Chapter 3

On Saturday morning, I woke to the sound of something being carried in.

Meg came in sideways with my father's chair in her arms. Its back scraped the doorframe. She stopped at once, adjusted the angle, and carried it inside. Once she'd set it down, she crouched beside it and ran her fingers over the new scratch. She seemed more upset about it than I was.

"There wasn't a mark on it. I caught it on the doorframe."

"It doesn't matter. My father banged it up while he was making it too."

She turned the chair so its arms faced the bed. I ran my hand over the familiar grain, reluctant to let go.

The last time my father said he wanted to come home, I promised to put that chair by the window. He liked the morning light, and he always complained that the sun reached his room at the nursing home too late in the day.

Now the chair was in my little apartment. But the window was narrow and the sky overcast. I looked around, unable to find a single corner filled with morning light.

Meg hung up her coat and took breakfast out of a bag.

"When I went to the inn for the chair, he was already working on the fish," she told me. "He made a point of asking if the bread you used to like was from the shop on the corner."

I smiled a little and laid a cold cloth over my eyes. My eyelids were swollen from crying, and the sting came in waves.

Rebecca arrived, and when I tried to stand, she eased me back down. She checked the skin irritated by the previous day's leak and asked about my pain, sleep, and appetite. I answered briefly. Meg added that I'd broken off only a small piece of bread for breakfast and had barely swallowed any of it.

Rebecca crouched beside me and told me to stay home and rest that day. She contacted the care team and went over what to do in an emergency with Meg.

I agreed to all of it, but I didn't want to lie back down. "Could I walk over to the table?"

Rebecca followed my gaze to the table.

"It's only a few steps," I said. "I want to try."

Meg cleared the path and helped me stand. My knees buckled as soon as I left the bed. She stepped closer so I could lean against her, then helped me slowly over to the wooden chair.

Once seated, I was too breathless to speak for a while. Two bowls were already on the table. I'd set out Ethan's usual cup at his place, but I'd run out of strength before I could turn the handle toward him. I would have to wait until he arrived.

Rebecca didn't hurry me. After a while she asked quietly whether I wanted to go back to bed.

I nodded and gripped the armrests. Twice I tried to stand, but I couldn't do it alone. I clung to Meg's sleeve for those few steps. She had to half-carry me back to bed.

Ethan called that afternoon.

I reached for the phone and it slid into a fold of the blanket. Meg picked it up and answered. The roar of a kitchen fan came through, and he asked whether I was up.

"I was up for a while," I said. "What time are you coming?"

There was a short silence on his end.

"Claire, there's something from last night I've been wanting to ask you."

I moved the phone to my other hand and listened.

"Are you determined to make everyone think I'm the one who treated you badly?"

Meg was beside the bed. I turned onto my side and looked at the condensation on the window. Quietly, I told him that wasn't what I wanted.

"You said in front of all those people that you don't regret the divorce. If that doesn't count, what does?"

"You asked me."

"So you don't regret it at all? How can you be so cruel to me? If you put yourself in my shoes just once, you'd understand how much I love you and how much I've put up with."

I closed my eyes. My arm ached from holding the phone, so I set it on the pillow and turned my head toward it.

"Ethan, I miss you."

The noise on his end stopped.

"But I still know leaving was the right decision." I drew a slow breath. "Can we stop arguing about it for today? I only want to have a meal with you."

He didn't agree. I told him I was feeling very unwell that day, that I couldn't sit up for long, and that I probably wouldn't be able to taste the soup.

"Another day, then," he said. "When you're better, we'll talk it all through properly."

My fingers closed on the sheet. "Not another day."

I said it too fast and started coughing hard. Meg was at the bed at once. I shook my head at her and leaned toward the phone again.

"Come and see me today. Please. As early as you can."

"What is going on with you?"

If I told him it was late-stage colon cancer, that Rebecca had only just left, that I couldn't even get as far as the table, he might come.

But the night before was still fresh in my mind. I had begged him, and he still wouldn't let go of my wrist. He had no idea what I looked like falling apart in that restroom, or that waiting to see him one more time had taken all my remaining strength.

I was afraid that once he knew, we would go back to the darkest days of my life.

"I'm very tired," I said. "We can talk when you get here. Is that all right?"

He was quiet for several seconds.

"After everything I gave you, you can't give me this one thing?"

