The Choice

Copyright © 2006 by Michael J. Kaye

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ISBN-13: 978-0-595-39642-9 (pbk)

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

For doe eyes who gives me everything and more

CHAPTER 1

Moments matter in a life. Even those times we think so unimportant, when nothing happens yet everything happens.

Tom Sheppard cast a meandering glance about the garden as his mind contemplated that simple, yet to him, profound thought. And the more he considered it, turning the idea around in his head like a glass marble in a can, the more he believed it to be so.

Take this moment for example. An early spring morning, shadows molded tenuously by the weak sun, the grass sparkling still by the remains of the heavy dew, and a breeze moving gently through the buds and half awake, half curled-up leaves, like a breath of fresh air.

It was a moment that mattered, surely? To him, anyway. A single, solitary occurrence he could almost taste, savor actually, despite the winter grime, rainspotted windowpane that separated him from the world outside.

A thin strip of a smile ghosted across Tom’s still youthful face, holding for a few seconds before dissolving behind his usual countenance of confidence and calm. But while the smile gradually subsided into nothing, the sheer pleasure he felt inside stayed, seeping and sweeping through his veins like a rush of new blood.

How many days like this are never coming back? he thought, not sadly or melancholy, just rhetorically.

Leaning back in his chair, the soft creased leather molding to him like a second skin, Tom stretched his chest with a deep, satisfying breath. He placed his intertwined hands on the nape of his neck, feeling the silky texture of his hair, closing his willow green, watery eyes and wishing not to be disturbed for an age.

And then the phone rang.

It was taken four years before, the photograph of just the two of them, a frozen memory moment that Tom remembered freshly, the sound of the shutter still clicking rhythmically in his ears. A second after the picture was taken he half-turned to Nuala, kissed gently the very middle of her forehead and whispered, sincerely, the three tender words she always ached to hear.

The simple smile she returned to him seemed enough to last a lifetime, but then she added, I know you do, which stirred his soul and made him feel fortunate beyond measure.

The constant shrill of the telephone cut him loose from the image of years’ past, and he turned his eyes from the plain gold frame to the source of the annoying interruption.

He answered softly, but sharply, a one-word response giving nothing away to this intrusive instrument.

Tom, it’s Matthew.

At once, briefly, Tom’s mind registered blank white, like a crisp sheet of paper. Then he remembered.

Yes, Matthew, he rushed, hoping the few seconds’ delay went unnoticed, inoffensively. Are you friend or foe today?

Always friend, the other answered lightly, a diplomatic riposte dipped in truth. I need to see you. When can you come in?

Tom Sheppard frowned, the furrows in his forehead deeply etched. He sensed something awry with Matthew’s tone of voice, an edge, and an insistence not able to be covered up.

Urgent, is it? Tom asked, probing, hoping for a clue. Can it wait awhile?

We need to talk, Tom. We do. How about tomorrow?

And risk the wrath of my good woman? We’ve plans to be away this weekend, Matthew. Best I can do is Monday.

Then I’ll put you down for ten-fifteen. All right?

With me? Yes, Tom replied casually, hoping his measured nonchalance masked the worried stirrings swimming round his stomach. Why, is there news, old buddy?

Yes and no, Matthew stated clearly, ambivalently, backing off from his intended discourse. No sense now in spoiling someone’s weekend unnecessarily. We’ll know more when we talk, was all he offered up. Have a great time. And say hi to Nuala for me.

Tom Sheppard carefully replaced the handset, letting his fingers linger upon it as though more information might suddenly surface and shed more light. Then he stood abruptly and went in search of Nuala.

Long shards of sunlight seemingly sliced her into pieces. He found her sitting comfortably at her desk beneath the enormous window, its length and breadth almost too overpowering for the room.

For a second, the air between them stayed silent. Watching her, Tom swallowed her in, the sight and smell of her, the nearly inaudible sound of her breathing. Her image before him quickened his heart, blushed his face and slipped a signal to his crotch. A sexual moment, this was, above all others.

