THIRTEEN

 

Emily woke up aching all over.

As she stretched out under the covers of the big bed in the master bedroom, she processed how she felt, what it meant.

She’d had another fever yesterday, but it had broken just before midnight. She didn’t have a fever now. She just felt sore and aching and like she had no energy at all.

Her body was probably just protesting the toll the fevers were taking on it. So even on her good days she might not really feel good.

Since she’d started the experimental treatments, the rhythm of her fevers had changed. The fevers came more often, but they didn’t last as long. So she’d been sick on Sunday, when Paul had found her at Stacie’s. Then she’d been well on Monday. Sick on Tuesday. Today was Wednesday. Today she should feel well.

But she didn’t.

She wondered if she’d ever really feel well again.

Feeling a heavy weight in her chest, she pulled the covers up over her head, wanting to hide, wanting it all to go away. But, even as she did, a flicker of thought reminded her that she would go in for another round of the latest treatment today.

It might be a slim hope, but it was something.

She turned her head and stared at Paul’s empty side of the bed. The covers were rumpled. He’d gotten in bed with her late last night, after her fever had broken and she’d been well enough to sleep with him. A glance at the clock told her it was almost eight in the morning. Paul had probably been up for at least a couple of hours.

She sat up with a jerk as she realized what day it was. Then she scrambled out of bed and hurried barefoot out of the room, down the hall, and into Paul’s office.

He was there, as she’d expected, sitting in front of his computer and looking sleek and professional in his black suit and silver tie.

“Hey,” she said, feeling a pull of emotion in her chest at the sight of him.

He turned around in his desk chair at the sound of her voice. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” she lied. “How are you?”

The smile on his face faded as he studied her, and he ignored her question. “You don’t look like you feel fine. Did the fever come back?”

“No,” she assured him, walking over to where he was seated. “I’m not sick. I’m just tired.”

He reached out for her, and she let him pull her into his lap. She didn’t protest when he felt her forehead, since it would only prove to him she didn’t have a fever.

“How are you?” she asked, when he dropped his hand. The way his gray eyes rested on her face made her feel a little self-conscious, since she’d literally just rolled out of bed. Her hair was messy, and she wore only a little tank and boxer shorts.

“I’m fine,” Paul murmured.

“You ready for today?”

“Yes. As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“The board meeting will go well, I’m sure,” she said, smiling at him encouragingly. His shoulders were stiff, and she could tell he was stressed about the meeting today—when he presented his big proposal to the board. “You’ve done a great job preparing and have covered more bases than most people would even know were on the field.”

Paul smiled faintly at her extended analogy, the way he always did when he thought she’d been clever in her choice of words. “Thank you. I hope so.”

She reached her arms up to hug him and was touched and relieved when he hugged her back. His arms tightened around her with more strength than she expected. And she realized, with a swell of her heart, that he was taking encouragement, strength from her.

She knew he was more nervous about the meeting today than he would ever admit.

“I wish I could go with you,” she said, pulling away. “Even if I couldn’t come to the meeting itself, I could be there waiting.”

Paul shook his head. “You need to get your treatment. There’s no reason for you to waste your time hovering. It’s really no big deal.”

Emily knew it was a big deal, but she didn’t press the point. She was starting to learn more about how to deal with him. And, when something ran deep with him, the more she pushed bullheadedly into his privacy, the more he was likely to shrink away.

“Okay,” she said casually, pulling away from him and getting to her feet, “I need coffee and a shower. You’re not going to leave until nine, right?”

“Right.”

Emily started to walk out of the office, but glanced back once from the doorway. Paul had turned back toward his computer, and he was busy typing again. For some reason, for no good reason, he looked young, vulnerable.

She wondered, with an ache so deep her face twisted helplessly, what he would do when—if—she died. He would be so incredibly alone.

She almost choked on the question and hurried away, not wanting him to look back and see the tears reflected on her face. By the time she got a mug of coffee and took a shower, she’d controlled the emotion. She managed to dress, put on a little makeup, and dry her hair, but by the time she was finished, she was utterly wiped out.

She didn’t have a fever, but her body hurt anyway. She sat down to put on her shoes, but couldn’t seem to do it. She hunched over, breathed deeply, tried to tell herself this was ridiculous. She wasn’t going to give into this.

This was one of her good days, and she needed to be there for Paul today. He didn’t need to be worrying about her.

“Emily?”  Paul’s voice broke into her concentration, surprising her so much she jerked. He walked over to the bed, his face tight with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling at him brightly. “I’m just more tired than I thought.

He frowned, his eyes deep and observant. “You look like it’s more than feeling tired. I can reschedule this meeting so—”

“No!” she interrupted sharply. “I’m really fine. I don’t want you to reschedule. The meeting is important.”

He put an arm around her, pulling her against his side. “You’re more important to me than the meeting.”

She swallowed hard, wanting to burrow into him. He was strong, and he loved her. It felt like he could always keep her safe.

But she wouldn’t let herself indulge the feeling. No matter how sick and weak she felt, she needed to be strong for him too. “I know,” she said, her voice cracking a little. “Thank you. But you’re important to me. You need to go to the meeting today and show them how incredible you are, how ready you are for responsibility. I’m really fine.”

She didn’t say it—since she knew Paul would object—but she also needed to know that Paul would have something to pour himself into if she died. He needed his position at Simone’s to give him purpose, or he would have nothing.

Paul nodded slowly. “Okay. Send me a text as soon as you’re done with the treatment and if Dr. Franklin has any results from the blood test, so I’ll know what’s happening.”

