Page 88 of Something Like Winter

Tim’s stomach twisted. A will?

“I do,” Eric said.

The attorney moved some papers across the table to him. “Please sign here.”

“Lisa Ownby, do you testify that the patient in your care is still of sound mind and memory—”

Tim barely listened to the rest, distracted by the implications. Did Eric think he was going to die? When the attorney got to Tim, he answered and signed as expected. Then he sat there numbly as more details were discussed, remaining in his seat when Eric rose and saw his guests to the front door.

“I hate this,” he said when they were alone.

“I know.” Eric sat, rustling in the greasy brown bag for some fries. “One of life’s ugly necessities, especially when money is involved.”

“But why now?”

Eric chewed and swallowed, sucking the salt from the tips of his fingers. “I have family, you know. I don’t talk about them much, but I have a sister and a gaggle of nieces. My sister and I lost our parents, one to cancer and the other to drink, so we’ve seen the worst that can happen. We don’t stay in touch much, but she has three daughters headed off to college. I’ve already made sure they have tuition and everything else they need. When I die, my sister will inherit most of what I have.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Tim pleaded.

“A fair amount will go to charities I believe in,” Eric continued unabashed. “As for this house, I would like you to have it.”

“I don’t want it!” Tim shouted. “I want you, so shut up about your stupid will!”

Eric didn’t even blink. “Of course there are property taxes and general upkeep. You’ll have enough money that, if you’re careful, you’ll be able to afford that and live comfortably off the interest.”

“Shut up!” Tim was on his feet. “Are you giving up? Is that what this is about?”

“I’m dying!” Eric shouted back, his composure breaking.

The force of those words sent the blood draining from Tim’s face. He’d never heard Eric raise his voice before. Never.

“You aren’t. You can fight this!”

“Not forever,” Eric said, his voice a croak. “I don’t just have lung cancer, Tim. Do you know what mesothelioma is?”

Mesothelioma. That’s what the nurse at MD Anderson called it. Not understanding, he shook his head.

“It’s cancer caused from asbestos exposure—a particularly nasty kind that no one survives.”

“What?” Tim’s throat constricted so tight it ached. “Of course they do. Why else would you do chemo?”

“I’ve been fighting for time,” Eric said.

Tim shook his head. “The nurse said you would make it through. She said you’d be the exception to the rule.”

“I already am,” Eric said. “They told me nine months, maybe a year, and I’ve lasted more than two.”

“See? You’ve already proven them wrong.”

Eric sat and studied him. Tim knew this was one of those moments. Eric would either point out the missing parts of the painting, or he would let Tim continue believing the illusion. When Eric did speak, Tim almost wished he hadn’t.

“The chemo didn’t help. The cancer barely responded, and I have been having… other problems. They did some tests and—” Eric shook his head, reluctant to say the words, tears spilling from his eyes. “They found a new tumor on my prostate, which they don’t think is from the mesothelioma. I’m falling apart! I’m trying not to, but I’m just—”

A sob broke from Tim’s throat as he rushed to Eric’s side. Tim grabbed him, pulling him close and holding him while they both cried. Eric felt so small, so frail in Tim’s arms. “Don’t give up,” Tim said, over and over again. “Please don’t give up. For me. Do it for me.”

“I didn’t expect to meet you,” Eric said, his head nestled against Tim’s chest. “I would have given up a long time ago, but you keep asking me to stay. Had you not come into my life—”

Eric didn’t finish the sentence. Tim didn’t need him to. Maybe he was being selfish by insisting Eric stay, but surely living longer was a good thing. Eric was fighting just for him, a fact that filled Tim with love and sorrow—a pairing he was used to. Tim had walked with these emotions before, each taking one of his hands and leading him to dark forests he once found frightening, but now were disturbingly familiar. * * * * *