Nuala looked up, over her glasses, at the sound of his sigh. Her hands remained still as though molded in clay and left to harden. Carefully, but briefly, her eyes washed over his body, head to toe, toe to head. She knew, and the knowledge left her satisfied like an unspoken secret shared only by them.

Tom? she inquired, raising her eyebrows in expectation.

Are you nearly done? The question seemed more a plea than anything else.

I’ve only been at it a half hour. Of course I’m not done. Nuala uttered the words lightly, with not a hint of irritation stretched between them. Why?

I thought we’d leave as soon as possible. Begin the weekend now. His grin, irresistible and full of promise, dismantled her defenses.

All right, she agreed happily. I’m certainly up for that. Give me ten minutes, okay?

Tom nodded, elated and, beaming inside, skipped away to their bedroom. With exaggerated enthusiasm he began filling his bag with casual clothes, consciously selecting only those items he knew to be Nuala’s favorites. This was important, he muttered to himself. She needs to be at ease, to see me easy, light and loose.

Before long, Tom felt a feathery touch on his arm. Nuala glided in, her scent filling the room, the aroma arresting his senses. As she passed behind him Tom half-turned, reached for her waist and pulled her gently to him.

Her lips, moist and surprisingly cool, were peach soft as usual. He never, ever tired of kissing her. Each time still seemed different even after all their years together.

All his movements were now slow. The long, languid stroking of her back, the unhurried nuzzling of her baby fuzzed neck, and the almost imperceptible pressing of his hips to her thighs.

Now? she queried, pulling back her head, facing straight into his eyes.

No, not really, Tom offered. I only want you to know what I’m feeling. I can wait. Honestly. We have the whole weekend.

Nuala took his words gratefully. And I will take the thought for the deed.

Disentangling herself, she moved to her own closet, pulled down her bag of blue brocade and began packing.

He told her on Sunday afternoon as they drove back from the shore, refreshed and relaxed.

For Tom, the weekend worked out even better than he envisioned. The early start had enabled them to beat the traffic, making the trip an almost three day affair. They arrived by early afternoon, car-stiff but eager and excited.

Along the way Tom stopped at a quaint country market, returning to Nuala with bags of ripe California plums, luscious grapes the color of old red wine and plenty of cheese and crackers. Later, in bed, they gorged themselves, first on the food and then on each other.

The weather cooperated like a comfortable friend, covering them with partly sunny skies and breezes that felt more like May than March. Even when the rain caught them cheating the odds they welcomed it, walking the beach until even their sneakers squelched to saturation.

Evenings, still long and mostly dark, stretched the nights, making the days seem longer than they were. Sometimes, when Nuala read her book, Tom spent long minutes staring at her, seemingly mesmerized, his feelings drawn between the present and the future.

What? she’d ask pointedly, catching him for the umpteenth time, her wry smile giving away her obvious satisfaction. Have I got spinach in my teeth?

And then he’d leave his spot on the couch, crawling on hands and knees, burying his head in her warm lap, soaking in her smell and missing yet another moment to tell her.

As the weekend wove into Sunday, Nuala noticed a slight but definite change in Tom’s demeanor. When she awoke at a silent three in the morning to use the bathroom his side of the bed felt cold, her right hand reaching for him found nothing but crumpled sheets and unfamiliar space.

Padding through the house in puzzled pursuit, doubly cocooned in his and her robes against the coastal chill, she found him, sitting still, motionless as a dead moth, staring out of the picture window into the black beyond of the night.

You must be frozen, she whispered softly, rubbing his back in some valiant effort to make him warm again. Slipping off his robe, Nuala draped it around his shoulders like a shroud, dressing him up like a little boy lost.

Tom took her hand, kissing it and holding it to his cheek almost as an act of reformation. I didn’t mean to wake you, he said with a guilty shrug. Go back to bed. I’ll be there soon.

I can wait, Nuala answered, hoping he might ease his mind with her. But Tom remained within himself, giving nothing away except a reassuring smile or two. Nuala now knew that whatever bothered him must wait for its own time and place to be revealed. Tom liked to think and analyze, roll things over in his mind, become comfortable with his own conclusions. She knew him well and she would be patient.