“I will.” She leaned over to kiss him. “And you come right home after the meeting, no matter what happens.”

 “I will.”

* * *

Despite what he’d asked her, Emily didn’t send Paul a text message immediately. She didn't until she’d gotten back to the apartment from the lab.

She needed the length of the ride home to figure out what to say.

She didn’t want to give any details, since it might upset Paul and distract him from what he needed to do and say at the meeting. But she also didn’t want to lie to him.

So she finally decided on a brief message: “I’m done. Everything’s fine. About the same.”

It was true. According to Dr. Franklin, the treatments hadn’t stopped or significantly affected the progress of the virus, but it was too soon to tell very much.

Despite the doctor’s insistence of putting everything in perspective and not getting too upset about tiny changes that might mean anything, Emily was a little bit crushed. She knew Paul would be too.

That could wait until after his meeting, however.

She changed into a stretchy t-shirt and dark blue yoga pants. Then she ate some lunch and went to stretch out on the couch in the media room to read some Shakespeare.

She fell asleep almost immediately.

She wasn’t conscious of anything until she heard a phone ring.

She blinked as awareness broke painfully into her groggy mind. Her body was still aching, and she couldn’t seem to open her eyes.

The ringing had stopped, and a male voice had taken its place. It was familiar enough to make her go through the effort of opening her eyes.

She saw Paul sitting on the foot of the sofa, talking softly on the phone. He was still wearing his black suit and silver tie.

Realizing he was home and the meeting was over, she fought against the heavy haze of sleep until she could sit up. She waited as patiently as she could, listening to one side of his phone conversation. It was about work, but she couldn’t really follow what it might mean.

When he hung up, she asked, “Why didn’t you wake me up? How did the meeting go?”

He frowned at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that Dr. Franklin’s report wasn’t good?”

“It was fine. What I said in the text was true—there wasn’t much change.”

“Except these new treatments aren’t working.”

He sounded clipped and cool, but she knew it was just because he was as disappointed as she’d been earlier.

“Dr. Franklin said that blood chemistry changes daily, hourly, and we can’t get too hung up on small changes like that.”

“I know. He told me that too when I called him. But you should have told me to begin with.”

“I wasn’t going to have you get upset and distracted during the meeting,” she said, sticking out her chin. “I should have done exactly what I did.”

He rolled his eyes, clearly torn between agreement with the sense of her decision and annoyance that she’d taken it out of his control.

“Are you going to tell me how the meeting went?” she demanded.

“It was fine,” he said with a sigh. “It was good.”

“So…”

“They were really impressed.” His expression had changed as he let go of his disapproval. He looked almost sheepish now, as if he were a little embarrassed by admitting he was pleased by something he’d worked so hard to make happen. “They’re going to give me that project and probably some more responsibilities.”

She squealed in excitement, forgetting their little squabble, and threw herself at him in a hug. He hugged her back, and she could feel some sort of shuddering excitement in his body.

He was more pleased by the outcome of the meeting than he would ever say out loud.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said against his shoulder. “You’re going to be so good at this.”

His arms tightened briefly, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t really expect him to.

When she finally pulled away, Paul was frowning. “Did Dr. Franklin think—”

“Paul, don’t,” she interrupted, “Please. I don’t want to get all worried and depressed about the virus today. We don’t know what it means. I’ll go back on Friday. Let’s wait and see what happens. If it’s worse then, we can get worried. We've had really good news about you. I just can’t…I don’t want to get all upset about me today.”

He looked at her for a long time in silence. Then his face softened. “All right.”

She peered at him. “You’re not going to be secretly brooding, are you? I want us to have a good evening.”

“We’ll have a good evening,” he said with a smile.

She realized he was just doing what she was doing—pushing the worry to the back of his mind so it wouldn’t be a distraction. But it was the best either of them could manage. And at least they could have an evening of enjoying Paul’s victory, of enjoying each other.

She would probably have another fever tomorrow.

“What do you want to do tonight?” she asked.

His expression changed palpably, causing her to suck in her breath. “I can think of at least one thing I’d like to do tonight.”

She smiled back. Then kind of slid across the couch until she was straddling his lap. “There’s no reason to wait until tonight for that,” she murmured.

She was still tired and kind of achy. She wasn’t really in the mood for sex. But she wanted to be close to Paul, and she knew he needed this kind of release.

They hadn’t had sex since Saturday night, after she’d taunted him into chasing her in her gorgeous black dress. There was no reason why Paul needed to wait any longer for what he needed.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his hands settling on her hips. “I didn’t think you were feeling very well.”

“I feel well enough for this.” Then she kissed him.

He kissed her back, and he got urgent very quickly. It wasn’t long until he was devouring her mouth and squeezing her bottom, pressing her pelvis against the tight bulge in his trousers.

She responded with a deep swell of tenderness. Her body responded too—but much more slowly than his and much more slowly than normal.

She didn’t care. Her heart was full, and the emotion was even more potent than a physical response. Paul needed this, and she could give it to him.

She wanted to give it to him.

It wasn’t long before Paul adjusted, laying Emily down on her back on the couch and moving on top of her. They kept kissing and started to pull off each other's clothes, and then Paul was sinking inside her.

Emily still wasn’t very urgent, but she was aroused enough for it to be comfortable. And she loved the tightness of Paul’s body, his obvious need for her.

She held him with her arms and her legs as he moved eagerly inside her. She murmured out silly words of affection and encouragement as he thrust in hard, fast strokes and grunted in primal sounds that got louder and louder.

She wasn’t going to come. But she loved it. She loved him.

“Baby?” Paul gasped, rearing up with what was obviously the last of his control. He was sweating, and his features were twisted with effort.

