“I know it wasn’t, Tim.”
A silence passed. I sipped my drink. Announcements were being made; people were hurrying to their trains, riding into the winter dark.
“We were a couple of good soldiers, you and I,” Liz said. She gave a brittle smile. “Loyal to a fault.”
“So he never figured out that part.”
“Are we talking about the same Jonas here? He couldn’t even imagine such a thing.”
“How has it been with him? I don’t just mean now.”
“I can’t complain.”
“But you’d like to.”
She shrugged. “Sometimes. Everyone does. He loves me, he thinks he’s helping. What else could a girl ask for?”
“Somebody who understood you.”
“That’s a tall order. I don’t think I even understand myself.”
I felt suddenly angry. “You’re not some high school science project, damnit. He just wants to feel noble. He should be here with you, not trooping around, where was it? South America?”
“It’s the only way he has of dealing with this.”
“It’s not fair.”
“What’s fair? I have cancer. That isn’t fair.”
I understood, then, what she was saying to me. She was afraid, and Jonas had left her alone. Maybe she wanted me to bring him home; maybe what she really needed was for me to tell him how he’d failed her. Maybe it was both. What I knew was that I’d do absolutely anything she asked.
I became aware that neither of us had spoken for a while. I looked at Liz; something was wrong. She’d begun to perspire, though the room was quite cold. She took a shuddering breath and reached weakly for her glass of water.
“Liz, are you all right?”
She sipped. Her hand was shaking. She returned the glass to the table, nearly spilling it, dropped her elbow, and braced her forehead against her palm.
“I don’t think I am, actually. I think I’m going to faint.”
I rose quickly from my chair. “We need to get you to a hospital. I’ll get a cab.”
She shook her head emphatically. “No more hospitals.”
Where then? “Can you walk?”
“I’m not sure.”
I threw some cash onto the table and helped her to her feet. She was on the verge of collapse, giving me nearly all of her weight.
“You’re always carrying me, aren’t you?” she murmured.
I got her into a cab and gave the driver my address. The snow was falling heavily now. Liz leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
“The lady okay?” the driver asked. He was wearing a turban and had a heavy black beard. I knew he meant, Is she drunk? “The lady looks sick. No puking in my cab.”
I handed him a hundred-dollar bill. “Does this help?”
The traffic was like glue. It took us nearly thirty minutes to get downtown. New York was softening under the snow. A white Christmas: how happy everyone was going to be. My apartment was on the second floor; I would have to carry her. I waited for a neighbor to come through the door and asked him to hold it open, guided Liz out of the cab, and lifted her into my arms.
“Wow,” my neighbor said. “She doesn’t look too good.”
He followed us to my apartment door, took the key from my pocket, and opened that as well. “Do you want me to call 911?” he asked.
“It’s okay, I’ve got this. She had a little too much to drink is all.”
He winked despicably. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
I got her out of her coat and carried her into the bedroom. As I lay her on my bed, she opened her eyes and turned her face toward the window.
“It’s snowing,” she said, as if this were the most amazing thing in the world.
She closed them again. I removed her glasses and shoes, draped a blanket over her, and doused the lights. There was an overstuffed chair close to the window where I liked to read. I sat down and waited in the dark to see what would happen next.
Sometime later, I awoke. I looked at my watch: it was nearly two A.M. I went to Liz and placed my palm to her forehead. She felt cool, and I believed that the worst had passed.
Her eyes opened. She looked around cautiously, as if she wasn’t quite sure where she was.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
She didn’t answer right away. Her voice was very soft. “Better, I think. Sorry to scare you.”
“That’s perfectly all right.”
“It happens sometimes like that, but it goes away. Until sometime when it doesn’t, I guess.”
I had nothing to say to that. “Let me get you some water.”
I filled a glass in the bathroom and brought it to her. She lifted her head off the pillow and sipped. “I was having the strangest dream,” she said. “The chemo is what does it. The stuff’s like LSD. I thought that was over, though.”
A thought occurred to me. “I have a present for you.”
“You do?”
“Wait here.”
I kept her glasses in my desk. I returned to the bedroom and placed them in her hand. She studied them for a long moment.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to giving these back.”