Thank you for caring enough to come find me, Tom whispered, his hands gently caressing the roundness of her thighs. His motions were not sexual, merely gestures of love.

Purely selfish, Nuala answered. My feet were freezing and you’re always so warm.

And I thought you missed me.

Foolish boy, she teased, taking him by the hand and leading him back to bed.

After pulling the covers tight around her, Nuala turned on her side away from him. In a way she felt relieved not knowing what worried him enough to leave her side in the middle of a frigid night. If the time wasn’t right for him then it certainly was not for her. And he would understand her symbolic turning away not as abandonment but as a sign that she put him under no pressure to placate her curiosity.

For his part, Tom took Nuala’s unspoken message gratefully, thankful for needing no explanation to explain himself. The rest of these small hours were for closeness and sleep, not reasons, whys and wherefores. Besides, his mind was clear, now uncluttered with doubt and dread. He would tell her in the car on their way home.

Molding himself into her back, Tom felt her beautiful curves fit perfectly into his lap. In this way, spoon-like and satisfied, they would finish their night of sleep together.

It was his turn to awake alone. The wind hard against the window, rattling the old frame, brought him back from unconsciousness. Tom roused himself enough to see the time had already hit eight-thirty. Not seeing Nuala, he listened intently instead. Below, he heard her, moving about the kitchen, making the most of her early morning.

Tom lay back, closing his eyes, not in sleep but in a vain attempt to dismiss from his mind what he’d promised himself to do. He heaved a huge sigh that emanated from the very pit of his stomach. He felt full up, bloated, an uncomfortable ache tweaking his side. He reached a hand down to soothe it but his stroking fingers made no difference.

The dull pain persisted as he stepped down the stairs to the kitchen. Inside, Nuala busied herself with the beginnings of breakfast, baking muffins, boiling water, setting their places at the small, round, oak table he’d fashioned with his own hands.

She didn’t see or hear him at first, so he stood leaning by the door, watching and wanting her. She’d tied her dark chestnut hair up with a pretty piece of white lace and he wondered whether she had done it just for him. Not once, but many times, Tom mentioned how much he liked her hair that way. On evenings out together Nuala always asked him, Up or down? More often than not he’d chosen ‘up’.

There you are, darling, Nuala said cheerfully, crossing the room to kiss him. He tasted uncooked dough and blueberries on her lips, making her usual sweetness sweeter. After smothering her with his eager mouth, Tom held her at arm’s length, his eyes washing over every facet of her face.

What? she asked gamely, smiling at his concentration on her.

Tom lightly touched her forehead, letting his fingers travel down her soft cheek, under her chin to her naked neck, then back to her nose and mouth. Running his thumb across her open smile, he said, So sensual, you are. So very, very beautiful. He studied her features as an art connoisseur might pore over a great masterpiece. I never want to forget this moment, he whispered, almost to himself.

I did it just for you, she answered quietly, gesturing a hand towards her hair. I know how much you care for it like this.

I do, and I thank you.

Even after all their years together, Nuala’s heart still jumped at his politeness to her. She knew he meant his considerate words to her, always in sincerity, never platitudinous.

They grinned into each other’s eyes before she led him to the table. Muffins all right? Not much else around, I’m afraid. She laid the laden plate before him as he squeezed fresh lemon into their teas.

That’s enough for me this morning after last night’s gourmet feast. In fact, he felt not in the least hungry, but took a muffin for Nuala’s sake.

Was your stomach upset? Was that it? she asked, alluding to Tom’s bout of insomnia.

No. Not at all. Just one of those nights, I suppose.

Well, you certainly made up for it this morning. I thought you must have died up there.

Her words, spoken in nothing but jest, took him aback, catching him by surprise, stinging him. Nuala, noticing him flinch, frowned at his unexpected reaction to such a meaningless comment. She sipped her tea and waited for a response.

Instead, Tom grinned slightly as though trying hard to mask a direct hit on a raw nerve. Within seconds, his shaky demeanor disappeared. I thought I’d spend a couple of hours chopping wood this morning, he said cheerfully. Wanna help me stack it?

