“Sometimes I bring a cot to the office. Better to sleep than commute.”
“Good for you.” Cory lay back on his elevated bed, obviously fatigued by his efforts.
Jack glanced around the room while Cory got comfortable, adjusting the IV needle taped to the back of his bruised and sallow hand. A large crucifix hung on the wall opposite the foot of his bed. Next to it was a framed wedding photo of his parents. Cory was an only child.
Standing next to the bottles of pain meds was a framed novena—“Our Lady of Good Remedy.” A rolling IV stand with a bag stood on the far side of the bed.
“So, I like what you’ve done with the place,” Jack said.
“My designer calls it Medical Modern. Sort of like Mad Men, but with drugs instead of booze.”
“I need to call her.”
“Just wait a few more weeks. I know a place where you will be able to get all of this stuff dirt cheap.” Cory winked.
Jack chuckled. He never knew anybody funnier than Cory. Or scarier, when he threw a punch. Fists like cinder blocks tied to tree trunks. Two bikers in a Jackson Hole bar discovered that side of Cory the hard way.
Jack suddenly felt very self-conscious, his full beard and head of hair in stark contrast to Cory’s naked scalp. Chemo took that thick mane of curly blond hair, no doubt, but not the fire in those dark brown eyes.
Cory reached for a plastic cup full of ice water, but it was too far away. Jack snatched it up and brought it close.
“Thanks.” Cory sipped cool water through the straw.
Jack’s eyes drifted back to the prayer card. “Dear Lady of Good Remedy, source of unfailing help, thy compassionate heart knows a remedy for every affliction . . .”
“You go to church much, Jack?”
“Me? Not enough. You?”
“Kinda hard to wheel this bed down the aisle these days. But I do have my own nun, don’t I?”
Jack glanced back at the large crucifix. He thought about the coeds that used to draw to Cory like flies to honey, and the beer kegs he’d polished off, almost single-handedly. “I guess you got some religion lately.”
“No, I got some cancer lately. My faith renewed is the payoff.”
“That’s great,” Jack said.
Cory heard the cynicism in Jack’s voice. “Yeah, I know. Foxhole prayers and all of that. But I’m serious. There’s something about facing your mortality that brings eternal things into focus.”
“Sure, I suppose it would.” Jack didn’t mention he’d stared death in the face a few times lately. Quite a few times. He had a hard time finding faith in the dark abyss of a pistol barrel shoved in his face.
“Don’t be like me and wait until something like this wakes you up.”
“Now you sound like my sister.”
“I liked your sister. She doing okay?”
“A doctor now, just like Mom. Same hospital, even. Married a great guy.”
“Good for her. Your folks okay? I don’t watch the news much these days.”
“They’re doing well. Thanks for asking.”
Cory coughed violently. Thick gobs of phlegm rattled in his throat. He lurched forward, gasping for breath, his pale face reddening with the effort.
Jack reached for a clean spit tray on the table and held it up to Cory’s lips with one hand while supporting his bony back with the other. Cory coughed and spat until a spoonful of yellow gel finally dropped into the pink plastic tray.
The nurse burst into the room.
“Cory?” She rushed over to the bed as Jack gently lowered him. She took the spit tray from Jack’s hand and set it down.
“Thank you, Jack. Perhaps you can wait outside for a minute,” she said as she wiped Cory’s mouth with a tissue.
“Sure, no problem.”
Cory shook his head and waved a frail hand. “No, wait, Jack, I’m fine.”
“You sure? I’ve got plenty of time.”
Cory took another sip of water with the nun’s help. It surprised Jack how much effort it took him. He finished and sighed with exhaustion.
“I’ll be right outside,” the nun said. “But call me before you need me, okay?”
Cory smiled. “Okay.”
She left, closing the door gently behind her.
“So, Jack. Remember those fourteeners we climbed in Colorado?”
“Sure do. I was thinking about that when I pulled up.”
“Good times, man. Can’t tell you how often I thought about those days when I was counting pallets of drywall and roofing nails. Got me through some dark patches.”
Guilt fell all over Jack like a bucket of warm motor oil.