Page 53 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

FIFTY-ONE

Misty? Was it that simple? I thought as I stepped into the shower that Monday morning after reunion weekend. Misty?

Since that bloody night on Crystal Avenue, she had practically become family. Somewhere over the years I dropped the word practically .

She was like a sister to me. She adored my kids. They called her Aunt Misty. And if I ever said something as straight-out dumb as, “When I die, will you marry my widowed husband and raise my children?” she might just say yes out of blind loyalty.

But what would I be doing to her? Misty’s company had a multimillion-dollar contract designing and decorating the interior of the trauma center. How would it affect her job if I died, and she took up with the head of the hospital?

The reunion weekend had been a perfect distraction, but now it was time to get back to the task at hand. Do I ask Misty to?—

I stopped myself midthought. I realized I’d skipped a step—a big one. Before I ask her anything, I should tell her that I’m dying.

“Details, details, details,” I mumbled and turned the showerhead to pulsating massage, hoping that the hot water beating down on my head would jar my thinking into its fine-tuned micromanaging mode.

Driving to the office I made my first rock-hard decision. Misty could wait. First tell Alex. I wanted to tell him. I needed to tell him. But it was only Monday morning, and by now he was probably in the middle of juggling half a dozen emergencies, three or four calamities, and a major crisis or two. I couldn’t exactly stop by his office and say, “Honey... you got a minute? As much as I love costarring in your life, I can’t stick around for act two. How do you feel about Misty being my understudy?”

The clamor inside my head went on and on and on and on, my brain racing, my thoughts garbled, my heart aching to sit down with my husband and plan our final journey together. All I had to do was wait till the weekend.

Monday passed. By Tuesday I was scanning my email contacts, sizing up women to see how they stacked up against the current contender. The week dragged, but Friday finally came, and by seven that evening Alex and I were on the Thruway on our way to Mohonk.

The weekend was everything I hoped it would be. We slept late, hiked the trails, spent hours at the spa, ate when and what we wanted, and of course made love. By Saturday night, I had second thoughts. Why ruin a perfect weekend? But I had made a vow not to come home without telling him, even though I knew that as soon as I did, our life as we knew it would be over.

One more night, I thought. I’ll tell him Sunday at breakfast.

It reminded me of my mother who withheld the worst news from my father for as long as possible, even to the point of having Nurse Demmick shoot her full of B-12 until there weren’t any cover-ups left, and she could no longer keep it a secret.

After dinner, Alex and I strolled down to the dock and found a quiet place to sit where we could watch the sun set over Lake Mohonk.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, but in the pit of my stomach I knew. No matter how hard I tried to act normal, there’s always someone who can see right through the smoke screen. Alex was a gifted diagnostician. He didn’t need a lot of clues.

“Something’s bothering you,” he said. “All last week I got the feeling that your mind was someplace else.”

“It was. The reunion.”

He shook his head. “That was all on Duff. There was no reason for you to be preoccupied with the reunion. And you weren’t much better this week. Is it me? I know I’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital.”

“No, it’s not you,” I said. “You’re perfect.”

He smiled. “Perfect? You talk like that, and I’m going to start worrying about your mental health.” He took my hand. “Come on, babe, what’s wrong?”

There was no putting it off another day. The time had come.

“How strong are you?” I said.

The words hung in the air, and his face went stone-cold. He knew the story of that last picnic at Magic Pond, and he knew the life-changing news my mother delivered after she said those four words.

“I’m the strongest person you know,” he said. “Tell me. Everything.”

“Noah Byrne called me into his office after he retested my blood. The lab didn’t screw up the first test. Noah just needed to verify the results, so he sent it to an outside facility in St. Louis.”

Alex nodded. “Kensington. They’re the best in the business. What did they say?”

I opened my purse and handed him the lab report. “I was going to wait till the weekend was over before I told you, but...”

He wasn’t listening. He was reading. Carefully. Slowly. And just like my sister, he flipped back to the first page and read it again.

“This is dated June eighth,” he said. “Today is the twenty-fourth.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell you.”

“For two weeks?” he said, looking up at the sky in disbelief. “I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake. Did you not think I could handle it?”

“I didn’t need a doctor. I needed a husband. I watched what happened to my father when my mother broke the news to him. I wanted to spare you—at least for a while.”

“Well, thanks a lot, but right now I’m too angry to process the thoughtfulness of that decision.”

“I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive. What’s done is done. I don’t want to waste time rehashing it. We should focus on fighting this disease, doing whatever we can to reverse these numbers. What does Byrne have you doing since you found out?”

“Nothing.”

“ Nothing ? Has he lost his mind?” Alex said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’m getting him on the phone right now.”

“Alex, stop!” I put my hand on his. “Doing nothing was my call. Noah was ready to hook me up to a chemo drip on day one. I said no.”

He slowly put his phone away. “Why?” he said, reeling from my decision to forgo treatment. “Why would you...”

“Alex, there hasn’t been a single advancement in this disease since my mother had it, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to subject my body, my soul, and my family to the same horrific journey she went through.

“What I have is incurable and will probably kill me in six months. You just reminded me that you’re a doctor. You can accept a fatal diagnosis. You do every day. But this time it’s your wife, so you’re ready to go on a quest for a miracle cure. I don’t want that. I want to spend my time doing exactly what I’ve been doing this weekend. Living my life and enjoying my family.”

We’d been sitting on the dock. He stood, helped me up, and held me in his arms.

“I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but do you know how I feel when I realize that I’ve been consumed with trivial things like how big the new parking lot should be, while you’re doing your best to cope with a terminal illness? Maggie, we have to be in this together. Promise me you won’t keep any more secrets from me.”

“I promise,” I said. “No more secrets.”

Except for one . I couldn’t tell him I was on a mission to keep him from becoming a victim of predators like Connie Gilchrist. Or that I was pretty sure that Misty was the one.

“Who else knows besides Lizzie?” he asked.

“How do you know I told Lizzie?”

“Maggie, there’s no way you could live with this on your own for almost two weeks. Lizzie came back from Ireland a few days after you got the report. You picked her up at JFK, then you spent the night together talking and drinking. Now that I’m finally in the loop, it’s not too difficult to figure out what you talked about and why you drank so much. Have you told your father yet?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not ready to tell him, or Grandpa, and definitely not Katie and Kevin.”

“I agree. They’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “Have you told anyone else besides your sister?”

Just Johnny Rollo that morning at Corky’s Diner. And Van. I told Van.

“Nobody,” I said, spinning another lie and burying another secret. “Nobody at all.”