This Is Not How It Ends(77)

Next to me, my phone dinged, and Ben’s name ignited the screen. Clicking on the message, I saw it was a photo, the one of the three of us on the boat. Our failed attempt at a selfie. Only, it was the perfect shot. The best day ever. Philip wedged between us, our faces smiling, no hint of cancer, no signs of betrayal. Just the three of us captured for eternity.





CHAPTER 36

November 2018

Days later, I officially took a leave of absence from the clinic to be with Philip. I was nearing thirty-three, and my future map was drawn in lines I couldn’t decipher. What I could see, though, was the outline of the life Philip wanted for me. He’d always been romantic and whimsical, but his mortality made him inspirational and motivational: do this, do that, hold your head high, push through the pain. I was tiring of his clichés about life and dying, sayings easy for him to leave behind when his days were numbered.

There was my future to consider, and while I enjoyed working with Liberty and the patients, I knew the clinic wasn’t my life’s work. I missed teaching and the relationship to my students. Observing the people I loved, they all had their passions: Jimmy had his art, Ben cooked, Liberty had her practice. Even Philip—to leave us all a little richer, to leave us better people than we were before.

While I wore my ring as a symbol of great love, the prospect of marriage seemed to vanish beneath the burdens we carried. The marriage license we’d eagerly obtained weeks ago remained stuffed in a drawer by our bed. I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d never be Philip’s wife, something I had once wanted more than anything.

November arrived, bringing with it cooler temperatures and a break in the humidity. Only Philip’s sensitive skin had us shuttered indoors, hurricane glass separating us from the delightful weather. His pain was mostly under control, a crippling lethargy the only sign of his approaching demise. Together, we took Sunny for short walks and spent afternoons lounging in the hammock in the backyard. I’d read to him some of my favorite books, and he’d fall asleep, snoring beside me.

Sometimes Ben and Jimmy would come around, and we’d sit at the table, working on puzzles and eating ice cream. Jimmy was painting again, and he prided himself on sharing his projects with Philip. Philip marveled at the latest creation of all of us at Morada Bay. Our arms were interlocked, and we were facing the ocean. Jimmy. Ben. Philip. Me. “Remember this name, Jimmy boy.” Philip reached for a piece of paper next to his bed and scrawled the name of one of his private dealers. “Keep painting and be sure to contact this gentleman. He’ll take very good care of you and your talent.”

Jimmy’s face was a reflection of how we all felt about Philip and his generosity.

On the days when Philip felt an extra burst of energy, we’d all meet at Morada Bay, and sing our favorite songs. And when we’d come home, we’d huddle under the covers watching old movies—Gandhi, Splendor in the Grass—and he insisted on the original Endless Love, which silently wrecked me.

There were moments of laughter and sadness, delicious food and tasteless powders, hand-holding and holding on. Liberty visited often with strange concoctions that promised miracles. Philip welcomed her kookiness. The two of them actually bonded over crystals and “certified healing potions.” “NAET is for crackpots, but there’s no better crackpot than you, Liberty.” Adoration seeped from his eyes.

Friends and coworkers made trips to the Keys with one intention: to let Philip know what he meant to them—charismatic leader and respected role model. He left them with words of praise and wisdom, guiding motivation to take with them long after he was gone.

Natasha flew in. She was kind and melancholy, and we parted as faithful friends. “He loved you, Charlotte.”

“He loved you, too,” I said.

“Bruce wanted to be here. Philip was always his favorite patient.” By then, we were both crying.

Meghan and Myka pitched in whenever they could, staying for days at a time. Meghan was a bridge to Philip’s past, and I reveled in the stories she’d share about Philip as a small child. Through her long line of memories, he never lost his boyish charm, his zeal for life.

“Thank you for taking care of my brother,” she said.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I never felt unloved,” she said. “He was always there for me. Always.”

“I know. He has that way about him.”



Philip, for a time, was in such good spirits it was hard to imagine the insidious monster latched to his veins, drawing out life. His jokes were sillier, his laughter louder and deeper. “A guy was admitted to the hospital with six plastic horses in his stomach. They’re saying his condition is stable.” And “jokes about PMS are not funny. Period.” I was going to miss the lilt of his tongue. The exaggerated way his sentences unrolled like lyrics. The way he called me dahling and Chahley. It was unfair to have to say goodbye.

Jimmy completed his NAET treatments. Like me, he took the careful steps to introduce the allergens to his system. After two weeks, he completed all three, and I could tell Ben was a wreck, waiting, watching—anticipating the entire treatment to be a farce. To Ben’s surprise, Jimmy passed—not all, but two out of the three. Peanuts remained a pesky threat, though the reaction level had declined significantly. It brought me back to that morning in the market, Ben and I racing against time. But he and Jimmy were satisfied with the results, and they’d made great strides since that frightening morning. I glanced at Liberty, reading the concern on her face. She would want nothing more than to cure Jimmy of all his allergies, but each patient was unique, and for some, it was a matter of further treatments.