Chapter 7

She can see his shadowy silhouette lying back against the driver's seat in his car, his head tilted back against the headrest, as she parks her car in the space next to his. She walks around the back of her car toward the driver's side door of his green Monaco. A sudden feeling of something wet and lukewarm seeping into the peek-toe of her navy pumps causes her to jump backward. The narrow space between their cars is pitch black, but she can take a guess of what lies between her and Hunter's car door.

McCall, I need your help. I'm sorry. I know you're…help…please…I'm too sick.

"I need your help" was all he had to say before she was motioning to Mitch from the payphone that she needed to leave. Mitch had dropped her off in her driveway, where she immediately jumped into her car without entering her house. She is now wishing she had at least changed into more sensible clothing, but haste had been foremost on her mind.

McCall backs away, the putrid scent now confirming her suspicion, and walks around to the passenger side. She quietly taps on the window, startling Hunter. He glances at her through one eye before slowly reaching across the seat to unlock the door.

She opens the door and gently slides into the passenger seat. The air inside the sedan is warm and thick, and she has to consciously override her instinct to cover her nose against the sharp stench of sweat and vomit. Hunter doesn't make a sound as he continues to sit there perfectly still.

"Are you okay?" she asks softly. The answer is obvious, but she can't think of anything else to say.

"No."

"Do you need me to take you home or to the hospital?"

"Home." His quick, one-word answers are further indication that he is most certainly not okay.

"You got it." She looks at Hunter, and then past him to her car, developing her plan of attack. "Listen, I think the best way to do this is for you slide over here, I'll help you, and then I'll leave my car here."

A faint grunt from Hunter was her cue to take his arm and start guiding him toward her. She notices his damp shirtsleeve as she does. His hand is cold and clammy, and trembling ever so slightly, when she takes it in hers. It's a struggle getting Hunter's long legs up and over the center console and the police radio, and it takes what feels like an eternity with his slow movements. He has to stop several times to lean his head back and take deep breaths to ward off the nausea, and McCall already starts worrying about how she's going to get him into his house.

She walks back around to the driver's side, stopping to get a flashlight out of the trunk first. She inspects the mess on the ground between the cars and is just able to lean forward enough to pull the door handle. After several failed attempts to step over the mess and into the car, McCall looks around the quiet lot to verify that no one can see before pulling her fitted skirt up to her hips. She stretches her right leg across the mess and finally makes contact with the edge of the doorframe. With a little bit of a hop from her left leg she is able to grab hold of the top of the open door, using the car to balance, and pulls herself inside.

XXXXX

McCall drives as gingerly as she can to keep Hunter's nausea at bay, but they still have to pull over along the Pacific Coast Highway. Now, parked outside Hunter's beachfront condo, she stares at the flight of stairs up to his front door with dread. The moans and deep breaths she heard from him on every curve along the way give her no confidence about his ability to walk up them on his own.

She parks as close to the foot of the stairs as possible, reminiscing about the house he moved out of just a few weeks ago and how much easier this would be if only he had stayed put.

"Hey," she says softly as she places a hand gently on his shoulder, "you think you can walk up the stairs?"

"Can I just sleep here?"

"Let's give the stairs a try. You will be much more comfortable in your bed. C'mon, I'll help you."

Maneuvering Hunter's 240 pounds up to the main floor of his new contemporary condo is no small feat. Twice they have to stop as he grips her shoulders with one hand and the handrail with the other to prevent both of them from tumbling back down. Just as they reach the top of the stairs he sways backwards, and McCall has to use all her weight to pull him forward, both of them landing on their backsides on the second floor deck. She leaves him there on the floor while she unlocks the sliding-glass door.

She helps him back up to his feet, but immediately regrets it when she starts fumbling around looking for the light switch. His previous place felt almost like a second home to her, but she's only been here once. He had given her the tour a few weeks ago after they had shared a pizza, but she was by no means familiar with the place.