“I’m good,” she told him. “Come, Paul. Come.”

He might have wanted to argue, but he didn’t have enough restraint. With a muffled groan, he began to thrust again, even faster and harder than before. She squeezed him intimately and with her arms and her legs, holding him as tightly as she could since it felt like he was on the verge of breaking.

Then he broke. He let out a hoarse roar, and his face ducked into the hollow of her neck as he jerked against her with clumsy urgency.

She loved how it felt when he let go, loved how it felt when he started to relax, when his body started to soften in her arms. She loved that he needed her as much as she needed him—even though the knowledge still sent shivers of panic through her that she had to repress.

She stroked his back. He was gasping as he pulled himself together, and it took her a minute before she realized he was gasping out, “I love you, baby. I love you.”

She wanted to cry—for so many reasons. But she didn’t. She said, “I love you too.”

***

Emily stared down at the wrinkled, faded page on which were written the fourteen items of her list.

Nine of the items were crossed off. She had only two more Shakespeare plays to read, and then she could cross off the tenth item. But that left four more remaining.

Part of her wanted to put the list away—fold it up and put it back into the nightstand drawer where she kept it. She wanted to pretend she didn’t need the list anymore, that it was no longer relevant since she was being cured by the experimental treatments.

But the weight in her gut that never really went away told her she did still need her list. She’d gotten so far already, and she didn’t want to die without completing it.

She wasn’t sure how long she had left to live.

She’d gotten another treatment and blood test that morning. Nothing had changed, according to Dr. Franklin. He was going to try something else.

It was too early to give up hope, but she just couldn’t assume she was going to live. Her life wasn’t some silly, shallow story where all troubles disappeared at the moment the couple realized they were in love.

She loved Paul. And Paul loved her.

And she might die anyway.

Her list still mattered to Emily. Paul couldn’t leave town right away because of his responsibilities at work, so three of the items couldn’t yet be accomplished.

But there was one other thing. One thing she could do on her own in Philadelphia.

Paul wasn’t going to like it.

But, since it was important to Emily, she squared her shoulders and stood up from the edge of the bed, where she’d been sitting.

Paul was in his office, of course. He always went there when he was upset. Buried himself in work so he wouldn’t have to dwell on what he couldn’t control.

Emily tapped on the office door. It was only halfway closed, and she pushed it open when Paul looked up from his computer.

He smiled at her faintly, looking too tired and too guarded. “You feel all right?”

“Yeah,” Emily said, walking into the study. She’d had a fever the day before, but she felt mostly all right today. No fever. Just endlessly aching. “I’m fine. Just looking at this.” She showed him the wrinkled list in her hand.

Paul nodded slowly, as if he understood. “Sorry we got interrupted. I think I should have a few days at the end of next week. We can go to Hawaii to climb the volcano and maybe fit in at least one of the other items.”

“Thanks,” Emily murmured, leaning against the edge of his desk next to where he was sitting in his chair. “I don’t mind doing some of them on my own. I really don’t want to get in the way of your work stuff.”

Frowning, Paul replied, “You’re not in the way of anything. I want to go with you. I can talk to Dr. Franklin and see if there’s a way to continue any treatments he comes up with while we travel.”

Emily nodded again. Then she reached over and picked up Paul’s left hand from where it was resting on the arm of his chair. She held it in both of her hands, looking down at the strong, slender fingers and the simple platinum wedding band. She stroked his palm with her thumb.

Paul cleared his throat. “Just tell me.”

She cut her eyes up to his face and swallowed. “There is one thing on my list I can do now.”

His features twisted briefly before he composed them. “Is this is your way of breaking it to me gently?”

Emily smiled and met his eyes. “I should have done it early on, but I was too scared. It would have been a lot easier for both of us if I’d done it first, though. It wouldn’t have bothered you so much back then.”

“It would have bothered me,” Paul said. “I never would have been all right with my wife stripping for other men.”

“It’s not really stripping,” she objected quickly. When he just arched his eyebrows, she hurried on, “I mean, it will be sort of like that, but I’m not going to get totally naked or anything.”

“I should think not.” His voice was low and slightly rough, and something primitive had flared up in his eyes.

Emily released a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not want you want, but I really want to do it. I want to finish my list.”

“Why the hell is stripping even on your list?”

“I know it's a little weird, but I’ve always been kind of…kind of insecure about my ability to attract men. When I was twelve…I don’t know, doing a sexy striptease on stage seemed like a symbol of my being a confident, desirable woman. A woman that men would want.”

“Of course, men want you,” Paul said in almost a growl. “Can’t you just do a dance for me?”

Despite herself, Emily almost snickered. “Nice try, but that’s not what I was envisioning when I wrote the list. I’m sorry, Paul. I really am. But I want to complete the list for real—not just give it lip-service.”

She stared down at his face worriedly. She didn’t need his permission, but she really wanted his support. It was going to be hard enough to go through with this as it was.

When she saw the resistance in his expression break slightly, she continued, “I’ve talked to Stacie about it. She knows a club that has an amateur night on Sunday evenings. She says the mood is more fun than sleazy, and she’ll help me practice the dance. I could do it this weekend and get it over with. Stacie will go with me.”

Paul straightened up in his desk chair. “I’ll be going with you too,” he said with a frown.

Relieved that he’d accepted the idea, Emily squeezed his warm hand with both of hers. “You can come if you want, of course, but I’d be more comfortable if I just went with Stacie.”

“You don’t even want me to come?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you with me. It’s just that you’ll make me more self-conscious, sitting there glowering.”

