The Lives Between Us (33 page)

Edward leaned over and pointed at the red toothbrush lying in the garbage can. “Oh, I think I do. You gonna go after her?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Since when has that ever mattered?”

Mark watched the elevator door close behind Skye before drawing up abruptly. “Shit.” He slammed his palm into the wall. “Screw it. She’s ridiculous.”

“You’re crazy about her. Go get her.”

“That’s what she wants.”

Ed tipped his head and frowned. “Doubt it. But, so? What if it is?”

“I’m not going to be manipulated.”

“That’s not manipulation. I know put on when I see it and that,” he nodded toward the elevator door, “wasn’t put on.”

“Then she’s pretty easily freaked out. Who wants to deal with that? Having to cope with a crisis is bad enough without someone like her wigging out on you.”

“So, she’s a little immature. But she’s passionate; ya gotta give her that. She cares,” Ed said softly. “Go after her.”

Mark looked at his best friend and then at the elevator doors. He headed to the lounge and took a seat.

Heart pounding, Skye stood inside the elevator. Hodgkin’s disease was cancer. It was life threatening. Mark had to take a leave of absence. She stared at the wall of black buttons and pushed the lobby. Skye spent altogether too much time in this darn hospital. She had to get out of there. In the lobby, Skye rushed through the revolving doors and then—crap. She didn’t have a car.

Skye zipped her coat, turned left, and started walking. Maybe she’d overreacted. Maybe Mark would die. Maybe she didn’t want to be with someone who might die. Maybe it was too late.

“Too late” echoed in her head, bouncing painfully around as she scrambled to catch the words before they bruised her heart and settled into her bones, another permanent scar.

Skye looked at the oncoming traffic then hurried across the street and jumped over a small snow bank. She’d thought Mark was different—and he was, she just didn’t know how different. Hodgkin’s disease.

Get a grip, Skylar. So he’d been sick—it’s not as if he gave you VD. He’s well now—what’s it matter?

It does. It just does
. Her heart stubbornly clung to that fact.

Skye looked at the long road ahead of her and pulled out her cell phone. She knew exactly who to call.

* * *

“So, what’s up?” Jenny asked as Skye slipped into her Jeep.

Skye turned to her friend. “I need help—perspective.”

“Coffee or someplace more private?”

“Your house?” Skye felt weird inviting herself to a friend’s home, but she was desperate. “I’d suggest mine, but I don’t want to run into my boyfriend.”

Jenny peered through the dark car at Skye as if searching for bruises. “Stalker?”

“No. I just don’t want to see him. We were at the hospital visiting Edward and his wife, and I found out something that freaked me out.”

Jenny pulled away from the curb and easily moved through the light night traffic, heading toward Lake St. Claire and her home. “You got in to see the Senator and his wife? I’m impressed. How’s the article coming?”

Skye slumped in her seat and rested her head against the cold window. “It’s not. That’s my other big problem.”

“Having trouble organizing it?”

“Having trouble with the whole dang thing.” Skye sighed. “I must be the world’s biggest sap. I just
cannot
write this article. I can’t seem to be objective.” Her shoulders sagged with the admission. She thought confession was supposed to unburden a person; Skye just felt like a failure. “I bet you never had that problem.”

Jenny arched an eyebrow, yet didn’t take her eyes from the street as she made a left turn onto Lakeshore Drive. “You’d lose that bet. I married the guy I did my first big feature on.”

“Yeah, but you still did the article on him. I can’t,” she admitted. “I like his wife. They’re good people, and they’re going through a nightmare that I cannot bring myself to exploit.”

“Who says you have to exploit it?”

“If it’s just this sweet piece, who’s gonna read it?”

“
Millions
of people.” Jenny made a left and then a quick right, pulling into her driveway. She reached for the garage door control and then looked at Skye. “Sweet can be poignant and touching if written right. Even inspiring.”

“Maybe I just don’t have the talent.”

“You do. Besides, who better to sensitively tell his story than a friend? Why don’t you show me what you’ve got and maybe I can give you a few ideas to get you unstuck?”

“He’s not my friend, he’s...” God, Skye was so confused. She didn’t know anymore what Edward was to her. He used to be her nemesis, her enemy, but then she got to know him and... Okay, so he had some good qualities, and he’s going through hell right now, but he still wasn’t her friend.

