The thing she hated most about being sick was how old it made her feel. She was in her sixties, not her nineties! Yet, most days, she struggled to walk, let alone anything else. Everything hurt. She was short of breath, nauseated all the time, and exhausted.

  When she reached the door, she caught sight of her slimmer-than-usual reflection in the glass door panel and shook her head. There was a time, when she was younger, when she’d pursued ridiculous diet after ridiculous diet in pursuit of keeping her figure. Now, she couldn’t care less. In fact, she hated this new, pinched, malnourished look she possessed. Oh, for a bit of plumpness in her cheeks.

  Tucking her thin dark hair behind her ear, Deb pushed the door open and leaned on the frame. She’d expected Robert, at least, to come and find her. Perhaps he’d already gone home for the day.

  As Deb peered up and down the ward, she shivered. Being out of bed was making her skin prickle, even though the ward was stuffy and warm. Spotting a nurse, she was about to wave her over when someone else shouted, “Carol, I need your help!” and the nurse disappeared.

  Deb bit her lower lip. The air had changed. Not its temperature or its smell. It was the sound that was different. Thinner. Quieter.

  Looking up and down the corridor, Deb contemplated going for walk to find another nurse. Someone who could tell her what was happening, but judging from the panicked voice that had called for Carol, perhaps now wasn’t the time.

  She’d turned and was pushing her door back open when she heard something in the room next door. A person. A person sobbing.

  Deb hesitated. Normally, she’d call for a nurse to go and check on whoever it was. With her immune system compromised, she’d been told to avoid contact with other patients as much as possible. Robert had made a point of it when he’d secured her a private room.

  “Never in my life have I ignored someone who needs help,” she muttered. Then, using her IV stand to lean on, she moved slowly toward the noise.

  When she reached her neighbor’s door, she knocked. No one answered, so she pushed it open.

  In the chair beside the bed, a woman with pale freckled skin and a silk scarf on her head was burying her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.

  “Excuse me?” Deb said quietly.

  The woman startled and looked up, swiping thick tears from her cheeks.

  “Are you all right, dear?”

  The woman looked about Laurel’s age. Perhaps a little younger, but aged by whatever form of cancer she was battling.

  “I…” the woman blinked several times, her green eyes still moist.

  “What’s your name?” Deb asked as she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Beth.”

  “I’m Deb.” She extended her hand and Beth shook it.

  “Do you know what’s happening out there?” Beth asked, pulling a dark green cardigan a little closer around her slim frame.

  Deb shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t. I expect whatever caused the power outage will be fixed soon, though.”

  “I thought hospitals had generators,” Beth said quietly, glancing around the room at all the silent pieces of technology.

  Instead of saying anything, Deb patted Beth’s arm. “There’s no need to be frightened. We’re perfectly safe.”

  Beth met Deb’s eyes and smiled thinly. “I’m not frightened of whatever’s going on,” she said. “Although perhaps I should be… I’m frightened of what my doctor has to say.” Patting her silk scarf, Beth took in a shaky breath. “She was supposed to come and see me this afternoon to talk about my progress. I think it was going to be bad news.”

  “Why do you think that?” Deb asked calmly, slipping effortlessly back into therapist mode as if Beth was one of her patients—if she hadn’t been forced into early retirement by this wretched disease she was battling.

  “The look on her face the last few days.” Beth reached up and fiddled with the end of her scarf. “The way I feel.” After a pause, she added, “Stage Three metastatic melanoma.”

  “You’ve been having chemotherapy?”

  Beth leaned back in her chair, as if the effort of talking was making her tired. “Yes. Have you?” She glanced at Deb’s hair.

  “No,” Deb replied. “I have Stage Four pancreatic cancer. An old friend of the family who works here arranged for me to join a trial that was having good results.” Deb looked up at the ceiling, gesturing to the building. “My daughter, Laurel, is a doctor, and she joined the hospital staff to be closer to me.”

  “Is it working? The trial?” Beth asked, shifting in her seat and wincing at the discomfort.

