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“Who’s ever going to love you, Edier,” she croaks, slowly sliding down the curved white head of the bathtub. “Who’s ever going to love you—”
Her last words gurgle and get swallowed up by the red water as she sinks out of view, but the truth of them stay in this bathroom.
I sit there long after she’s gone and hours before anyone finds me, drawing pictures and patterns inMamá’sblood, and wishing for my own death to come find me first.
28
ELLA
“Two drinks,and not one of them is alcoholic. It’s a depressing day in hell.” Ivy places them down on the table and drops into the seat next to me. “Speaking of which, you never told me how your appointment with the rheumatologist went the other day.”
“It was right up there with that double endoscopy and colonoscopy I had on my sixteenth birthday, or the time my sister left my favorite Vintage Mac Tee in an airport in Maui.”
“Ouch.”
“Ouch,” I agree, running my finger up the side of my glass, collecting all the little beads of condensation on my skin. Alas, the path is quickly frosted over again by the chill of my mineral water, which is a miserably accurate depiction of my life right now. Since Edier stormed out of my apartment two nights ago, and started screening my calls, everything seems to be a couple of degrees cooler.
“What magical meds have they suggested you try? I swear my sister’s a lupus dispensary these days.”
“Methotrexate.”
She winces and puts her drink back down on the table. “Chemo? Seriously? I’m so sorry, Ella... When do you start?”
“Started yesterday. The nausea kicked in this morning.” I flash her my wrists to show off my funky new motion-sickness bands. “So far, no spewing, just tiredness and cravings for ginger.” I glance around the busy bar, refusing to dwell on it any further. There’s still no sign of our forensics source.
I check my watch. He’s twenty minutes late already.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nope. I just need to kick this stupid flare. I'm sick of my knees feeling like shards of glass are sticking into them. Besides, the chemo’s only for a couple of months…”
“You’re a fucking rock star, you know that?” Ivy shakes her head at me in admiration. “Anyone else would be passed out in bed, watching bad movies on repeat.”
“Anyone elsedoesn’t have a cool newspaper story to pursue… That’s if our source ever turns up.”
“Oh, he will. He’s been persistent in calling this meeting.” There’s a pause. “Want me to come over to your place later? I could be your cheerleader from the other side of the bathroom door if the antiemetics start timing out.”
“As tempting as it sounds, there are some lines that work colleaguesneverneed to cross.” I flash her a rueful smile. “You know I love you tons for the offer, though.”
“Yeah, I know.” She gives me an exaggerated sigh. “I’m a very loveable reporter, despite my bitchy reputation.”
I can’t help laughing at this. Sympathy isn’t infinite. I’ve found that out the hard way over the years. It’s rare to find someone like Ivy who’s unfazed by the long-haul nature of this disease. Best of all, I know her offers are genuine, and they’ll never have expiry dates.
“You going to tell Rob?”
“Nope.”
Rob will tell my mother.Three hours later, a private jet will be landing at Teterboro, New Jersey, to fly me home.
“Brave.”
“Stupid?”
“Fucking inspirational. If you need an excuse for skipping work, just ask. I’m the queenof bullshit apparently, or so says my fiancé…” She trails off as a tall man in his mid-thirties wearing a black suit and thick-rimmed glasses enters the bar. “Hold that thought. I think our man just arrived.” She gives him a subtle wave, and he comes straight over. “Not what I was expecting,at all,” she adds to me in a side-whisper.
I know what she means. He’s nothing like other anonymous newspaper sources who skulk into our meetings under wide-brimmed hats and dark glasses.
He moves like he’s courting interest, with his black hair slicked off his face and a skin tone as richly tan as Edier’s.