Of course, Nuala replied, picking up their breakfast mugs. Maybe I’ll even take a few whacks myself.

As Tom carried their dirty plates to the sink Nuala ran the water and began washing up. Even in this mundane task, Tom thought, she remained elegant in an easy way, sensual in a simple way.

He came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist, sliding his hands inside the front of her tee shirt. Beneath the clean white cotton she wore no bra. Tom gasped quickly as his hands gently cupped both breasts. Draping himself close along her back he nuzzled the nape of her neck with feather-light kisses, while moving his hands across and around her softness.

God, how beautiful you are, he whispered. I want you so very much.

Signals from within made Nuala’s insides almost melt. Saying nothing, but feeling ecstatic over this man’s desire for her, she turned slowly and opened her mouth to his. Their kisses consumed them with a passion and fervor they could barely control.

Tom found the bottom of her shirt, lifting it effortlessly over her head before burying his face in its scent and smells. After letting it fall to the floor with careful regret, Tom next leaned forward and teased her brown bud nipples with his tongue.

Nuala arched her back, pushing herself forward, giving him even more of her. For Tom this simple act never failed to excite him, never failed to convince him she loved him beyond measure.

Come inside now, Nuala urged, hurrying him out of his clothes.

Pushing down her sweats and underwear, Tom helped her to the floor, bunching up her shirt as a pillow. He cradled her head as he laid her down, spreading her hair, being careful of her, respectful yet determined.

Crouching over her, Tom rested a hand on Nuala’s cheek as she first kissed his thumb, then sucked it in deeply. As he slid his other hand lightly down the length of her body, caressing and adoring her, he said in barely a whisper, God, you’re incredible.

Her welcoming smile replied you, too, as she took him in her hands and guided him easily into her. Arching her back, she moaned as he began his slow movements back and forth, taking his time, making sure that they enjoyed and felt the moment for all it was worth.

Bending, he tongue-touched each waiting breast before leaning forward for her lips. Hungrily Nuala pressed herself forward as though the kisses she gave might be the last she would receive.

I love you, she gasped through her passion. I really, really, love you.

Tom smiled gratefully at her words, saying simply in reply, Ditto a million times, darling. Ditto a million times.

Nuala, watching him watch himself, glanced down, too. It’s wonderful, she cried as his urgency grew faster inside her. She lay back, eagerly waiting to receive all of him, as her own unstoppable feelings overtook her.

They shuddered together, melting and mixing into each other with an ecstasy born of willing lust and overwhelming love, undeniable desire and unrelenting trust.

The ax fell swiftly, silently scything through the cool air, splitting the huge log with a sharp crack. He’d been chopping wood for forty-five minutes, taking no breaks, concentrating fiercely.

Nuala stood to the side, stacking the fruits of his labor into neat rows, the afterglow of love still flush on her cheeks. His intensity puzzled her. He seemed like a man possessed, as though this enjoyable yet mostly meaningless task must be completed at all cost. Whack! the ax thudded down again and she wondered.

The same thought occurred to her with respect to their time just past in the kitchen. Tom’s effort, the amount of energy he put into his lovemaking seemed to Nuala unnecessary given the depth and obvious commitment to her. For some reason his actions were over the top, bordering on the fanatical.

Fearing an injury as his tiredness grew, or worse, a heart attack or stoke, Nuala said casually, Why don’t you take a break? Let me fetch you a beer.

Tom agreed to the suggestion but carried on cutting the logs until she returned. Thanks, he said gratefully, putting down the ax and accepting the can from her warm hand. Although the air chilled the morning Tom’s face was streaked with sweat while sallow blue veins threatened to burst from the red stretched skin of his neck.

You’re going at things a bit hard, aren’t you? Nuala asked, concerned. Can’t some of that wait until the next time we’re here?

Ah, I’m almost through, Tom replied, not looking at her, swallowing half the beer. Not much more left now.

Still, she answered, pushing him for a reason, what’s the hurry?

