The Christmas List (18 page)

“Jim, you don't understand how serious the situation is. We're talking millions of dollars.”

“I understand precisely how serious this is, Lincoln. The company is half Sara's anyway. She's only getting what she deserves.”

“Listen to yourself! You've become your own worst enemy.”

“You're right about that. I'll call when I'm back.”

“No, wait—”

Kier flipped his phone shut then slid it in his carry-on and boarded the flight.

By the time Kier landed he knew exactly where he was going, or at least who he wanted to see. He just didn't know where to find him. As soon as the plane taxied to the gate, he turned on his phone and called Linda.

“Are you back?” she asked.

“Just landed. I need you to call Dr. Kuo, get the name of Sara's oncologist, then call me back.”

“I'll get right on it. How'd everything go with Jimmy?”

“About the same as the rest of my visits.”

Linda sighed. “I'm sorry. I'll text you the info as soon as I have it.”

By the time Kier reached his car he had the doctor's name and address. He threw his bag in the back seat and drove to the Huntsman Cancer Center.

He walked up to the reception desk, glancing down at his cell phone to make sure he got the name right. A maternal-looking woman with gray hair smiled pleasantly at him. “May I help you?”

“I'm looking for Dr. Halestrom.”

“Dr. Halestrom's on the third floor. Room 312.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Halestrom's office waiting room was about a third full, and half the room's occupants wore hats or headscarves to conceal their baldness. The young woman sitting behind the desk glanced up as Kier entered. “Yes?”

“Hi. James Kier to see Dr. Halestrom.”

“Just go ahead and sign in with the pen right there.” She reached for a clipboard. “Is this your first visit?”

“It's not really a visit. I mean, I don't have an appointment. I just need to speak with the doctor about my wife.”

The young woman looked at him as if he belonged in the psych ward instead of oncology. “You don't have an appointment?”

“I just need a minute of the doctor's time. My wife is one of his patients. Sara Kier.”

Immediately the woman's face lit with recognition. “Of course. Mrs. Kier's a lovely woman. You said you're her husband?”

“I know this is unconventional but I just need a minute of Dr. Halestrom's time. It's very important.”

She looked at him doubtfully. “I'll see if Dr. Halestrom can fit you in.” She disappeared through an opening behind her. Kier looked over the signs the woman had posted in her workstation.

Life isn't about how to survive the storm but how to dance in the rain.

When life is more than you can stand, kneel.

What if the Hokey Pokey
really is
what it's all about?

A moment later, she reappeared. “Dr. Halestrom says to take a seat, he'll be with you as soon as he can.”

“Thank you.”

Kier sat down in the corner of the room near a large ficus plant that draped over several chairs, ensuring his solitude. He lifted a copy of
Newsweek
from the table next to him and began thumbing through it. About ten minutes later a nurse wearing a green smock came through the office door, her eyes scanning the waiting room.

“Mr. Kier?” she said loudly toward the center of the room.

Kier stood. “I'm James Kier.”

“This way, please.” She held the door for him, then led him down a long coridor to an examination room. She stepped inside, holding the door for him.

“You're here to see Dr. Halestrom?”

“That's right.”

“Have a seat. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

Kier sat on a chair in the corner; it was another ten minutes before the doctor came in. He wore a white smock and carried a clipboard. “Hi, I'm Dr. Halestrom. You're Sara's husband?”

“Yes, James Kier.” Kier reached out his hand. The doctor gave him a brief, disinterested shake. “What can I do for you, Mr. Kier?”

“I want to know how Sara is.”

The doctor looked at him quizzically. “Why don't you ask her?”

“Let's say we're having a little trouble communicating lately. I asume you know we're separated.”

“You really should ask Sara. There are privacy laws that prevent my sharing her medical information without her permission. If she wants you to know, I'm sure she'd tell you.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me,” Kier said flatly. “I know I'm putting you in an awkward position, but I'm not asking for me. I want to help her . . .”

For several moments the doctor just looked at him. Then he shook his head and sighed. “I really shouldn't be doing this, but I'm going to bend the rules because I believe you're acting in her best interest.” He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “She's dying.”

The directness of the doctor's reply hit him. “Dying? Aren't the treatments helping?”

“The treatments are palliative, not curative. That means they're for improving her quality of life
and
prolonging her life. In this regard, the radiation and chemotherapy have been somewhat helpful, but the cancer has continued to spread.”

“Does she know this?”

