Danielle Steel - Lightning

“It would be awfully hard on your little girl if you suddenly disappeared, particularly right before Christmas,” Daphne said sympathetically. He was glad that she saw it that way. It made it a lot easier for him. But she had always been very patient with him, right from the beginning.

“I can't wait for you to meet her.”

“Slowly, my darling, slowly,” she said, describing the sexual tortures she designed for him a few moments later. All thoughts of their families disappeared in an instant. But later that night she told him that she was taking her son skiing in Switzerland for a week at Christmas. It would make die choice of who to be with over the holidays a little easier for him, and he suggested he meet her after her son went back to his father. They agreed on a week in Gstaad, followed by a few days in Paris.

It was a weekend of making plans and becoming friends, and falling in love as he told himself he never had before, but that was only because he was trying to forget Alex.

And she was trying to forget him too. She spent a quiet weekend with Annabelle, trying to marshal her forces. She was still sick, but she didn't throw up quite as often. Liz called to see how she was, and a couple of friends called her too, having heard the rumors. But she didn't feel like seeing anyone, and she couldn't help wondering where Sam had gone, if he was alone, or just hiding. Annabelle seemed willing to accept the story that he had gone away on a business trip, even on Thanksgiving weekend.

Sam never came home on Sunday night, although she thought he would, but she wasn't worried about it. She was sad, but not really concerned. He had called Annabelle a couple of times over the weekend, but Alex hadn't talked to him. She had just handed the phone to her daughter, and tried not to think about her husband.

It was actually a relief when Monday rolled around, and she could go back to work and try to forget her problems.

And after she dropped Annabelle off at school, she got to the office and felt better. Everyone looked rested and happier after the long weekend. Even Alex did, although it certainly hadn't been a good one.

“How was the holiday?” Brock asked, as they worked that afternoon. He had had a great time in Connecticut with his friends, although he'd gotten a lot of bruises, he said, playing touch football.

“Honestly?” She smiled cautiously in answer to his question about the weekend. “It stank. I think Sam and I have finally figured out that it's not going to work anymore. The party's over. I was sick as a dog on Thanksgiving, and he was mad as hell. I keep thinking it reminds him of when his mother was dying and she took them all down with her, but he won't admit it. He just gets crazy and behaves like an asshole.

“Anyway, we've agreed to go our separate ways, while living under one roof, which should be a challenge. I don't have the energy to argue about it. We're going to review the situation in seven weeks, after Annabelle's birthday.”

“That sounds very civilized.”

“I guess it is,” she said sadly. “Actually, I think it sounds pathetic. It's amazing what two people can do to each other when they really try. I never thought this would happen to us, but I guess life is full of surprises.” She felt tired and old, and unable to fight him. She just didn't feel up to it. Although for the next two weeks she felt a lot better than she had before that. She had stopped taking the pills, according to her treatment plan, and she wasn't due for another intravenous treatment until two weeks before Christmas.

But when she started them again, she was just as sick as she had been the first time. It overwhelmed her particularly, because with all the problems in her life, she hadn't done her Christmas shopping, and suddenly she realized she just couldn't. She had the F.A.O. Schwarz catalog on her desk, and she had circled several things, but she didn't have the energy to shop for clothes or little gifts for Annabelle and Sam, or anything for her friends or colleagues.

“I feel like shit,” she admitted to Brock, as she lay on the couch in her office. He was used to seeing her that way now, and sometimes she worked with him while she lay down, and evaluated the information he gave her.

“What can I do for you?” he asked sympathetically. “Do you want me to do some shopping?”

“Since when do you have time for that?” They were both buried in an avalanche of new cases. She had passed a couple on to Matt, but she and Brock were trying to cover the others.

“I could go at night. The stores are open late. Why don't you give me a shopping list?” But she didn't even have time to answer him. She fled to the bathroom, throwing up, and it was half an hour later before she left the bathroom and could talk again.

And the following week, she had another intravenous treatment, which left her even weaker. It was only a week before Christmas, and she still hadn't bought a single present. But by then, Liz and Brock took the matter out of her hands for her. She was so sick that she had to stay home for a day, and Liz came and picked up her list at the apartment. She was sad to see her so ill. And when she got there, she found Alex in tears. She had been standing in front of her bathroom mirror and crying. Her hair was coming out in clumps, and she had fistfuls of long red hair in her hands when she came to the door to let Liz in.

“Look what's happening to me,” she sobbed. She knew that it had been a strong possibility, but she hadn't even had time to buy the wig Dr. Webber had suggested. She had spent the morning throwing up, and then gone to the mirror to see that her hair was falling out in bunches. “I can't stand it,” she sobbed, as Liz held her in her arms, trying to console her. “Why did this happen to me? It's not fair.” She was crying like a child, and Liz was glad she had come instead of Brock. He idolized her and it would have broken his heart to see her.

Liz led her into the living room, after Alex threw the hair away, and she sat sobbing in her bathrobe. She looked terrible, her face was pale, her eyes were red, there was a new puffiness to her face that one couldn't quite put a finger on, but something about her was different. She was still beautiful but she looked sick, very sick, and desperately unhappy.

“You have to be strong,” Liz reminded her firmly, determined not to let her wallow in self-pity.

“I have been strong,” Alex almost shouted at her, still sobbing. “And what's it done for me? Sam is as good as gone, I never even see him anymore. He comes in at midnight, or he doesn't come in at all, he lives in the guest room like a stranger, and the only time I ever see him is with my daughter. I'm sick all the time, she's scared of me now, and wait till she sees me without hair. The poor kid isn't even four years old yet, and she has a monster for a mother.”

“Stop it!” Liz snapped at her, and surprised Alex. “You have a lot to be grateful for, and this isn't going to last forever. You have five more months of this to get through, and then, if you're lucky, it'll be all over. And if Sam is a casualty of real life, then to hell with him. You have to think of yourself now, and your daughter. No one else. Do you understand that?” Alex nodded and blew her nose, surprised by the older woman's sternness, but she knew exactly what she was talking about. She'd been through it. Her husband had been more supportive of her than Sam but it had been her fight, and no one else's, and she said as much to Alex.

“Chemotherapy is miserable, and losing a breast is a terrible thing, but you can't give up. Your hair will grow back, you won't be throwing up forever. You have to look beyond this. Think of what you want to be doing in five months. Keep your mind on that, and not this, hold something out to yourself as a goal,” she suggested wisely.