“I won’t—”

“You will too,” she interrupted with a fond smile. “I know that just the fact that I’m doing this will be hard for you. You don’t have to actually be there, Paul. I’m a big girl. I can do this on my own.”

She wasn’t sure at all how he would respond. She knew he was a possessive, territorial. She knew he was used to controlling things. He’d been working on letting go a little in his relationship with her, but he hadn’t yet let go very much. And having his wife do a striptease on stage in front of a club full of strangers would force him to let go of more control than he could easily do.

Paul stared at an empty spot in the air for a minute. Then he finally let out his breath and gave a stiff nod. “All right.”

Emily relaxed and squeezed his hand again. “Thank you. It won’t be that bad.”

“You say that now…”

She giggled and leaned down to hug him. He pulled her into his lap and held her tightly.

Burying his face in her hair, he murmured dryly, “You’re sure you don’t want to just strip for me? I promise I’ll be a very receptive audience.”

She laughed again. “If you’re very good, I’ll give you a private showing on Sunday when I get back from the club.”

She was relieved when he laughed too, low and husky.

He held her for a few minutes in silence, and she took comfort in his lean strength. She knew by the tension in his arms that he was trying to work through his instinctive need to hold onto anything that was his.

The striptease would be hard for Emily. Just the idea of it made her heart flutter nervously. But, in some ways, her doing it would be even harder for Paul.

“It’s important to me,” she said after a long while, making one more attempt to explain why she was pursuing such a silly thing when it wasn't really what either of them wanted. “The list is important.”

Paul brushed a kiss against her hair. “I know it is, baby. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me too.”

* * *

Late on Sunday evening, Emily came home from the club, exhausted and kind of shaky. She was happy she’d managed to do the striptease, but she was really glad it was over.

And it felt like she was getting sick again.

She’d had a fever the previous day, but she‘d felt better that morning, so she spent most of the afternoon practicing her dance with Stacie.

Her dance was short and simple, since Emily wasn’t the best dancer in the world and had only limited time to practice. She and Stacie had gone shopping that morning and had decided on her outfit. Since Emily was already nervous, Stacie had suggested that she not wear something too tacky or overtly sexual - like a dominatrix or an exotic showgirl. So they’d found a prim librarian outfit with old-fashioned blouse and wrap skirt that could be easily taken off, which she’d worn with a bun, heels, and glasses. And she’d strip down to a vintage bustier, lace panties, garter-belt and stockings. It was very sexy, but wouldn’t actually reveal any more of her body than a swimsuit would.

Emily had been absolutely terrified by the time they got to the club for amateur night. If Stacie hadn’t been with her, she definitely would have chickened out. She felt a little better when she started to see some of the other acts. None of the other women were much better than she would be, and the audience seemed to enjoy them anyway.

But, when it got to her turn, she was terrified again, and Stacie practically had to push her onto the stage.

Emily had been a hit—getting a better audience response than any other of the amateurs performing. In some ways, it was gratifying. She’d known for many weeks that Paul found her sexy, but it was nice to know that strangers could too.

By the time her dance was over, though, Emily was quite sure she never wanted to do it again. Being ogled by strangers just didn’t come close to being admired by someone who loved her.

So, when she returned to the apartment afterwards, Emily was glad she had summoned the courage to do it, but she was ready to cross it off her list and be done with it.

She went to the office immediately and was surprised that Paul wasn’t there. She’d figured he would have spent the evening buried in work to distract himself from thinking about her.

She searched the apartment and finally found him in the master bathroom. He’d just gotten out of the shower, but he opened the door at her knock, a towel slung low around his hips.

“How was it?” he asked, smiling at her, his face mostly relaxed although his eyes looked a little stressed.

“It was fine,” she said, grinning back despite the fatigue that kept creeping up on her. “I did pretty well.”

“I’m sure you did.” He came out of the bathroom and went into the closet to get a pair of pajama pants.

“What have you been doing?” she asked. “I thought you’d still be working.”

“I couldn’t focus, so I worked out instead.”

The words were mild, but Emily suddenly understood what they meant. He’d probably spent the last couple of hours working out his frustrations on the weights and treadmill. He was acting perfectly calm about the whole situation, but she knew it must have been hard for him.

Paul dropped his towel and pulled on the soft, black pajama pants. Emily watched, absently admiring his lean hips, long legs, and other impressive body parts.

He studied her face after he pulled up the pants. “You don’t look like you had a very good time.”

She shrugged. “I’m really glad I did it, and I’m glad I did a good job. But I definitely don’t want to do it again.”

His lips turned up slightly. “Good. I know some men are fine with it, but I’m not sure I could handle having my wife stripping for other men regularly.”

She walked over to hug him. “Thanks for understanding, Paul,” she whispered.

He hugged her back. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t really need to.

When they finally pulled apart, Paul glanced down at her. She was still wearing the prim librarian outfit and very high heels. “Did you want to show me your dance?” he asked, a new note entering his voice.

Emily sighed. “I do, but maybe not tonight. I’m actually not feeling all that great right now.”

Paul’s expression changed. He raised a hand to feel her forehead and then her cheek. “Why don’t you just take some Tylenol and go to bed?”

She nodded. “I might take a bath first.”

Paul went to draw her a bath while she took off her sexy clothes and dumped them in a heap on the closet floor. Paul had poured the lemon and eucalyptus oil into the bath, and the familiar soothing fragrance made her feel a little better immediately.

Paul sat next to the tub while she soaked. He didn’t say much. She didn’t either. The evening had taken all the energy she had, and she could feel another fever coming on.

