Danielle Steel - Lightning

“Did things get better today?” he asked, as solicitously as he could, although Alex clearly had the feeling he didn't really want to discuss it.

“I was fine,” she said, eliminating totally the report that she had spent an hour on the bathroom floor of her office, and another half hour on the couch, with Brock Stevens holding her ice pack. “I have a lot of new cases.” It was what he wanted to hear, even if it was only part of the story.

“So do we,” he smiled, trying to forget their argument of the night before and all the ugly things they had said to each other. “We have an awful lot of new clients, thanks to Simon.”

“You don't suppose there's any hanky-panky there, do you, Sam?” she said suspiciously, a lot of new clients of that magnitude almost made her a little nervous.

“Stop looking for problems in everything. Don't be such an attorney,” he chided her, none too gently.

“Occupational hazard.” She smiled weakly at him, feeling nauseous again, just from the smell of his dinner.

She cleaned up alone afterwards, but by the time she was through the little she had eaten had come back to haunt her. She wound up on her bathroom floor again, retching horribly, and this time there was no Brock Stevens with a pillow and an ice pack.

“What's wrong with you?” Sam finally asked as he came to look at her. He had to admit, she looked awful. “Maybe it's not just the chemotherapy. Maybe you have appendicitis or something.” It was hard for him to believe the chemo would actually do that.

“It's the chemo,” she said, sounding like the voice out of The Exorcist , and vomiting instantly again, and he left, unable to watch it.

Eventually, she made it to their bed, and collapsed exhausted, while he glanced over at her in annoyance. “I know this is unsympathetic of me, but why is it that you were fine at work all day, and you get sick the minute you see me? Is this a bid for sympathy, or do I have this effect on you?” he asked, not realizing what she'd been through all day, and she didn't want to tell him she'd lied about what had happened at the office.

“Very funny.”

“Do you think you're reacting to this emotionally, or maybe you're allergic to this stuff?” He just couldn't understand it or believe it. He had never seen anyone throw up that violently or that often.

“Trust me, it's the chemo,” she said again. “I have a sheet that tells you what to expect. Would you like to read it?”

“Not really,” he said honestly, “I'll take your word for it.” And then, as though he were still trying to explain it, “You were never like this when you were pregnant.”

“I didn't have cancer, and I wasn't having chemotherapy,” she said dryly, still trying to recover from the onslaught. “Maybe that made a difference.”

“I think this is psychological. I really think you should call your doctor.”

“I did. She said this is unfortunate, but normal.”

“It doesn't seem normal to me.” He didn't want to understand it. He had complete denial.

In the end, they went to sleep, and when she awoke the next morning, she was nauseous again, but she didn't vomit. They both went to work normally, and she took Annabelle to school, which made her feel better. Every little step toward normalcy was a victory suddenly, and she managed to get through an entire morning at work without feeling sick or being distracted.

It was only that afternoon, working with Brock again, that her turkey sandwich got the better of her and she wound up back on her bathroom floor feeling like she was dying. He didn't hesitate to come in this time, and she was shocked to realize that he was holding her head and her shoulders while she vomited and she didn't even care. In fact, it was less frightening not to be alone and have him with her. She was ashamed for feeling that way, but when she lay against him afterwards, she looked up at him, wondering why he did it.

“You should have been a doctor.” She grinned foolishly at him. This was certainly one way to establish a friendship.

“I hate the sight of blood,” he confessed.

“But not the sight of vomit? What is it with you, you like women who throw up?”

“I love ‘em,” he laughed. “I ended a lot of dates like this in high school and college. I got pretty good at it. Things are supposed to be a little more sophisticated in New York, but maybe not, huh?”

“You're crazy,” she was still too weak to move, and they were sitting on her bathroom floor again, as she leaned against him. “But I'm beginning to like you.” It was kind of like being married. There was no embarrassment, just her need, and his willingness to fill it. For a moment, she wondered if God had sent her just the right friend at just the right moment.

And then Brock sounded more serious, when he spoke to her again. “My sister went through this.” He sounded very sad when he said it.

“Chemotherapy?” She sounded surprised, as though no one had ever been through it before her.

“Yeah. Breast cancer just like you. She almost gave up the treatment plenty of times. I was a junior in college, and I went home to take care of her. She was ten years older than I was.”

“Was?” Alex asked nervously, and he smiled.

“Is. She got through it. You'll get through it too. But you have to do the chemo, no matter how bad it gets, or how terrible it is, or how much you hate it. You've got to do it.”

“I know. It scares the hell out of me. Six months seems like forever.”

“It isn't,” he said, sounding older than he was. “Dead is forever.”

“I get it. Honest.”

“You can't screw around, Alex. You have to take the pills, no matter how sick they make you, and go for the treatments. I'll go with you if you want. I went with her. She hated them, and she was afraid of needles.”

“I can't say I loved it either, but it didn't seem so bad, until I started puking my brains out. But then again, it's one way to meet friends.” She smiled up at him and he grinned. He wasn't wearing his glasses and his tie was askew. He had a blond boyish look, but at the same time, his eyes said he was much wiser. At thirty-two, he had seen a lot more than she knew. He had an old soul, and a good heart, and he really liked her.

“Shall we go back to work?” she asked after a little while, and Liz was just putting some mail on her desk, and was surprised to see them both come out of the bathroom.

“Hi,” Alex said casually, “we were having a meeting.”

Liz laughed, and had no idea what they were doing in there, but it seemed funny to her as she went back to her desk.

“People are going to think we're shooting up or snorting cocaine if we keep this up,” Alex laughed, “or having sex in the bathroom.”

“I can think of worse rumors than that.” He laughed easily, and sat down across the desk from her. She was looking better.

“Yeah. Me too.” She hadn't made love with Sam in almost two months and they weren't likely to be doing it again soon, from the look of things between them. But sex didn't seem much of an issue. Survival was more to the point. That was the only issue at the moment. They worked together all afternoon, and at the end of the day, he got her a cab again, although she insisted she felt fine. And on Friday, she managed to take Annabelle to ballet. Remarkably, she was doing everything she needed to. And she wasn't feeling great, but she wasn't totally out of commission either. And she was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, she'd survive it. Whether or not her marriage would was another thing. She thought that a great deal less likely.

Chapter 13

Dr. Webber was very pleased with Alex's progress the following Monday. “You're doing fine,” she complimented her. Her blood count was good. And they were able to do the intravenous treatment, preceded by dextrose and water, which was a little less traumatic for Alex, now that she knew what to expect from the treatment.