“I think you're paranoid, and I'm not going to discuss it with you.”
“I see. What do we do now? Just say good morning and good evening in the halls? Do we eat dinner with each other anymore?
“If it works out with our schedules. I don't see why things have to change that much from the way they are now, at least as far as Annabelle is concerned. But I'll move into the guest room.”
“How will you explain that to her?” Alex asked with interest. He seemed to have it all figured out, and she wondered if he'd already planned it, and she'd walked right into it for him. She didn't trust him anymore either, any more than she did his new partner, Simon. She had drawn up the partnership papers for him, and she just didn't like Simon, or any of the things he'd asked for.
“With you so sick,” Sam said sarcastically, as though she were faking it, “I'm sure she'll understand that I don't want to disturb you.”
“That's big of you,” Alex said coolly, concealing all the hurt and disappointment she felt, “this is certainly going to be interesting.”
“I think it's the only solution for right now. It's a good compromise.”
“Between what and what? Walking out on me because I lost a breast, and just ditching me because you're tired of me? What compromise are we making? What effort have you made since all of this happened?” She was angry at him, and hurt, and devastated by everything that had happened. He was right. It was like being hit by lightning, and she knew now that they would be scarred forever.
“I'm sorry you see it that way. But at least we're trying, for Annabelle's sake.”
“We're not trying,” she corrected him, “we're faking it. We're covering up for her. Who do you think you're kidding, Sam? This marriage is over.”
“I'm not ready to divorce you,” he announced patronizingly, and once again she wanted to get up off the bed and hit him.
“That's big of you. Why not? Do you think it would look bad? Poor Alex gets her boob lopped off and you can't just walk out and divorce her? It looks a lot better to wait a few months. Actually, technically, you could wait the full six months of the chemo, and then everyone would think you'd stuck by me. Christ, Sam, you stink. You're the biggest fraud in town, and I don't give a damn who you hide it from. I know it. And you know it. And that's enough. Go do whatever the hell you want. We're finished.”
“How can you be so sure? I wish I were,” he said honestly. He wanted to be free, but another part of him wasn't ready to leave her. He wanted all his options open with no responsibilities. He wanted it all. Daphne, and the possibility of coming back to Alex, maybe a year later. He didn't want to give up Alex forever.
“You've convinced me,” she said, in answer to his question. “You've been a complete shit to me ever since my mastectomy. The only excuse I've been able to make for you is that you couldn't handle it, but you know what? That's getting old, Sam. I'm getting tired of making excuses. He's tired …he's freaked out …this is hard for him …this reminds him of his mother … he doesn't get it …it's too threatening for him…. You're a miserable excuse for a human being.” There were tears in her eyes as she said it, and tears in his while he listened.
“I'm sorry, Alex.” He turned away from her then, and she started to cry softly. What a rotten time they had had ever since they'd discovered the shadow on the mammogram. It wasn't fair, but it still had to be dealt with. “I'm sorry,” he said again, this time looking at her, but he made no move to approach her, or console her, he just couldn't.
He walked out of the room, and she heard him in the study then, and half an hour later, she heard the front door close. He never said another word to her, he went out and walked for hours, to the river, and then slowly south, until he finally found himself on Fifty-third Street. He knew what he wanted, and he wondered if he had destroyed his marriage just so he could have it. But it was too late to think about that now. He had done what he had to, or what