh, he's nothing but concerned for you. Just rest now." Peter pushed Caity's long hair from her face. So it was just a dizzy spell. They'd played a lively game of cricket with several schoolmates earlier. She would be fine in a couple days, aside, possibly, from her wrist.
Dr. Miller strode back into the room. "How are you feeling?" He poured a little iodine onto a small cloth bandage, and pressed it lightly to Caity's scraped forehead.
"Still a little dizzy," Caity replied. Unlike with Peter, she wouldn't meet her father's eyes.
"Can you move that wrist?"
She paused. "Yes, but it's frightfully painful."
"Hmm." The doctor studied her for several moments. "It looks like it's just a sprain, but I'd rather be sure. Peter, could you help her to the car?"
The ride to the hospital was uncomfortably silent. Dr. Miller kept whatever thoughts he was having to himself, while Caity stared at her hands the entire way. She was afraid of something, though Peter's guess was as good as anyone's. Then he was left to wait for some time in the general sitting area while the Millers disappeared behind white double doors…
"Sir, can I help you?"
Peter's head snapped up. A young, kindly-looking nurse was peering concernedly at him. Asleep! He glanced at the clock; it had been nearly two hours since he'd sat down to wait.
"Sir?"
"Would you happen to know how Caitlyn Miller is doing? Her father hasn't mentioned anything."
The nurse looked quizzical for a moment. "I can check." Then she, too, walked through the double doors. Peter sighed heavily and settled back into his seat. But the nurse was sharper than that, returning after merely three minutes.
"This way," she said briskly. "Dr. Miller wishes to speak to you in the hall before you enter the room, though." They walked nearly the length of the white hallway beyond the doors, turned left, and stopped just short of the third door. The nurse knocked. After a beat, Dr. Miller came out to join them.
"Thank you, Marci," he said, nodding to the young woman. She went back the way they had come, and Dr. Miller guided Peter by the arm a couple steps further from the door. "I'm afraid there are some pieces of information you should know about before I let you see her."
Peter felt as if a large weight had dropped into his stomach.
"I have lived in fear of this for a long time. Caity may not have told you, but her mother died some years ago from a very rare illness. Little is known about it, except that it is eventually fatal. Ca—its victims slowly lose mobility, independent living…and life altogether. Barely a handful of known cases have yielded successful recovery, and no one knows how. Miracles, I suppose." He swallowed with some difficulty. "Caity's condition is already fairly advanced and progressing more rapidly than other cases we've seen. She might live out the summer."
Shock left Peter's senses reeling. So Caity was sick after all, and very much so. Might live out the summer? That gave her no more than four months left! This new reality pressed other realizations into focus: Caity's motive for remaining so isolated when they had first met, how young she really was, and how much Peter had become attracted to her. He had avoided the thought of this last conclusion for some time, but now he could no longer ignore it. He loved her.
"Now, I understand that the two of you have become close friends over the past months. Perhaps even a little more than friends, I daresay. And I'm sure this is quite a deep-felt shock for you. But maybe…it's time you moved on."
"What?" This last comment finally jolted Peter out of his thoughts as if he were struck by lightning.
"Please don't take offense at this. We're both grateful for the happiness you brought back into this family, even if it was only for a short time. There's simply nothing more you can do here. Find a nice girl, get married, have the life a young man like you deserves. Caity would want that for you."
"And what about her?" countered Peter. "I can't just abandon her to her fate. I care about her too much to do that! And I'll do anything to support her when she needs it the most."
"All I'm saying is that death is the worst time to be attached to someone. It's not fair to either of you if you cling to this fragile love, only to have it snatched away."
"But isn't that what love is? Staying until the end when even common sense speaks to the contrary? I understand you're trying to return the kindness, and I appreciate it. What I'm trying to say is I'm willing to walk this path for Caity, no matter how hard it becomes."
Dr. Miller started to retort, but halted as Peter's last words sunk in. The most furious of battles seemed to be going on behind his anxiety-fraught eyes. To endure the same heart-wrenching situation twice must be devastating. Finally, the older man swallowed hard and spoke.
"What about your family? What would they think of your decision?"
"I think they would understand," Peter replied steadily. "I've told them a lot about you and Caity; they were actually hoping to visit sometime. Mum's been searching for a new house, with all the damage in Finchley, although the others have been begging to go to the country on holiday." A thought struck him suddenly. "What if we took Caity there?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Out to the country. A friend of mine wrote me not too long ago saying that life's gotten too quiet up north. I'm sure he'd be delighted to have you. Open space, clean air, away from all the strain of the war. It's the kind of environment she loves and thrives in. I know the decision is yours, but I think she would do better there."
Dr. Miller pondered the suggestion with both apparent interest and concern. "I suppose…but the specialist would have to deem her able to travel. At this point, much is still uncertain. But I am grateful for your contribution, Peter. And if we do go, your family is welcome join us, while possible. Caity would like that."
"I'll tell them. So it may be a little longer before I see them again."
"And they will be okay with that? It's already been such a long time, at least for your mother."
"We've discussed that. Mum knows how much Caity means to me."
"I had to ask. I'm a parent, too," Dr. Miller pointed out, showing a ghost of a smile.
Peter nodded. "Um, is it alright if I see Caity? Just for a little while?"
"If she's still awake. The specialist wants her to get plenty of rest for the time being. Otherwise, we should have a fairly normal life. For now." Dr. Miller's face fell again. Peter clapped his shoulder reassuringly.
"Don't lose heart now. She still has time; we'll make the best of it."
Yet Peter felt suddenly tense as he turned the handle of the door to Caity's room. She was propped up on pillows in bed, face a little pale but otherwise looking nothing like a person who was dying. The only difference was her smile, which seemed to carry an apology.
"How're you feeling?" he asked quietly. He pulled a chair up next to the bed.
"Mmm, not too bad. Bit of a headache." She smiled more broadly at her own quip. "It's still not going to be terribly noticeable for awhile yet, though."
Peter suddenly understood why Dr. Miller was so wrought by this. Yet gave him a sickening feeling of forebode. "W-what's it going to be like, do you think?"
"Well, I'll just gradually lose the ability to do things over time, until…until there's no strength for even basic functions. Father said sometimes Mother's limbs and joints were painful from disuse, but other than that, I don't know."
"I see." This was going to be just as painful for him, too, he could tell.
"Will we still be able to have our outings to the park?"
"What?" Peter was jerked once more back out of his thoughts. For the first time, Caity seemed small, young. "But you should rest."
Caity rolled her eyes. "I'm not that far gone. We do know that how much one moves around doesn't affect the progress of the illness itself. I want to make as much use of time as I can. Father hasn't convinced you to leave, has he?"
Her innocence made Peter smile in spite of himself. Affectionately, he took her hand in both of his. "As long as you'll have me, I'll gladly stand by you." He couldn't bring himself to confess the depth of his feelings immediately.