But she was glad Paul was beside her. At one point she reached over to take his hand, and she didn’t let it go.

He was an intensely complicated man. He was guarded and needy, controlling and generous, possessive and deeply loving, experienced at everything except being in a real relationship.

He was her husband.

When the water in her bath was starting to cool, she opened her eyes and looked over at him. He’d been gazing at her, something deep and aching in his expression.

A couple of tears streamed down her cheeks. She was feeling too sick now to stop them. “Thanks for not making this evening hard for me, Paul. I know it took a lot for you to…to be all right with me doing this.”

After a moment's hesitation, he admitted, "It shouldn't have been as hard for me as it was."

She gave a little shrug. "But it was hard, and I understand why. And it means so much that you…that you…" She couldn't figure out how to finish.

She didn't have to. Something cracked on Paul’s face for just a moment before he composed it. "It's about you, baby. It's not about me."

Emily shook her head. "It's about both of us."

He helped her out of the bath, and she dried off and pulled on some clean pajamas. Then she brushed her teeth, went to the bathroom, took some pills, and climbed into bed.

Before she lay down, though, Paul went to get a well-worn piece of paper and a pen.

Emily was able to cross one more item off her list.

***

Today was one of Emily’s “good” days, but it wasn’t very good.

They’d gone to the hospital for another one of Dr. Franklin’s treatments and another blood test that had shown the virus was still getting worse. It was progressing a little slower than before she’d started the experimental treatments, but it just wasn’t getting any better.

When Emily had felt that drop of despair in her stomach that morning and seen a matching expression on Paul’s face, she’d made a decision. She wasn’t going to get hit by this sledgehammer every other day for the last few weeks of her life. She just wasn’t. And she wasn’t going to let Paul get hit by it either.

So she’d asked Dr. Franklin not to share the results with them until there was something noteworthy to report—noteworthy meaning that she was about to die in the next few days or she was going to get better.

Paul hadn’t been happy. In fact, he had objected to this idea quite strenuously. She’d dug in her heels, however, and—since she was legally in control of who had access to her health information—Dr. Franklin had agreed to her wishes despite Paul’s vocal disapproval.

“Don’t sulk,” she said at last, tired of his silent glare from where he sat in the back of the chauffeured car beside her.

He turned his head and arched his eyebrows speakingly.

She made a face. “Don’t give me that look. You know it’s better for our mental well-being if we’re not constantly on this roller-coaster every two days.” She sighed. “Especially since the roller-coaster isn’t doing anything but plunging down.”

“Stop it,” Paul gritted out, “It’s too early to give up hope.  Dr. Franklin said there are other options he could try. There’s no reason to assume nothing is going to work.”

Emily shook her head and looked out the window. She didn’t want to argue with Paul—not when she knew how much he was hurting, how much he was torn up over being powerless to save her.

But he wasn’t going to be able to save her. She was dying. She felt worse every day. She’d been delirious with fever most of the day yesterday, and today large doses of ibuprofen were barely holding off the unbearable achiness. Even her eyes seemed to hurt.

It used to be that her fevers were pained, blurry blips, interrupting the cycle of her life. Now her life was a blurry downward spiral, interrupted by her good days like short, disconnected blips.

She glanced back over to his to find he was staring out his window as she’d been doing. Today, he wore a French blue dress shirt and black trousers, since he’d gone into the office that morning. His clothes were expensive, and he wore them with the ease and authority with which he wore everything. But he looked tired, pale, tense. His forehead under his dark hair glinted slightly, as if he were perspiring.

He was only twenty-three. Much too young to watch his wife die.

Much too young to be a widower.

“I’m not giving up,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I just think it would be better if we have longer between the updates. There’s nothing we can do with the information every other day except worry about it. I don’t want you to worry so much.”

His mouth twisted and he reached out to cup her cheek briefly before he dropped his hand to the seat between them. “I’m going to worry about you anyway.”

“I know. But I don’t want to give you any more ammunition. Dr. Franklin will tell us when there’s something we need to know.”

He nodded his head stiffly. He wasn’t happy. He didn’t approve. But he wasn’t going to argue.

She thought he understood.

“It’s still all right for us to leave for Hawaii on Thursday?” she asked, thinking about her list still left unfinished in her nightstand drawer.

“Yes,” he said, rubbing his face with his hand. “And we might as well stop at the Grand Canyon on the way.”

She perked up. “Really? We’ll have time?”

“We’ll have time.”

“Can we—?” She broke off her question before she completed it. The trip to the Grand Canyon and then to a volcano on Hawaii would already take more time than Paul could probably afford to give up. She couldn’t let him get on the wrong side of the board by taking even more time away from Philadelphia.

Paul frowned. “Can we what?” After a brief pause, he added, “I thought about stopping in California, so we could finish your list, but I thought that would make the trip too long.”

“It would,” she agreed readily. “You shouldn’t be away from work so long right now. Just the two stops will be perfect.”

His frown deepened. “I can take as much time as I need. I meant it would be too long for you. I thought you might not be up to it, since you haven’t been feeling well.”

Emily swallowed hard. Let out a deep breath. Admitted, “I’m not sure I’m going to feel any better. It might be a good idea to do everything we can now.”

Paul’s face tightened, and he opened his mouth. She knew he was going to object, so she spoke over him, “I’m not giving up. I promise. But I want to be prepared. I really want to finish my list—just in case.”

There was no “just in case” about it in her mind. This was the end. She only had a limited amount of time and health left to use, and she still had items on her list that needed doing. But she didn’t want to upset Paul, so she didn’t say it out loud.

