THE NEXT MORNING LILY sat in the surgery waiting room, surrounded by Ellis, Drew, and Randy, waiting for news of Harry.
Drew was ashen and silent. He had not laid eyes on his father once since that terrible day when they had had their confrontation in his seedy apartment. In the past two years, he had ignored all of Lily’s pleas to reconcile with his father, saying defiantly that he didn’t care if he never saw him again. He came to see Cadeau from time to time, but he had resolutely avoided contact with Harry.
But the night before, when Ellis had come and told him about his father’s illness, Drew had been devastated. Harry, dying? It couldn’t be. His father, the all-powerful, the invincible?
But as the truth of Ellis’s words penetrated, Drew knew one thing—he must go to him, no matter how serious their rift had been.
In truth, Drew had never fully recovered from the loss of Jeremy. He still thought about him, still mourned him, and blamed himself for leaving him unprotected. But now Drew knew that he had been wrong. Deep down, his family was as dear to him as Lily was. Now the thought of losing his father devastated him. But his face must not have given away his thoughts, for Ellis’s voice was suddenly rough and peremptory.
“Grow up, Drew! Your father is facing life-threatening surgery tomorrow. I know that you and he have had your differences, but you’re going to have to set them aside, if for no other reason than that your mother needs you.”
The two of them had always had a friendly camaraderie; Drew had never minded Ellis’s calm, avuncular tone, the way he’d resented Harry’s easily roused fury. He hastened to explain himself to the older man.
“No, of course! You’re absolutely right, Ellis. I wouldn’t dream of staying away at a time like this.”
Ellis nodded, then briefly put his hand on Drew’s shoulder. “I knew I couldn’t be wrong about you, Drew. You’re a good man.”
Now, Drew sat silently, thinking over and over again about the angry words he and his father had once exchanged. Were those to be the last they would ever speak to each other? If only Harry survived this operation, Drew would beg his forgiveness and tell him how much he loved him.
Next to him, Randy gazed broodingly at his coffee. Always less mercurial than his brother, he appeared relatively calm. Only the tiny lines around his eyes and the slight furrow of his brow betrayed how deeply worried he was.
Lily sat biting her lip. It had been a tremendous solace to her to see her two tall sons this morning and feel their comforting embraces, but at this moment she longed to have Cadeau in her lap.
If she could only bury her face in her silky red curls, hug her fiercely, it might distract Lily from the thought of the scalpel cutting and probing into Harry somewhere beyond the closed doors.
Next to her, Ellis watched, pained to see her white knuckles, her sodden handkerchief. He reached out silently and took her hand. Tears glistened in Lily’s eyes again as she whispered, “Thanks.”
In every crisis of their lives, Ellis had been there, an abiding friend. He had so often been their life raft into better times. And time and again they had turned to him. Sometimes Lily felt that he was the greatest fruit of Harry’s writing career. And now, she wondered, had they really been fair to Ellis? Their friendship had always been so natural and easy. But whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, that fateful night when she had offered herself to him had changed everything forever.
She had felt myriad emotions once he had said he loved her, but she had shied from ever examining those feelings again, either his or her own.
At times it seemed almost unbelievable that the entire evening had actually occurred. Neither she nor Ellis had made any effort to talk about it since that day he had driven up to see her at the farm. If he were in love with her still, he was a master at hiding it.
Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted as the door opened to admit Benjamin and Elise Kohle. Lily had wanted to spare them, but Dr. Simon had said that the surgery itself carried a significant risk. She felt she had to break the news to them. On the eve of Harry’s surgery, the Kohles had gone to the hospital to talk to their son.
Now, after greeting Ellis and embracing Lily and their grandsons, they sat down. Their grief was evident on their faces.
God, they looked old, Ellis thought a little sadly. Benjamin Kohle looked shrunken where he had once seemed so resilient and strong, and Mrs. Kohle was now a frail little old lady.
For six hours they kept their sad vigil. Finally the surgery doors flew open and Nate Simon emerged, looking weary.
Jumping up from her chair, Lily cried, “How is Harry, Doctor? Tell me.”
Simon took her aside. “He came through the surgery fine, and is beginning to come out of the anesthetic. They’ll keep him in the recovery room for a little while, and then you’ll be able to see him.”
“Oh, thank God! What did they find?”
“Well, the tumor had invaded both lobes, so the surgeon went ahead and removed the entire left lung.” But his manner was hesitant, and Lily demanded quickly, “What else? What aren’t you telling me?”
Reluctantly, he admitted, “It appeared, I’m afraid, that there may have been some encroachment into the aorta. We’ll know more when we get the lab report.”
In conveying the doctor’s report to the rest of the family, Lily emphasized the positive. Harry had come through the surgery, that was the first hurdle. As for the rest, they would know more later.
Harry drifted in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day, opening his eyes only long enough to recognize the boys and Lily. Once, she was holding Cadeau. Harry tried to smile and say, “Hi, sweetheart.” But the stabbing pain in his left side and back was intolerable; it grew worse when he tried to speak. He didn’t know how many hours had passed when he finally came to consciousness and saw Nate Simon standing next to his bed.
“How are you feeling?”
With difficulty, Harry grunted, “How … do you think? As though I’ve … been hit by a Mack truck.”
“Glad you’re feeling a little feisty. That’s a good sign.”
“What’s … the verdict?”
Nate cleared his throat. He tried to put it gently. “We had to remove the whole lung, Harry. There was a large mass, as we saw on the X ray.”
“Was there … metastasis?”
