Page 91 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

“I don’t know that the flame ever went out. It’s been a rocky, confusing relationship. And it’s not just about the sex. I have great sex with Alex. It’s just that... I... I love him. I love both of them.”

“Does Van love you?”

“Yes,” I said without a second’s hesitation. “And the fact that he can’t show his love for me in public will only make it worse for him when I die.”

“Don’t project,” she said. “A lot of people are going to grieve. Nobody is going to suspect you were having an affair just because he’s in mourning.”

I sat quietly for about thirty seconds. Finally, I blurted out what had been burning in my mind for days. “I think Misty should take my place,” I said. “She’s my best friend, and my kids love her.”

“From what you’ve told me she sounds like she’s come a long way since high school. I can understand why you’d choose her. Are you going to ask her?”

“No. I thought about it, but I can’t just come right out and say, ‘Marry my husband.’ She might run for the hills. I know I would. So, I decided to ask her to do what my mother asked me to do when she was dying.”

“And what’s that?”

“Keep an eye on my family. Protect Alex and my children from the vultures who are ready to swoop in and hijack their lives. Be there for them. Misty will be working with Alex. She’ll see him every day. All I want is for her to be my eyes, my ears, and my foot if she has to kick some gold-digging bitch to the curb. After that I’m willing to let nature take its course. If they’re lucky, maybe one day they’ll be as happy as Beth and my father. That’s my decision, and I’m at peace with it,” I said. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s an elegant solution—mature, intelligent, and grounded in reality,” she said. “Brava.”

It was the last thing I expected her to say, and I was floored. “Wow,” I finally spluttered.

“I also think you’ve been deeply affected by the story of Alex being left in that basket at the fire station, and for you, with your nonstop, overactive rescue gene, he will always be that abandoned baby,” she said. “You absolutely don’t want to leave him, but if you must, you at least want to do the right thing by him—just like his mother did. I’m proud of you, Maggie. Very proud.”

“Thanks. I guess it’s never too late,” I said, a big grin on my face.

“For what?” Esther said.

“After all these years I’m finally starting to show signs of mental health.”

FIFTY-FOUR

one month before the funeral

Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid of dying. But I was supremely pissed off about the inevitable finality of it all. A hundred times a day, no matter where I was, no matter what I was doing, no matter who I was with, I found myself thinking,How can these people go on without me?

Maybe even more difficult than coming to grips with the death concept itself was agonizing over when to share the news with everyone else. Misty, of course, was at the top of the list, but once I’d decided she should be the one to wear the crown if I could not serve out my entire term as Mrs. Alex Dunn, I felt no pressure to give her the bad news/good news.

Then there was my father, Beth, my grandfather, my children, my friends, everyone I worked with, and that was just the inner circle. It had never dawned on me how many people might actually care. But it added up.

Some nights I would lie in bed wide-awake, Alex sweetly slumbering at my side, and instead of counting sheep, I’d make a mental list ofPeople I Really Should Tell One of These Days. Even though I never came up with the same number twice, I’d always get past a hundred before I drifted off.

And yet I told none of them.

It eased my conscience to keep them in my thoughts, but I wasn’t ready to spring it on them. I did, however, have some fun rehearsing for the moment.

Hey, guess what? I’ve got this terminal disease, and I’ve only got a few months to live. I know, I know, it really sucks. Anyway, I just wanted to say a quick goodbye forever and give you a heads-up, because I really, really, really want you to come to the wake and the funeral. Well, hell, I can’t tell you exactly when. All I know is it’s coming up so fast, I stopped buying green bananas. LOL.

And then I’d do a mental rim shot and laugh—to myself, of course. There was no sense sharing this batshit-crazy thinking with anyone else.

I realized that the longer I kept my illness under wraps the less time I would have for farewells. But there was an upside to keeping it all on the down-low. It kept the early birds from circling my husband.

Life, so to speak, went on. I worked, I spent as much time as I could with my family, I went to the city once a week to see my shrink, and like my mother before me, I started writing long letters to my two children.

In mid-July, a groundbreaking ceremony was held, and construction on the new trauma center began. As mayor of Heartstone I requested that Magic Pond not be dredged until after Labor Day. First, so that the people of my fair city could enjoy it over the summer, and second so that I could soak up its healing powers in my remaining days. The head of the hospital graciously obliged. It was an unofficial meeting, and since we were both naked at the time, there were no witnesses.

The days raced by, and we rolled into August. Alex’s forty-fifth birthday was on the eleventh, a Friday. That morning the four of us climbed aboard our boat, regrettably christened theDunn Deal, and set sail for Block Island.

Alex was euphoric. The kids—not so much, but they put on a good game face. Not because they cared about their father’s birthday, but because I had secretly promised them that if they went along without bitching and moaning, we’d buy them each a car on their sixteenth birthday. I, of course, was thrilled to be going anywhere, and I figured four and a half months down the road, when they turned sixteen, the car thing would be Alex’s problem, not mine.

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