"Do you still take off part of November and all of December?"
"So that my crew can enjoy the holidays with their families?" she said bitterly. "I do."
"I know you're usually busy with that friend of yours—"
"Not this year."
"Good. Then maybe you'd like to come to the Antarctic with me. I'm doing a documentary on global warming. I think it's an important story, Tully. Someone of your stature would get it watched."
The offer was a Godsend. A moment before she'd been wanting to get away from her own life. You couldn't get much farther than Antarctica. "How long will we be gone?"
"Six weeks; seven at the most. You could fly back and forth, but it's a hell of a trip."
"Sounds perfect. I need to get away. How soon can we leave?"
Naked, Kate stood in front of the mirror in her bathroom, studying her body. All her life she'd been engaged in a guerrilla-type war with her reflection. Her thighs had always been too fleshy, no matter how much weight she lost, and her tummy pooched out after three kids. She did sit-ups at the gym, but still her middle sagged. She'd stopped wearing sleeveless shirts about three years ago—arm jiggle. And her breasts . . . Since the boys' births, she'd started wearing heavier-molded, less sexy bras, that was for sure, and she tightened the straps to pull her boobs into place.
Now, though, when she looked at herself, she saw how little all of that mattered, what a waste of time it had been.
She stepped closer, practicing the words she'd chosen, rehearsing. If ever there was a moment in her life that required strength, this was it.
She reached for the pile of clothes on the counter and began dressing. She'd chosen a pretty pink cashmere V-neck sweater—a Christmas present from the kids last year—and a worn, soft-as-lambskin pair of Levi's. Then she brushed her hair, pulled it away from her face and made a ponytail. She even put on some makeup. It was important that she look healthy for what was to come. When there was nothing else she could do, she left the bathroom and went into her bedroom.
Johnny, who'd been seated on the end of the bed, stood quickly and turned to her. She could see how hard he was trying to be strong. Already his eyes were bright.
It should have made her cry, too, that shiny evidence of his love and fear, but somehow it made her stronger. "I have cancer," she said.
He already knew it, of course. The past few days, spent waiting for the test results, had been agonizing. Last night they'd finally gotten the doctor's call. They'd held hands while she gave them the information, assuring each other before she spoke that it would be fine. But it hadn't been fine; not even close to fine.
I'm sorry, Kate . . . stage four . . . inflammatory breast cancer . . . aggressive . . . already spread . . .
At first Kate had been furious—she'd always done everything right, looked for lumps, gotten her mammograms—and then the fear set in.
Johnny took it even harder than she did, and she saw quickly that she needed to be strong for him. Last night, they'd lain awake all night, holding each other, crying, praying, promising each other they'd get through it. Now, though, she wondered how they'd do it.
She went to him. He curled his arms around her and held her as tightly as he could, and still it wasn't close enough.
"I have to tell them."
"We have to." He stepped back slightly, loosened his hold just enough to look down at her. "Nothing will change. Remember that."
"Are you kidding? They're going to take away my breasts." Her voice caught on that; fear was a crack in the road that tripped her up. "Then they'll poison and burn me. And all that is supposed to be the good news."
He stared down at her, and the love in his eyes was the most beautiful, heart-wrenching thing she'd ever seen. "Between us, nothing will change. It doesn't matter how you look or feel or act. I'll love you forever, just like I do now."
The emotions she'd worked so hard to submerge floated up again, threatened to consume her. "Let's go," she said quietly. "While I've still got the nerve."
Hand in hand, they walked out of their bedroom and went downstairs, where the kids were supposed to be waiting for them.
The living room was empty.
Kate could hear the television in the family room. It blared out the bleep-thump of video games. She let go of her husband and went to the corner, by the hall. "Boys, come on out here."
"Aw, Mom," Lucas whined, "we're watching a movie."
She wanted to say, Keep on watching; forget it, so badly it actually hurt to say, "Come on, please. Now."
Behind her, she heard her husband go into the kitchen and pick up the phone.
"Downstairs, Marah. Right now. No, I don't care who you're talking to."
Click.
Kate heard him hang up. Instead of going to him, she went to the couch and sat down, perching stiffly on the cushion's edge. She wished suddenly that she'd put on a heavier sweater; she was freezing.
The boys rushed into the room together, fighting with plastic swords, laughing.
"Take that, Captain Hook," Lucas said.
"I'm Peter Pan," William complained, pretending to stab his brother. "En garde!"
At seven, they were just beginning to change. The little-boy freckles were fading; baby teeth were falling out. Every time she looked at them lately, some baby trait had been lost.
Three years from now they'd be almost unrecognizable.
The thought scared her so much that she clutched the sofa's arm and closed her eyes. What if she weren't here to see them grow up? What if—
No bad thoughts.
It had become her mantra in the past four days. Johnny came up beside her, sat down close, and took her hand in his.
"I can't believe you picked up the phone," Marah said, coming down the stairs. "That is so totally an invasion of my privacy. And it was Brian."