had two other offers this year. They were pretty good. I'd probably do better if I went elsewhere. But before I go anywhere, I'd like to talk to the senior partners. I was wondering if, since you've been sick, they might not let us make an exception and keep working together.”
“They might. We're a good team,” she smiled gratefully at him. “And you'll be up for partner next year.”
“We'll talk to them,” he said calmly, “but first Sam.”
“I haven't agreed yet,” she said, looking mischievous but loving.
“You will,” he said confidently, and he was right. By the end of the week, she had agreed. She was going to ask Sam for a divorce, and marry Brock as soon as it was final.
“I must be crazy,” she said distractedly, “I'm twice your age.”
“You're ten years older, that doesn't even count, and you look younger than I do.” She did actually, she had dropped years since they had moved to Long Island. The effects of the chemo were falling away, her hair was thicker than it ever had been, and she had lost the bloat from the chemo. She looked the same as she had before the cancer, maybe better. And they were like kids as they played on the beach on the weekends. She was very relaxed when she and Brock drove in on Monday mornings. Carmen came out late on Sunday nights, so they could go back to the city on Monday in time to get to work. And they left work as early as they could on Thursdays and drove out to Long Island. Most of the lawyers took Fridays off in the summer, and the firm closed at noon, like many New York corporations.
And when they got back to their house at the beach, Annabelle was always waiting for them, happy and excited. During the week, Alex and Brock stayed at his place, or hers, whichever seemed the most convenient. It was the perfect summer.
Annabelle had heard from her father several times. He was in Cap d'Antibes by then. He had called her, and sent her a dozen postcards. But Alex hadn't talked to him, he never called when she was there. She didn't want to ask him for the divorce over the phone anyway. She had no doubts anymore. Brock had convinced her. He had done more than any man ever could to prove himself to her. And as long as he knew what he was doing, and what he wanted, she had no reason to question him any further. She knew that she loved him. She felt very lucky to be with him.
And she was surprised when they were lying on the beach in mid-July, and she saw him looking at her bathing suit, and then he leaned over and kissed her.
“You're beautiful,” he said warmly, and she smiled at him. Annabelle was nearby, but the prospect of a little “nap” after lunch was very appealing.
“You're blind,” she responded, squinting at him in the sun, and then he gently touched her breast with one hand, and she could feel her whole body tingle.
“I think we should see a plastic surgeon sometime soon.”
“Why?” She tried to sound casual, but she didn't like talking about it. In spite of his gentleness with her, she was still self-conscious about the way she looked. And most of the time she wore a prosthesis.
“I just think you should,” he said kindly.
“Want me to get a new nose, or a face-lift?”
“Don't be such a twit. You're too young to spend the rest of your life hiding. You should be parading around naked all the time.” He was actually fairly circumspect, but she knew he was trying to make her feel better about her missing breast.
“You mean you want me to run around naked like Sam's little English girl? I don't think so.” The thought of Daphne still annoyed her.
“Never mind that. You know what I mean. At least talk to a doctor, find out what's involved. You could do it this summer and get it over with, and then you'd have two boobs forever.”
“It sounds awful, and it hurts a lot.”
“How do you know?”
“I've talked to other women in my support group, and Dr. Webber told me. It sounded disgusting.”
“Don't be such a wimp.” They both knew she was anything but a wimp. But he also wanted her to feel self-confident, and whole again. He nagged her about it, and even gave her the name of a well-known reconstructive plastic surgeon he'd