He looked upset anyway. His shoulders were stiff, and he turned his face away from her, looking out the window again. After a minute, he turned back. “I want you to finish your list too. I’ll start to make arrangements to stop in California. We can do all three on the same trip.”

She smiled at him, a little shaky. “Thank you. Then all I’ll have left is finishing Shakespeare. I’ve got one more act to finish in this one, and then it’s just Hamlet left.”

Paul opened his mouth, but didn’t say anything. He turned away again.

Emily didn’t push. She wanted to reach over and hug him, but he was looking prickly and so she gave him some of the space she knew he needed.

None of this was fair to him. And, no matter what he said, it was her fault he was in the position of losing the woman he loved. She had to do what was best for him.

* * *

Emily wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she was still having a good time.

She’d only recovered from her last bout of fever a few hours ago—so she was drained and incredibly sore—and the bouncing of the mule didn’t help. Her head hurt a little from the bouncing, and the sun was hot on her already hot face. Plus, her thighs were pulled at an odd angle by the position of the saddle.

But she wouldn’t have traded it for the world—not the chance to see Paul Marino riding a brown mule along the Grand Canyon.

His expression was composed and unrevealing, but she knew he would have preferred to be elsewhere. He’d taken her skydiving, ice-skating, and globe-trotting without batting an eye, but the undignified mule-ride was stretching his composure.

He wore a pair of khakis and a black t-shirt, and he looked as outdoorsy as it was possible for him to look—which was not very. She was sure he’d ridden horses at some point in his past because he had no trouble keeping his seat.

But the sight of him, trying to maintain his dignity and composure on the mule, was the funniest thing Emily had seen in a long time.

He knew she was silently laughing at him, which was doing nothing to improve his disposition.

“Dare I ask why this particular endeavor was on your list when you were twelve?” he asked, noticing her slanting discreet, amused looks in his direction.

Emily giggled. “I’ve never seen the Grand Canyon. It’s something most people want to see at some point.”

“Sure. I understand wanting to see it. But why the mules?”

“Well, if you have to know, I watched a lot of reruns of old TV shows, since that’s what my dad kept on in the shop, and there was this one episode of…”

Paul groaned low in his throat and rolled his eyes. Emily burst out laughing.

They had a private guide, instead of going with one of the normal mule tours in groups of tourists. It would have been nice to be able to do the full ride, but that would require an overnight, and there was no way Emily would be well enough to last that long. She would have a fever again tomorrow, if not earlier. Three hours there and back was about all she was strong enough to handle.

It wasn’t that long ago when she’d been perfectly fit—her health never holding her back from something she’d wanted to do. There was no use in whining about it now, though. At least she was still alive. At least she was with Paul. At least she was able to ride a mule along the Grand Canyon.

The last months of her life could have been—should have been—so much worse.

They reached the overlook over the abyss, where they stopped to rest and have a snack on a blanket, looking out on the breathtaking scenery. Emily was more tired than she’d realized, and she stretched out on the ground with her head in Paul’s lap. She fell asleep without realizing it.

She was stiff and flushed when she woke up, completely disoriented and having no idea what time it was.

“It’s just been twenty minutes,” Paul said softly. He was gently stroking her hair. “You can rest more if you need to.”

“No,” she croaked, making herself sit up without groaning, even though every move seemed to hurt. “I’m fine.”

He pulled her against him until she was reclining against his chest, his arms around her, holding her almost protectively. “There’s no hurry.”

Despite the swell of emotion in her chest, her sense of humor flared up unexpectedly. “You just want to delay getting on that mule again for as long as you can.”

“Of course.”

She nestled against him, stroking his flat belly fondly. She loved how firm and lean he felt—no extra fat on his whole body. “Don’t think I didn’t see you petting your trusty Brownie before you got off. And then you snuck him a snack when you thought no one was looking.”

Paul ignored her blithely, except to say, “Brownie is a ridiculous name for a mule. I think I’ll rename him Arion.”

Emily wracked her mind for the allusion, but she just didn’t recognize it. “That sounds Greek. I suppose it’s some great mythic steed of some kind.”

Paul’s voice took on a different quality, and she knew he was quoting something famous. “…there is no man that shall catch thee by a burst of speed, neither pass thee by, nay, not though in pursuit he were driving goodly Arion, the swift horse of Adrastus, that was of heavenly stock…”

Emily giggled. Then she couldn’t stop laughing.

Paul’s arms tightened around her, and she could tell he was smiling, even though she wasn’t looking up at his face.

“Homer?” she guessed, when she’d caught her breath.

“Absolutely.”

“The Iliad?”

“Yes.”

“Poor old Brownie. Plodding through his life for years and then suddenly elevated to an immortal horse of Greek myth.”

“He’s up to the challenge.”

Emily laughed again and looked over to where Paul’s mule was munching on the leaves of a bush that happened to be directly in front of him in oblivious contentment. “I think the donkey in his family lineage might be dragging him down from Greek horse heroics.”

“I’ve got a good eye,” Paul said, his voice still dry and utterly even, despite the fact that he was obviously teasing. “He has untapped potential.”

Still laughing, Emily stretched up to kiss Paul on the lips. “I still wouldn’t suggest you trust Brownie to carry you into war with Troy.”

Paul kissed her back. “Duly noted.”

* * *

Emily was running a low-grade fever, but she had refused to stay in bed that morning. The high fever yesterday had broken, but she was feeling worse and worse on each of her “good” days. She wasn’t going to waste the brief time they were California, so she’d bluntly told Paul to stop fussing when he’d wanted to delay their plans to give her more time to recover.

