This Is Not How It Ends(68)

Dr. Leeman had explained it in clinical terms. Cold, empty words that meant nothing when the outcome was death. We went over options and treatment plans, and Philip slid back into stubborn denial. “No treatment. I’m done. I want to die in peace.”

“Stop, Philip, you’re being ridiculous. There are ways to prolong—”

“I saw what this cancer did to your mother, Charley. I won’t go through it. And I won’t put you through it either.”

Compassion stung when it punctuated betrayal. The guilt was narrowing in, making it hard to think clearly.

Meghan returned, and I quickly learned that she was a puddle when it came to emotional crises. “Don’t be a martyr, Philip. This pigheadedness doesn’t suit you.”

“I’ve made my decision,” he said.

She bent over and got in his face. “You can’t do that, Philip. It’s not an option.”

“Meghan, please . . . this is between Charley and me.”

She backed down, dropping into a nearby chair.

His words floated above my head when he spoke again. “Charley, I intended to give you many things in this life. Someone to love you, someone to cherish that feistiness of yours, that innocence in your heart. I also chose to protect you from so many things. From pain, from loss, from having your heart broken. I’ll keep some of those promises to you. But not all.”

I sat up and told him he was being foolish. “Forgoing treatment is choosing to die, Philip! How is that not breaking my heart?”

“Listen to her, Philip,” Meghan agreed, blowing her nose into a tissue.

He laughed. “Charley, I don’t have time. None of us have time. We only have moments. Strung on a string that can break at any minute.”

“You’re being cruel.”

“What’s the point, Charley?” He was broken, and his cracked lips were telling me lies. “The string’s bound to break. They all do.”

Our faces were so close I could make out every line, every memory. “You don’t get to give up! Not on you. Not on me. Not on us.”

He pulled me back down and rubbed my shoulders until they hurt. “That’s just it, Charley. It’s out of my hands.” And in typical Philip style, he joked about it. “At least Hong Kong’s off the table.”

I didn’t laugh, and we lay there in silence, collecting our thoughts. Shock pooled around me, and I was still thinking I might wake up from this dream with a different ending. I could see it. My fingers reached toward it, flapping in the imaginary breeze. And then it disappeared.

“Where’s your ring?” he asked, noticing my bare finger.

I covered my hand and told him I left the Keys in such a rush that I’d forgotten to put it on after my shower. It reminded me that Ben’s DNA was about to collide with his. Could he smell his best friend in my hair? What kind of person was I?

“Tell Ben to put it away . . . Sunny would love nothing more than to devour it and deposit it in a pile of his shit.”

“The ring is the furthest thing from my mind,” I said, steering us back to his stubbornness. “Philip, you can’t refuse treatment. You of all people! I’d think you’d want to be the one to tell cancer who’s boss.”

He pressed against me. “The decision’s made, Charley. I told you how I feel about this.”

Meghan was openly crying, her blonde hair pulled back in a long ponytail. Red blotches covered her cheeks. She didn’t even try to hide her sobs.

Philip and I sat in an exaggerated silence, and I knew the denial would come to an end when we returned to Islamorada. The shock would wear off, and we’d be forced to face the awful truth. My almost husband was going to die. And there was nothing I could do to save him.



Elise reserved a room for me at the Fontainebleau because there was no way of knowing how long Philip would be in the hospital. The memories crept up on me as I stepped through the lobby alone, and when I slammed the door to my room, I hardly made it to the bed before bursting into tears. Seeing Philip in that hospital bed, stripped of life, made it impossible for me to reconcile with what I’d done. Betrayal collided with an unbearable sadness. Philip was going to die, and I was going to have to watch him slip away as I’d once done my mother. No amount of praying would bring him back or erase the betrayal.

Memories were everywhere I looked. In the sheets, in the view outside my window, in a vault I kept inside my heart. Mom’s diagnosis was one I’d held tightly guarded, afraid to feel the feelings, but now the film was playing, and I couldn’t break away. I couldn’t press “Pause.” I couldn’t hit “Delete.” Philip and I leaving Cabo in that tiny plane. Saint Luke’s Hospital. Mom being rolled into an ultrasound, scratching at her skin like a rabid puppy. Dr. Deutch and his outdated feathered hair and rounded glasses. It was no wonder I had no recollection of our ever being on a date, but he remembered me, and that kind of memory brought comfort. I asked, “Could it be the cholesterol meds? Would they make her skin turn yellow?”

“Your mother’s liver enzymes are elevated,” he had said. “Could be the cholesterol medicine, or not.” The indifference shook me. Philip had sensed my unease and stepped in. “Can you be frank with us, doctor? What are we dealing with?”

Dr. Deutch avoided my eyes. “We’ll know more after the ultrasound. Right now we can only speculate.”