CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As she opened the door, Marie could see a middle-aged woman sitting on the bed, talking on the phone. Chemotherapy had left her completely bald, she was so pale she was the color of the bed sheet, and she was much too thin. But her voice was cheery and upbeat.
“Aunt Kathy, listen. To. What. I. Am. Saying. I feel fine. I look great. You know that problem with split ends I kept having? Totally taken care of. And I’ve lost a ton of weight. Seriously. I’m going to recommend lung cancer to all my friends.” She paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone. “Uh-huh...uh-huh. No, I have everything I—well, I’d love a cigarette or ten, but I don’t suppose you’d—no? Oh, fine, refuse a dying request. That’ll get you straight into Hell, no waiting...aw, cut that out. I was only kidding, Aunt Kathy. Yes, I’m sorry. Yes, I won’t joke about dying anymore. Today, at least. Which reminds me, did you hear the one about the corpse and the pathologist? Okay, well, the pathologist is walking down the street, and he realizes he left his bone saw in the—” Lynn looked up, saw Barb, and waved. Then she noticed Marie and her eyes widened. “Holy shit! I have to go, Kath. Dr. Doofus and a best-selling romance novelist just walked in...no, I haven’t had my medication yet...I’ll call you back.”
She hung up the phone and turned to greet her visitors, folding her hands primly on the sheet. “When you said you were running out to pick up a LeFleur, I assumed you meant the book.” She smiled broadly at Marie. “Hi. I’m Lynn Fredrick. It’s really great to meet you.”
Marie crossed the room and shook Lynn’s small, hot hand. “Thanks very much. I ran into Barb at the bookstore...”
“And she hit you over the head and brought you here. Well, I can’t say I condone federal kidnapping, but I sure appreciate the results. Could I get your autograph, Miss Hhermann?”
Marie was already digging in her purse for a pen, but at the sound of her name, she looked up. “How did you know my real name?”
Lynn rolled her eyes, clearly disgusted with such a stupid question. “Puh-leeze. Every real fan knows your name is Marie Hhermann. The name is on the copyright page of all your books, for God’s sake.”
Meanwhile, Barb had been busy on the other side of the room, and she returned to the bed with an armful of LeFleur paperbacks, retrieved from their place on the counter. She dumped them on the bed, where Lynn shuffled through them expertly.
“Would you mind signing the whole lot?”
“I’d be honored.”
The hell of it was, she would. She had finally found a pen, and pulled up a chair to start signing. Barb handed her Love’s Tender Fury, and Marie flipped the cover open to a blank page, as she had done thousands of times before, and bent to her task.
“How long are you going to be here, do you think?”
“Until I die.”
She froze in mid-autograph. Oh, shit. Nice question, loser. By the way, done feeling sorry for yourself yet?
Lynn was looking at her kindly enough, but when she spoke it was as if to a small—or stupid—child. “I have end-stage lung cancer. And only one lung left to have it in. It’s pretty much hopeless. Didn’t Barb tell you? No, I guess not.”
“But you can’t—you aren’t more than—how old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said awkwardly. And, since she couldn’t think of a single thing to say, she reiterated. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you. Hey, come on, you look like somebody just die—I mean, cheer up. I’ve come to terms with it. For the moment—tomorrow I might be throwing my I.V. poll out the window, but I’ll worry about that later. And you coming here really makes my day. I love your books.”
“Tell her about your goals.”
“Oh. Well, after I got the bad news—you know, that they don’t get Wi-Fi on this ward—and then the very bad news—that I probably wouldn’t live to see Thanksgiving, which, given my family’s history of overeating and then picking fights wasn’t exactly the worst news I’d ever—”
“Lynn.”
“I’m getting to it! Anyway, once I found out my time was more finite than I’d thought, I set a goal—hang in until Love’s Tender Fury came out.”
Marie didn’t know whether to be appalled or flattered. “You’re kidding.”
Lynn patted her bald head. “Hello? Do I look like I’m kidding? What, that’s not a worthy reason to hang around the planet for a while longer? I should have decided to hang around for the Super Bowl?”
“I—I didn’t—I don’t—that’s—”
“Boy, you’re probably the least articulate best-selling author I’ve ever met. Anyway, the book is out, right? I mean, you’re holding it in your hands. So the new goal is to see the movie.”
Marie just sat there. She remembered her actions at the movie premiere and wanted to squirm with shame.
“Helloooooo? Are you still in there? Don’t make me slap you; I haven’t got the strength.”
Barb shook her head. “She’s so stubborn. The doctors gave her six months to live. Ten months ago.”
Marie laughed. “Shame on you. Not listening to your doctors. Naughty girl.”
Lynn laughed, too, but the laugh soon dissolved into a coughing fit. She turned an alarming purple color and Barb hurried to her side, but Lynn got control of it and ended up flat on her back, exhausted.
“Shit. Can’t even have a good laugh anymore...that’s the worst part.” She sighed, then forced a smile. “Anyway, you coming here...that means a lot. I’m so glad to finally meet you. I wanted to tell you how much I liked your books before I couldn’t tell anyone anything.”
Marie inched her chair closer and took Lynn’s hand. “Don’t thank me anymore. I should thank you.”
“Why?”
“You’ve really helped me get a handle on...on some things that have been happening lately. I was trying to write a different kind of book...not because I could, but because I didn’t think these...” She gestured to the small stack of paperbacks on Lynn’s bed. “...were worth anything.”
“Well, you write what you like, Ms. Hhermann. But those books are gold to me.”
Barb cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got to get up to the floor...rounds start...” She looked at her watch. “...ten minutes ago.”
“So?” Lynn asked. “Who’s stopping you?” Barb blew a kiss to Lynn and shook Marie’s hand.
“Thanks a million for coming back here with me. Lynn, behave yourself. I’ll come down on my break.”
“Okay, but I can’t promise to be alive.”
The doctor rolled her eyes. “‘Bye.”
“You know, I have another book coming out. But it’s not slated for release until after the New Year.”
“You’re trying to trick me into enduring another Thanksgiving with my family!” Lynn cried. “Well, I won’t do it.”
“I could get you the galleys next month. They’re like a rough draft.”
Lynn smiled tentatively. “Really? I could get a LeFleur book before anyone else? Oh, the advantages of being terminal!”
“‘Dying is an art, like everything else.’ Sylvia Plath.”
“Quote Ms. Plath to me again, I’ll be forced to get out of this bed and kick your ass, literary idol or no.”
She snorted. “I wouldn’t be your idol if you’d seen some of the dreck I’ve been producing lately.”
“Hey, if it works, don’t fix it. You write great love stories. Your heroines have functioning brains. Your heroes are honorable and don’t smack the ladies around. It works. And while we’re getting all cozy, here, what’s with the black clothes? You look like a fretful emo...or like you were on your way to a funeral. I’m not dead yet .”
“It’s sort of a long story.”
“Do I strike you as someone in a rush to be somewhere else?”
Marie leaned back and got comfortable. “Okay, well, you asked for it. Never say I didn’t warn you. See, in high school, I fell in love with this guy, this really great guy...”