Chapter 10

McCall parks her car in the circle driveway next to Hunter's condo. She's just making a quick stop to check on him on her way to Mitch's house. They are having a celebratory dinner tonight with Mitch's agent and publisher — the first copies of his book are hot off the presses. She wraps her trench coat around her a little tighter, trying to stay warm on this cold and windy February day as she pulls his dry cleaning out of her trunk before heading up the stairs.

Hunter's not expecting her. She had been with him until late Wednesday night, as has become their routine on his treatment days, and when she called to check on him yesterday morning he told her he was fine, that he did not need anything or any help. She hadn't really believed him.

After his first chemo treatment, the next few went a little more smoothly. He had been prepared and took every precaution. But the toll that the chemo has been taking on his body over the past four months seems to be compounding. With every treatment he gets sicker than the previous one, and the hangovers last longer. This has been especially true over the past month. Two weeks ago she had sat in his condo for over an hour waiting for him to get home from the treatment center. It had become their custom for her to come over after work on these Wednesdays. She usually brought dinner, something light and easy on his stomach, and they would watch a movie. Sometimes he slept, and she read a book or looked through her stacks of wedding magazines, waiting for the nausea and vomiting to begin. Usually, he had been home for a while when she arrives, and his only response when she questioned him last time about his lateness was that his pre-chemo blood test took longer than normal. But that time it also took him a full week to return to work, and she became suspicious.

She found it difficult to believe him when he said he was doing well the morning after his eighth chemotherapy. But, she and Mitch were supposed to meet with the printer to discuss the wedding invitations that day and she really needed to find time to shop for a dress, so she wanted — needed — to believe that Hunter was telling her the truth, and she let him be…for nearly two days…but she could not put her worry aside any longer.

"Hey, it's me, can I come in?" McCall calls as she peeks her head in the sliding-glass door. She had stopped knocking months ago — he was usually too sick or too tired to answer the door most of the time anyway.

"You're already half in," he replies without lifting his head up from the sofa.

She knows as soon as she sees him stretched out — feet on the coffee table, head leaning back, arms laying still on either side of him — that he is feeling sick again. His lean body is even leaner these days. The way he's lying there, rigid and tense, with the late afternoon sun shining in through the windows, she realizes that his muscular frame is no longer all that muscular. His hair is thinner, as well, but she's pretended to not notice that for several weeks now.

"I picked up our dry cleaning today, thought I could drop it off and check in on you on my way to Mitch's house." McCall has slowly taken on small errands and tasks for him. It started out as just picking up a few groceries for him here and there. Sometimes she'd do a load of laundry while she was there. At some point she started dropping off his dry cleaning along with hers. "How long have you been lying here?"

"Doesn't matter," he says weakly. "Lookit, go on to Mitch's. I'm fine."

"I'll just take these upstairs," she says, referring to his two sports coats draped over her arm.

Returning to the living room, she sits on the sofa facing him with her elbow resting on the back and her head resting on her hand. She doesn't say a word, just sits there looking at him.

"So you're leaving, aren't ya?" he says after a few minutes.

"Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"I had chemo two days ago. Nausea's a side effect. I thought we've been over this."

"The past three times you've been sicker, longer. But yesterday you said you were fine."

"And yesterday morning I was fine."

"Who are you trying to protect? Me or you?"

"If I tell ya will you leave?"

"Probably not."

He lets out a small laugh before rubbing his face with his hand. "They've increased my chemo drugs." He pauses for a moment waiting for a wave of nausea to subside. "My last physical didn't show the improvement my doctor was hoping for, so he changed my treatment."

McCall digests the information, remaining completely still for a few moments. "So does that mean the chemo isn't working?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "It means I'm not responding the way the doctor expected."

She takes a deep breath and places a hand on his arm. "Let's get you upstairs. You're starting to look green."

She helps him up the stairs and into his bed, and then fetches some crackers and 7-Up. He's in the bathroom when she returns upstairs and she resumes her post as nurse just as she had done two nights ago.