“He’s Mark’s friend.” Skye rubbed her aching temples. Karen was expecting that darn piece early next week. “I’d be grateful for any help you can give me.”

“Sometimes the better you know a person, the harder it is to hit the sweet spot between detachment and making it personal enough to evoke reader emotion. Finding the right tone can be tricky, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”

Jenny pulled into the garage. Through the three-car garage and into the house, Jenny kicked off her shoes next to a large pair of Nike sneakers and a pile of kids’ shoes. Skye slipped out of her heels and followed Jenny into the kitchen.

“Skye, this is Steve. Steve, my friend, Skye.”

Jenny’s husband smiled brightly, revealing a mouthful of large white teeth worthy of any Osmond child. Blond and fit, he faintly resembled the ex-Bronco quarterback John Elway. Skye's hand disappeared in his friendly, firm grip. “Nice to meet you. Can I get you ladies a drink?”

“I’d love a Coke Zero if you have it,” Skye said.

“Jenny's lifeblood, sure. Jen?”

“Yeah, thanks, honey. Clarisse in bed?”

“Right after you left.” With his back to them and his head buried deep in the refrigerator, his response was muffled.

“The boys?”

“Grammy J is reading Sam a story, and the Scotts should be dropping Thomas off in...” Steve shut the fridge door and glanced at the wall clock. “Twenty minutes.”

Jenny frowned. “I thought we’re supposed to pick up?”

“They decided to stay and watch the game, so they offered to drop him off.”

“Great.”

Jenny led Skye through the living room onto a glass-enclosed porch. She went to light the fireplace, then plopped down on an overstuffed scarlet couch. Skye studied a group portrait over the mantle. An elderly African American lady sat in the middle flanked by two boys and a girl. Steve and Jenny and a young couple stood behind. “That’s a great picture.”

Jenny nodded. “Our first family picture.” She went to the picture and pointed at the young couple. “That’s Ted and Alex, my stepchildren from my first marriage. Then Steve and I adopted my friend, Grammy J’s grandchildren, Thomas, Sammy, and Clarisse.” She pointed to the African American children.

“Wow. That’s a lot.” Skye thought about her own dwindling family. “And you both work full time?”

“Thanks to Grammy J. She lives with us and keeps us all organized. Without her…” Jenny shuddered. “It’d be
a lot
harder. Now. How come you’re on the lam and why’re you talking to me and not your sister?”

Skye burrowed in the other end of the couch. “Faith’s got enough on her plate.” Besides, she’d probably side with Mark.

Jenny rested her crooked arm on the back of the couch and threaded her fingers through her dark hair. “So, what’s with the stalking boyfriend?”

Skye edged off the couch and knelt on the floor, ready to dig into the chips and salsa Steve delivered along with the drinks. “He isn’t stalking me. We just had a big fight.”

“About?”

Steve returned and put napkins on the coffee table. With his own mug in hand, he moved to the doorframe and leaned against it. He looked from Skye to Jenny. “Interrupting?”

Jenny turned to send him away. “This is girl—”

“It might be interesting to get a guy’s perspective.” Skye took a sip of her soda. “What do you know about Hodgkin’s disease?”

“It’s a cancer of the…lymphatic system, I think. One with a good cure rate if they catch it in time,” Steve said.

“They treat it with chemo and radiation—or maybe bone marrow transplants,” Jenny added.

“But can you die from it?”

“You can die from just about anything. Why?” Jenny asked.

“Mark, my boyfriend, had it years ago.”

“And?”

“He’s in remission. He’s been in remission for almost ten years.”

“And?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Then how’d you find out?”

“Edward mentioned it in passing.”

“So you’re upset because of the
way
you found out?”

Put that way, it sounded petty. “I’m upset about all of it. Niki just died and then Faith’s problems, and it’s just that this came out of left field, you know.” Skye paused. “I thought we were close.”

I was going to spend the night with him—wake up in the morning next to him.
They shared quiet, honest times in their afternoon kangarooing sessions, but now it seemed like it’d just been peripheral surface stuff. Apparently, Mark hadn’t felt he could trust her with the important things. Skye felt raw and vulnerable.

Did she care about Mark more than he cared about her? Neither had said the three little words-—
I love you
—but she’d said it with her actions. Maybe she did care more. The thought prickled like wearing a scratchy wool sweater over a sunburn.

