A long hesitation."Treatment can give you more time, but…"
"There's no stopping it," she interprets.
"No," he answers."I'm sorry.Weeks.A few months at most.We could maybe give you a few extra weeks, a month or two more at the outside, with aggressive treatment."
"But?"Taylor presses.
A shrug, a shake of his head; the overhead lights glint off of his balding head and reflect off of his glasses."The treatment can be…rough.And with as much as it's spread already, there would be little return from it, I'm afraid."He swallows hard."As your doctor and your friend, I think…I would advise just making yourself as comfortable as possible."
"Al, c'mon," I breathe."There's…there'snothing?"
Taylor turns in the chair to face me, takes both of my hands."I knew, Noah.And deep down, so did you."
I shake my head."No."
She smiles, cups my jaw."Yes, baby."She blinks hard, lashes damp with unshed tears."If fighting would get me anywhere, I'd fight.You know I would.But it's a losing battle, and I’d rather spend the time I have leftwithyou, not sitting in a chair getting chemo that'll only make me sicker and won't change anything in the end anyway."
Al clears his throat."Noah, you know I'd tell you if there was anything that had even achanceof making a significant difference.But we're talking excruciating misery that would buy her an amount of time you could measure in days."He peels his glasses off, pulling them one way while twisting his head the other."I've delivered this news more times than I care to think about, but this is the hardest…" he trails off, unable to finish, shoulders heaving a few times."I'm sorry.I'm sorry."
Taylor takes his hands, leaning across his desk."It's alright, Al.It's okay."
That's Taylor—comforting others even as she finds out she's dying.
We spend a while longer with Al, coming up with a palliative care plan involving home nurses, drugs, and rental hospital beds.
Since I was on the call when she left for her appointment, her friend Betsey drove her to the office.I drive her home to our cabin on the river.A mated pair of Sandhill cranes fish at the river's edge as we pull up to our cabin.This is where we raised Noel.Where we brought him home.Where he took his first steps.His high school graduation party was here in the sprawling backyard, and the backyard is where we celebrated his getting drafted by the Seattle Skyhawks at seventeen, a first-round pick to enter the NHL as a kid who barely needed to shave.
It's a log A-frame with a green metal roof, the garage under the porch.The old swing set is still in the backyard, now rusted, faded, and splintering.We remodeled the kitchen just last year.Our primary suite bathroom was slated for a remodel this year, but that's irrelevant now.
We sit in the garage, engine off, in silence, for several minutes before Taylor finally looks at me."We need to talk."
I shake my head."Tay—"
She kisses my cheek and opens her door, moving slowly, stiffly."Gazebo, five minutes.Bring the Pappy."
When I made Captain five years ago, the guys in the station pooled their money and bought me a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle.I only pour a finger or two for special occasions.This isnotthe occasion I was envisioning.
Nonetheless, I grab the bottle from the sideboard in the den, two glasses, and head out to the gazebo.Noel and I built the gazebo for Taylor's birthday ten years ago.It's at the river's edge on a low bluff overlooking the river and the field beyond it.Deer, moose, elk, wolves, coyotes, cranes, swans, eagles…the wildlife of Alaska crosses that field every day, and it's Taylor's favorite place on earth.It's why we bought the acreage and built the house.
I find her there already, holding something in her hand—a cannabis cigarette.We're not partiers.I only have a drink or two now and then, and she's the same.We've never smoked cannabis or tobacco.It's recreationally legal here, but it's just never been our thing.
"Betsey gave it to me," she says as I sit down.She lights it with a transparent yellow Bic lighter, coughs a few times."I'm not surprised, honey.I can feel it.I don't know how to explain it, I just…I can just feel it."
I pour a finger…and then with a muttered curse, fill the glass almost halfway.Take a sip."Tay, I…" My eyes mist, and my throat closes."Fuck."
Acrid, sweet, slightly skunky smoke writhes around us."Baby, I need you to listen to me, now."
I shake my head."Tay—"
"Noah,please."
Sip.Swallow.Watch the cranes root in the grass at the water's edge, one always watching while the other forages."I'm listening."
"I'm gonna do this my way.And you have to let me."She holds the smoldering, stinking joint away from me as she leans toward me."It's in your nature to fix things.I know this.But you can't fix this, babe.So first, you're gonna call our son and give him the news.Second, you're gonna go back to work.When I need you with me full-time, I'll tell you.Till then, we'll get a nurse.I won’t spend my last days on earth in a goddamned hospital, please just understand that—that's number three.Whatever happens, it happens here at home.Fourth, when I die, cremate me and spread my ashes on the river.Then, have a wake.I know we're not Irish, but I want you to celebrate my life, not mourn my death.I want you to get shitfaced.Take time off work.Deal with it, Noah Austin.This isn't something you can repress or ignore."
My wife knows me, alright.
She's not done."This is the most important part, Noah, so please,pleasehear me.Look at me now, baby."She touches my jaw, and I meet her eyes."Someday, after I'm gone, I want you to let someone else in."
