The Girlfriend (The Boss) (28 page)

“Sophie,” he called, and when I turned, he was smiling at me. “You really are very good at this.”

“Thanks.” I considered a moment. “But let’s not make this whole ‘getting cancer’ thing a habit.”

* * * *

Neil’s chemotherapy would go in a three-week cycle. The first week, he would get all the nasty drugs that would kill his cancer cells, and a bunch of regular cells on the side. He had the first dose at the hospital, so they could monitor his condition.

“This is ridiculous,” Neil complained as he changed out of his clothes and into a hospital gown. “We only live a few minutes away. I don’t see why I need to stay overnight.”

“Better safe than sorry,” I reminded him patiently as I folded his sweater. “You’ll be back home tomorrow.”

I’d thought that he would have to be taken to some special chemo lab to have the super important drug administered. Perhaps there was a touch of the dramatic in that expectation; I was totally comfortable imagining Neil on a gurney, being raced into some far off procedure room by nurses and doctors all shouting at each other about how serious this entire thing was.

At least then it would match the level of anxiety I felt.

When the nurse came in, I almost vomited in fear. Which was a strange reaction, considering how non-threatening she looked. She was probably nearing retirement, and had graying blonde hair pulled into a frizzy twist. She was round all over, and short, like a little chemo Hobbit.

“Good morning,” she warbled, as chipper as a canary. A canary that had no clue it was in a fucking cancer ward. She asked for Neil’s name and birthdate, then explained, “We’re going to administer the drug, along with some fluids. That will help you combat the nausea and dehydration, and hopefully make it a bit easier on you.”

“This being the first dose, the effects won’t be as, erm, severe, then?” Neil asked hopefully.

She made a noise as she went about collecting items from the little plastic basket she’d carried in with her. “No... would that it could be that way, but this is a bit like jumping into the deep end of a cold pool.”

I reached over and took Neil’s hand. He squeezed mine, hard.

She turned with a plastic sleeve of fairly innocuous looking clear fluid marked with some very comforting warnings about poison and corrosiveness. She held up a length of plastic tubing and said, still in that chipper canary voice, “Are we ready?”

“Hey baby,” I said softly, tugging Neil’s hand. He turned his head, and when his eyes met mine I could almost feel his fear. I gave him as comforting a smile as I could manage. “Just look at me, okay? I’m right here.”

His fingers locked around mine in a death grip.

It was strange, seeing Neil freaked out. It was stranger that my presence seemed to help him; I always took comfort in him, so I guess I’d overlooked the possibility that he could take comfort in me, too.

Neil’s port site was still slightly tender, and he winced as the nurse swabbed around it. I tried not to let my disgust show in my expression, but the tube she connected to him looked like a crippled squid, with three pathetic tails hanging from it. The nurse hooked up a bag of fluids to one, and the sleeve labelled “Chemotherapy” and “toxic” to the other. She taped everything down very efficiently with a little windowed sticker that covered both the main line and the port, flicked a wheel on the tube, and said, “There you go. Let me get you set up with a basin, in case you need it.”

Chemotherapy started, not with a bang, but a... well, not even a whimper, really.

Neil settled back more comfortably against the raised head of the bed. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be.”

I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but I figured I had some responsibility to him in the reality-check department. “Why don’t you wait a few hours and see how you feel.”

He made a face. “Oh, good lord. I can taste it.”

I reached into my purse. Emma had mailed her dad scads of candies called Miracle Berry tablets. She’d learned about them while scouring internet message boards for chemotherapy comfort tips. I was glad I’d remembered them. I popped one from its bubble pack and passed it to him.

He sucked on it a moment, then said, “Well, it certainly helps. The drugs do sting a bit, though.”

I rubbed his arm. “Is there anything else you need me to do? Just say the word.”

He considered. “You can get out your iPad and we could watch something.
Sherlock
is on-demand.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon and into the evening watching television on the iPad, propped on its little stand on the table that slid over his bed. After the drugs had been pushed into his system and the lines had been disconnected, I laid beside him, occasionally holding the basin for him when he felt like he might vomit. But he never did.

