Page 13 of Hard to Kill

“I can’t.”

He grins. “Jesus, Janie,” he says. “You really are sick.In the head.”

I look at him, my own face serious now. “And please don’t tell me again that life’s too short to waste on Rob Jacobson.”

“Even if I want to?”

“Even if.”

He asks me if I want something to drink. I tell him that I’m going to head home.

“You really ready for this?”

“You mean another trial?”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He’s talking about the trip I am taking to Switzerland in the morning, to the same cancer clinic outside of Geneva where mysister, Brigid, was treated. Targeted immunotherapy was on the table. Enhanced chemotherapy. Perhaps some experimental meds not yet FDA-approved. If I respond favorably to their treatment program, I’m only there two weeks. If I don’t, then we see.

My sister and me. Both with cancer, if different kinds. I know. Some families have all the luck. My mother died of it, too. At least Brigid’s is in remission for the time being.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” I tell Jimmy. “Mostly because I have nothing to lose.”

In a soft voice, my tough-guy partner says, “I do.”

He walks me out the back door to my car.

We hug for a long time.

“This has to work,” I whisper to him.

“I’ll mention that to God at Sunday Mass this week,” he whispers back.

That gets me to pull back.

“Wait. You’re going to church again?”

“Desperate times.”

“Would you mind asking Her something for me?” I ask.

“You got it.”

“Ask Her in a nice way if She could please stop screwing with me.”

TEN

IT’S BEEN A LONG day for me, much more activity than I’m used to, at least lately. Tomorrow is going to be much,muchlonger.

But I’m not ready to go home yet.

It’s the beautiful twilight time on the South Fork of eastern Long Island. What I think of as my own personal magic hour. It’s the kind of night, and light, that reminds me why I wanted to live out here full time, a hundred miles from the big, bad city, twenty miles from land’s end in Montauk.

It’s September, my favorite month of the year, even though I’m about to give the best part of it away with both hands.

I go past the turn to my house, keep going to Indian Wells Beach, park my car. No other cars in the lot. Just the way I like it. My own private beach, free of charge.

I get out and take off my sneakers and walk down toward the water, wanting to feel the sand underneath my feet.

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