Just feels good, he answered with a shrug, as he glanced away into the woods. He finished his beer with two more swallows, tossed her the can and resumed chopping.

Nuala frowned, perplexed, aware that his mood might somehow be associated with last night’s episode of insomnia. Instinctively, she knew the struggle within him had not been resolved.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught that certain look of sadness that always fixed itself on her beautiful features whenever she felt lost, alone. The moment almost broke him open.

Putting down the ax, he said gently, What would you do?

Sorry? she queried, looking at him with genuine confusion. What d’you mean?

This morning, when I came down so late, you said you thought I must have died up there. What would you do?

That’s a morbid thought, Tom, Nuala said with a frown. I can’t imagine you not ever being here so it never occurs to me.

But Tom would not be dissuaded. I’m serious, he countered, his eyes not moving from her face. And she could see that he was. Continuing, he said, I wouldn’t want you to be lonely.

With Jane and Rick around? They’d never give me a moment to myself. She referred to their two grown children, mentioning their names with a smile, trying hard to lighten the moment.

I know they’d be there to help, but they’ve their own lives to live. When the dust had settled, what then?

Confused by Tom’s insistence, Nuala walked over to him determined to put an end to this nonsense once and for all. She took his face between her hands and squeezed a little harder than she intended. I don’t know, she replied slowly, deliberately. I honestly don’t. And you should know it’s an impossible question to answer. Can we leave it at that? Her face grew cross, agitated.

At once, Tom realized his pushing had upset her. For him, one of the worst moments he could feel was to see pain in her eyes. Backing off, he said, Call me foolish. You’re right, it is impossible to answer. Sorry. He bent his head in mock contrition before enfolding her waist and swinging her around, her feet barely touching the dead, splintered ground.

Laughing, almost forgetting the prickly words between them, they made their way to the kitchen for lunch.

Two hours later, with the kitchen cleaned and ready for a few weeks’ enforced rest, Tom checked the outside of the house one more time. Making the most of this moment, walking the perimeter slowly, he eyed the building and remembered. With a wry smile he shook his head, pleased that the memories of this place were so solid, full of life and worth saving.

Meanwhile, Nuala, upstairs and packing their things, ran the weekend through her mind. Although feeling refreshed, grateful for their time away together, her emotions hovered between serenity and uneasiness like a trapeze artist swinging without a safety net. Tossing around her options, Nuala decided there were only two. She could say something or nothing. Saying nothing assumed Tom would eventually tell her on his own volition. But he hadn’t so far, for reasons known only to himself, and Nuala could not count on him doing so. That left her with the cold choice of confronting him, forcing the issue for her sake as well as his. Facing a blank wall she told herself she would ask him on their journey back home.

Three-thirty found them wrapped warm in their car making steady progress away from the shore. Small-talk sentences bounced back and forth between them like ping-pong balls. To Nuala, Tom seemed relaxed, unduly bothered by anything except the heavy traffic. She wondered if the conflict within had resolved itself, disappearing as fast as the weekend. To Tom, Nuala seemed edgy, furtive almost, as though expecting a revelation at any moment. He knew that she knew.

As he drove he reassured himself that his intentions for the weekend were honorable, mostly meant for relaxing, having fun and forgetting, and not for hoodwinking her. Tom felt, to his credit, he had reasonably kept his promise. Only two dark spots clouded his landscape, but those, he freely admitted, obviously caused concern and cracks inside Nuala’s head. Tom hoped no serious damage was done, yet even the tiniest hurt to her for which he might be responsible seemed always too much.

With the time before reaching home winding down, Tom sought Nuala’s hand, squeezing it gently. Before we left on Friday Matthew called me. He wants me to see him at ten-fifteen tomorrow.

Nuala had a million questions but asked only one. Did he say why?

Not really. Tom’s answer, while not false, certainly was as vague as Matthew’s had been when Tom questioned him. He just said we needed to talk. Nothing else. Honest. He squeezed her hand again, reassuringly, hopeful.

