“Why?”
“Because it’s a fucking awful procedure and it lays me up for forty-eight hours. I have too much work to do at the shop to lose that kind of time. Secondly, I don’t need a biopsy to know. The symptoms will kick in.”
“What symptoms?” I asked.
“Fatigue and shortness of breath, mostly.” Jonah toyed with the medic alert bracelet. “I have those now, a little. I can’t run anymore, or hit the gym like I used to. But when I start to get tired doing little things, or find it hard to catch my breath for no reason, I’ll know. I don’t need to count down the days in the meantime.”
A sliver of hope, a tiny flame in gale-force wind, came to life in my heart. “So… you don’t actually know. You have no idea how bad—or not bad—the cardio…the CAV thing is. Maybe it’s stopped. Maybe the drugs you take are working.”
“Don’t…” he said.
I barreled on. “You’re like Schr?dinger’s cat. So long as you never get another biopsy, the lid on the box is closed. You could live a long time. Years, even. Happily in the dark.”
He smiled a little. “Ignorance is bliss, right? But I don’t have false hope, and I don’t want you to either. I’m not in denial, but I’m not inviting in the cold hard light of day to torture myself. Can you see the difference?”
I nodded, and he took my hand then. His fingers curled around mine and held on tight. His hand…Strong and solid. A burn scar on the pad of his thumb, a few nicks…but otherwise healthy. He has to be healthy…
“I’ve tried to convince myself the doctors are wrong,” Jonah said. “But you can’t talk yourself out of the truth. I’m not without hope, but I’m realistic. They might be wrong. They probably aren’t. That’s my bottom line.”
“But what if they are wrong? What if—?”
He shook his head. “All I can do is live day to day… I take extra medications to try to slow the CAV down. I made my strict diet even stricter and I sleep in a recliner instead of a bed. Anything and everything to squeeze out a little more time to do my work and see that gallery opening.”
I fought for another argument but I had nothing left. I exhaled roughly. “Can the record just show I got through this conversation without a drink or a cigarette?”
He busted out laughing and our eyes met, a moment, a heartbeat, and then we were in each other’s arms, holding on tight.
“Jonah…” I whispered against his neck.
“I know.”
“I don’t…I can’t…”
He rocked me gently. “I know.”
We stayed there a long time, until Jonah gave me a final squeeze and held me by the shoulders. “Let’s get back. It’s late. We’ll get some sleep and in the morning…”
“Jimmy comes to take me to the airport,” I said. “What do I do then?”
“You go with him. Talk to Lola. Decide to either stay with the band or work out how to quit if that’s what you need to do. You’ll find a way.”
“And what about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.”
I looked up at him sharply. “A little late for that, pal.”
His smile was gentle and quiet, and his voice quavered as he spoke. “You’ll either keep in touch with me or you won’t. If you do, I’ll be here for you. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. I promise you I’ll understand. Okay?”
I didn’t say okay. Not one bit of this was okay. My mind hadn’t wrapped around everything yet; I had more tears to cry but now my eyes felt drained and numb. We walked out of the Bellagio hand in hand, out from under the glass flowers; a garden that would never wilt or die.
We went back to his place. Without discussion, I piled the pillows high on the bed so he could lay inclined, then I curled up next to him.
I understood why he didn’t tell everyone his situation. Pain like this went beyond the realm of private or personal. It lived down deep, beneath everything superficial, and drew everyone who knew it down deep with it. It closed distances.
We lay curled up in each other, and I laid my head against his chest.
“Does this hurt?” I whispered.
The rumble of his voice in my ear was drowsy. “No. I’m all right.”
“Does anything hurt right now?”
“No, Kacey.” Jonah stroked my hair, held me tighter. “Right now, nothing hurts.”
He rose and fell with easy breathing. Beneath my ear, his heart beat strong and steady.
A flicker of hope in me flared, determined to burn all night long.
I looked out the window to see a black sedan roll into the parking lot of Jonah’s complex. Jimmy Ray got out, leaned against the fender and lit a cigarette.
I turned to face Jonah at the kitchen counter. “He’s here,” I said.