Part eight:
Penelope heard the doorbell and the dogs barking, but she didn't even attempt to get out of bed. She just didn't care that much – and who the hell would be ringing the doorbell at 3 in the morning anyway? Whoever it was could just turn right around and go home. Appropriate hours existed in the realm of 10am-5pm, Monday through Friday, and screw the rest.
She was just lying in bed, watching a movie. She couldn't read or knit – her arm hurt too much to move. She didn't want to do anything. The bed was too big and too empty. She couldn't sleep – she'd already tried.
So, despite the time, she was actually borderline thrilled when Christina knocked on the door and called, "Mama?"
"Yeah," Penelope said, sitting up and trying to rearrange her nightgown so she wasn't spilling out all over the place.
Christina opened the door and said, "Mr. Morgan is here – I tried to talk him into coming back later, but he's pretty insistent."
Penelope sighed. Not a good sign. Derek at quarter after three in the morning? It had to be something important. And in their case, important could be any number of things – including things that were totally inconsequential now. "Okay, but help me put on my robe, please," she murmured. "He does not need to see me like this."
"You need to take your pills soon," Christina said, coming over and helping gently raise her mother's arm so she could slide on the robe.
"Believe me, I know," Penelope muttered, struggling to tie the sash. She flinched and her lips tightened into a thin line as she breathed quickly and shallowly through her nose, but she forced her fingers to work the knot. "How bad is my hair?"
"Mama, I don't think he's going to care how your hair looks," Christina said softly.
"Maybe not, but I do," Penelope whispered. "I always used to be perfect – when did I turn into such a damn mess?" She climbed back into bed and collapsed against the pillows, exhausted with the simple effort of getting dressed. Everything made her tired – that was why she'd gone to the doctor in the first place. And then he'd run so many tests and they all came back –
"Are you sure you want to see him now?" Christina asked, her voice heavy with worry.
"He's probably going home tomorrow," Penelope said. "So what choice do I have?"
"I can send him away – I don't want you to –"
"Chrissy, bring him in and go back to bed," Penelope instructed. "I can show him out when we're finished. Stop worrying so much – I'm not an invalid… yet."
Christina bit her lip and left. A couple of minutes later, Penelope felt him watching her from the doorway. She opened her eyes and smiled a little. "I remember a few other times you woke me up at 3 am," she commented wryly.
"You were usually wearing less," Derek said. He took a deep breath and said, "Can I come in and close the door?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Go ahead. I –"
He barely closed the door before he held up a hand to cut her off. "How could you?" His voice was low, sad, broken – all the emotions in the world were packed into those three words, and he couldn't even look at her. "Penelope – how could you?" he repeated.
"How could I what?" she asked. She could think off-hand of at least five things that he could be referring to – but only one really stuck out like a sore thumb. And it gripped her heart with icy panic. He knew – he knew and he was finally going to make her atone…
He crossed the room in three masterful strides, still commanding and demanding respect. "How could you not tell me you had cancer – TWICE?" he demanded, reaching into his jacket's breast pocket and throwing down three snapshots. "I – I can understand not telling me about Christina. I don't like it, but I understand. But this? Did you really hate me so much that you couldn't tell me that you were so close to death's door TWICE?"
She picked up the photos and turned them over, reading the inscription on the back. The ice melted and became fire – how the hell - "Where did you get these?" Penelope demanded furiously. "These are Dave's – did you – oh my god, I can't believe you'd actually go through his things while you were in MY house!" She stared at him, face flushed, fury rising. HOW DARE HE TOUCH DAVE'S THINGS –
"Do you really think so little of me?" he hissed. "He gave them to me, Penelope. All of his special pictures of you and MY daughter. And, yeah, before you blame anyone else? He told me that, too. Your husband had a guilty conscience, Mrs. Rossi – even if you don't."