“That doesn’t mean you’re not close,” Steve said.

Skye blinked at Steve. He’d been so quiet that she’d forgotten he was there. “Really?”

“Have you had a tonsillectomy, appendectomy, stitches, or any broken bones?”

“Appendectomy and stitches,” she paused, thinking. “Oh, and I had my wisdom teeth out. Why?”

“Have you told him?”

“Uhh...” Skye narrowed her eye on Steve, then felt a little foolish when she saw the point he was making. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

Jenny glowered at her husband. “Don’t be such a lawyer.”

“You can’t die from those things,” Skye said.

“Sure you can. You could have complications from the appendectomy. You could develop adhesions, and they could strangle your bowel and you could die from septicemia. You could get an infection from the oral surgery. Meningitis.”

Jenny glared at Steve. “So now you’re a doctor?”

He shrugged. “I watch
Grey’s Anatomy
. If you want my opinion, you should cut the guy some slack.” Steve frowned and shrugged at Jenny. “What? She asked.”

“I think I just heard Thomas come in.”

Steve pushed off the door jam.

“And make sure he doesn’t stay up all night playing video games, please,” Jenny called out to Steve’s retreating back. She turned back to Skye. “Let’s do a little research.”

From Jenny’s computer, they downloaded and printed a dozen articles on Hodgkin’s disease. After getting refills on their pops, they settled back on the couch and read.

“Geesh.”

“What?” Jenny continued to read her articles.

“They stage it, too. Four stages, just like heart disease.”

“What stage was Mark?”

Skye narrowed her eyes on the chart listing symptoms and likelihood of cure. “I don’t know.”

Stage one had a ninety-five percent likelihood of cure, whereas stage four had a sixty to seventy percent likelihood. Definitive diagnoses involved biopsies. Skye mentally scanned his body for old scars that could have been cuts for biopsies but couldn’t remember any other than the one high across his forehead he got playing hockey in high school.

Had Mark lost weight lately? Not that Skye detected. She didn’t know if he soaked the bed with night sweats, since they’ve never slept together a whole night. Though his big body radiated a lot of heat, she didn’t think he’d ever had a fever while they’d been together. She thought about his passion for skiing… If he was ever extraordinarily tired, he hid it well. Mark seemed free of symptoms now, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come back.

Fifteen minutes later, Jenny tossed aside her stack and stretched. “Definitely nasty, but a ninety percent cure rate with radiation and chemo is pretty darn good odds.”

“Mark had both, but that doesn’t mean he’s cured.”

Jenny pushed back in her chair. “Skye, there aren’t any guarantees in life. Let’s look at this logically. Did he deliberately lie or mislead you?”

“No.”

“Is he emotionally or physically abusive?”

He manipulated her into kangarooing the baby, but that wasn’t what Jenny was talking about. “No.”

“Are you turned off by him?”

That made her lips twitch. Turned off by Mark? Just thinking of his slow sexy smile warmed her. Skye slowly shook her head. “Noooo.”

“Does he suck in bed?”

“Hardly.”

Jenny snapped her fingers. “I know; he’s stupid. No? Lazy? Insensitive?”

Skye’s mood lightened at her friend’s gentle teasing. “Mark manages the family business; which is successful. And he’s too perceptive—if anything.”

“Let’s see.” Jenny counted off his attributes on her fingers. “Smart, sensitive, honest, caring, and attractive.” She nodded sagely. “Yup, you’d better dump him.”

Skye fought the grin threatening to dissolve the last of her anger and doubt. “My parents died. Niki died. Faith
almost
died.” She bit her lip. “I...just don’t think I can go through that again.”

“He
will
die—guaranteed—and so will you. Everyone’s gonna die some day, Skye. That’s life. What’re you going to do? Hide in a closet and not care about anybody ’cause you might be hurt when they leave?”

Maybe.
Skye bristled at being called an emotional coward. “You have this happy life with a perfect husband, darling kids, and a built-in grandma. I’m sure it’s hard for you to relate.”

“Not really. My first husband died.
Because
of me.” Jenny looked Skye in the eyes. “Gabe was fourteen years older than me; he’d been married and had two teenage kids. My family thought I was too immature to marry him. His thought I was after his money. But we adored each other, so we married anyway.