The Girlfriend (The Boss) (49 page)

Emma shot to her feet. “Okay, daddy, I’ll see you after.”

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I said with a laugh.

“This is it,” Neil said, once Emma had gone. He folded his hands in his lap, and from the creases at the corners of his eyes above the mask, I could tell he was smiling. “This is what we’ve been working for.”

“And the day is finally here,” I agreed, sitting beside his legs on the bed. I squeezed his ankle through the blanket. Though it was exciting to be moving on to the next phase of treatment, it was scary, too; the transplant brought its own dangers with it. Even though the autologous transplant carried fewer dangers than if he received cells from a donor, he still ran the risk of infection, organ failure, or the engraftment of the cells could fail. He was at the finish line, but he could still stumble.

“I was a bit apprehensive, but now I feel fine.” He took a deep breath through the mask. “I’m ready, Sophie. If I have some terrible reaction or I get an infection and die, I can honestly say that I’ve spent the last part of my life exactly the way I wanted to.”

I sat up a little straighter, frowning. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been able to spend it with you. We went to Paris and did all sorts of naughty things...” His voice trailed off. He fell suddenly serious. “Sophie, promise that you’ll stay in touch with Emma. With all of my family, really.”

“I don’t know your family, Neil.” I patted his leg. “Besides, you’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to quit a marathon before the finish line.”

“I’ve never run a marathon.” He frowned. “Write that down, Sophie. I want to run a marathon.”

“I’m not your assistant anymore,” I reminded him.

Dr. Grant entered the room with a perfunctory knock. “Good morning, Mr. Elwood. Are you ready for your new cells?”

“They’re my old cells, they’re just being put onto a clean slate,” Neil corrected.

“They gave him a sedative,” I said, to explain his silliness.

And, because Dr. Grant has absolutely no sense of humor, he didn’t get it. He frowned as though I’d tattled on the nursing staff and said, “That’s perfectly all right. That was probably in his best interests, anyway. No sense in letting him worry his head off.”

“Yeah, I...” I waved my hand. I fully gave up trying to communicate with Dr. Grant like a human being. “Do you want me out now?”

“They’re bringing up the cells as we speak. They’ve been in a bath all morning to thaw them out.” Dr. Grant gestured with his thumb toward the door. “You can stay with him if, you like.”

“Really?” I exchanged a look with Neil. “Um... do you want me to stay, or do you want me to go? Or I could get Emma.”

“You could both be here,” Neil suggested, looking hopefully to Dr. Grant.

“Provided they’re not ill. It’s a simple matter of putting the cells back in, it’s nothing too complicated,” Dr. Grant assured me, showing human warmth for the first time since I’d met him.

In the waiting room, Emma was perched on the edge of her chair, drumming the fingernails of one hand against her teeth.

“All systems are go, if you want to come back,” I told her, and her eyes widened.

“I can be in there with him?” She gestured to the door. “Are you sure you want me in there?”

“Sure, it’s just a simple procedure. If it goes anything like the chemo, he’ll be spectacularly sick everywhere. You don’t want to miss that.”

As we walked back to Neil’s room, Emma caught my hand and gave it a squeeze before dropping it again. “Thank you. For being there for him.”

“You’re there for him, too,” I said, still a little stunned by her gesture of friendship.

“It’s not the same.” She shook her head. “He’s happier with you around. If you hadn’t been here, who would have sat up with him all night, or taken care of him when he was wretchedly sick? Rudy? My mom?”

The thought raised my hackles.
Down girl, you’re supposed to be okay with Valerie now.
“Well, I’m not doing it to win any prizes. I’m doing it because I love him.”

“I know you do.” She looked me in the eye with a direct stare she’d inherited from her mother. “I don’t have any doubt what your intentions are here, Sophie.”

Back in Neil’s room, we waited in suspenseful silence as they brought up the thawed cells.

“What if they drop them?” Neil asked with a nervous laugh. “Wouldn’t that be the story of my life?”

“They’re not going to drop them,” Emma said.

Still, when the nurse walked in carrying the cooler, my throat closed up a little bit. Neil’s life was in there.