At around seven in the evening, our nurse from that morning was ready to sign off her shift.

“I’m off for home now. Time for you to go, as well. Visiting hours start again at eight in the morning.” She moved Neil’s mostly untouched dinner tray aside and made a note in his chart.

My heart lurched. I’d known coming into the hospital that he would be staying overnight and I wouldn’t be. Now that it was time to leave, though, I couldn’t go. He didn’t feel well. He hated the hospital. He was going to be bored and lonely and he had
cancer
and they were sending me away to leave him alone. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I tried to hide them from him.

“Sophie,” he soothed, putting his hand on my shoulder. “It’s only for a night. You’ll come back in the morning and I’ll come home with you. I’m fine, really.”

I nodded, but I couldn’t speak. He put his arms out, and I leaned against him. He smelled funny. The chemo was already seeping out in his sweat.

Wiping my eyes, I sat back and smiled at him. “You’re right, I’m being silly. It’s going to be nice to have that big bed all to myself.”

“Be sure you do something naughty in it, in my absence,” he whispered, as though the nurse wouldn’t hear, and she snorted a laugh.

I kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Once I was outside the room, I pretended not to see the “no cellular phones” sign and called for the car. Our driver in London was a very professional, very humorless man. I wished we could have used some of Neil’s billions to move Tony over with us. His easy New York humor would have been a lifesaver at the moment.

Neil’s nurse ended up catching the same elevator down as I did. She gave me a pitying smile. “It’s going to get easier, leaving him here.”

I wanted to snap, “No it won’t, bitch!” and storm off the elevator, but I restrained myself. If I lashed out every time someone made a comment about how his recovery would go or how I should handle it, I was going to get real tired, real fast.

It was strange, staying at Neil’s house without Neil. It was big and empty, and I would have preferred the haunted feeling of Langhurst Court. At least a ghost would have been someone to talk to. I ended up in our big bed far earlier than bedtime, cuddling his pillow like a puppy wanting her master’s scent.
 

I wanted my Sir’s scent. I just wanted him with me.

I left the television on all night, and the lights, which didn’t make for the best night’s sleep ever. After the alarm went off, the morning crawled, with every task seeming to take up too much time. I wasn’t going to be happy again until I was with Neil.

I was brushing my teeth and staring at myself, unattractive toothpaste goatee dripping from my mouth, when I realized that for the next few months, this would be normal. Sleepless nights, worrying and waiting and being separated from Neil when all I wanted was to be with him.

When I got to the hospital at the eight AM start of visiting hours, I was shocked to see Neil already dressed and sitting on the edge of his bed, coat looped over his folded arms. He didn’t look like a cancer patient. He looked how he always looked, just a little bit more tired. I don’t know if I was expecting him to lose all his hair and eyelashes overnight or what, but I was so relieved, tears sprang to my eyes.

Was it a bit dramatic to run at him and throw my arms around his shoulders? Probably. Did he mind? Not at all. He squeezed me back and whispered, “I missed you, too.”

“We should be able to spend a single night apart, don’t you think?” A tearful laugh burbled up my throat. “This is kind of pathetic.”

“This is different than a night apart. That, I can handle.” He chuckled. “No, that’s a lie. I used to hate Sunday nights in New York. Sunday nights were the worst, when you went back to your apartment.”

“So, you’ve had more practice missing me than I’ve had missing you.” I kissed his cheek and stepped back. “What are we waiting on?”

“Dr. Grant wants to see me before I go.” Neil shrugged. “I feel fine. A little tired. But I thought this was going to be terrible.”

“It will be.” Dr. Grant insinuated himself into the conversation easily as he stepped through the open door. “Everything looks fine. We’re going to send you home with some literature about what you can expect for the next few days. Your staff has my number, yes?”

“Yes. I have a live-in nurse and one part time to fill in the gaps for when the poor man has to sleep,” Neil explained. “And Sophie may contact you, as well, if something goes...”

“At any hour.” Dr. Grant scribbled something on the sheaf of papers in his hand. “This is my private cell number, call should the need arise.”