Of course she had a guilty conscience! God, every day, she prayed for him, still – and Dave had never been happy that when she had nightmares, she always called out for Derek, not him. She still loved Derek in a way that even she couldn't define; and with him standing so closely, she could smell his cologne, the essence of him that she'd always been drawn to like a moth to a flame… And god DAMN it, she wished she could stop it.
"Say something, damn it," Derek spat.
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and trying to find the words. "I… I didn't think – I didn't think you'd care," she whispered, her voice cracking. "After the wedding, after I pushed you away, why would you care about me?"
"I fucking loved you, Penelope," he whispered. "How could I not still care? I mean, hell, I still hate myself every day I think about how happy you are."
She laughed, the sound low and hollow. "Happy," she echoed.
"You at least had him," he reasoned.
"I did," she agreed, the words barely more than a whisper. "But not anymore, and it's my fault."
Derek frowned, grabbing the chair from by the bookcase and pulling it over. "How is it your fault?" he asked. "You didn't pump him full of germs."
"No, but he went to the cabin in the middle of the ice storm," she muttered, "and that's my fault. He had to get away because he was so pissed at me that he couldn't even –" She looked up at Derek, horrified to see worry and compassion on her face instead of anger. She wanted him to be mad at her – hell, she fucking deserved it. She was mad at herself, she was mad at Dave; fuck, she was pissed at the world and she was going to grit her teeth stubbornly and punish herself for all of her sins.
She had so many of them.
It took a moment to steady herself and force the words to come out. "The cancer is back."
"Your kids know?" Derek asked.
She nodded and sighed. "Christina doesn't want to leave my side and – and Luca – it's hurting him more than he'll ever admit." She shook her head and said, "I never told you because I didn't want your pity. I didn't want you to want to make nice because I was sick. I wanted us to be friends because we wanted to be – not because I was dying. And I know that's selfish and stupid, but –"
He sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his face with his hands. "I love you," he said very quietly. "No matter what. Do you understand that? It's never going to stop, Penelope. Even when I'm pissed as hell at you – even tonight, when I found out that you've kept Christina from me. I can live with that. But I can't live with the thought of losing you, too. I can't understand why you wouldn't just tell me that you were sick." He put his hand over his heart. "You never left here, Baby Girl. Not ever. And, yeah, I hate the shit you've pulled, but I love you so much it hurts. Okay? And I need you to know that you can tell me anything. Anything."
"Anything?" she whispered. He nodded. She hesitated, then murmured, "I decided not to pursue treatment this time. That's why Dave and I fought and he left and – I just… I can't. I can't live through that again, Derek. Not alone."
She watched the emotions rage across his face – shock, then anger, then confusion, then resignation. And then nothing at all, like a mask had slipped back on, covering up his emotions. "I think the first thing you need to do is get a second opinion," he said. "Make sure that it's not something less serious."
She nodded stiffly. "Christina set up an appointment next week with one of her professors," she said. "But until then, I'm on strong painkillers every three hours." She glanced at the bedside table and sighed when she saw the clock. "Speaking of, it's time to dose up again."
He was immediately up and grabbing her glass to get her some water from the bathroom. She watched him with a kind of bemused horror as he read the label on the bottle and tipped out two pills for her. She reached for the glass and the pills, and gasped with pain.
"No, don't," he said softly. "Just tilt your chin back." He tossed the pills down her throat and held the glass of water to her lips. She sipped it, swallowing hard, then sucked down the rest of the glass greedily. When it was gone, he set it aside and kissed her forehead. "Don't say anything – just listen," he said. "Okay? You're not alone in this. And I don't want you to think that I'm just going to walk away tonight and leave you to figure out what's going on. We need to – I need – we need – Baby Girl… don't push me away. Whatever you decide to do, I want to know so I can help. I want to be here for you, no matter what. Okay?"
She was crying, big fat tears that scalded her skin and made her feel even worse. "Okay," she whispered. "But you shouldn't –"
He laid his finger on her lips. "I have a lot to make up for," Derek whispered. "And all I can say is that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
So was she – god, so was she.