Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(59)

It was my turn to sound surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to wait a second longer. I’ve been chatting with a chief oncologist here, and there’s a clinical trial that you may be a candidate for—well, I’m getting ahead of myself. We’ll talk more when you come in. Stay on the phone and Kelly will arrange everything for tomorrow and beyond for you. Eliz—Libby, I’m so glad you called.”

Tomorrow was as good a day as any. Of course, I wasn’t planning to get treatment in Chicago, but I would explain that when I saw him.

Though it was only five p.m., I was exhausted and had already texted both Paul and Shiloh to let them know I’d arrived. There was nothing of any importance to do. I slowly lowered myself off the counter and went to the bedroom, where I stripped down and slid between the icy sheets. I fell asleep almost instantly, and woke several hours later, feverish and beaded with sweat. Disoriented, I reached beside me, expecting Shiloh to be there, or maybe Tom, only to realize I was on my own. My heart sank. I closed my eyes and waited for unconsciousness to set in.



The next morning, swaddled in the warmest clothes I hadn’t sold, donated, or shipped off to Paul’s, I walked the few brisk blocks to the L. The Blue Line took me to the Loop, where I transferred to the Red Line.

“This is Chicago. Clark and Division is next,” said an electronic voice as I reached my stop. Passengers rushed past me toward the train’s double doors, but I couldn’t seem to unstick my feet from the laminate floor.

Ding-dong went the alert.

“Doors closing,” said the voice overhead.

But I just stood there, as motionless as Lot’s salt-pillar wife, until the train began to move again.

I rode the Red Line until the last stop, then turned around and took the opposite path home. I could have gone to my appointments late or rebooked the first one that I missed, but I didn’t.

“Don’t change your mind about treatment,” Shiloh had said. He must have known that when push came to shove, I couldn’t even bring myself to step inside a doctor’s office. That deep down, I was too afraid.



When I returned to the apartment, I called Jess, making the decision just an instant before I pressed the Call button.

“Are you free?” I asked before she could greet me.

“You’re back?!”

“Sadly, yes. Wanna get a drink?”

“Christ, Libby. It’s not even eleven o’clock in the morning. Are you feeling okay?”

Not really, I thought. “We can meet at noon if it would make you more comfortable.”

“Now is good.”

“Great. Café De Luca. See you there.”

De Luca was halfway between Jess’s apartment and my own; we’d spent many hours there over the years. She was perched at the bar when I walked in, but immediately hopped off her stool to greet me. “Libby, you look . . .” She regarded me with what can best be described as suspicion. “Skinny,” she concluded. “Slightly disheveled, but so damn tiny! And you’re tan! I’m jealous.”

I smiled; I was happier to see her than I had expected to be. “Guess extramarital sex agrees with me.”

Jess’s mouth popped open.

I laughed. “Sorry, did I say that out loud?”

“Tell me everything,” she said, dragging me back to the bar, where she ordered us a round of champagne.

I asked her how she’d been, but she waved my question off, eager for me to recount my trip. Her mouth was still hanging open when I finished. “I can’t believe you left your Latin lover behind!”

“Shiloh,” I said.

“Sorry, Shiloh. Does Tom know?”

“Of course not.”

“Probably for the best.” She tugged on one of the numerous thin, crystal-studded leather bracelets roped around her wrist. “He talks about you nonstop. He really wants to see you, Libby.”

I took a sip of champagne. “I’m sure he does.”

“Really, Libby. I’m being serious.”

“Whose side are you on, Jess?”

“Yours. Obviously,” she said, with a hint of exasperation. “It’s just that this is hard for Michael and me, too,” she said. “I don’t agree with what Tom did, but he’s like a brother to Michael. You know that.”

I drained my glass, then stared at the couple of air bubbles remaining on its sides. “Please don’t tell me about hard. I have cancer.”

“That is not funny.”

“No, it’s not,” I agreed. “Not even a tiny bit.”

Jess stared at me. “Are you for real?”

“For a limited time only, my dear.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “Oh, God, Libby. I am so sorry. What happened? When did you find out?”

I gave her the quick-and-dirty version. “So, that’s why I’ve been running around like I’ve had a partial lobotomy,” I concluded.

She shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I don’t know. It just seemed like too much at the time.”

“What can I do to help, Libby? I’ll do whatever you need. Do you want me to talk to Tom for you?”

“Thanks, Jess. That means a lot to me. I know it’s a lot to ask, but would you mind not saying anything to him? I’m not ready for him to know. I’m not sure I ever will be.”