Chapter 5

They drive separate cars to the park — the park that had become their favorite getaway place to talk. Sometimes they go there for lunch, a chance to get some fresh air and remind themselves that not all children end up victims of their parents' homicidal rage. Sometimes they go after work, a chance to discuss their outrageous theories on their current cases without eavesdropping and judgments from their coworkers. Sometimes they go on the weekends, a chance to just be friends and hang out. They like to sit on the benches near the playground, where the squeals and laughter of the children drown out everything else around them.

It's a warm September evening, the light wispy clouds in the distance creating a kaleidoscope of colors as the sun hangs low over the horizon. Hunter is already standing at the snack counter, a small metal shack of a building on the opposite side of the playground. His back is to her as she walks up to him, his arms folded across his chest as he peruses the chalkboard menu. He looks like a statue, standing there solid and still, as playful children run around him. Without even acknowledging her approach, he steps up to the counter and tells the teenage boy behind the register his order. "Two cones, one rocky road and one banana."

"I will never understand why you insist on ruining dessert with fruit," McCall says as she scrunches her nose.

"I will never understand your aversion to anything healthy."

"Touché." She accepts her ice cream cone from him and leads the way to their bench. They sit in silence for a moment, enjoying their ice cream.

"Thanks for holding down the fort while I was gone."

He brought it up, so she decides to seize the opportunity. "What were you doing with your time off?"

He takes a deep breath, and two more bites of his ice cream, before looking at her. They are sitting close enough that the elbows of their suit jackets just barely brush each other. McCall's focus is on a cute little girl pumping her legs on the swings, her pink ruffled pants going back and forth like a pendulum. She feels his eyes watching the side of her face, but to turn her head up towards his would be awkward. They would be nearly nose-to-nose. So she continues eating her ice cream and watching the swinging preschooler.

"I had a doctor's appointment."

I had a doctor's appointment. The words keep repeating themselves in her head as she waits for him to say more. He doesn't. She scoots over a fraction so that she can finally meet his gaze. "That's it? A doctor's appointment?"

"Really, I guess it was more of a doctor consultation. I've had several doctor's appointments lately, this time the doctor finally told me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? I don't...?"

"I have cancer."

He continues to watch her, letting his confession soak in. As she begins shaking her head back and forth, like she's trying to get the word out of her head, he starts nodding in acceptance.

"Lymphoma."

He watches her face as a range of emotions flash in her eyes and her cheeks pale. Several times she starts to say something, and then stops.

Looking down at the ice cream in her hand, the idea of taking one more bite making her stomach tighten in knots, she mumbles, "I feel sick," and quickly dumps the melting confection in the trash. She returns to the bench as quickly as she left it. Now with nothing to occupy her hands, she tucks her hair behind her ears and then brushes the ends off her shoulders. "What…I, uh, how…."

He saves her from trying to find the right question, because he knows, there isn't a right question. He knows she's feeling something akin to what he felt in the oncologist's office two days before. A million questions running through his head, unable to decipher which one to ask first, so they all get jumbled up in an incomprehensible mess.

"I haven't been feeling well for several weeks. Not sick, just not…normal. So I went to the doctor, one test turned into two tests and the next thing I know I'm getting a full-body CTscan and a bone-marrow biopsy."

Her eyes widen, and he prepares himself for what's next. "Why haven't you told me?!"

He knew she was going to be hurt for being left out. But if she had known, she would have pushed her way into those procedures with him and there are just some things he needs to do alone. "Because, what if it turned out to be nothing. It could have been nothing, and then you would have worried for nothing."

"But it isn't nothing."

"No, it isn't. The oncologist says it's Stage two, which means it's treatable with a high rate of success. Lookit, I'm going to be okay. All things considered, it's not all that bad."

"Stage two Lymphoma. What does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that the cancer has spread, some, but we caught it early. My oncologist is optimistic that one round of chemo is all I will need."

"Chemo…," McCall whispers, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you have go through this."

"Yeah." He nods, then shrugs. "It's going to be okay. I'm healthy, strong."

He's saying the words, but she picks up the doubt in his voice and wonders whom he's trying to convince. She reaches over and takes his hand between hers, entwining their fingers. She knows her hands are shaking, but she needs to touch him, to tell him how much she cares in a way that her words seem to be failing.

"When did all this happen? All these tests?" she asks.

"Here and there. That root canal I had done last week…"

Closing her eyes and letting out a resigned sigh, she says, "It wasn't a root canal."

"No. I'm sorry. I didn't want to worry anyone. But I knew, this week, that it was not going to be good news. I just needed some time to come to grips with it before I could be strong for everyone else."

"You don't have to be strong for me," McCall says, but he just continues looking at her. "You don't have to go through any of this alone, you know."

"I know," he says as he puts his arm around her and squeezes. "I saw Mom yesterday. Spent the day with her."

"Your poor mom. How did she take the news?"

"About how you'd expect. She cried. I suspect my answering machine is already full of messages from Marie. I told Mom she could tell her tonight — I wanted to make sure she didn't call the station before I had a chance to tell you."

"You know your sister is probably filling up my answering machine, too."

He laughs a little. He had fought McCall and Marie's friendship for years, before he finally relented to the inevitable. Like a child, he had made McCall vow to be his friend first.

"What do want me to do? Cross my heart and hope to die that you will know my secrets before she does?" McCall had said, clearly irritated with him.

"Just promise me that you two won't squeeze me out. You're my partner, I'm supposed to know you better than anyone else."

"I spend nine hours a day with you five days a week, I barely get a potty-break without you following me into the lady's room. I assure you that secures your position in the top spot."

"Promise you won't…talk…about me, that you won't gang up on me. I need you to be my partner, not a second sister."

"When have I ever not backed you up, completely and without hesitation? That won't change just because I go shoe shopping with your sister."

"How's Rachel taking this?" McCall asks.

He shifts uncomfortably and removes his arm from around her shoulders. "I, uh, I broke things off with Rachel."

"What! Why?"

"I can't do it. I can't fight this and foster a new relationship at the same time."

"But you really like her. Why throw it away?"

"She's young. What would she want nursing an old sick man like me?" He shakes his head in confirmation. "It's not fair to her."

"You don't think you should let her make that decision for herself?"

"And put her in a situation of dumping the guy with cancer? No, this is best. She will move on — quickly I'm sure."

"But she cares about you. She wants to be with you."

"I just don't have it in me right now to try to make a relationship work," Hunter says, becoming aggravated, and for the first time she sees palpable fear in his expression. He may be trying to put up a brave front for her, but deep down he's more frightened than she has ever seen him before. She reaches her arms around him for a hug. He's hesitant at first, but then he holds on to her for dear life.

McCall wipes away the tears from her cheeks as she pulls away from him. "What can I do to help? What do you need?"

"For starters, no crying."

"Ha, well, I can't guarantee that one," she says and sniffles.

"There's nothing. Really. I start chemo in two weeks. I'm not really sure what to expect, but it shouldn't be too much of a burden on you."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know it's not, but I don't want you to worry about having to carry the load. I'll keep up. Same as always."

"I'm here, always, if you need to talk…or not talk." She doesn't need to say this, this is how it always is between them, but he understands her need to say it all the same.

It's after she has already left, walked away on wobbly knees, heading to her car for most likely a very long cry, that he remembers she had said something about needing to talk to him.

...to be continued...