boyish look, but at the same time, his eyes said he was much wiser. At thirty-two, he had seen a lot more than she knew. He had an old soul, and a good heart, and he really liked her.
“Shall we go back to work?” she asked after a little while, and Liz was just putting some mail on her desk, and was surprised to see them both come out of the bathroom.
“Hi,” Alex said casually, “we were having a meeting.”
Liz laughed, and had no idea what they were doing in there, but it seemed funny to her as she went back to her desk.
“People are going to think we're shooting up or snorting cocaine if we keep this up,” Alex laughed, “or having sex in the bathroom.”
“I can think of worse rumors than that.” He laughed easily, and sat down across the desk from her. She was looking better.
“Yeah. Me too.” She hadn't made love with Sam in almost two months and they weren't likely to be doing it again soon, from the look of things between them. But sex didn't seem much of an issue. Survival was more to the point. That was the only issue at the moment. They worked together all afternoon, and at the end of the day, he got her a cab again, although she insisted she felt fine. And on Friday, she managed to take Annabelle to ballet. Remarkably, she was doing everything she needed to. And she wasn't feeling great, but she wasn't totally out of commission either. And she was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, she'd survive it. Whether or not her marriage would was another thing. She thought that a great deal less likely.
Chapter 13
Dr. Webber was very pleased with Alex's progress the following Monday. “You're doing fine,” she complimented her. Her blood count was good. And they were able to do the intravenous treatment, preceded by dextrose and water, which was a little less traumatic for Alex, now that she knew what to expect from the treatment.
This time she got just as sick, but it didn't come as big a surprise to her. And Brock continued to nurse her, and Liz to watch her like a guardian angel.
“I'm starting to feel guilty about this,” she said to Brock, as they sat on her bathroom floor again the day after her second treatment.
“Why?” He looked puzzled.
“Because you're not having chemotherapy, I am. Why should you have to go through all this? You're not married to me. This is my nightmare, not yours. You don't have to do this.” She couldn't understand why he was so kind to her. There was no reason for it, though it certainly helped her. He was the only person who was really there for her at the moment.
“Why not share it?” he said simply. “Why not let someone else help you? It could happen to any of us. Lightning can strike any one of us at any moment. No one's exempt. And if I'm here for you, maybe someone will be there for me one day, if it ever happens.”
“I will,” she said gently. “I'll be there for you, Brock. I'll never forget this.” And they both knew she meant it.
“I'm actually doing this for a raise,” he said laughingly, as he helped her up. They had been there for an hour. It had been a very rough morning.
“I figured you had to have an ulterior motive,” she grinned. She was a lot more tired this week after the treatment. And Thanksgiving was in two days. It exhausted her just thinking about doing the turkey. “Why not take my job?” she said jokingly as they sat down again. “You'd be great at it.”
“I'd rather work with you.” He looked at her as he said it, and for an odd moment she felt something different between them. She wasn't sure what it meant, or if she should acknowledge it. But she looked away, embarrassed for a moment. She was so open with him now, so free, and she wondered if maybe she shouldn't. Maybe they were getting too close. After all, she was a married woman. But he was also just a kid, as she reminded herself, he was ten years younger than she was.
“I like working with you too, Brock,” she said kindly, treating him like her junior again, and then she laughed at herself, which was one of the things he loved about her, “when I'm not throwing up all over you.”