“And do what? Go to a support group?” The doctor had told her about those too, and she refused even to consider it. She wasn't going to sit around with a lot of other misfits.

“Why don't you just relax?” he said as Alex bristled, and the nurse suddenly appeared and offered Alex a shot for the pain, and some sleeping medicine. The doctor had left orders for both, and Sam told Alex he thought she should take it.

“Why?” She glared at him. “So I stop yelling at you?” She looked like a kid to him and he bent down and kissed her on the forehead.

“Yeah. So you'll shut up for a while, and get some sleep, before you drive yourself crazy.” Everything she had feared had happened to her, in a single morning. And now she had to learn to live with it.

She had a rough road ahead of her, and she knew it. She understood perfectly what lay ahead. Unlike Sam, who still wanted to deny it. “I love you, Alex,” he said gently after the nurse gave her the shot, but Alex didn't answer. She wasn't sleepy yet, but she was too miserable to tell him she loved him. And then, a few minutes later, she started to doze off. She didn't speak to him again, she just fell asleep, holding his hand, and he stood there and cried as he watched her. She looked so tired and so sad, and so broken, all covered in bandages, her beautiful hair like flame, and her body so badly injured.

He tiptoed quietly from the room once she was asleep, and signaled to the nurse that he was leaving. And as he rode down the elevator, he thought of what Alex had said to him. That he could walk away from this, and go home. It wasn't happening to him, just to her. And as he walked slowly home, he couldn't deny it. He was still whole, he wasn't in danger. He had nothing to fear, except losing her, which was so intensely frightening, he couldn't face it. He looked at himself in a store window on the way home, and saw the same man he had always been. Nothing had changed, except that he knew he had lost part of himself that afternoon, the part that was irretrievably bound to Alex. She was leaving him, bit by bit, just as his parents had left him, and he wasn't going to let her take him down with her. She had no right to do that to him, to expect him to die with her. And as he thought of it, he walked home as briskly as he could, as though there were muggers running after him, or demons.





Chapter 7

When Alex woke up the next day, there was a woman sitting in the chair, waiting for her, and the nurse was changing her intravenous. There was relatively little pain, just as Dr. Herman had said, but there was a weight on her heart the size of Hoover Dam as she remembered what had happened.

The woman smiled at her, she was wearing a flowered dress and she had gray hair, and Alex had no idea who she was as she watched her.

“Hi, I'm Alice Ayres. I thought I'd come to see how you're doing.” She had a warm smile and lively blue eyes and she looked old enough to be Alex's mother. Alex tried to sit up, but that was hard, and instead the nurse raised her bed, so she could talk to the woman who'd come to see her.

“Are you a nurse?”

“No, just a friend. I'm a volunteer. I know just what you're going through, Mrs. Parker. Or may I call you Alexandra?”

“Alex.” She stared at her, unable to comprehend what the woman was doing there. Alex's breakfast arrived then, but she told the nurse she didn't want it. It was all soft diet after surgery but all she wanted was a cup of coffee.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you,” Mrs. Ayres said to her as Alex waved her breakfast tray away. “You need your strength and plenty of nutrition.” She was a little like the Fairy Godmother in “Cinderella.” “How about some oatmeal?”

“I hate hot cereal,” Alex said, sounding belligerent, and staring at the older woman. “Who are you and why are you here?” It was all very surrealistic.

“I'm here because I've had the same operation that you did. I know what it's like, and how you feel, probably better than most people do, maybe even your husband. I know how angry you are and how scared you are, and how shocked, and how you feel about the way you'll look. I've had reconstructive surgery,” she explained, handing Alex her cup of coffee. “I'd be happy to show it to you, if you like. It looks pretty good, in fact, it's very good. I don't think most people would know I'd had a breast removed. Would you like to see it?” Alex thought that sounded disgusting.

“I'd rather not, thanks.” Dr. Herman had already explained that she could have an implant put in, and her remaining nipple either “shared” with the other breast, or an artificial one tattooed on the implant. The whole thing sounded horrible, and not worth the trouble. She was wrecked anyway. Why not just leave it? “Why did you come and see me? Who asked you to?”

“Your surgeon put you on the list for visits from our support group. Eventually, you might want to join us for a group, or talk to some of the women about their experiences. It can be very helpful.”

