“Lena, you’re going to suffer. Horribly!” His words explode into the quiet interior of the car, reverberating off the windows and booming through me. His distress, his disbelief, his devastation is palpable, a low hum in the air that makes the hair on my arms stand at attention.
“I was going to suffer anyway, Nate,” I remind him softly. I have to fight his fire with a calm, cool, rational breeze.
“You wouldn’t take treatment because you didn’t want me to have to go through that and you die anyway. But you’re okay with this? With me watching you go through pure hell for me? To give this baby to me?”
“Yes, Nate. I’d do anything for you. Anything for this baby. Anything for this family. I love you. You’re all I have. You’re all I’ll ever have, because my ‘ever’ is almost up. But when it is, and my time has come, you won’t be alone. You’ll have a child, a piece of us, to love and to hold. To me, that’s worth whatever sacrifices I have to make. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Nothing.”
“Lena, Jesus! How am I… How can I live with that? How can I live with myself, knowing that you did this for me?”
“You live happy. You live whole. You live for our child. And you live like someone who is loved. Beyond all doubt or reason or limit. Because that’s how I love you.”
He moans miserably, leaning his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes. “And until then? What am I supposed to do until then? Every day. Every godda—” He stops abruptly, clenching his teeth in impotent anger.
“You’re supposed to love me. Like I love you. You’re supposed to love me until I’m gone, and then you’re supposed to love our baby until you’re gone.”
I see the deep rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and then lets out his breath. Seconds drip into minutes. The minutes slip into five. Then ten. Then fifteen.
I know my husband. I know this is hard for him. So very hard for him. And he won’t come to a decision lightly. Or quickly. So when he finally lowers his head, so slowly that it seems he’s having difficulty moving, I know he’s made up his mind. But the grief in the green eyes that he brings to meet mine show me that he isn’t quite there yet. And that he might not ever be.
Not completely.
So I reiterate, my hand reaching for his, like my heart is reaching for his across the space between us.
“Love me, Nate. All I need is for you to love me. That’s all I’ve ever needed. That hasn’t changed. That’s the only thing you’re supposed to do.”
The seconds, they tick by endlessly. I begin to wonder if I’m asking too much, if I’ve finally reached the place where Nate can go no farther.
But I haven’t. I know it the instant I see Nate’s jaw firm with determination. I know it the instant I see the fighter fight back, fight through.
His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, my husband nods.
“If that’s what you need of me, then you have it.” His voice is solid. Resolute. “I’ll love you. Every minute of every day of forever, I’ll love you. I’ll love you like I’m not afraid of losing you. And then I’ll love our baby just as much. But know this, Lena Grant: There will never be another you. I’ll die missing you, missing a piece of me. Nothing you can and nothing you could give me will change that.”
A single tear slips from the corner of his eye and snakes its way down his clean-shaven cheek. It’s the only actual tear I’ve ever seen him shed. It’s the only outward indication of how much pain he’s in. He can’t stop it, can’t control his anguish enough to prevent me from seeing this telltale sign of it.
And it breaks me.
“I wish things could be different,” I murmur brokenly, reaching out to trap the droplet on the tip of my finger and bringing it to my lips. I kiss my fingertip, tasting the salt of his misery, taking it into my body, cherishing even these agonizing moments with the man I love more than my own flesh.
“I do, too, baby. I do, too.”
We sit in the car, in the parking lot and stare into each other’s eyes for what seems like hours before Nate turns away to start the engine.
I can’t describe what passed between us in those poignant minutes; I can only say that we shared something profound, something that transcends words.
Something that will, hopefully, transcend death.
Fourteen
Letter to a Friend
Lena
I knew I’d have to tell Nissa about my illness when we got back from Europe. I knew I wouldn’t be able to put it off any longer. She’s my best friend as well as my neighbor. Even if I’d wanted to hide my condition from her, which I didn’t really intend to do, I couldn’t. She would eventually begin to notice the changes. That didn’t keep me from dreading the conversation for the last three months, though.