I held my breath as she pulled out the bag, and I noticed Emma was doing the same.

It took no time and absolutely no fanfare to hook him up and get the cells pumping back in. After about twenty minutes, Dr. Grant came back, examined the bag, told us things were going “splendidly,” and reassured Neil that the pervasive taste and odor of fish he was experiencing was perfectly normal.

And that was that. He was transplanted.

For the first time in months, it looked like things could really go back to the way they had been before.

* * * *

Until blood tests showed that Neil was producing his own white blood cells— proof that the stem cells had taken root— he had to stay in the hospital. And while he was technically “getting better,” the side effects of the transplant were very similar to the side effects of chemo, which he still suffered from. He was just as miserable, tired and sleepless as ever.

I tried to stay at the hospital as much as I could, wearing a mask, scrubbing down everything with antibacterial wipes, and washing my hands until they cracked. It was worth it to stay with Neil; Dr. Grant had warned us that he might need total isolation, should he show signs of infection, but so far, so good.

About a week after the transplant, I woke to find Neil sitting up in bed, watching something on his iPad. I frowned. “Baby, it’s the middle of the night. You should be resting.”

He looked up with a distracted smile. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you need more pain meds? Do you want me to get the nurse?” I swung my legs over the side of the converted recliner to stand.

“I’m fine, really. Just sleepless.” He turned the iPad around so I could see what he was looking at. “Watching a very inspirational video.”

My face heated with embarrassment. There I was on the screen, my legs spread open as I sat in the chair in our bedroom. “Oh, wow. I didn’t realize you were going to take that file out of the house.”

“It’s password protected,” he assured me. He patted the narrow bed. I slid onto it beside him, one foot dangling on the floor as I rested my head next to his. He hit play on the video. “I’ve watched this a hundred times.”

The girl on the screen seemed like a stranger. She pushed her long, dark hair back from her forehead and gazed confidently into the camera, totally unashamed to be on lewd display.

“You’re right. I really,
really
like this one. Can I use it all the time?” Sophie-on-the-screen asked, rubbing the two-pronged vibrator between her legs.

He smiled at that.

We watched, me through my fingers, embarrassed and turned on at the same time, as Sophie in the video came closer and closer to orgasm, backing off every time. Strangely, the longer I watched, the more I began to appreciate what he saw. I really was beautiful on the screen, sweating and moaning, not caring that he was watching me. Carefree and enjoying myself; what wasn’t to like?

I looked up at Neil’s face, and saw a sheen of tears in his eyes.

“Sophie... I have never been able to be myself with anyone the way I’m able to with you.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Remember the night after the abortion?”

“I do.” His tone was a little sad. Maybe he was just tired, and I was reading more into it than I should have.

“We listened to that song, about the people in the boat, and you translated it for me?” I heard the tears in my voice. I hoped he didn’t.

“Yes?” He looked away from the iPad to meet my eyes.

I shrugged. “It’s been a hell of a storm, hasn’t it?”

I knew that he understood, because he didn’t say anything more.

It
had
been a hell of storm. But we’d come through it, just like he’d promised me we would.

I don’t know why I’d ever doubted him.

* * * *

At around four, Neil was finally asleep, so I decided I would duck out for home. I checked with Erin, one of the night nurses, before I left, and let her know where I would be.

I’d meant to sleep until seven, and then head back. The hospital wasn’t far from home, so it made it easy for me to slip in and out. I couldn’t imagine how people handled a long-term hospital stay for a family member if they had to drive from out of town. I was counting my blessings as I dozed off, and for the first time in a long while, I snuggled Neil’s pillow and thought happy thoughts, rather than sobbing myself to sleep.

When I woke up, I knew something was wrong. I knew it the instant my eyes flew open and I realized I had overslept. My phone was on the nightstand beside its dock, the screen dark. I had set the alarm but forgotten to charge it.

I looked to the alarm clock on Neil’s side of the bed. It was nine-forty. They would have already woken Neil up for blood tests and breakfast. He would be wondering where I was.

I plugged the phone in to charge while I quickly showered and dressed, and when I picked it up again, I checked my recent calls. Seven of them, all missed, all from the hospital.

