On Broken Wings (32 page)

"I'm dying."

Shock raced across her delicate features. "Louis, what's wrong?"

"Cancer. It started on my lower spine, but it's well metastasized now. At most, I have a few days left."

She started to reach for him, stopped, and clasped her hands together tightly. She pressed them down into her lap with such force that he could see her arm muscles tremble even through the sleeves of her pajama blouse.

"How long have you known?"

It was the question he had dreaded most, but he would not evade it. "Since about two months before we met."

She gaped in horrified astonishment. "And this is how you choose to let me know? Someone who loves you and cherishes your existence? My God, Louis, tell me you haven't done this to Christine!"

Without his willing it, his voice rose in the whipcrack of command. "Helen, I was diagnosed terminal two months before we met. One does not normally begin an acquaintance by announcing a terminal disease. And Christine does not yet know. So get hold of yourself."

She flinched at that, but appeared to regain her composure. He tried to force his muscles to stay loose, despite the surges of pain from his guts.

"There's really no hope?"

He shook his head. "None at all. Chemotherapy failed. It rarely works on abdominal cancers. And surgery's no option. They'd have to remove my whole body."

He startled himself with his own laughter. It was an ordinary chuckle, light and unforced, as if in reaction to someone else's witticism.

Have I adjusted, then? Is this resignation, or acceptance?

"But what do you plan to do?"

"I'm going to drive out into the woods. I've lived my whole life in Onteora. I'll find somewhere else to die."

"Why, Louis?" Her voice cracked. "Why leave the people that love you, to end your life alone in some place where you have no ties?"

Her face was a study in confusion and pain. He doubted that her composure would hold for long.

You'd better come up with something good.

"What do we leave behind when we die, Helen? Our physical possessions crumble. Our achievements are soon surpassed. Even the ideas we've given birth to -- as if I were fortunate enough to have had any -- are diminished, disproved, or twisted into lunacy. All that remains true is the memory of us.

"I have only days, maybe hours, before I'm reduced to helplessness and the special squalor of terminal suffering. From that point to the end, I will not be Louis Redmond, the man I am now, the man whose qualities you've admired. And I will not permit your memories of me to be marred by any overlay of him."

She shook her head violently. "Don't you do that. Don't you dare say this is for us. We would do anything on Earth to keep you here with us to the end. Do you think so little of us? Do you really think we couldn't remember you in your prime?"

He smiled wistfully. "It's not entirely for you, Helen. It's also for me. It's the way I want it. What I take with me into eternity will not be the memory of your face twisted in grief."

Like now, genius? This was not one of your better ideas.

"I can just hear you saying that to Christine." Tears were running down her face.

Yeah, right. She'd kick my ass off.

She had begun to cry. It began as a thin wail, but it built to a full-throated howl of stunning power. He would never have imagined that so small a body could emit so shattering a sound. He took her into his arms, and she buried her face against his chest.

She wept and shook in his embrace for what seemed an hour. He realized that a part of him was enjoying the evidence of his importance to her, and sternly put it down.

This pain I have caused. This pain should be mine to carry. Not this good and gentle woman who has given me so much.

After a long while she quieted, though she would not raise her face to him. He tried to pull her up straight, and she resisted. Her slender arms, clasped around his waist, were surprisingly strong. They sat in silence.

He had lost track of time, was even beginning to drift off to sleep, when she spoke.

"Come to bed with me."

He looked down into her face in surprise. "Why?"

"Can you really be that thick? To make love."

"But why, Helen? I told you, I'm dying. What could you possibly want with the body of a dying man?"

Her face twisted into a violent scowl. "My God, you are that thick, aren't you? I want you. I've wanted you for months. If I'm about to lose you forever, I mean to have you tonight. There are no more nights left."

It was his turn to quake with confusion and fear. He could find neither words nor voice.

"Louis, I know you've bedded Christine. She told me. Why do you fear me so?"

"I don't know." Her eyes were relentless upon him. He screamed inside from the need to avert her gaze, and forced himself to endure it.

You do know, schmuck. And the least you can do for her is to tell her.

"Because I love you." He could not keep the tremor out of his voice. "I lived thirty-six years dreaming of you. I fell in love with you on the instant we met. To me, you are life itself, and I have nothing to offer you but dust and ashes."

He cringed in readiness for a furious backblast. But the frustration drained from her face and was replaced by something else.

"You mean it." It was not a question.

He said nothing.

With infinite gentleness, she raised her hands to his face. She traced his features with her fingertips, as if she were trying to memorize them.

"Louis, I am forty-one years old. I've known hundreds of men, perhaps thousands. Many men have shared my bed for a night or two. A few for somewhat longer. I've had several proposals of marriage. And if any of my suitors had been even a tenth of what you are, I'd have jumped at him."

Even tear-streaked and swollen, her face was luminous in the soft light of the apartment.