At once, for Nuala, the fog lifted from her suspicions, her doubts and worries. So this was it. Finally a reason that made sense. Is it those tests? She referred to Tom’s visit to his doctor about a week before.

I imagine so. Blood’s probably a little out of whack. Of course, Tom had no idea, but, in his usual manner of minimizing possible bad news, he made light of the situation as much for himself as for Nuala. No big deal. I’m not worried. But he was.

Nuala, tense for the last few minutes, let her body sag, like a balloon releasing its air. Are you still getting the pains, then? In asking the question she hoped for a comforting reply.

Now and again. They come and go. But I do feel bloated a lot.

Then it’s good to have it checked. In saying those words Nuala knew how hard this must be for Tom. For as long as she’d known him the man had never been seriously sick. No broken legs, no shortness of breath, no angina, nothing at all. Even the colds were few and far between.

This time, she squeezed his hand. She knew, understanding perfectly that he must be terrified. Despite his worldliness, his sophistication and capacity to easily move in many varied circles, this particular area, with its tests and diagnosis and remedies, was totally foreign to him.

Tom shrugged, giving her a false smile. I suppose, but I’d just as soon ride it out. Once these guys get their hands on you there’s no knowing how you’ll end up. His statement, tinged with bitterness, accurately reflected his true feelings.

Except, she said, this is Matthew. One of the good guys, I’d say.

And Tom had to agree with her. Dr. Matthew Raines, their family physician and friend since all were in their twenties, remained true to his calling. In this day and age of huge medical corporations, with their bottom line bias, Matthew still seemed able to deliver quality time and care. He put the patient’s best interests first, fought the bureaucrats over costly treatments and, above all else, really cared about the sick people passing through his capable hands.

It’s not him, Tom countered calmly. He’s just the point man. It’s what happens when he moves me on.

Nuala heard a slight resignation in Tom’s assertion. Quickly sensing his apprehension she patted his arm, a mother-touch, modest but meaningful. Jumping the gun, aren’t you? Let’s wait and see what he says before you get too depressed.

Of course, Tom said, hoping for the best but secretly fearing the worst.

I’d like to come with you. She leaned over, planting a long hard kiss on Tom’s cheek.

Please, he whispered, almost to himself.

With the edge now taken off a formerly satisfying weekend, they arrived home early Sunday evening. A car, like a lonely atoll, stood in their driveway, black and gleaming. Leaving Tom with the bags, Nuala hurried to the house, eager and expectant. At the door, daughter Jane waited, frowning, arms folded.

Thanks for letting me know where you were, she barked in mock rebuke. Jeez, you guys are never home anymore.

Nuala ignored the teasing flak and kissed her twenty-three year old on the cheek. Since when, she countered firmly, do we need your permission to take off?

Not permission, mother, Jane responded pointedly but not petulantly. Just in case there’s an emergency and I need to get hold of you, that’s all.

Did you try the other house?

I did. Not a squeak.

Well, that’s where we were. Dramatically, Nuala tossed her hair, an exaggerated move that caused them both to break out in smiles. Jane knew better than to pursue the matter further. Instead, she rushed to help her father as he struggled inside with the luggage.

Mom’s in a weird mood, she offered her father, taking a heavy bag from his grasp. You guys okay?

Of course, Tom said plainly, squeezing his daughter’s arm. Thanks for the help.

They all moved in different directions, busying, bustling, and caring for their own needs, before converging together in the kitchen. Tom poured wine for Jane and himself, while Nuala plugged in the kettle for tea. For a while no one spoke, the spaces between them filled uncomfortably with small coughs and smiles, exaggerated tasks, politeness.

At last, Jane broke the silence, stirring the stationary air with her exasperation. What is it with you two? Did you fight? Was the weekend complete crap or something? She glanced rapidly at their faces, eyes meeting eyes. Just when she was about to resume her machine gun-like bombardment, Nuala held up her palm

None of the above, sweetie. The weekend was actually very wonderful. We’re just tired. It’s a long drive as you know. She made her tea, crossing the kitchen with her mug to where Tom sat, arms folded, barely aware of the others’ repartee. Snuggling close, Nuala draped an arm around his shoulders, a loving, but pointed gesture for Jane to observe.