He dozes off and on for a while, alternating between chills and sweating when the nausea peeks, and occasionally running to the bathroom. McCall is right there helping him bundle up in the comforter one minute and pulling it off the next until he finally seems to fall asleep.

Sometime around midnight Hunter wakes up to the sound of McCall quietly sniffling and Ali McGraw saying "Love means never having to say you're sorry."

"Love Story?" Hunter croaks, and McCall quickly wipes the tears from her cheeks. "Caught," he says grinning at her.

"It was the only thing on," she replies defensively, and reaches for a tissue to blow her nose.

"Uh huh. Admit it. It's your favorite movie. You stay up late to watch it every time it's on TV."

She chuckles and points a finger at him. "You know, you knew the name of the movie the instant you woke up. Just how many times have you seen it?"

"I've had a few girlfriends over the past twenty years. Now, if you're finished trying to deflect your embarrassment on to a sick man, I'm hungry."

"About time!" she exclaims, blotting the last of the tears from the corner of her eyes. "I'm starving over here! What sounds good?"

"Bacon and eggs."

"Bacon and eggs? It's your stomach," she laughs, shrugging. "Do you even have bacon?"

He nods slowly as he pushes himself off the bed. "I've been craving it lately, and I'm not happy about it. It's not the cancer that's going to kill me, it's going to be a heart attack."

"I've been eating that stuff all my life and I'm perfectly healthy. Come on, Big Guy, let's go downstairs and get you some salty, greasy bacon."

They return upstairs to Hunter's bedroom after eating. The windows across the far wall of the room look out over the ocean, and the reflection of the moon on the water lights up the room. While Hunter crawls back into bed, sighing as he leans back against the pillows, McCall walks over to the floor-to-ceiling windows to take in the view. She had opened the windows earlier in hopes that the fresh air would be soothing. With them still open, the room has chilled and she runs her hands up and down her arms for warmth.

"Did you know when you rented this place?" McCall asks, a bit of wonder in her tone. She's been standing at the windows so long Hunter has almost fallen asleep.

"Did I know what? That I had Lymphoma?"

"Yeah. I mean, you had been at your last house a while and I thought you liked it. Then suddenly you moved."

"I knew I probably had cancer, yes."

She's quiet for a long moment before turning toward him. With the moonlight behind her, all he can see is her silhouette — her head tilted slightly, the way she does when she's worked out an idea in her head.

"It's a really nice house. Not really you though, is it?" she says and waits for him to respond, but he doesn't. "Did you come here to die?"

"No." He says the word firmly, but he fidgets with the sheets folded across his lap as he contemplates his explanation. "It was more of an impulse to enjoy what I can while I still can. I mean, I've never lived somewhere nice. I've never given much thought to it — home is just a place to sleep, really. But just this once I thought if I'm going to be sick, if I'm going to be home all the time, maybe I should make it enjoyable."

McCall walks back over to the bed and sits next him, a little closer than before. Somehow, talking about death and life choices makes being in bed with him a little less weird. "I like it here," she says, and neither of them is sure if it's the house she's referring to.

"Want to finish your movie?" he asks.

"Nah, I know how it ends. You can watch whatever you want."

He yawns and snuggles down into the bed. "I'm going to sleep." As he rolls over he cocks an eyebrow in her direction, "Unless you want to see what's on Showtime — do a little role playing. Could be fun."

She blurts out laughing. "I'm gonna have to pass on that one."

"Could be the highlight of your week."

"You wouldn't be able to keep up with me tonight, anyway," she says with a smug grin.

"Ohhoho, do I hear a challenge?"

"No!" She's laughing so hard she can barely speak. "Just go to sleep, will ya?"

He does as instructed and just seconds later she can hear him quietly snoring. She should go home. It's late. Very late. But she's tired and this bed is comfortable. The engulfing rhythm of the crashing waves and the glittery moonlight shining off the water are soothing to her tired mind. It's been a rough few months splitting her off-duty time between Hunter and Mitch, planning a wedding and picking up part of Hunter's workload. It would be so easy to stay, to fall asleep right here. Nobody is waiting for her anyway. She leans her head back against the headboard and lets the hum drown out the noise in her head.

...to be continued...