“Of course.”

“There's got to be more we can do.” Kier tried to keep a note of desperation out of his voice.

“We're doing everything we can.”

“What about a pancreas transplant? Money's no object.”

“It's not about money. Her cancer has spread through her entire lymph system; there are tumors in her liver, kidneys, lungs, and peritoneum.” The doctor leaned back against the counter. “I know it's hard to accept. But you're coming to this a bit late.”

Kier combed his hand through his hair. “How long does she have?”

The doctor shrugged. “Only God knows. She's a strong woman. If it were anyone else I'd give her a few weeks. She could even make a month, but I'd be surprised if it were much longer. She's holding on until your son's wedding.”

Kier felt numb.

The doctor looked at Kier. “Anything else?” he asked, not without sympathy.

He shook his head. “She's had to go through all this alone.”

“She's had her sister, and her son.”

The lump in Kier's stomach now lodged in his throat. “I am so sorry.”

“You should tell her that.” He walked out of the room. Kier's legs felt wobbly. He sat back down in the chair.
A few weeks?
Things were moving too slowly. Everything, but the cancer.

His legs still felt weak as he walked out to his car. While he drove from the parking lot his phone rang. It was Lincoln.
The man's relentless
, Kier thought. Kier answered, and without waiting for Lincoln to speak, he said, “Here's one for you, old man. The devil visited a lawyer's office and made him an
offer. ‘I'll increase your income tenfold, give you four months of vacation each year, and you'll live to be a hundred but never look or feel a day over thirty. All I require in return is your wife's soul to rot in hell for eternity.' The lawyer thought about it, then said, ‘What's the catch?' ”

Kier hung up before Lincoln could speak, shut off his phone, then headed off to see Sara.

What was once a daily occurrence now felt remarkably unnatural. Kier hadn't been home, to
Sara's
home, for seven months. The last time he'd been there they hadn't even spoken. He had grabbed the last few boxes of his belongings and walked out as she silently watched him go. He remembered seeing her furtively brush a tear from her cheek. Now he wished they had said something to each other, even if she had only yelled at him. It would have been better than nothing.

It was twilight and the old neighborhood was lit by Victorian-style street lamps, wrapped with strands of twinkling white lights. The bases of many of the lamps were covered in snowbanks as tall as picket fences. In an unspoken annual competition, homes on the street were brightly lit with elaborately designed Christmas decorations.

He was glad to see that there was no car in the driveway; Beth would certainly try to keep him away. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door. He was about to let himself in but stopped; he felt like a door-to-door salesman approaching a house with a
No Solicitors
sign. Instead he rang the doorbell. It was a few minutes before Sara
opened the door; it was dark inside but he could still see her clearly enough to read the surprise on her face, as well as her weariness. She just stared at him. Kier was the first to speak. “Can we talk?”

“No.” She began to shut the door but he put his hand out and stopped it.

“Sara, please.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I just want to talk.”

“About what?”

“About us.”

“There is no
us
, Jim. Please let go of my door.” She tried to push the door closed but wasn't strong enough.

“I need to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Why, because I'm dying? So you can divorce me with a clear conscience?”

“No. Because I love you.”

Sara began crying. “Don't say that. You can't say that now.”

“It's true.”

“Why did you go to my doctor? My life is none of your business.”

“I had to know how you really were.”

“My death isn't any of your business either.”

Kier couldn't answer.

“So now you know,” she said, her voice trembling. “Please let go of my door.” He took his hand away. She pushed the door shut and dead-bolted it.

He shouted through the door. “Sara, I know you love me.”

“No, I don't,” she shouted back.

“I saw what you wrote next to my obituary.”

Sara didn't reply.

“You're the only woman I've ever loved. You're the only woman who has ever loved me. I was a fool to leave you.”

Suddenly, the deadbolt slid and the door opened. Sara's expression was fierce. “I loved you, Jim. I loved you with all my heart. And you left me. You left me when I needed you the most. It's too late; it's too late. You can't come back.”

She pushed the door shut again and the deadbolt locked. A door across the street opened; someone looked out, then shut the door again. Kier began to cry. “I want to come home, Sara. I know I don't deserve you. I know I can't fix things. But I would if I could. I would give anything to have you back.” He pressed his forehead against the door. “I'm so sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry.”

Kier fell to his knees. “I'm so sorry.” After a few minutes he stood and walked back to his car. Inside the house Sara slumped down against the door and cried.