"I love you, Louis. You are all that is best in a man, and there is no stain upon you. If you will be lost to me tomorrow, then I will have you tonight. I must. I must take pleasure with you, and give you what I can, if I am to face the rest of my life without you. Or I will not be able to go on."

His mouth fell open. "I never knew."

Her eyes filled with regret. "I never said. I always thought we would have time, that I would have time to unlock you."

Something tight within him came undone. He let out a long, ragged sigh, and she pulled him close again. A few moments later they arose, and she led him to her bedroom.

***

Well, he said he'd be out really late.

It was half past midnight when Christine gave up the vigil. She marked her place in her book, laid it on her nightstand, reached down to rub Boomer's head once more, and turned out the light.

Maybe tomorrow he'll have a story for me.

***

It was three AM when Louis rose from Helen's side. She did not wake. He moved as stealthily as he could, dressing in her living room to minimize the chance of waking her.

Before he left, he laid two sealed enveloped on her dinette table. One bore her name; the other, Christine's.

Five minutes later, Louis Redmond was outward bound from Onteora for the last time.

====

Chapter
30

Christine awoke to a gray October morning, and a bed occupied by her alone. It was nearer to eight than to seven.

What the hell? Is he up already?

She rose onto her elbows and saw Boomer at the foot of the bed. The Newfoundland was staring at her reproachfully.

"Oops. Sorry, big guy. We'll go for your walk in just a second."

Louis isn't here, or he would have taken Boomer out already.

She got out of bed and threw on sweat clothes. Boomer followed on her heels as she descended to the kitchen. His leash hung on the hook by the back door, where she had left it the previous evening.

After she had walked Boomer and set down his breakfast, she began to search the house for indications of Louis. All things appeared to be as she'd left them the previous evening. If Louis had come home and left again, for whatever reason, he'd done so without touching anything.

He hasn't been home. Boomer would have awakened me if either door had opened. He would have walked Boomer. He would have set up the coffeepot and had coffee waiting for me, even if he'd had to go out again. So what's up? Where is he?

The thought of coffee sent her to the pot. It wasn't something she did well, but if Louis wasn't here to do it, she would have to.

She opened the water reservoir, saw the envelope, and her heart began to pound at once. She pulled it out and studied it.

Apart from the creases from having been forced into the coffeemaker, the envelope was unmarked. She began to peel back the flap, then stopped to collect herself.

Open it, Christine.

I'm going to open it, Nag. Just give me a second to catch my breath. Are you going to read it over my shoulder?

I'm going to read it with your eyes.

What an incredible surprise.

She grasped the flap again and yanked it back. A single printed sheet resided within. She took a deep breath before unfolding and reading it.

Dear Christine,

Stay calm. First off, get showered and dressed. Wear something particularly nice. Eat a proper breakfast; there are waffles in the freezer, and I've left some bacon in the fridge. You have some important things to do today.

Second, at about nine AM, call Helen. She's going to want you to come by right away. I expect she won't sound too good.

Third, when you go, bring Boomer. I don't expect you'll be back to the house until late this evening, besides which, Boomer will be good to have around today.

Fourth, stay calm. You'll know what all this is about soon enough, and I promise you it's nothing you need to worry about.

Love,

Louis

Christine read the note four times.

"Stay calm." That's probably the hardest advice to follow that anyone's ever been given. What the hell is going on?

Stay calm, Christine.

Oh, not you too, Nag.

Me too, Christine. Do as he says.

She did.

***

Christine almost hung up before Helen answered the phone.

"Hello."

Shit, she does sound awful.
"Helen, it's Chris."

"I know, dear. When could you come by?"

"I'm on my way." She hung up and grabbed for Boomer's leash. The Newf stood up and went to her side, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

"Ready for anything, eh, big guy? I'm not."

They were in her Chrysler and on their way to Helen's condo less than a minute later.

***

What answered the door didn't resemble Helen at all. Her face was swollen and deep red. She carried herself like an old woman bent over by the weight of the years, too tired to move.

"Stay calm," eh? Did you tell her to stay calm too, Louis? I don't think she was listening.

Helen escorted her to the dinette. Boomer curled himself at her feet. They sat without speaking for a long moment. Then Helen pulled an envelope from underneath the napkin holder and slid it over to Christine.

"He wanted to tell you himself."

The charge of grief on the words came close to breaking Christine's mind. The world seemed to reel around her. She laid one trembling hand on the envelope and stopped.

He's always had a good reason for anything he's done. Therefore, there's a good reason for this.

She picked up the envelope and slit it open. Three sheets of paper slid out. She unfolded them and read.

***

Dear Christine,

By now you know that something is terribly wrong, and you're probably very upset. I've asked Helen to help with this, but she's likely to be very upset too. I hope you can help one another to feel better, with some time. I doubt that this letter will help much.

On the day that we met, I was in the hospital receiving chemotherapy for abdominal cancer. Even then, the odds were heavily against my being cured. Nevertheless, Miles Jefferson, the man who saved you after your accident and did what he could to repair your face, was doing everything in his power to save my life as well. I still had some hope.