I clutched the sheet, unable to answer.

"Take back what you said last night and I'll leave right now."

A drop of water ran down the glass toward the frame. My voice was almost too faint to hear. "But I meant all of it."

I heard him draw a breath.

"Fine. I'll have the soup sent over. We'll talk about meeting when you've thought it through."

The call ended and I kept the phone against my ear for a long time.

Meg helped me turn over. I was afraid she would try to comfort me, so before she could say anything, I handed her the phone and asked her to type a message for me.

Even with her help, writing and sending the message took every bit of strength I had. "I'm not asking to get back together. I just want to see you. Can you come today?"

Rebecca returned. Even lifting my head to look toward the door took effort.

Then Daniel arrived and leaned over me, calling my name. Meg told them everything that had happened that day. As the medication took effect, the pain eased. My palms were soaked with sweat.

Close to five, the doorbell rang.

I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. My shoulders barely left the pillow before I dropped back. Meg put a hand on mine, said she would get the door, and told me not to move.

I kept my eyes on the doorway, but the voice I heard belonged to one of the inn's employees.

He handed over an insulated bag, saying Ethan had asked me to drink the soup while it was hot. The sight of the medical staff made him hesitate. He put his hands in his pockets, pulled them out again, and asked if he could help.

Daniel told him I was already being cared for. Meg took the container, thanked him, and asked him to leave. He glanced toward the bed before closing the door quietly. I kept staring at it, full of regret. Why hadn't I stopped him and asked him to call Ethan, just once more, to see if he was still on his way?

But I didn't have the strength for a long sentence anymore.

"Would you like to try a little?" Meg asked.

I nodded. Rebecca propped me up higher, and Meg scooped up a little soup and brought the spoon to my lips.

I tried to swallow. My lips opened and closed, but the soup only wet them. When I shook my head, she wiped the corner of my mouth with a tissue and didn't press me to eat.

I managed something like a smile. The soup had come. He'd remembered what I'd asked for after all. But what I had wanted was him in the chair across from me, actually there.

My phone lit up again. Meg picked it up and asked if I wanted to hear the message. When I looked at her, she read it aloud. "Did the soup arrive? Let's leave it at that for today. We'll see each other when you're ready to talk properly."

She kept her voice low. When she finished, her fingers lingered on the screen. She didn't look up.

I gave a small nod.

"Do you want to answer him?"

I nodded again. She tapped the reply box and lowered the phone toward me. I tried to touch the screen, but my fingers kept missing it. At last, they dropped onto the back of her hand.

She turned her hand over, took hold of mine, and set the phone aside.

"Rest for a while first."

Don't put it down. I still had so much to say. Forget the argument at dinner. Forget who was right about the divorce. Can't we just sit here like we did all those years ago and share one quiet meal, as if none of it ever happened?

But the sounds in the room were growing distant, blurring together.

Meg bent over me and closed her hands around mine, her eyes red.

"Claire, look at me."

It took everything I had to look at her. She wiped her face and said, "Do you want me to call Ethan and ask him to come?"

I gripped her hand with the last of my strength. "Tell him the truth."

She bent lower.

"Ask him... to hurry."

I didn't want to wait alone for a dinner nobody was coming to. I wanted to see him. I wanted to be held. Even if he heard the truth and said what I'd been dreading, I wanted to hear him say my name.

Meg called at once and handed the phone to Rebecca.

Rebecca explained clearly that I had late-stage colon cancer and was in critical condition. The doctor was at my bedside. Ethan needed to come immediately.

He repeated my name back to her.

Rebecca repeated it and gave him the full address. A clatter came from his end of the line. Ethan said he was leaving immediately and asked her to hold the phone to my ear.

"Claire."

I heard him say my name.

"Listen to me. I'm coming now. Don't go to sleep. Wait for me."

The phone rested against my ear. My lips moved. I wanted to tell him not to stop for bread, not to reheat the soup. All I needed was for him to come. Meg never let go of my hand. She kept telling me he was coming, that he really was on his way.

At the table, my father's chair was still empty.

I looked at the crooked groove in the chair's back and remembered the packed bag at the nursing home. My father had put a folded shirt and his slippers neatly inside, then placed a bag of fruit on top in case I was too busy to eat dinner.

"Claire, can you hear me?"

I can hear you, Ethan.

I just can't answer you anymore.