“So,” Paul asked, slanting her an ironic look as the chauffeured car took them back to the airport two hours later so they could start for Hawaii as soon as possible, “Was it worth years of waiting?”

“Don’t be snide. I thought he was the most handsome man in the world back when I was twelve,” Emily said, scowling at her husband.

“I’m sure you did. And six years later you get to kiss him at last. It was a dream come true, no doubt.”

Emily stuck her tongue out at him. “I got to cross it off my list. That’s what counts. He was very nice to be willing to do it. Did you have to give him a big sob story about me to convince him to agree to kiss me?”

“I didn’t even talk to him,” Paul explained. “I talked to his manager. It was no big deal.”

He sounded nonchalant, but she didn’t know whether to believe him or not. He would have told her that convincing the former television star to give her a kiss so she could cross one of the final items off her list was no big deal, even if he’d had to wage a prolonged campaign of manipulation, bribing, and/or bullying to make it happen.

Emily sighed. “He seemed nice enough. He’s not as cute in person as he was on TV.”

“He looked about the same to me.”

Studying Paul’s face, Emily smiled, even though she was feeling weak and shaky. “Maybe my taste in men has changed since then.”

“I should certainly hope so,” he muttered.

Emily’s former heartthrob was big, buff, dark-haired, and square-jawed. Next to Paul he looked overly bulky and overblown. But no one would ever be as handsome to Emily as Paul—not anymore.

He caught her gazing at him and seemed to recognize something in her face. His expression changed. He didn’t say anything, but he reached over and took her hand. Then raised it so he could press a kiss in the palm.

“Thanks for arranging this,” Emily murmured, feeling dangerously emotional.  “You have no idea how much it means to me.”

Paul’s eyes rested on her face for a long time, and the feeling they conveyed was deep and heartbreaking.

But then he gave a half-shrug. “It was no big deal.”

* * *

Emily sat on the edge of her bed in their hotel suite in Hawaii and tried to find enough energy to reach down and put on her shoes. She’d been in bed most of the day before with a high fever, but it had lowered to just the low-grade one that she doubted would ever go away now.

Today she was going to climb the volcano. If she had enough strength to stand up.

Her whole body ached miserably, and her eyes were raw and dry. Dr. Franklin had trained Amy on administering a new round of treatment on the trip, and Amy had traveled with them to help tend Emily while she was ill.

Amy was sleeping now, since she’d stayed up most of the night until Emily’s fever had broken. Paul was working at the desk in the main room of the suite. Emily was supposed to be getting ready to go.

Instead, she was just staring down at her shoes, which she’d yet to put on.

All she had left of her list was to climb a volcano and to finish reading Shakespeare’s plays.

They were going to the Hawaii Volcanoes National Park. They would drive through most of it first, so Emily could see all of it without actually hiking it. She didn’t have the strength for a very long walk, but fortunately Kilauea had a number of trails that weren’t particularly challenging and weren’t very long.

But first she had to at least manage to put on her shoes.

She just felt so bad. Like her body itself was weighing her down. She was only eighteen. She shouldn’t feel like an eighty-year-old. But she did.

She wanted to go back to bed. She wanted to cry. She wanted her father.

She was suddenly hit by a wave of grief so intense it almost strangled her. She missed her dad so much it physically hurt.

With a choked sob, she doubled over, trying to breathe, trying not to make any noise. She didn’t want Paul to hear her crying. She didn’t want to make him feel any worse.

She was supposed to climb a volcano today, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to do it.

She wasn’t sure she was strong enough for any of this.

She gasped and wheezed and hiccupped and tried desperately to control her tears, but she hadn’t managed to restrain them when she suddenly felt the bed shift.

She jerked up straight and wiped hurriedly at her face in a futile attempt to pretend she hadn’t just been sobbing.

Paul had sat down on the edge of the bed beside her, his face tightly controlled.

Without speaking, he slid an arm around her and pulled her against his side.

“I’m okay,” she rasped. “I was just…”

Paul pulled her against his chest, and she sobbed into his shirt. His arms around her were so tight she could barely breathe.

After a few minutes, Emily had stopped crying. She tried to pull away and finally Paul released her.

She rubbed at her wet face and looked back down at her shoes. She still needed to put them on. She took a shuddering breath, hating how weak and miserable she felt.

“We don’t have to do it today,” Paul said. “If you feel too bad, we can wait.”

She shook her head and reached down for one shoe. “I’ll feel worse tomorrow. It has to be today.”

* * *

As was expected, Paul had planned the volcano hike perfectly. He’d arranged for a private guide to take them up to the rim of the Kilauea caldera. They didn’t use one of the public trails, so they didn’t have to deal with a lot of other tourists. They were able to park in a spot that was close enough for the walk to not be too rigorous for Emily, but it was long enough to feel like she was climbing the volcano and not just stepping out of a car.

The terrain of rock and lava flows was fascinating and almost alien, but climbing the volcano was nothing like what she’d imagined at twelve-years-old. As a child, she’d assumed it would be like climbing a mountain and then looking down into a crater of hot lava. Instead, the caldera was over three miles wide. Naturally, there was no sea of lava inside. Their guide explained about cracks, fissures, and steam vents, and how the previous eruptions had shaped the landscape into what it was.

Had Emily felt better, the walk would have been incredibly enjoyable. But, as it was, even the short half-mile, combined with the sulphur fumes and hot temperature, was almost too much for her.

As they turned back to return to the car, Emily was drenched in sweat and felt so ill she could barely stand up. Waves of heat kept slamming into her, and she was having trouble taking a full breath. The low grade fever she’d had that morning seemed to have risen, and there wasn’t a single part of her body that didn’t hurt.