"Bathroom. Now." Hunter breathes the words and immediately she feels the sweat soaking through the back of his shirt where her arm is wrapped around him for support. Thank goodness she remembers the small downstairs bathroom just beyond the kitchen.

It feels almost cruel watching him suffer, hovered over the toilet in agony, but the only thing she can think of to help is to place a wet washcloth on the back of his neck. He continues to gag and moan long after his stomach is empty. Out of desperation she leaves the cramped bathroom and calls her mother for advice. Her father had battled throat cancer last year, and she hopes beyond hope that her mom can at least offer her some comforting words.

XXXXX

"What are you doing out here?" McCall asks, finding Hunter sitting on the floor in the hallway just outside the bathroom. She had been gone for just ten minutes, quickly walking to a convenience story around the corner to pick up a few things her mother had suggested would help. He had been dozing quietly against the edge of the bathtub when she left.

"I don't fit in that little bathroom. I needed to stretch out." She notes that he barely fits in the narrow hallway between the kitchen and what she thinks is a guest bedroom, but she keeps her commentary to herself.

She sits down on the floor next to him and hands him a cup. "Take a few sips of this."

"What is it?" he asks skeptically with his head still leaning back against the wall and his eyes closed.

"Kool-Aid. And Compazine," she says shaking the bottle of anti-nausea medication. "I found it in your bathroom upstairs. You need to take it as prescribed, even if you don't feel sick."

He opens one eye and spies her.

"I called my mom. She told me some things that helped Dad through his chemo last year. She said that, for whatever reason, the chemo makes water taste terrible, but you need to drink it and Kool-Aid helps the taste. So I ran over to that little food mart on the corner and got some." When he looks into the cup of yellowy water she adds softly, "Drink up. It's lemonade flavor so it won't stain, if…you know…," she says while making the gesture with her hand. "The extra sugar will be good for you, too."

He takes a few tentative sips, and leans back again awaiting the verdict on whether his stomach is going to accept it or not.

"I'm sorry you have to go through this again. I know it was tough with your dad."

"He's a lot like you, you know? With the tough-guy image —too macho to be sick. I'm finding out that he was much sicker than I ever knew — he just never wanted me to see him that way. As far as I knew everything was fine, his treatments were a breeze, and then bam he was in remission."

Slowly, and with a weak voice, Hunter replies, "You wouldn't have left his side if you knew any different, and he knew that."

"Yeah, you're right." She sighs and leans sideways with her shoulder and head against the wall, facing him. "I'm glad you called me."

He sighs in reply.

"How are you feeling? Think you can make it upstairs to bed?"

"Hmm, maybe just the sofa over there."

She helps him stand up and leads him through the kitchen and over to the sofa in the living room. He lowers himself onto the overstuffed white sofa, holding onto her left hand as he does. She starts to walk back to where they had been lounging in the hallway to retrieve the cup of Kool-Aid, but he grips her hand tighter stopping her from walking off. She looks back at him expectantly, wondering what he's doing. Without breaking eye contact, he gently caresses the ring on her finger with his thumb and pinkie. Her heart drops as she ducks his gaze. She had forgotten that she had her ring on when she rushed to his aid, and this is not at all the way she wanted to tell him.

"Something you want to tell me?" he asks. His voice is an odd combination of deep and soft – surprise, hurt, tenderness, frustration — she isn't sure what it is she hears in his tone.

McCall sits down on the coffee table opposite him, pulling her hand out of his. She looks down at the ring and rights it on her finger. There's only a small amount of space between the sofa and the table and their knees almost touch, with hers fitting in the space between his.

"Mitch proposed."

"That's what a ring usually means."

"Right."

"Congratulations," he says with contempt instead of sincerity.

"This isn't how you were supposed to find out."

"No? How then?"

"There just hasn't been a good time."

"Why not?"

"You know…"

"What? Because I have cancer?"

