Two weeks earlier,

The evening had promised near perfection. Mike had a horrible day at work; standing beside two parents as they identified the body of their eleven year old son, who'd run away from home two days earlier. The wife, a short, chubby blond woman fell to the ground weeping bitterly. She bore no earthly resemblance to Jill but had reminded Mike of her all the same.

"Now is when I really miss drinking." Chris said to him as they watched the couple stagger outside.

"I'm thinking of trying my hand at it. How much did rehab cost?"

"Megan and the boys." Chris answered bitterly. "Oh, you meant money."

"Never mind." Mike said regretting speaking. Sobriety was a definite improvement, but Chris now had a sharp edge.

"Sorry, man." Chris said. "Just remember what a mean drunk I was. This is an improvement."

"It was a stupid thing to say." Mike said.

"Don't worry about." Chris sighed. "Some days are a real son of a bitch."

"Got that right."

"I gotta go. I got a meeting tonight. Go home and put yours arms around Jill. At least you aren't going home to an empty studio apartment."

"Come over after your meeting." Mike said.

"No. Be with your family. I'm gonna call the boys when I get home. Maybe CJ will talk to me this time."

***R***

The second he stepped into the warmth of home, Mike was overwhelmed with gratitude for his family. He found himself on dangerous ground; filled with stormy emotions that threatened to surface. He had played Barbies with the girls for over an hour when he'd got home, taken out the trash, set the table and offered to do the dishes. Jill knew something was up; but then again, he couldn't hide anything from her any more. She knew him too well. As he cleared the table, she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"Bad day?" She asked.

"Not anymore." He said kissing her. She had expected a quick kiss, but ignoring a chorus of groans from their daughters, he'd pulled her tightly to him and kissed her deeply.

"Daaaad!" Kate had complained. "Do you mind?"

He'd broken away from the kiss, his arms still around Jill who was laughing, her hands on his shoulders.

"Yeah, I mind." He said to Kate. "I'm trying to kiss your Mama. Quit bugging me."

Laughing still, Jill stepped out of his arms. "Homework." She directed them through the familiar evening ritual: homework, baths, books and bed. He'd read to them - they were working their way through The Indian in the Cupboard. Then he'd tucked them into bed grateful that they were here and safe, and all the while trying to erase the image of a small boy laid out on a cold, metal table.

He went back out front and found Jill sitting in the oversized chair waiting for him.

"How many chapters did you read?" She asked, setting aside the medical book she'd been studying.

"Three." He said distractedly, trying to keep his emotions at bay. The memory of Lizzie snuggled down under her purple blanket, clutching her stuffed bunny a sharp contrast to the broken body of the boy he'd seen earlier in the day. He found himself unable to stay focused on much of anything.

"Hey, sweetheart, what happened?" But lost in thought, he didn't hear her.

"Mike?" She said louder. "Mike! Come here." She held her hand out to him, and he finally turned to her. He'd grabbed onto her hand, kissing her palm, as she pulled him down beside her. She wrapped her arms around him. "Hey, tell me." She whispered softly, running her long fingers through his thick hair.

"They found that run away. He was dead." HIs eyes misted over and exhaled slowly. "And Chris and I got to take his parents to the morgue, so . . ."

"Oh! His poor mother." Jill ran soft fingers over his cheek. "Poor Mike."

He said nothing closing his eyes and relaxing in her embrace. He could feel his tension ebb slowly away as she softly kissed his cheek.

"You are such a good man." She said softly.

"I love you, Baby." He said huskily opening his eyes and locking onto hers. And he was overwhelmed by how much her comfort and love healed him. He let a few tears slide out, safe in her arms. He'd leaned in and kissed her then, sliding a hand up inside her shirt.

It was sliding his hands over the familiar curves of her body that he felt it. And right then in that instant, everything changed

He sat up from her abruptly.

"Babe, what is that?" He'd asked.

"You want the medical term?" She'd asked laughing and confused. "Because I don't really approve of any of the nicknames you've given them."

"No, Baby." He had said seriously. "That bump."

"Where?" She'd asked concerned and he'd guided her hand to the spot.

"There." He said. "That wasn't there before."

"You sure?"

"I'm pretty familiar with the territory. "

She ran her fingers over it again. "It's probably just a cyst." Seeing his face she added. "I'll have Dr. Meehan check it out. Quit worrying, Mike."

"Promise me." He'd said seriously. She had a bad habit of skipping doctor's appointments.

"Calm down, sweetheart."

"Jillian Elizabeth." His voice was stern.

"I promise, alright. Quit over-reacting!" She sat up and moved away from him clearly angry.

"Hey," He'd said reaching for her hand. "Baby. . ."

But she was too mad. "You pretty much killed the mood, Michael." She rose and disappeared in the kitchen. He'd let her go knowing her anger was her standard cover for fear. Something pricked at the back of his mind. An old memory from one of their first dates.

"What about your parents?" He asked.

"They're gone." She said softly.

"I'm sorry." He said shocked.

"Mom got sick when I was five. She died just before I turned six. And Dad had a heart attack when I was twelve."