The guide kept looking at her dubiously, and Paul had put a supportive arm around her as she stopped to drink some water.

“You don’t have to walk back,” Paul said softly. “We can—”

“No,” she interrupted in a croaky voice. “I’m doing this. I can do it.”

Perhaps it was irrational, but if she didn’t walk the whole way then it wouldn’t feel like she’d really completed her list. She ignored the weakness of her body and forced herself to keep walking.

Paul kept a hand on her back the whole way, until the last stretch where her legs would barely hold her up. Then he held her up with one arm, supporting most of her weight as she stumbled. She knew he just wanted to pick her up and carry her. She knew it was hard for him to let her continue doing something that was obviously battering her physically.

But he didn’t object. He just held her up as she kept limping and faltering through the daze of pain and heat until they finally made it back to the air-conditioned car and Emily could breathe at last.

She was so sick and exhausted that she couldn’t sit up on the drive back to the hotel. She collapsed in the back seat with her head in Paul’s lap and hoped to drift into unconsciousness, since at least then her body wouldn’t hurt so much.

“I guess this new treatment isn’t working either,” she rasped without warning, opening her eyes after a brief, uncomfortable doze.

Paul must be in bad shape emotionally, since he couldn’t keep up his normal soothing confidence. Instead, he blurted out what he’d really been thinking. “The report they found about the virus could have just been a wild goose chase. There might not be anything worthwhile to come from it at all.”

“We don’t know that. I still think it was your dad, and he was trying to help.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“I think he would. I think he cares about you more than you think.” She gazed up at Paul’s face, blurry from the dryness of her eyes.

“I don’t know why you would feel that optimistic about humanity. The world has been nothing but brutal to you. Where did you find that kind of hope?”

She wasn’t sure if the bitter question was rhetorical or not, but she answered it anyway. “I found it in you.”

The hardness on his face shifted into confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you had every reason not to love me.” She had to force the words out over a lump in her throat. “Loving me has only hurt you. But you do anyway.”

Paul turned away with a sudden jerk of his head.

“So I’m going to keep hoping about your father,” she concluded, wishing she was strong enough to help him, to comfort him, for real.

When he didn’t turn back to meet her eyes, she added, “I’ll hope enough for both of us.”

* * *

She was barely conscious as they went up to their suite, and Paul helped her out of her clothes and into a tepid bath scented with lemon and eucalyptus oils. She vaguely tried to convince him to go rest and let Amy take care of her, but he refused. Of course.

The bath helped, as did the pills Paul made her swallow.

He helped her into clean pajamas and then gently brushed her hair and pulled it into two ponytails. She felt like a child and didn’t like the feeling. She tried to summon the strength to do some of these simple tasks on her own, but she just couldn’t.

After he helped her into bed, Paul stood staring down at her. He wore the casual clothes he’d worn for the volcano walk, and he looked handsome and masculine. And strangely helpless.

She ached for him—even more than she ached for herself.

“Do you need anything, baby?” he asked after a minute.

Emily stared up at him with glazed eyes, shifting slightly from the discomfort her body. “My list.”

Paul understood. He went to her bag and pulled out the folded list. The paper was so worn it was fragile, and he very gently unfolded it, spreading the page out on the nightstand beside the bed and handing her a pen.

She heaved herself up enough to lean over and poise the pen over the paper. Then she crossed out “Climb a volcano” with a slightly shaky line.

She gazed down at the list. Thirteen items were crossed off now. Only one remaining. She still hadn’t read all of Shakespeare’s plays.

She dropped the pen and collapsed back onto the bed, her eyes hot and swollen, her breath coming out in uneven pants.

A completed list would seem like a symbol that she could die, which was a horrible thought, but she was terrified of dying before she’d completed it.

“Almost done,” Paul murmured, picking up the list and moving it to the dresser against the opposite wall.

“I still need to read Hamlet. I haven’t even started it yet.”

“That's all right. You have plenty of time to read it still.”

Emily writhed under the covers, hot and pained and horrified by the thought of one of Shakespeare’s plays unread. “I need to get started.”

Paul’s mouth twisted slightly, but he said, “I can bring you the book, if you really want to read it now.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t think I can read.”

“You can read it when you feel better.” He was trying to sound soothing, but his voice was thick with emotion he couldn’t quite suppress.

A swell of aching grief rose up, threatening to drown her. “I’m not going to feel better than this,” she gasped. “I can’t read anymore.”

For some reason, the words might have been the worst thing she’d ever said—some sort of unassailable proof that her life was really over. She shook with the grief of it, tears streaming down her hot face.

Paul was still standing over her bed, and his head suddenly jerked to the side the way it had in the car. She saw his features contort briefly, as if he were struggling to control himself.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned away from her and walked away.

She didn’t mind. She understood. There wasn’t anything he could do anyway.

She was too hot so she pushed down the covers, keeping just the sheet on top of her. Then she pulled her left hand out from under the covers and looked at the engagement ring and wedding band on her finger. She brought her hand up and kissed the rings in a foolish gesture of affection.

She dropped her hand quickly at a noise from the doorway, but she thought maybe Paul had still seen her, since he walked back into the room just then.

He was carrying his Riverside Shakespeare.

Without explanation, he pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and sat down, opening the book and flipping the pages until he’d found the place he wanted.

Emily stared at him through bleary eyes.

“The first act begins outside of Elsinore Castle in Denmark,” Paul began. “Bernardo comes to relieve Francisco, who’s on guard outside the castle. It's dark. Bernardo says, ‘Who’s there?’”