began vomiting, and eventually there was only retching. It was all too familiar now. It was what she had become, a broken machine that could only spew bile. There was nothing left of her. And when it was over, she lay on the floor and cried until finally, she went back to bed, just as she was, and lay curled under the covers. She ate nothing all day, and Sam and Annabelle never called. They were too busy having fun at Disney World. They had moved on, toward life, in a world of sunshine, while she lay alone in the dark shadows of her own winter. She lay crying in the dark, until the emptiness in her stomach made her sick again, and she went back to the bathroom. It was an endless day of vomiting and tears, and always the bald ghost she saw in the mirror. She didn't even bother to turn the lights on, but still she saw her.
And then the phone rang again late that afternoon, but she still didn't bother to answer. She was too sick, too tired, too crazy, too willing to die, even to reach out to anyone who would call her. Annabelle didn't need her now. She had Sam. No one needed her. She was nothing. No one. Not even a woman.
The phone rang incessantly, as she lay in her bed, in tears wishing it would stop ringing, but it just wouldn't. She reached out finally, and picked it up, without speaking.
“Hello?”
She knew the voice, but she wasn't thinking clearly.
“Hello, Alex?” the voice repeated.
“Yes.” Her voice sounded vague and disjointed. “Who is this?”
“It's Brock Stevens.” It didn't sound like her, and he wondered if she had gotten a lot sicker, or gone back for additional treatment.
“Hi, Brock.” Her voice sounded dead, and he was worried. “Where are you?” She sounded as though she didn't care, but she knew she had to say something.
“I'm in Connecticut, with friends. I wanted to ask you about Vermont again. I'm going up tomorrow.” She smiled. He was sweet. But he was also very stupid. She was dying. Why did he need a dying friend? It was a waste of time to help her.
“I can't make it. I have work to do.”
“No one's going to work this week, and we caught up on everything.”
“Okay,” she smiled weakly, overpowered by nausea again. Not eating earlier had made her sicker and she knew it. “I'm a liar. But I can't go anyway.”
“Is your little girl there?” he asked, unwilling to let her off the hook without a fight. He wanted her to go with him. He thought it would do her good, and Liz had agreed with him when he asked her. Alex needed to get away, and the fresh air would be healthy for her as long as she didn't overdo it.
“Annabelle's in Florida,” she answered his question. “And Sam's probably with his girlfriend,” she threw in for good measure. She was a little giddy from lack of food and water.
“Did he tell you that?” He sounded annoyed when he asked her. He thought her husband was a complete jerk, and he didn't deserve her. But even as a friend, he felt he couldn't say that.
“I saw them together, the day before Christmas Eve. She's very young, and very pretty.” She sounded almost drunk, and Brock got suddenly even more worried about her. “And I'm sure she has two of everything. Sam hates anything that isn't perfect.”
“Alex, are you okay?” he asked, glancing at his watch, and wondering how long it would take him to get into the city to see her. Or he could call Liz, and she could go over. He was contemplating doing one or the other. He didn't like the way she sounded, especially since she was alone. There was always the possibility that in light of her present state of mind, she might do something crazy.
“I'm fine,” she said, lying very still with her eyes closed, so she wouldn't vomit. “The rest of my hair fell out today. It looks a lot neater.”
“Why don't you just rest for a while. I'll give you a call in about an hour. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said sleepily. She hung up and forgot about him. She wanted to forget everything. Maybe if she just starved herself for six days until Annabelle came home, she'd be dead when they found her. It was a lot easier than dying by chemo. She drifted off to sleep, and a little while