I was expecting the horrible side effects I’d read about, but when we returned home that afternoon, Neil was fine. A little nauseated, but otherwise, Neil-as-usual. He went to bed early, and the next morning he went to work in the home office.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked him, lingering beside his office door.
 

He looked up from his computer screen and nodded. “I feel fine. Thank god. I have no idea what Butler’s doing with
Auto Watch
since I’ve been gone, but the March cover is atrocious.”

“You know,” I began, carefully picking my way around a stack of papers that were, god help us all, dusty. “This is insane. You need to take some time off to take care of yourself. If you weren’t here having chemotherapy, you’d be caught up in
Porteras
business and not worrying about
Auto Watch
or any of your other magazines. You hired the people who are running them for a reason.”

His head dropped, and he nodded miserably. “I know,” he admitted after a moment. “I’m not sure what to do if I’m not working.”

“I understand that you’re feeling helpless right now. But I owe it to all the poor people who work for you to keep you from micromanaging their jobs.” I stepped behind him and rubbed his shoulders, carefully avoiding his port. “Do you want me to teach you to knit?”

“No. And honestly, I can’t focus on this.” He pushed back from the desk. “I can’t focus on anything and I’m bored. It’s not a pleasant combination.”

“Is there anything you want me to do for you?” His helpless feeling was catching.

“No. I think I’m going to take a nap. I’m a little nauseated.”

 
The next day went exactly the same, with Neil just slightly sick to his stomach, then tired earlier than usual.

The fourth day. That was when the magic happened.

The only time Neil woke up, it was to vomit profusely, to the point that I became alarmed. Josh the nurse reassured me that it was totally normal. Neil didn’t eat anything for the rest of the day, but sucked on some Miracle Berry tablets. He asked for Josh’s help getting him in clean pajamas and put to bed, and I knew then that things were really bad. Neil would rather cut off his own arm than ask anyone for help with anything, normally.

I went to bed when he did, laying beside him, reading
Ahab’s Wife
and listening to Neil’s deep, exhausted snoring. At some point, I fell asleep, and when I woke it was to a dark room and total silence. No snoring.

My heart lurched and I sat up, blinking my eyes in the dim light from the bedside lamp I hadn’t turned off. “Neil?”

“Did I disturb you? I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.” His tone was weary; he’d been awake for some time.
 

I sat up beside him and wrapped an arm around his waist. He was chilled, his skin wet with perspiration. He smelled different, metallic and medicine-tinged. He shivered uncontrollably as I held him.

“Oh, baby,” I murmured. I felt guilty that I had been sleeping beside him while he’d been suffering. I pushed my hair back. “Is there anything I can do?”

His forehead creased, as tried to focus. I thought back to all the side effects I’d memorized by heart. Clammy skin, cold sweats, trouble sleeping, confusion... none of it should have been unexpected. I guess I had been feebly hoping that he wouldn’t have to deal with any of it.

“I don’t think there is?” He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. “Maybe you should get the nurse? I feel terrible.”

“I can do that, sure. What do you want me to tell him? What do you need?” I slipped from the bed and grabbed my robe.

“I don’t know. I feel... something isn’t right.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned his elbows on his knees. “If I move, I get dizzy, I’m drowning in my sweat... I think something must be wrong.”

“I’ll get him.”

I grabbed the phone on the nightstand and rang Josh’s cell. He picked up on the second ring, despite the fact the alarm clock said it was three-thirty in the morning. “Mr. Elwood?”

“Can you come to our room please?” I asked, the hysteria I held back crackling like electricity through my tight voice. “Neil is really not feeling well.”

As I said it, he stood and lurched for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“I’ll be right down,” Josh said, instantly alert.

I hung up and padded toward the bathroom door. I’d just laid my hand on the handle when Neil called, “Sophie, please don’t come in.”

“Are you all right?” Now I was really worried. “Neil, are you okay?”

“It’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’s just bloody embarrassing.”

Oh no. Poor Neil.
I felt awful for him, because I knew how controlled and composed he always tried to be. A run-of-the-mill toilet accident during chemo might be something other people had a sense of humor about, but not Neil.