At the time he'd been distracted by her beauty - desperate to convince her to sleep with him. He'd only half listened to the story.

Now, concerned, he followed her into the kitchen.

"Jill, you said your mom got sick. What did she die of?" He couldn't believe that in sixteen years he had never asked.

"Mike!" She spat out angrily. "I'm already pretty ticked off! Don't push it!"

"What was it?" He asked again.

"I don't know! I was six! Jesus! Leave it alone." She was furious.

"Is that why . . .God! I'm the slowest person on earth! Is that why you became a nurse? You said that it was an aptitude test in high school. You lied to me!" He was shocked that she had hidden so much from him.

"I didn't lie." She said through gritted teeth. "I just . . .I was really little. Do you remember being six? The doctors were mean. They wouldn't talk to me, and then one of them came and said she was dead. But the nurses were kind. There was one nurse - she had red hair, and she talked to me and explained that my mom was just too sick. She explained that they couldn't fix her, and that there wasn't anything anyone could do to change it." She sighed. "She must have sat with me for an hour. She wanted to make sure I understood that it wasn't my fault. I don't think it was a conscious decision, Mike."

"Baby," He said gently, filled with compassion for the six-year old Jill. "And now you're the kind of nurse who would take the time to . . ." He stopped himself. "But you never asked your father what she died of?"

"I didn't get the chance. By the time I was old enough to really wonder and understand, Dad was dead, and Aunt Lou had already begun to slide downhill." She turned away from him. "Mike, it's probably a cyst. It's probably nothing!" She raised her voice slightly, frustrated.

"I'm just . . .Babe, you're a nurse! You understand why it's kind of a big deal. I'm just saying if you've got a family history of . . ."

"Michael!" She shouted, cutting him off. "Shut up! Are you trying to ruin the night by making me mad?"

"You aren't mad." He said gently and stepping closer to her.

"Don't tell me how I feel." She shook a long finger at him, but as her arm stretched forward he caught her wrist, pulling her into his arms. She fought against him briefly but then melted against him, clinging tightly.

"Everything is gonna be alright." He whispered into her hair.

"You don't know that." She said back and he could hear the fear in her voice.

"It's probably just a cyst." He repeated her words back to her. She buried her face in his shoulder, saying nothing for a long minute.

"Baby, it's gonna be alright. Shh. It'll be alright."

"I'm pretty sure, Mom died of cancer. Amanda thinks it was breast cancer." Her voice was so soft.

"Baby, shh." He soothed, rubbing gentle circles on her back.

"Don't let go." Her voice was so soft he'd almost missed it.

"Not in a million years, Baby. Not ever."

***R***

Two weeks later . . .

Mike sat in the uncomfortable chair, holding tightly to Jill's hand and trying to absorb everything that Dr. Meehan was saying, but he found it hard to hear the doctor's voice over the pounding of his heart.

"What?" He asked. "What did you say? I . . . I . . . Could you repeat it?"

"We can schedule the meeting with the oncologist tomorrow." Dr. Meehan said but Mike couldn't hold on all the words - distracted by just one.

Oncologist.

Jill

He glanced over at Jill who sat beside him stoically, her face a mask.

"Is Dr. Peterson available?" She asked.

"I thought you would ask for him. He said he'd make room in his schedule. 10:15 okay?"

"We will be there." Mike said quickly.

"You have to be in court tomorrow." Jill said calmly. "Remember? You have to testify."

"10:15 is fine." Mike repeated.

"Michael, you . . ."

"Jillian." He said sharply, cutting her off.

"I'll let Ben know." Dr. Meehan said evenly. "Look, this is a shock, I know. You need to take things slow. You can have my office as long as you need." He stood up and put a hand on Jill's shoulder. "The statistics are really good, Jill."

She nodded her head silently as Dr. Meehan shook Mike's hand.

"I wish I had better news." He said to them and stepped out, closing the door behind him.

"We better go. The girls will be out soon and . . ."

"Eddie's picking them up. I asked him last night." Mike turned to look at her.

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. I just asked him to pick up the girls."

"Amy's got soccer at four." She said running a hand through her hair.

"Amy can talk for herself." He said watching her. She had stood up, ready to rush out and now she stood near a bookshelf, unsure.

He couldn't remember anymore what life without her was like. They had been together so long and through so much. He could tell her moods by the way she held her shoulders or the movement of her hands. When she got nervous she fussed with her hair, or acted angry or just worked her way through a vast list of endless chores.

He rose slowly, knowing she would probably push him away, but he didn't care. He needed to feel her soft, thin body in his arms; to hear the familiar beating of her heart.

He moved to wrap his arms around her and was surprised when she didn't struggle. He held her closely to him, feeling his whole body beginning to shake.

"Mike?" She whispered softly.

"I'm right here, Baby." He said fighting tears. "It's okay, Babe. It's okay. Everything is going to be alright."

He could feel how terrified she was, and knew he needed to say something, but the words made him feel like a liar; how could he promise that everything was going to be alright? Things weren't alright, now.