Chapter 15

It's bright in his bedroom when he wakes. The blinds have never been lowered over these windows, at least not since he's lived here. When you pay what he is paying for this ocean view you don't want to cover it up. It must be mid-morning by the way the sunlight dances off the waves and shouts and cries of laughter occasionally cut through the constant roar of the water. He knows she's gone already without even reaching across the bed, but she had been there when he had fallen asleep — curled up against him, her head cradled against his shoulder and her hand resting over his heart.

He finds his sweatpants and sweatshirt on the floor, and, pulling the twenty-year-old LAPD hoodie over his head, he's suddenly self-conscious about the number of days he's been wearing these same garments. He sniffs both and is relieved to find neither offensive.

She's sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when he walks in, her legs criss-cross on the chair and both hands wrapped around a coffee mug. The sports section is folded neatly and laying on the opposite corner of the table, waiting for him.

Is this what marriage is? A congenial cooperative where the other person's wants and needs enter every thought to the point that you forget that they aren't your own?

In all his life he never imagined finding McCall lounging in his kitchen in a thin fitted t-shirt and boxer shorts and her hair pulled away from her face in a messy knot. His head knows that this scenario has played out multiple times in recent months, but this is the first time he's taken a moment to actually notice it. And although he now knows that she sits and reads the paper with her coffee most mornings, he's never actually thought about the sincerity of the gesture of pulling out the sports section for him or the comfort of sharing a space, nay a life, with a person that did not require his constant attention and affection, but that person knew they were wanted all the same.

"Good morning," she says, breaking him from his reverie. He had not noticed her looking up at him.

It takes him a moment to find his voice, unsure what to say or how to act. "Morning."

McCall smiles at him and then leaves the table and begins pulling items out of the refrigerator. "I made pancakes; I already ate, but it'll just take a few minutes to cook a few more for you. And I'll start a fresh pot of coffee, too. I've drunk most of this one already. Then I will get out of your hair for a while…sort of speak."

Again, he feels inadequate, unsure how to handle this situation. "Aren't you late for work already?"

"I have a mandatory day off — clocked one hundred and thirteen hours since last Monday, and you know how they hate paying us overtime. So I'm going to spend the day at home taking care of some stuff. Every one of my potted plants is dead now — I need to finally throw them out, you know?"

The look of confusion must be written all over his face. She sets the bowl of pancake batter on the counter and walks over to him, as he's still standing in the doorway of his small kitchen. Stretching up, she places her hand on the back of his neck to guide his head down just enough that she can place a tender kiss on the side of his mouth. She keeps their heads just inches apart, as she softly adds, "No regrets. Not a one. I just think we could both use a little space." Then she kisses him again, squarely on the lips this time.

He watches her turn back to her cooking and he can't decide if he loves her more for this unconventional, no-strings-attached morning after, or if he wants to grab her and cling to her until she agrees to never leave again.

"I'll call you when I'm on my way to pick you up this afternoon."

"Pick me up?"

"Marie's birthday party at your mother's house?"

"That's tonight? I completely forgot…" he trails off, scratching the back of his head.

"It's okay. I was thinking we can pick up some flowers on the way," she says and smiles at him again. He's able to keep eye contact with her this time, and he smiles back as for just a second they share a memory of the night before.

XXXXX

Hunter was six years old when Marie was born, and her birth had rocked his world. He had no use for the crying newborn and the frilly pink outfits that everyone else fawned over. It wasn't until two years later, bored in the canned soup aisle of the grocery store with his mother shopping and Marie fidgeting in the shopping cart, that he changed his mind. Gloria had wandered down the aisle a few feet away and little Rick had stood still long enough, so he grabbed the cart with both hands and raced down the aisle. He weaved his way through the other shoppers, a near-miss here and there, not unlike so many of his car chases as a cop. Marie squealed and laughed the whole way, her face lit up like it was Christmas morning, and when they stopped at the end of the aisle her little hands clapped as she bounced up and down crying, "Again! Again! Again!" That was the moment he decided this little human that had invaded his home and taken away his mother's attention was actually pretty fun.

Marie's daughter is now just a few years older than she was that day in the grocery store, but she has the same golden blond hair and affection for her uncle that Marie had for her older brother. She's sitting in his lap as they put together the puzzle he and McCall bought her when they got the bouquet of hydrangeas for Marie.

It's the first day of December, but you wouldn't know it from the weather. The warm sunny day has turned into a comfortably cool evening — perfect for an outdoor celebration in his mother's backyard. A wasp lands on a puzzle piece, the piece with the rainbow that Katie has been looking for to complete Cheer Bear. His niece had rolled her eyes when he handed her the puzzle, complaining, "Nobody plays with Care Bears anymore, Uncle Rick." But he hadn't been sitting at the picnic table two minutes when she climbed onto his knee with the puzzle box in one hand and the tattered and stained Lots-a-Love Bear, affectionately referred to as Lala by those in the know, in the other. She screams when she sees the bug and burrows into Hunter's chest.

He swats at the wasp and calmly reassures Katie, "I got it, baby girl. I'm not going to let a little bee get you."