  “Some days, I think so. Other days….” Deb shrugged and tried to smile. “Who knows? I was due to have some tests this week but…” she trailed off. They’d probably be delayed now, but that didn’t matter. She was in no rush to know whether her prognosis had changed. In truth, she was mostly glad that she and Laurel were in the same place at the same time. Her daughter’s career in the Army had taken her all over the world, far away from Texas and her family. Now, for the first time in years, they were living in the same city and seeing one another every day.

  “Would you like some water?” Beth gestured to the jug of water on her bedside table. “There’s a spare glass.”

  “Thank you.” Deb poured herself a cup, even though the jug felt heavier than normal, and then one for Beth too.

  “Cheers,” Beth said, sniffling. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her voice was wobbly.

  “Cheers.” Deb took a long sip and closed her eyes. She was tired. Talking was tiring, but at the same time she was feeling restless. “Why don’t I see if I can find your doctor? Was it Doctor Harris?”

  “Yes,” Beth said, but shook her head. “But, really, there’s no need. I can wait.” As she spoke, her voice cracked and a tear ran down her cheek. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wiping it away. “I don’t know what’s got into me.”

  “I’ll go and see if I can find someone.” Deb stood up, once again using her drip stand to steady herself. “I’ll be right back.”

  At the elevator, without thinking, Deb pressed the call button and waited a full ten seconds before remembering it wouldn’t come.

  “Shoot.” She looked toward the stairs. Laurel was only one floor down, but she hadn’t done stairs on her own in weeks. A couple of times, Robert had encouraged her to go for a walk and they’d attempted a couple of steps—to keep her strength up—but only ever a couple. Never a whole flight. “Well,” she said, summoning a jolt of determination from somewhere deep in her belly, “it’s not like I need to rush. I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

  Half an hour later, however, her determination had vanished. She was covered in a cold sweat, her hands were clammy and even hanging on to the railing was a task too much. Dragging the IV bag with her didn’t help either. Sitting down on a hard middle step, Deb looked behind her. She’d managed just half a flight. There was no way she’d manage to make it all the way down to the Emergency Room and back again.

  Just as she’d told herself this and was summoning the will to get up and return the way she’d come, a door above her clattered open and a familiar voice shouted, “Deb? Are you all right? What are you doing down there?”

  “Robert….” Deb turned and looked over her shoulder. Robert was jogging down the steps, two at a time, to reach her. Stooping down, he patted her face and shoulders as if he was checking for an injury.

  “Did you fall? What happened?”

  “I was looking for Laurel,” she said, smiling; it really was sweet of him to worry about her so much.

  “Why?” Robert helped Deb to her feet and slotted his arm around her waist as they turned around and started back up to the ward.

  “The woman in the room next to me was worried about her scans. I thought Laurel might—”

  Tsking loudly, which he often did when he was frustrated and overworked, Robert rolled his eyes. “Laurel is head of the Emergency Room, Deb. She’s got nothing to do with the Oncology Department. You should speak to one of the nurses.”

  “Of course.” Deb stopped to catch her breath. Her body hurt. Her skin felt sore and her lungs felt tight. Today had not been a good day. “I’m sorry, Robert. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

  “Nonsense.” Robert smiled at her and tweaked an index finger under her chin. “You’re never trouble, Deb. Never. Now, let’s get you upstairs, shall we? You can see Laurel later. When she’s less busy.”

  Deb nodded slowly. She was clinging tightly to Robert’s arm and stopped moving as she said, “The power is coming back on isn’t it, Robert? The hospital has generators?”

  “Of course,” he said, looking down at his feet. “Any minute now, I’m sure we’ll be back in action. Any minute now.”

  6

  BEAR

  With no hammer, Bear had to make do with the end of a screwdriver, which wasn’t strong enough to use on his nails and plywood. Instead, he fixed a large piece of tarp over the broken window with duct tape.

  With the job done, albeit poorly, he retreated inside and finally lit the stove and the fire. His hand was still sore, which made each task take a little longer than usual, but he managed to grill the fish, boil water for rice, and pour himself a glass of whiskey without too much trouble.

