“I think I'll have a face-lift instead. Or maybe a nose job.”
“Let's go back to work before you decide to get your ears done.” He loved being with her, and working with her, and he liked Annabelle too. He had met her several times when he came by from the office with papers for Alex. Annabelle thought he was funny and she liked playing with him. He had even taken her skating one day when Alex was really sick and Carmen had the flu, and Sam had disappeared with Daphne.
They talked about their latest cases on the way back to work. Alex hadn't been to trial in four months, but there was one coming up, and she was trying to decide if she was up to doing it, if Brock helped her. She was tempted to, but she didn't want to give the client less than they deserved. It was a lot to think about while she was in the midst of chemo. And in the end, she decided to give the case to Matthew Billings.
In March, Brock invited her to Vermont again, on a weekend that Sam was taking Annabelle away. She went, and they had a lovely time. She tried skiing, and she was a little better. She was stronger, and she only had eight weeks left of chemo. She was looking forward to it desperately, but to her that meant several things. It meant Sam would move out, and move on with his life. And even though she called his friend a bimbo, she suspected that they would probably get married. He was obviously very involved with her, and he was very protective whenever Alex tried to ask him questions. He had never actually acknowledged that there was someone else, but it had become obvious that Alex knew. But he was always a gentleman, and refused to discuss her with Alex.
It also meant that Alex had to get on with her life too. She had to face the fact that Sam was gone, even if he still lived in the same apartment for the moment. When the chemotherapy was over, she could go back to trial work again. But she wasn't sure what else she wanted to do. It was suddenly more than a little frightening to be on her own again, although Brock kept telling her that the worst was already over.
They were walking back from the chairlifts in Sugarbush when he said it to her again, and she looked up at him pensively, and realized that he was right. Going through chemotherapy without a husband was pretty bad, but then again she had had Brock, and he had been there for her every moment.
He had even gone to the doctor with her once so he could understand it better and see what it was like. He had held her hand through the entire procedure. There was very little he hadn't done for her in the past six months. He had become like a brother to her, and there was nothing she was afraid to tell or show him.
They started talking about reconstructive surgery again that night, after she cooked dinner for him this time, and he told her she was a pretty good cook, though not as good as he was.
“The hell I'm not. Can you make a souffle?” she bragged. They were always like two kids together, pushing and shoving and laughing and making fun of each other, when they weren't deeply engrossed in more serious subjects.
“Yes, I can,” he lied, and she grinned at him.
“Well, neither can I,” she laughed, and they went back to discussing the surgery Dr. Webber had suggested. Sometimes they played because the things they talked about were too sad. “I don't care,” she insisted, serious at last. She really didn't want to discuss it, but Brock had brought it up.
“You should.” It was a familiar argument by now, and suddenly, she turned around and looked at him. She was completely unashamed with him. He had watched her throw up for months, and seen her bald head. She didn't see anything wrong with showing him what they were discussing. She looked at him oddly then, wondering what he would think of it. She genuinely trusted his opinion, and his kind heart.
“Do you want to see it?” she asked casually, like a kid offering to drop his pants to one of his playmates. She felt a little strange for a minute, and she