"Whew, that was close," she says just as Marie is sliding into the opposite side of the table, and both Marie and Hunter stifle giggles as they catch each other's eyes.

"You just missed a near catastrophe. I almost had to call in a code black and yellow," Hunter informs Marie.

"Yeah, it would have been bad," Katie says, and the two adults laugh again, a little less concealed this time.

"You two seem very busy over here by yourselves," Marie says, setting a glass of orange juice in front of Hunter.

Yes, they have been sitting here alone for some time. The large backyard where he learned to throw a baseball and was once grounded for two whole weeks after digging up his mother's rose bushes looking for dinosaur fossils is full of aunts and cousins and old family friends who are all there to wish Marie a happy birthday, but not a one of them knows what to say to the withering man they hardly recognize. He doesn't blame them, though. Exactly what do you say to a man who will likely be in a casket the next time you see him? "I hear that the price of burial plots is skyrocketing in San Diego. Hope you bought early." Or maybe: "Hey, Bullock's has a sale on hats this weekend. Seems like something that would interest you." Or more likely: "Just curious here…has anyone claimed your Colt .32, yet? You know, the one your father left you."

"We don't mind," he says, "do we, Katie? We have very important business to attend to. I mean, they're here to see you anyway, right?"

"No, you are wrong there, brother. That older couple over there talking to Dee Dee? The short red-headed lady with the balding gentleman, not the couple that look like pugs."

Hunter scans the yard until he spots McCall near those dear rose bushes surrounded by a smattering of people as if she's giving a press conference. He laughs when, indeed, there is a man and woman standing next to McCall who both resemble pugs.

"I mean, really. How does that happen? Both of them could pass as actual dogs!" Marie continues, laughing with Hunter. "But that other couple I don't even know who they are. Never met them before."

"They used to live across the street. Their son died in the war. He and I were best friends all through grade school. I practically lived over at their house. She made homemade bread every day — I went over for the sandwiches. "

"Really? I don't remember any of that."

"You were pretty young."

"Exactly! These people aren't here to see me. They're here to see you."

"Then who are the pug people?"

"Oh, that's the couple that moved in next door a few years ago. They are really a nice couple and they have helped Mom with several things. I shouldn't be so mean. I just don't understand why nobody's over here talking to you when you're the reason they're here. They are all over there hounding Dee Dee instead."

"They're nosy, but they don't know what to say to me."

"Maybe so. Poor Dee Dee. She was so patient with Aunt Alma when she insisted that you two are married. She swears up and down that she attended your wedding at St. Vincent. You're lucky Dee Dee has such a good sense of humor."

He looks over at her again — making polite conversation with HIS acquaintances, being congenial with HIS family. Her expression is soft and pleasant, not the bright and animated face he's used to seeing, and he's sure she must be fielding questions about him and his health.

She sees him watching her and he doesn't even attempt to mask it. She winks at him and then turns her attention back to the pug-faced lady, saying something to her before giving her a friendly hug. He continues to watch her as she makes her way toward the picnic table, but his nephew intercepts her just as she's approaching him.

I'm so worried about losing you that I'm not actually seeing how much you're hurting. I'm sorry.

She had apologized to him last night, but tonight, seeing her standing here under the bright patio light looking uncharacteristically thin herself, he realizes perhaps it should have been him apologizing to her. Her hair is longer than he's ever seen it before, and again she's wearing it pulled back away from her face in a ponytail. There are crow's feet around her eyes when she smiles at the young boy, and a few strands of hair near her temple sparkle in the light. His cancer has taken a toll on her as well, far beyond her crumbled engagement and a few unsolved homicides.

She laughs and looks over at him, expecting to share in whatever funny his ten-year old nephew has just made, and he fakes a laugh.

This is something completely different she had said to him. Yes. Yes it was. It was slow. It was soft. It was encouraging words and relaxing caresses. It was emotional need, not sexual lust. It was a good-bye.

I love you. Don't forget that when I'm gone. That I. Loved. You. He told her late into the night and she cried. Pressed into his chest, his arms wrapped around her tight and his cheek against the top of her head, her tears had rolled down his chest.

"Rick? Earth to Rick. How is the new treatment going?" Marie asks, waving her hand in front of Hunter's face.

"Yeah," he responds, realizing she's talking to him. "Fine, uh, it's going. I mean, I won't know anything until my next scan in February."

"I was thinking about staying with you next weekend. We can spend some time together and give Dee Dee a break. I'm sure she's tired of your cranky butt."

He looks away from Marie to find that McCall has left again, pulled away by his mother to help set out the food.

"Uh, you don't need to do that. You have the kids to take care of."

She follows his gaze, and seeing McCall at the end of it, she pats has arm and smiles.

"I see."

Shifting his attention back to Marie, he snips, "You see what?"

She pats his arm again as she leaves the table to go help Gloria and McCall.