  From the couch, Jess watched him. She only moved when the fish was plated up, and then trotted over to the table and jumped into the chair opposite Bear’s. On the plate in front of her, he’d mushed up some fish and rice and mixed them with her kibble.

  “If Mae could see this, she’d love it, but she’d think I’d lost my mind,” Bear said, smiling with the corner of his mouth as he shoveled a forkful of fish into it.

  As he always did when he thought of his daughter, he glanced toward her photograph. Framed, it was sitting proudly on the mantelpiece that he’d constructed last winter. Sometimes he wondered why he’d chosen a picture of her in her Army fatigues. He could have chosen a photo from her graduation or her prom or from the family dinner they’d had for her twenty-first birthday.

  Forcing his eyes away from Mae’s smiling face, Bear nudged a piece of fish with his fork. His daughter’s decision to enlist had caused the first of many quarrels in their relationship. Laurel and Mae had fared better, but Bear simply hadn’t been able to handle it. Not after what had happened to him.

  “Why would you put yourself in harm’s way like that, Mae? After everything I’ve told you. After everything you’ve seen.” He had been pacing up and down on the deck outside their soon-to-be-sold family home, shouting, although he couldn’t be certain how loudly. He remembered it making his head hurt.

  “Until you were discharged, you said that joining the Army was the best thing you ever did!” Mae had lit a cigarette, noticed him frowning at it, and taken a deliberate drag. “Besides, it’s my life, Dad. Can’t you just be happy I’ve found something I want to do? A career I’m excited about?” She’d paused then added, “Mom gets it.”

  “Don’t bring your mother into this, Mae. She has a different perspective on things.”

  “But yours is the only right perspective?” Mae had folded her arms, her cigarette burning orange in the glow of the muted early evening light, her blonde hair falling around her face—just the way her mother’s did.

  Bear shuddered as he remembered how the conversation had ended.

  “Can’t change the past,” he muttered, instinctively running his index finger across the scar that ran from his temple toward the back of his skull. Hidden by his hair, but still there beneath the surface.

  Looking down at his plate, he swallowed hard. He’d lost his appetite, but knew the food needed to be eaten; he could have run a decent sized fridge-freezer on his generator—it was powerful enough—but somehow it didn’t feel ‘authentic’ to what he was trying to achieve out here. Back to basics meant back to basics.

  Forcing down the remainder of the fish, while Jessamine watched closely in case he decided to throw any leftovers her way, Bear watched the light fading beyond the window. Sunset was both his favorite and least favorite time of day. In the summer, he’d enjoyed it more. The days had been longer and, by the time the sun had gone down, he’d had only an hour or two to fill before going to bed. Now it was fall, and winter was approaching, the hours stretched out in front of him. Dark and quiet. The perfect recipe for remembering.

  Bear scraped his chair back from the table. He didn’t hear it, but he felt the vibration of wood upon wood and noticed Jessamine’s head tilt to the side. In the sink, he washed the dishes with cold water, dried them with an old dishcloth, then stacked them back on the rack above the countertop.

  He’d finished his whiskey and wanted another, but he was keenly aware that if he moved from one a night to two a night, the journey to three or four would be a short one. Instead, he lit the stove and put the kettle on to boil.

  While he waited for the puff of steam that would tell him the kettle was whistling, he surveyed his cabin. It was how he’d wanted it. Simple. What he needed, nothing more, nothing less. Despite that, he couldn’t help wondering what Laurel might have done if she were here; a vase of dried flowers, some throw pillows on the couch, a rug to warm their feet on cold mornings.

  Perhaps he’d buy something in town tomorrow. A brightly-colored blanket for Jess to curl up on. Turquoise. Laurel’s favorite color.

  When the kettle finally boiled, Bear made a cup of strong black coffee and headed for the couch. Instantly, as he took out a pack of playing cards and set it down on the coffee table he’d cobbled together from an old wooden pallet, Jess was on his lap.

  “Clock Patience or Solitaire?” Bear tapped the pack.

