Page 104 of Fierce

Nothing to Give

When Hemi called on Wednesday to tell me he’d be coming over with dinner, I almost asked him not to. Karen’s surgery had been scheduled for Tuesday, and the next six days were filled with appointments that I didn’t know how we’d get through, but that we had to get through anyway. And when I’d told Martine on the phone that I’d be out of the office for the next two weeks, and had heard everything she’d wanted to say in the tightness of her voice...that hadn’t helped, either. When this was over, when Karen had recovered—because nothing else was an option, nothing else was thinkable—I needed to find a new job. Looking wasn’t going to be easy, not after only three or four months in this job. But staying was going to be impossible.

There were just too many things to worry about, so, as I’d been doing for the past week, I’d been trying to worry about none of them. Instead, I’d shoved everything out of my mind and focused on the next step, the next appointment. With the surgery looming over everything, behind everything, an enormous wave hanging overhead and threatening to swamp me.

So when Hemi called, I wanted to ask him not to come, but I didn’t. How could I, after everything he’d done for us?

We ate in front of the TV this time. Karen had taken to spending her days curled up in the easy chair, watching marathons of Disney movies and old romantic comedies. Tonight, it was Cinderella. The non-animated version, at least. A tiny bit less unreality.

“Fairy tales,” Hemi said to me, spooning rice onto plates. “Not your favorite, eh.”

“No,” I said. “But at least in this one, she’s got a little spunk.”

We finished eating, and I took the plates to the sink. Cinderella was waltzing with the prince now, stars in both their eyes, and I tried not to feel cynical about that.

When I headed back toward the couch, Hemi stood up and cleared his throat. “Wonder if I could talk to you a minute.”

He was frowning, not looking one bit comfortable, and my breath caught. “Is something wrong?” I asked. “My...the job?” The surgery, I tried not to think. He’s changed his mind. It’s too much. Because, of course, it was.

The frown deepened. “No. Course not. Your job’s safe. I told you.” Which still left the surgery. “Can we...” He looked around.

“Don’t look at me,” Karen said. “I don’t have to get up. I have a brain tumor.”

“You know,” I told her, doing my best to rally, “in a couple weeks, you’re going to have to come up with a new excuse.”

“Yep,” she said. “That’s why I’m milking it now.” Her bravado and her courage shining through as always, trying to make me cry.

I smiled at her, bent, and kissed the top of her head, and this time, she didn’t brush me away. Instead, her hand came up and gripped my wrist. She held on tight for a moment, and I had to blink the tears back.

“You want a cup of tea?” I asked.

“No. I think you should talk to Hemi. I mean, since he’s our Fairy Godfather and all. If you’re not nice to him, he might change his mind.”

It was too close to the truth, and I knew that was why she’d said it. I straightened, wishing that I wasn’t in my PJs, that I was wearing something more than lipstick. I hadn’t wanted to change for Hemi, hadn’t wanted to think about appealing to him tonight. Some sort of last gasp at independence, or denial of my real circumstances. But it would have been so much better, I realized now, to have gone into this conversation holding a few more chips. At least wearing the armor of looking halfway desirable.

“Um,” I said. “Bedroom. It’s that or the outside hallway.”

“Right,” he said, “bedroom.”

He followed me in there and waited while I shut the door. I sat on the bed, wishing there were another option, and gestured for him to sit, too, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood in front of me, ran a hand through his hair, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “This is hard. Can’t think how to start.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible, not really, but my dry mouth and racing pulse were telling me otherwise. “Please,” I managed to say. “Just say it. If you’ve changed your mind, tell me.” And then I sat and waited for the axe to fall.

“I have,” he said. “I have changed my mind.”

For a moment, I actually couldn’t breathe. “Oh,” I said. “Oh. That’s...” I tried to think of what to say, and couldn’t. “That’s...bad,” I whispered. “Could you...could you help me figure out what to do, then? Or could Josh? I don’t want to ask. But—please. Karen can’t wait any longer. Please.”

I was begging, and I didn’t care. And Hemi was staring at me.

“What?” he asked. “No. Of course not. You think I’m telling you I’ve changed my mind about helping with the surgery? No. Of course not. No.”

“Oh.” I shoved my hands between my thighs and tried not to shake. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Bloody hell.” He’d sat down beside me now, was reaching for one of my hands, squeezing it in his own. “That’s not it. Of course that’s not it. I’m here to say...to ask if we can start again, somehow. I know I’ve done everything wrong so far. But all this with Karen...I’ve been going mad, thinking about you here by yourself, wanting to be with you, and I’m pretty sure that means something. I don’t know how to do this. But I’d like to—” He stopped and looked at the far wall, took a deep breath, and let it go. “I’d like to try again. If you’ve got it in you to give me another chance.”

I put my other hand to my head, which felt as if it were literally spinning. I didn’t answer for long seconds, just sat there and tried to think, and couldn’t. I knew Hemi was waiting, and I couldn’t care.

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