After the food and cake has been eaten, candles blown out and well wishes made, McCall continues to float around the garden like a social butterfly. The crowd has dwindled to just a few close relations, but Hunter still prefers to participate from the sidelines. He's not feeling well, hasn't really since they arrived, but the ill feeling is escalating. Deciding it's time to call defeat and go home, he makes his way over to McCall.

"Sorry to interrupt," he says to her and his two cousins, suddenly feeling dizzy. "I think I've had enough fun for one night."

McCall reaches out her hand to rub the side his arm, indicating to him that she understands his request, as she finishes relaying her story to the women. But once her hand makes contact she stops mid sentence.

"Hunter, you're burning up," she exclaims, placing her other hand to his forehead. "Something's wrong. We're going to the ER."

XXXXX

"Hey there, sleepyhead," McCall says softly.

It takes him a minute to remember where he is, the darkened hospital room slowly coming into focus. He rubs his hands over his face, relieved that it no longer feels hot. "You're back already?"

"I've been back for a while; you've been sleeping peacefully. How do you feel?"

"Good. I think." He gingerly lifts himself up, testing whether that's true or not. McCall places another pillow behind his back and guides his shoulders back down to the bed. "But cold. I'm freezing."

She was here early this morning, when he was grumpy and complaining, his fever finally gone but his body still aching and his head still spinning. He had been cold then, continuing to shake even after the nurse brought him another blanket. McCall said something about bringing him some warm clothes.

"As promised," she says as she reaches into a bag on the floor next to her. With two fingers, she pulls out a dark blue knit cap as if it were a dirty rag. "New York Giants for you, and…" Reaching back into the bag and coming up with another knit cap, "Rams for me. Why do you even have that ugly thing?" she points to the Giants hat with her chin as she fidgets with the one in her hand and pulls it over her head.

"Ten years ago or so, I was in New York City in April. I didn't expect it to be cold, but a crazy snowstorm came through and I didn't have any warm clothes. It was this or New York Rangers. I can't even pretend to like hockey," he says, taking a look at the hat he had only worn those few days in New York, before pulling it down over his freezing cold ears. "So what's with the Bobbsey twins act?"

"A show of solidarity. I'd cut my hair off and shave my head, but I think you prefer me with my hair."

"I think you are right." He is rewarded with a smile — that smile he loves so much yet sees so rarely these days. He reaches up and brushes her hair back into the hat so that all he can see is her face surrounded by the bright gold edge of the hat. "I don't know," this time nudging her hair off her shoulders and holding it behind her neck, "with a bald head you would make a great drag queen."

"A drag queen?"

"Yeah. Your fans would love you, and they would never suspect that you were really a woman."

He chuckles as she swats his hand away.

"Scoot over," she demands as she begins to lift the edge of the blankets. He does as asked and she lies down next to him hip to hip. Just a few months ago this would not have been possible, to lay side-by-side on a hospital bed. Even now, in his emaciated state, it is a tight fit. The length of her side is pressed up against his, with her cheek brushing against his shoulder, and he soaks in her warmth.

"Do you miss him?" he asks once she seems settled next to him.

"Do I miss whom?" she asks in response, although they both now who. He looks down at the top of her head, waiting for her to give up and answer. Yesterday was supposed to be her wedding day. Instead, she had spent the day sitting at his bedside as he was in and out of consciousness. He knew she was there, but he had been too sick to say anything. Every time he woke, there she was holding his hand, offering him water, stroking his cheek in comfort. Maybe she was just checking for a fever, but either way it was a comfort to him. She didn't need to be there, yesterday or today. There are plenty of nurses to care for him, and he's pretty sure his mother had been there yesterday as well.

McCall could have taken a break from taking care of him. She could have caught up on some sleep, or gotten a manicure, or spent the day doing anything other than sitting in a hospital with a dying man. Even today. He is better. The infection is under control and the fever is gone. Charlie visited him this morning on his way to mass. His mother would be showing up as soon as mass is over. But no, McCall would not be anywhere else on this day, the day that was supposed to be the happiest of her life.

She heaves a loud sigh before speaking, "No, not really. I never really did." He remains silent, waiting for her to continue. "At the time I felt like I was being pulled in two opposite directions between two separate lives. I couldn't seem to make them fit together. It was almost a relief when the relationship was over."

"But you loved him."

"I think I thought I loved him. If it were meant to be, things would have worked out differently. It wasn't meant to be. Now hand me the remote, the Rams' game started twenty minutes ago."

"I'm sorry."

She turns her head up, moving her body away from him, in order to see his face. Their eyes connect for a long moment. They both know he isn't really sorry. He had needed her, still needed her, and she answered the call without hesitation every single time. There was no way she could have ever made those two lives, those two separate relationships, work harmoniously and he is selfishly pleased she had chosen him. But he is sorry that it has caused her pain, and that it will continue to cause her pain for possibly years to come. She had followed her heart, knowing that it was the tragic choice.

Returning to her position against him and turning her attention to the still dark TV, she pats his arm without a word.

"Now, seriously, the remote. I want to see how that Aikman kid from UCLA does against our Rams today."

"We are going to pound his ass into the grass," he snarls, and she giggles as she takes the remote from his hand.

...to be continued...