"It's just…it's just...," she says and tucks stray strand of hair behind her ear, "it feels so insignificant compared to…you know…"

"No, I don't know. Getting married is insignificant? So insignificant you didn't think I would care?" When she doesn't answer, he continues. "How long have you been engaged?"

"Um…three weeks." Her voice is almost a whisper as she continues to look down at her hands resting on top of her knees.

"Three weeks. That's a long time to keep this from me. Am I the last one to know?"

"Nobody knows. I wanted you to be the first person I told, so I haven't told anyone."

"I thought getting married was what you wanted. I thought you said Mitch was 'the one'. So why aren't you happy?"

"I'm happy! I am ecstatic! And I feel guilty about it!" she exclaims finally looking up at him.

"That's bullshit. I'm sick, so you can't be happy. Bullshit." He blurts out. Poking himself in the chest, he continues, "Me? I am not your future. I am not your happily ever after. So why are you putting your life on hold because of me?"

She huffs, blowing her bangs out of her eyes, and moves to sit next to him on the sofa with her arms crossed over her chest. It's easier when he can't look her straight in the eyes. "You're blowing this out of proportion."

"Three weeks is an awfully long time to keep this kind of a secret. And somebody knows," he says as he taps the diamond with his finger, "you were wearing it tonight."

"My parents know, and Mitch's family, and some of his friends and co-workers. Every time I tried to tell you something came up that made it feel like the wrong time. But then the longer I waited the harder it got."

Hunter takes a deep breath, allowing the tension in both of them to rest a moment. "Congratulations. And I mean it."

With her head leaning against the back of the sofa, she turns it to the side to look up at him and finds him looking down at her. "Thank you."

"That's a, uh, pretty impressive rock you got there. I think it left an indention in my palm when you were helping me up the stairs. I've been trying to figure out all night what kind of weapon you were carrying."

"Oh, you poor thing," she giggles and sniffs back the tears that had been threatening to fall.

He holds out his hand, palm up, and points to the supposed spot. "See, right there, I think there are even scratches."

"Want me to kiss it and make it better, little Ricky?"

Chuckling, "Nah, I think you've performed enough nurse duty for one night. So are you going to tell me about it? Or am I going to have to hear it through the rumor mill?"

She lifts her feet up to rest on the coffee table and leans her head against his shoulder. "I ruined his plans with that dinner I planned for you and Rachel."

"That'll teach you to meddle in my love life again."

"When I got home from work a few nights later my house was filled with flowers and candles. It was really sweet, really romantic." She pauses for a moment, trying to decide how much to tell him. She knows he asked because he felt he should, not because he actually wants details. "You'll be in the wedding, won't you? Part of the wedding party?"

"Will I have to wear a dress?"

"Most definitely."

"Okay, on one condition…the dress must be hot pink with a great big bow in the back and big puffy sleeves."

"Deal." McCall laughs softly, comforted that his sense of humor has returned. "Mitch said you would tell me I was crazy for asking."

Hunter puts a foot up on the table, sinking down a little further into the cushions. "Mitch and his faux-masculinity. He's such a wimp."

"He's man enough where it counts," she teases.

"Where's a barf bag? I'm gonna need it." She laughs as he pats the sofa cushion on the other side of him pretending to look for one.

"I'm going to miss you."

"You aren't leaving me already, are you?"

"No, but I don't see this happening anymore once I'm married."

"Pregnant and barefoot with five Mitch juniors already running around — you're gonna be too deliriously happy to miss me."

Laughing, she replies, "Is that how you see me in the future?"

"Yes. And so do you."

"Well…maybe not five Mitch juniors." They lapse into silence, thinking about what that future may hold. It's a future neither one can deny, but neither one will ever really be ready for.

"It's really late, you need to get some rest."

"You, too. Are you sure you're going to be okay the rest of the night?"

"I'll be fine. I'm feeling a lot better now. Thanks for coming to my rescue. I'm sorry I ruined your night."

"No thank you's or apologies needed," she says as she stands up and starts looking around for her things. "That's what I'm here for."

...to be continued...