“We don’t know for sure, but there were some signs. I’m sorry.”
“Am I … going to die?”
“It’s impossible to make that prediction, Harry.”
“Nate, don’t … give me that … bullshit!”
“All right. I’m recommending you for radiation therapy.”
Harry sank back against his pillow, dangerously near tears. He knew what that meant. It was one of the side effects of being a writer, to know a little about a lot of things. Radiation was a last-ditch measure; Nate might as well have advised him to get a price from the funeral home.
“What are the odds?”
“Harry, you know that there are no guarantees—”
“Weeks … months? What … are you saying?”
Nate hesitated. Then, almost under his breath, he said, “Months—maybe.”
“Forget it, Nate. I know about … radiation therapy. Sick … all the time, hair falls out. I won’t … put Lily through that.”
Nate had to admire Harry’s courage. Most patients couldn’t face the truth.
“It’s your decision—and I don’t know that I don’t agree with you.”
“The only thing … don’t tell Lily … how bad it is. I’ll tell her … myself.”
It was tougher than he thought to tell Lily the grim news—the cancer was a fast-growing cell type, there were already lesions on his liver and pancreas.
She clung to him, weeping. “There must be something they can do, Harry! Why won’t you have radiation?”
“Lily, dammit! There’s cancer all through my body! What good is it going to do to irradiate my liver when it’s in my bloodstream and my bones, and very possibly my other lung already?”
“But if it will give you any kind of chance—”
“It won’t,” he said flatly. “I’ve got to face it, Lily. I’m dying. And I’m going to ask you to just let me live out the rest of my life with you as if it were going to go on forever.”
“But Harry—” she cried, but he pressed a finger to her lips. She saw then that his face was wet with tears.
“Lily, please pretend—for my sake? Because if I have to face the thought of leaving you, I … I just can’t bear it.”
Harry returned home, and Lily refused to give up hope until she had spoken to Nate Simon herself. Nate only confirmed Harry’s words. The cancer was so widespread that radiation therapy would be a fruitless gesture—one which would make his last months needlessly agonizing.
Lily felt almost sick with grief. “Thank you, Doctor. Is there anything I can do for Harry?”
The best Nate Simon could tell her was, “Keep him happy.”
It seemed an impossible prescription, but she walked all the way home repeating fiercely to herself, “Keep him happy … keep him happy.” By the time she entered the apartment, she determined to be of good cheer.
“Hello, darling,” she greeted Harry. “Shall we go out to dinner, or eat in?”
In the weeks that followed, they resolutely avoided talking about Harry’s disease or his prognosis. They picked up their life where they’d left off, not dwelling on the future any more than they did the darker episodes of their past. Never once did Harry complain; he had simply made up his mind to cram a lifetime of happiness with Lily into the few short months that remained to him.
Harry relished every waking moment. It seemed that even dying had its compensations: His senses felt sharpened. He appreciated everything he saw or heard or smelled or ate.
It was Lily who had to struggle to keep from railing aloud at the cruelty of fate. For Harry’s sake she was able to keep up a courageous front. Gradually she came to a state of acceptance.
It was the moments which really counted, she told herself, not the years. Yesterday was a memory, tomorrow a promise. The only moment one ever really had was the here and now.
And so, between them, they created a sort of dream world, filled with a false serenity which ignored the disease that would soon take Harry from her.
They spent almost all of their time together, but one afternoon Lily went out alone for several hours, returning just in time for their usual five-o’clock martinis. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her as they settled down with their drinks.
Harry said, “Okay, I give up. What is it that you bought that you’re so excited about?”
“Do I seem excited?” she countered with a smile, taking a sip of her martini. Then, setting it down, she asked casually, “What are you doing about that novel you started last year, Harry? Are you working on it?”
Matter-of-factly he said, “No, I’ve decided to let it go for a while. I’d rather concentrate on the women in my life. Why do you ask?”
“Guess what I’ve done.”
“What?”
“Booked passage for you, me and Cadeau aboard the Queen Mary.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“That’s wonderful! You know how I love the sea. Where are we headed, and for how long?”
“Around the world,” Lily told him. “We’ll be gone three months. I know that we had talked about going to the Bahamas at Christmas, but I think that an ocean cruise will be more relaxing.”
Three months … They let their thoughts lie unspoken. Harry took the brochure from Lily and began to pore over the pictures of the Queen Mary’s pool and the staterooms. Meanwhile, Lily flashed back to her conversation that morning with Nate Simon.
“He can’t make it, Lily,” the doctor had said flatly. “The metastases are appearing so fast, he probably won’t even survive three months.” He hesitated, then added more gently, “I’m sorry to have to be so blunt.”
“So what if he doesn’t survive?” Lily returned, her eyes very bright. “If he has to die, I want it to be in the midst of life and living, not in a darkened hospital room.”
Nate Simon weakened. “But he’s going to be in a lot of pain near the end, Lily. He really should be near a hospital.”
“How about if I hire a nurse? If he needs some painkiller, she can administer it. Can’t you see, Dr. Simon? This is something I have to do for Harry.”
“Okay,” he said. “You win. I can prescribe morphine and send it along with the nurse.”
Now Harry recognized Lily’s gesture as one of defiance against the odds. He loved her all the more dearly for it. God, he was the luckiest man in the world, he thought humbly. Lucky to have found such a woman, lucky to have won her heart, and triply lucky to have been given a second chance with her—however brief.
Ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest, he took Lily into his arms and kissed her, warmly and lingeringly.