Charley went to the hospital to see Dr. John Crane, Megan’s husband, rather than waiting to talk to him when he got home in the evening. She wanted him to speak frankly with Megan not present. She asked him if he could arrange his schedule to look after Meg for a few days if she wasn’t available. John said it was fine; he could be there earlier in the evening and leave later in the morning. He would adjust his schedule to make dinner in the evenings, breakfast in the morning before he went to work, and he would check on her at least once during the day.

“You’re such a good team,” Charley said. “A couple of years ago when you were separated briefly, you seemed to be as much in love as ever. If you don’t mind my asking, what happened?”

“Love was never the problem,” John said. “We’ll talk about it someday. Right now I just want to get her through the next few weeks. Are you going back to California to see Michael and Eric?”

“No, actually. I’m going up to the lake house to see what needs to be done to make it habitable. Meg wants to spend the summer there.”

John’s face split into a huge grin. “So she finally found someone who would take that on. Why am I surprised that it’s you?”

“Maybe because if I was still working it wouldn’t be. Or if Eric were younger, or many variables. But I’m available and want to see Meg through this recovery. Maybe you should tell me right now—how much care should I plan on for her recovery? Could this get worse?”

“It could, but it shouldn’t right now. She doesn’t need around-the-clock nursing care. But at the moment she’s too weak and tires too easily to look after herself for any length of time. She can’t cook, do her own laundry or clean the house, but she’ll probably continue to get stronger. At least for now.”

“And then?” Charley asked.

“And then stronger still unless…” He shrugged. “Look, the reality is, it could go either way. Quite a while ago she said no more chemo, that it took too great a toll and she wanted to enjoy what time she had left. This last round, prepping her for the transplant was the hardest yet. Four years, Charley. She’s had enough.” He hung his head slightly, then raised it again. “And that’s why. That’s the separation, right there.”

“Huh?” she said, confused.

“The separation. Our disagreement was all about treatment. I bet you didn’t expect that, did you?”

“Wait,” she said. “I didn’t know you didn’t agree on the course of treatment…”