Not all husbands are like Liz's.” But she had admitted they had had their rough spots too.
“I don't think you fuck up your marriage because your wife loses a breast, or her hair, or a shoe for chrissake. How can you accept that?” Brock was outraged.
But Alex looked over at him with a wise smile. She was ten years older than he was. “I don't have a choice at the moment. The guy's not buying, Brock. It's as simple as that. The store's closed. He's taken his business elsewhere.”
“And that's it? You give up?” He was shocked at her lack of spirit.
“What do you suggest I do? Shoot her?”
“Shoot him,” he said matter-of-factly. “He deserves it.”
“You're a romantic,” she accused him.
“So are you,” he accused her right back.
“So what? It won't pay my rent, or keep my husband. The guy hates deformities. He hates disease. He can't even look at me. He saw me once after the surgery and almost fainted. I make him sick. This is not a great foundation for a happy marriage.”
“Face it. The guy's a coward.”
“Maybe so. But he has great taste in women. She's an awfully pretty girl, Brock. Actually, she's the right age for you. Maybe you should go sweep her off her feet, and provide some stiff competition. He didn't tell her that he'd rather have swept her off her feet. It didn't seem the right moment. And she was so at ease with him, he didn't want to spoil that.
They spent New Year's Eve at the house, watching TV, and eating popcorn, talking about their life's dreams, their careers, what they hoped to find in the years to come. She wished him a wife who would take care of him, and he wished her health and happiness in whatever form she wished it. And at midnight, they sang “Auld Lang Syne” in perfect unison. And then she went up to bed, and thought about their friendship, and the precious rarity of good friends.
They were both sad to leave the next day, but she looked infinitely better than she had when they arrived. Something had changed subtly about her. There was more energy, more fight than there had been for a long time. She was suddenly determined to survive her cancer.
She was quiet on the drive home, thinking of seeing Sam again, even if only for one night. She knew he was leaving for Europe the next day, and she assumed she knew why. To meet his little friend there. Brock asked her from time to time if she was all right, and she said she was, but she was very pensive. He held hands with her for a while, driving on the freeway, to comfort her. He was her friend, and her colleague. They were pals.
They got home late in the afternoon, and he looked genuinely sad when he dropped her off at her apartment. She sat in the car for a minute, looking at him, and she didn't know how to even begin to thank him.
“You gave me my life back, you know. I had a great time.”
“So did I.” And then he touched her cheek gently with his fingers. “Don't let anyone make you feel like less than you. You're the greatest woman I know.” He had tears in his eyes when he said it, and she was touched by him again. He had a way of getting to her heart with very little effort.
“I love you, you know. And you're very silly. The great one around here is you. You're going to make some lucky girl a terrific husband.”
“I'm waiting for Annabelle,” he said with a grin she loved. The one that made him look fourteen again.
“She's a lucky girl. Thanks again, Brock.” She kissed him on the cheek and the doorman took her bag.
And when Sam and Annabelle came home that night, they found Alex looking infinitely better.
Annabelle was full of tales of Disney World. She was yawning and laughing and half asleep all at the same time. And she barely made it to her pillow, as she kissed Alex.
“It sounds like she had a great time,” Alex said, smiling at Sam. He could see something different about her too. Nothing had changed but it was as though she had made peace with herself and what was happening.
“I had a great time too,” Sam said. “She's good company. I hated to bring her back.”
“I really missed her,” Alex admitted to him, but neither of them claimed to have