Neil wouldn’t have called me seven times. The only reason anyone would have called this much was if there was an emergency. My heart seized, and my lungs ached with every breath I took.

“No, no, no,” I repeated to myself under my breath. I tried to dial, but my fingers were shaking so badly that I had to try twice. By the time I got on the line with the hospital, I ended up on hold. I hurried downstairs and flagged down Matthew-the-pseudo-butler. “I need a ride. Like, immediately.”

“I’ll call Stephen, madam.”

“Don’t call me—” I made a noise of frustration as he walked away, but the nurse picked up before I could finish.

“This is Sophie Scaife, calling about Neil Elwood,” I said breathlessly as I pulled my jacket from the closet in the foyer. “Someone called me?”

“We’ve been trying to reach you all morning,” the nurse said, sounding put out.

“I didn’t mean to miss your calls,” I said though gritted teeth. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“Mr. Elwood has had a complication. Dr. Grant would like to speak with you as soon as possible.” How could she sound so freaking testy and impatient when I was hearing the worst news of my life?

Okay, not the worst news. The worst had been, “I have cancer.”

Would it be worse news when I got there?

Stephen raced me to the hospital, blowing through stops when he could chance it. I took the stairs up to the fourth floor, and I was panting by the time I reached the waiting room, where I found Emma clutching a paper cup with a tea bag label hanging over the side, and Michael pacing.

“Sophie!” Emma jumped up and threw her arms around me. “They wouldn’t talk to us until you got here.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought I had plugged my phone in, I guess I was really tired and I just forgot—” I burst into tears, and she immediately put aside her cup to embrace me.

“Sophie, no, I don’t blame you! We could have come back to get you.” She hugged me tight. “I thought about waking you up when we left the house this morning, but I knew you needed your sleep, and I didn’t know this was going on. By the time we got here, they said you were already on your way in.”

“We need to work out a better system for contact, though,” Michael suggested pragmatically. “The only number they had on file for Emma was for New York.”

Dr. Grant came into the waiting room. His concerned expression lifted when he saw me. “Ms. Scaife. Why don’t you come with me.”

“Come on,” I told Emma and Michael, gesturing for them to follow.

Dr. Grant took us to a room that was meant to be cheery and uplifting, but the decor was fake and forced. This was the bad news room; they weren’t fooling anyone with their tasteful pastels. Emma and I took the chairs, while Michael stood behind Emma with a hand on her shoulder. She covered his fingers with her palm against her collarbone.

As clearly as a doctor possibly could, Dr. Grant explained that Neil’s fever was an indication of an infection; with no immune system to fight off sickness, even the mildest cold was enough to send him into a fatal tailspin. They’d already moved him to an isolation room.

“Okay, so what does that mean? I don’t understand. Is the transplant not working or something?” My heart was lodged between my clavicles. If the transplant didn’t work, what was the next step? Could they do an allogeneic transplant to save him? Would they find a donor in time? I would have opened my own veins and given him my cells, if I could have, but realistically, the chances of being a match were pretty slim.

“No, no. There’s no reason to believe that the transplant has failed. Not yet.” He didn’t say, “Not at all,” which was what I desperately wanted to hear.

“What are his chances, doctor? Can you at least tell us that?” Michael asked in his calm and steady voice. His arm around Emma’s shoulders made me irrationally jealous. I wanted someone to hold me. I wanted Neil to hold me. And he couldn’t.

I’d been prepared for this. It was all I’d thought of every day since the moment he’d told me that he had cancer.
I thought I’d be ready to let him go...

Knowing something could happen, and living it... those were two different things. Hadn’t I already learned that, with the pregnancy?

“I don’t think it’s time to give you a percentage,” Dr. Grant said. I got a sense that he was trying to cushion a blow. “The next forty-eight hours will give us a better indication of his outcome. I’m concerned about his kidney function, as well, but until I get the results of this morning’s blood work, I simply can’t provide you with more detail. I won’t coddle you; his condition is very serious.”

Then it was bad. It was really, really bad.

“Can I see him?” Emma chewed her thumbnail the same way her dad chewed on his. My heart died a little bit more.