  Jess blinked at him.

  Cradling his coffee, Bear leaned back into the couch. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood either.” He looked toward the door. A cold draft was creeping in. He stood up, fetched a couple of towels from the cupboard by the sink, then rolled them up and used them to pad the gap above the doormat. Another thing for his list: a draft excluder.

  “You know, girl, I think I might just go to bed.” Bear returned to the couch, picked up his coffee cup, and tipped it down the sink.

  Perfectly happy to snuggle down as soon as possible now it was dark outside, Jess trotted after him to the bedroom. Before long, Bear was beneath the blankets and Jess was on top. Curled into the crook of his knees as he lay on his side, she was a living, breathing hot water bottle.

  For a few minutes, Bear tried to allow his mind to drift off. His muscles relaxed, he sank into the comfort of the mattress, but then something happened and the sleepiness he’d felt when he first lay down disappeared. He’d started to think of Laurel. That was what did it, and he knew that when he started to think of her, the only way he’d be able to get to sleep was if he got the thoughts out of his head and onto paper instead.

  Pushing himself up on his pillows, Bear fumbled for the matches beside him and lit the gas lamp he used as a bedside light. Next to it was a large red notebook, a birthday gift from Mae.

  Grumbling at him, Jessamine shifted onto her feet as he stretched out his legs; she’d been comfortable and wasn’t happy with the sudden change of plan.

  Opening the book, Bear leafed through its pages.

  Dear Laurel, I miss you.

  Dear Laurel, I’m sorry.

  Dear Laurel, I’m thinking of you.

  Dear Laurel, Dear Laurel, Dear Laurel.

  Pages and pages of letters he’d never send. Letters that helped him sleep because, somehow, it was as though, by getting his thoughts onto paper and writing her name beside them, they might reach her.

  Dear Laurel, I cut my hand today and it made me think of you. You would have laughed, I’m sure, at the patch-up job I did…

  Bear wrote until his hand hurt and his head was empty, and then he fell asleep.

  When he woke up, he was screaming. He couldn’t hear it, but he could feel it. His heart was thundering in his chest, so hard he could barely breathe. The air was pulsating around him. Pressing down on him. Pinning him to the bed. He opened his eyes, but it was pitch dark. Too dark. He stumbled out of bed, waving his arms wildly, feeling for the door.

  In the hallway, he traced his fingers along the wooden paneling. Hall. Hall. Hall. Living room. He pushed the door open, felt it thwack back against the wall. It was a little lighter in here. He hadn’t closed the shutters. A sliver of moonlight was breathing through the trees outside, illuminating the couch. Bear ran for the door. Fumbling with the locks, he kicked the towels from the doormat, then heaved the door open and ran down the steps.

  Hands on his thighs, he bent double, focusing on the moss-covered ground beneath his bare feet. He twitched his toes, nestling them into the moss. It was cold, but he could barely feel it.

  Slowly, his heartbeat began to settle. Jessamine was at his side, leaning against his calf. He slumped to the ground and pulled her into his chest. He felt her heart beating against him. Slower than his. Softer. He matched his breathing to its rhythm. In. Out. In. Out.

  “I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered.

  When she looked up at him, he nodded.

  “Same dream.” He stroked her ears. “Except, this time, I didn’t think I was going to stop. I thought I was going to kill her.”

  Jess blinked at him and licked his hand.

  “I know she doesn’t blame me.” He breathed in, sucking cold air into his lungs as he looked up at the clear night sky. “But that’s why I’m better off out here. Far, far away from her.” He paused and closed his eyes. Laurel’s face was still there. “She’d never have left me, so I had to. I had to leave her so I couldn’t hurt her.”

  7

  LAUREL

  “It’s going to be dark soon.” Laurel was standing on the roof of the hospital. Beside her, Janet was smoking a cigarette. The sky was a surly shade of gray. Clouds had moved in, which meant the full moon would barely be visible. Beyond, the city was darkening too and clouds of smoke, rising in turrets on the horizon, warned that more patients would arrive in the morning.

 

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