they had become angry strangers. All because she'd had a mastectomy. He acted as though it were the ultimate betrayal.
“I don't think that was amusing.” He actually managed to look insulted. “It was tasteless.”
“Oh for chrissake. What do you think is amusing anymore? Surely not me. You haven't said more than five words to me since I went to the hospital, or maybe since I told you about the mammogram.” It had been six weeks since the nightmare had begun, and it was beginning to seem endless. “What's it going to be like, Sam, when I start chemo?”
“How do I know?”
“Well, let's see,” she pretended to be figuring it all out as they chatted, “if you got really annoyed at me about the mammogram, and the biopsy, and then seriously pissed off at me once I had surgery, and have hardly spoken to me since I came home from the hospital, what do you do when I get chemo? Maybe walk out on me? Or just ignore me completely? What exactly do I have to look forward to, and when is this going to end? When it's all over, or when I just give up, and concede that our marriage is over? Give me a clue here.”
“Okay, okay.” He walked slowly back to where she stood, cleaning up their dinner in the kitchen. Annabelle had gone to bed an hour before and they knew she was asleep so she couldn't hear them. “So it's been a rough six weeks. That doesn't have to mean everything is finished. I still love you.” He looked sheepish and awkward and unhappy as he looked at her. He knew how bad things were, he just didn't know how to fix them. He loved her but the pressure of wanting Daphne made it all the harder. Moving toward Alex again would have meant giving up something with Daphne. But getting closer to her meant betraying his wife. And for the moment, he was just standing in the middle, panicking, getting closer to neither. But he also knew that while he agonized over it, he was destroying his relationship with Alex. He knew he had to say or do something to make things better with her, but he just couldn't. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her body. The only body he wanted now was Daphne's. It was a frightening situation.
“I just need time, Al. I'm sorry.” He stood looking at her, wanting to make it up to her, and yet not wanting to make an effort. He wanted time out, and there was no way to get it without hurting her. He didn't want to do that, but he also didn't want to give up dreaming of Daphne and he still wasn't ready to support Alex through her illness.
“I just think this is a rough time for you to go through change of life, Sam. I'm going to need your help while I'm going through the chemo. And to be honest,” which she always was, painfully so, “you haven't helped yet. That doesn't exactly give me much hope for the future.” She was becoming strangely calm about it, and a little less angry.
“I'll do my best. I'm just not real great around sickness.”
“So I noticed.” She smiled ruefully. “Anyway, I just thought I'd mention it. I'm scared,” she said in a gentler tone. “I don't know what it's going to be like.”
“I'm sure it's not as bad as it's cracked up to be. It's like the horror stories you hear about childbirth. Most of them are bullshit.”
“I hope so,” she said, because she had heard some bad ones when she joined Liz a few times at the support group. She went to please Liz but it helped her too. And a few of them had done well with chemo. But most people admitted that chemotherapy was rough. It made you feel worse than anything you could imagine. “Anyway, I'm glad business is going so well for you these days. It looks like Simon really is an asset. I guess we were both wrong.”
“We sure were. You wouldn't believe the people he put me in touch with in Hong Kong. They are fabulously wealthy. Rich Chinese, in the shipping industry. They make the Arabs look like paupers.”
“How much are they investing with you?” she asked as she put the dishes in the dishwasher. She had always been very interested in his business, and that was still a safe subject between them.