Vicky nodded. She sat back in her chair. Her square chin firmed with determination, and her eyes flashed with zeal. “And what’s more, I’m going to let everyone else know what’s going on. I’ll put the call out on the web page as soon as possible. I’m sure that will get a few other people to volunteer to be tested, too. We’ll put out a new appeal for donations, as well.”
Cathy nodded, even as she felt herself tensing as Vicky enthusiastically began to toss out ideas. She was grateful for Vicky’s partisanship, truly she was. But the old familiar crushing weight of an anxiety attack was bearing down on her lungs. She should have known that Vicky would bring up the website and all of the rest of it. Just once, just once, she wished that she could confide in her best friend and not have it turn into a major mandate for action. Vicky’s efforts to get the word out were effective, particularly at work. She would have to show a big brave front while people asked questions and expressed renewed sympathy.
She forced herself to deepen the sudden shallowness of her breathing, to will away the pain in her chest and the guilt in her heart. Yet her thoughts barreled on. She was aware—of course she was!—of how essential it was that word of Chloe’s most pressing need be gotten out. She could only be grateful that Vicky was willing to put in the considerable personal time it took to spearhead publicity. Cathy recognized that she could not have done half as much.
At the same time, there would be more pity, more furtive glances thrown her way. As though she was a freak in a sideshow. Or the star of a stupid reality show! And she would have to be calm and brave and strong and all those things that she knew she wasn’t really. She could never let anyone see that she was always just a hairsbreadth away from screaming and screaming.
If only Rick had agreed, it might have been avoided. Just this once.
Just once she maybe could have drawn breath like a normal person and not felt like a malevolent boa constrictor had her in its coils, slowly squeezing—squeezing—
“Cathy, are you all right?”
She started. “What?” Cathy realized that her companion was staring at her, a strange expression on her face. Vicky glanced down at the table and then back up. Cathy quickly glanced down and saw that she had shredded her paper napkin into tiny itsy bits of fluff. “What a dork.” She managed to smile. “I guess I’m just a little stressed. Can’t imagine why!”
“What you need is a massage, some ‘me’ time,” said Vicky forcefully. She didn’t try to hide the sympathy and compassion in her expression.
Almost on cue, Cathy heard her—no, Winter’s—phone ring. A warm tingling buzzed along her nerve endings. She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, Vicky. I’d like to take this.” She got up from the table and moved a few steps away for privacy before she answered. “Yes?” She listened for a moment. “All right.”
When she returned to the table, in answer to her girlfriend’s anxious question, she said calmly, “Not to worry. It wasn’t the hospital. Just something having to do with work.” Cathy drew in a long, careful breath. “You’re absolutely right, Vicky. Would you mind letting Paul know that I’m taking a few hours of personal time? A good deep massage is just what I could use right now.”
It was the first time they had come together in the middle of the day. She was expecting a “quickie”, but Michael surprised her. He took his time undressing her and easing her down onto his bed. When he had undressed, put on a condom, and joined her, he drew her toward him so that they were lying on their sides, facing one another. He slid an arm under her neck and wrapped it around her back so that his hand cupped her shoulder. His other hand clasped her buttocks and brought her closer. She could feel his sheathed erection pressed against her belly. He kissed her slowly, openmouthed.