“I don't think so.” Alex glared at her, wishing she would leave, but not wanting to say it. “Pd rather not discuss this with strangers.”

“I understand.” Alice Ayres stood up, smiling gently. “It's not an easy time. And I'm sure you're worried about chemo. We can answer some of those questions too, but so can your doctor. We have a men's group too, if your husband is interested.” She put a little booklet next to Alex's bed, and Alex ignored it.

“I don't think my husband is interested either.” Sam go to a group of husbands of women who lost their breasts to cancer? Not likely. “Thanks anyway.”

“You take care, Alex. I'll be thinking about you,” she said gently, as she touched a foot under the covers, and then left the room. She reported to the nurses that it had been a classic first visit. Alexandra Parker was angry and depressed, completely to be expected. They planned to visit her again on a regular basis, and Alice Ayres made a note to the parent group to send out someone younger. She thought a woman Alex's own age might be more helpful to her. Their youngest group member was twenty-five and she visited most of the younger women. But there were plenty of women Alex's age to draw from.

“What was that all about?” Alex barked at the nurse who had just come on duty for her.

“I think it's fairly routine. They're good people, and they help a lot of women,” her nurse explained as Alex predictably dropped their brochure in the garbage. “Now how would you like a little sponge bath?” Alex glared at her in answer, but she had no choice but to live within the hospital routine. They “bathed” her and she brushed her teeth. She stared out the window from her bed, and then lunch came. More soft, bland food. She didn't touch any of it, and just after that, her surgeon came, and looked at the dressing and the drain. Alex was afraid to look at herself yet, and she looked up at the ceiling, wanting to scream while he changed it. And as soon as he left, Sam called. He was at the office, and planning to come by later that afternoon, he had thought it would do her good to rest and get some sleep. Annabelle was fine, and he said he couldn't wait to see her, and Alex didn't believe him. If he was so anxious to see her why hadn't he come by that morning, or at lunch? He explained that he was going to the Four Seasons with one of his oldest clients. He wanted to introduce Simon and his assistant to some of his clients too. But he was going to drop by and see her on his way home, he promised.

She wanted to hang up on him, but she didn't. She called Annabelle instead, and they had a nice chat about school, and her “trip,” and Alex promised her she'd be home by the weekend. And after that she had a shot for the pain, but she had to admit there wasn't much. But it was easier to drift in and out of sleep and drugs than to contemplate her future, and the absence of her husband. And when she woke up, she called her office. Matt Billings was out, as was Brock, but Elizabeth Hascomb told her that everything was in good control. There had been no emergencies since she'd been gone, and they all missed her.

“Are you all right?” she asked, sounding concerned, but Alex's voice was strong and she sounded a lot better than she had even that morning.

“I'm fine. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

“We'll be waiting.”

That afternoon, Dr. Herman told her that she could eat regular meals now and leave as early as the next day, or she could wait until she felt a little stronger. But the incision was healing nicely.

“I'd rather stay,” she said quietly, and surprised him. He had figured her for someone who'd want to rush out in two days. It would have been possible for her, but he always recommended staying just a little bit longer.

“I thought you'd be anxious to leave us.” He smiled, not unaware of the trauma she had gone through.

“I have a three-year-old at home. I'd rather be in better shape when I go back to her, so I don't have so much to explain.”

“I'd say you'll be in pretty good shape by the weekend, and the drain can come out by then, which will leave only the dressing. You've had major surgery, so you'll be tired, but I don't think you'll be in pain. We can handle that with some medication if it's a problem. All you have to do after that is get your strength back. And then in three or four weeks, depending on the rest of your tests, we'll begin treatment.” “Treatment.” Such a benign word for chemotherapy. Just thinking about it made her heart ache.

“What about work?”

“I'd say give it another week. Until the dressings are off, and you're stronger. And then, of course, once you start chemotherapy, you'll have to see how well you're able to cope with work, but if we adjust the doses correctly, you should be able to handle a moderate workload.” When was the last time her workload had been moderate? Maybe the day she'd had Annabelle, and never before or since then. But at least he wasn't saying she couldn't work. He was saying she'd have to try it. That was something.