All right, then, Jane purred, satisfied with the scene. Time to move on. Her parents nodded in unison, thankful.

As Tom topped off her glass, he said gently, Passing through the neighborhood or something more specific?

Something more specific, Jane proudly pronounced. Then, more somber, almost hurt, I come to see you guys sometimes just because I want to see you, adding, don’t I? as she sought some sort of validation.

You do, you blessed child. But Jane couldn’t tell whether flippancy colored her father’s words. As Tom watched her contemplating his reply he experienced a sudden urge to hold her tightly to him as his words seeped from his brain to his heart. You really are a blessed child, he thought, and I thank you for being who you are and meaning what you do to me.

Anyway, she continued, I have the chance to go to England for a while. Oxford, actually.

You do! Nuala exclaimed, her wide-open smile telling the story of her surprise. How come?

Apparently Oxford and MIT have signed on to run a joint biomedical test program on the synthesis of genes and food on the aging process. Professor Wilson’s heavily involved. He asked if I might be interested.

Tom again looked at his daughter in wonder. It was only five short years ago he and Nuala had taken a trembling, shy and worried teenager the short hop to Boston to begin her studies at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. They left her there after three days, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

She knew no one on campus, had no old friends on which to rely. Every night they dreaded picking up the phone, fearing her call, just hoping she’d persevere a few more weeks.

But the calls never came. Instead, Jane threw herself into her studies, easily made new friends and never returned home except for the holidays. She graduated fifth in her class and immediately signed on for her master’s degree. Tom was as proud of her achievements as of any of his own.

Without another moment’s hesitation he told her she should go. You must, he almost pleaded. It’s such a great opportunity for you. How soon?

Two weeks, she replied, obviously overjoyed with their reaction. For at least six months.

Plenty of time to see some of the country, too, Nuala offered. You’ll love it.

Jane, trying hard to sniff a tear away, held them close in a joint hug. Tom, usually so stoic, found it difficult to remain emotionless, while Nuala dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

Finally breaking away, Tom dashed downstairs to the cellar, returning shortly with a dusty bottle of champagne. A toast, he said as he cleaned it off, popping the cork and pouring three generous glasses. A celebration. That’s what’s needed.

And so the three of them stood around the kitchen as Tom made a speech, easy and elegant, supportive and sweet, in praise of their daughter’s past achievements and all those yet to come. For all of them it was a moment to treasure.

He lay still, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling, strangely silent even within himself, waiting for Nuala to come to bed. He thought of nothing, then everything, then nothing again. His mind whirled, stopped dead, then whirled again. This is how she found him, blank eyed, unseeing.

He heard her somewhere in the distance saying, I wasn’t sure if you were going to mention the doctor’s visit or not, so I didn’t. Was that all right?

He felt her slip into bed, the touch of her warm skin settling close to his, her scent filling him with sudden pleasure, bringing him back from oblivion. Cuddling close, she looked up at him, her brown studied eyes asking forgiveness for something.

All right? Was what all right? he asked quizzically.

I didn’t know whether you were going to mention to Jane your visit to Matt’s tomorrow.

Oh, no. No need, I think. Besides, the evening was hers. Tom leaned over, kissing her forehead. And thank you for not telling her.

I figure she would’ve gone home and called Rick immediately. That we certainly don’t need. The boy’s a walking worry machine. They laughed as images of their sweet, but sensitive, son filled their minds’ eye.

Anyway, Tom said nonchalantly, what’s to tell? It’s a visit to the doctor’s. That’s all.

Are you worried? Tell me? I need to know.

He returned her questions with a forced smile, letting it linger before he said, I guess. The fact that Matthew would tell me nothing over the phone is curious. Not that I think he’s keeping anything from me. But if the tests were free and clear I think he’d have said so.

Nuala nodded, softly saying, Me, too. Raising herself up level with him, she took his face in her hands, kissing him hard over and over again. But on the other hand he’s very conservative, too much so sometimes. Maybe he’s merely covering all the bases. And you are his friend, after all.

Tom grabbed her suggestion gratefully. My thoughts exactly. Look at all those tests he ran on Jane when she only had an earache. Too much sometimes, that guy.

Nuala heard the intent behind Tom’s words, his feelings clearly leaning towards the optimistic, even denial. Instinctively, she saw no purpose in pursuing the discussion at this stage. Instead, she sought him under the covers, stroking his stomach, reaching down, seeking him out.

Twenty minutes later, with tiredness creeping over them like a fast tide, they sank into sleep, he still inside her, leaving the cares of the day behind, oblivious to the needs of tomorrow.

For him, morning came much too soon. Rising before Nuala, Tom scurried to the kitchen to make coffee and toast, delivering it to her on a tray just as she stirred. The gesture touched her deeply considering he was the one supposedly under stress.

Although they ate in silence it was a satisfying silence where being close to one another mattered most. He kissed a smudge of butter from her chin, marveling at how good she managed to look so early in the day.

They held hands and talked in generalities until Nuala finally asked him how he felt.

All right. I’m doing okay. Really. Just want to get the damn thing over with.

His answer pleased her for she knew he told the truth. Somewhere, somehow, in the long black shadows of his mind, he had at least come to terms with this part of it. She realized he might still be scared but he was no longer afraid.

Want to take a shower with me? she enthused lightly, trailing a long slender arm from the bed to the bath.

They languished long, luxuriously, beneath the hot streaming strands of water, enjoying the closeness, massaging each other’s body with soap and endless smiles. Afterwards, they dried each other off, taking their time, caressing, carefully keeping their emotions intact, and giving nothing away.

Knowing their feelings inside and out helped smooth the hours before they had to leave. Nuala kept the mood light, suggesting they do a little work to while away the time. Tom, showing no signs of nerves, agreed, eagerly fetching the blueprints of the current house they were designing. The near proximity of Matthew’s office allowed them forty-five minutes to ponder and discuss.

Shortly, as the time slipped by, they stowed the plans, pulled on their coats and left. In the car they small-talked their way through traffic, arriving four minutes early, calm and ready. They were shown right in.

To their surprise Matthew’s office was empty. Pulling up chairs, they made themselves as comfortable as possible and waited. Tom whispered. He must be doing well, as he glanced around the spacious room with its fine furniture, leather bound volumes and expensive prints and paintings. Even the drapes and wall coverings exuded wealth and elegance.

Nuala raised her eyebrows. As long as he knows what he’s doing, who cares? She reached for Tom’s hand, linking fingers, feeling more tense than she’d readily admit. She jumped when hearing the door suddenly open, the rushing air cool on her cheek, feathering her hair. Dr. Matthew Raines entered.

Sorry to keep you guys waiting, he breezed. Tricky problem with an ulcer. Good to see you, Tom. Nuala. The two men hugged heartily, warmly, before he bent down and brushed Nuala’s cheek. Whatever aftershave he used she liked it, taking in its scent, blushing slightly. How was the weekend?

They told him, in too much detail, about their trip to the shore. Tom did most of the explaining as Nuala sat quietly, thinking he was using his voice as a delaying tactic. As long as no one brought up the real reason they had gathered there then nothing could possibly be wrong. Several times Matthew tried breaking the flow, finally succeeding.

And the pain? he asked pointedly. How is the pain?

Comes and goes, Tom offered weakly. Still a lot of bloating, though.

Nuala’s eyes darted over Matt’s face, searching for a clue, seeking a message. But the doctor’s manner remained indulgent, professional but friendly. In turn, he looked closely at Tom, paying particular attention to his eyes and the pallor of his face.

You look slightly jaundiced to me, Tom, which may be consistent with some of your test results. Your blood work showed signs of irregularity and I’m worried you may have a liver problem.

Liver? Tom questioned pointedly. You know I’m not a heavy drinker, Matt.

Of course you’re not, Matt conceded. "And there are other reasons. Viral. Bacterial. Diminished bile function. That could