The Good Fight I

It was dark out when Bill, a cigar between his lips, walked down the short drive to his and Laura’s new home, taking out the dinner trash — a bevy of takeout containers from a local restaurant — to the bin on the corner.

It had been a long day, tiring but productive, having begun early when Laura woke him at sunrise wanting a shower. Since the water hadn’t been turned on yet at the house, her request had necessitated taking a room at one of the small hotels in town for the day so that everyone, including the security agents, could clean up.

After that, they’d all had breakfast, then he’d made use of the hotel phone to call and have the utilities turned on by noon, paying a penalty fee for the rush, and Laura had called her office, requesting a sick day.

She’d then called her doctor to set an appointment for later in the week to discuss treatment options.

Bill was proud of her for that, knew there was a part of her tempted to pretend none of it had happened and to carry on as usual. He understood that impulse, and would love to do it himself, but neither of them had that luxury, and he’d lived long enough to know that ignoring something, no matter how good it might feel at the time, did not make it go away. In fact, in his experience, that usually made things worse, and this was one thing neither of them wanted to get worse.

Right now, they didn’t know how bad things were, medically speaking, but the doctor would be filling them in on that and hopefully have a treatment strategy prepared for Laura’s approval when they went to see him on Friday.

Bill was glad she’d asked him to go with her this time. He didn’t like just waiting to hear things, even though he understood her compulsion to face everything alone. After having been alone so long, he knew it was adjustment for her to include someone else in something so intensely personal, even though they were as committed as they possibly could be to one another. He knew that her struggle was partly rooted in how emotionally exposed she was with him, and that she didn’t want to be exposed when facing the enemy she’d feared would ambush her.

That’s why she’d repeatedly reached out to him last night, wanting and needing the distraction of lovemaking, to forget about the cancer, the fear, the grief, and lose herself, as much as was possible, in love and desire. He was glad he’d been able to give that to her and wanted to give her whatever she needed in the days to come.

This fight was theirs, threatened their happiness, and he was determined to be whatever she needed him to be in order for them to win it.

He had done that a little today as they shopped for furniture for the house, making things happen that they needed to happen quicker than was probably the norm — like arranging for things to be delivered by mid-afternoon, which was a perk of buying power. Of course, they’d bought a substantial amount of things, enough that Bill thought the young manager of one of the stores was going to offer them his firstborn in gratitude.

Lifting the lid on the refuse bin, Bill slung the sack inside and considered that if Laura tackled the cancer with the same focus, decisiveness, and enthusiasm she’d displayed as she walked the showroom floor and made selections that were anything but arbitrary, the cancer didn’t have a chance.

He had watched her with something akin to awe as she tried out different couches in the styles they’d said they preferred, checking for comfort and sturdiness, and when she’d found the best amongst them, she’d ask him to see if he thought it comfortable enough. If he had, she’d looked at the salesman and said, “This one,” and moved on to the next item on her list.

By midday, they had a bed frame and mattress, a pair of nightstands, two chairs and a low table to set in front of the fireplace in their bedroom. She’d also selected a pair of dining tables, one for the formal dining room and a small one for the little breakfast nook in the kitchen that overlooked the sea, and they’d settled on a set of furniture for the den that gave new meaning to the word comfortable with its lush-but-supportive padding and buttery-smooth leather upholstery. It was better even than couch he’d bought for his quarters on the Valkyrie, which was saying something.

In addition to those things, they’d picked out some basic furnishings for the cottage for the agents — a pair of single beds, some night stands, a dresser, and a set of living and dining furniture to round things out. She’d made sure the couch had a pull-out bed as well, to give them extra sleeping space if needed in the future.

They’d put off the purchase of appliances, deciding those could wait for a few days, but did swing by several stores to pick up necessary housewares and toiletries, like bed linens and comforters, towels, and soaps, as well as some lamps and light bulbs. Bill had also picked up a couple good sets of fireplace utensils and safety screens.

After eating a late lunch in town, they’d all come back to the house and waited for the arrival of the bulkier stuff. Even though it wasn’t their jobs, the agents had pitched in enthusiastically to help the delivery teams unload the furniture and even helped assemble the various pieces that required it, so that by sunset, they had things at least in the rooms they needed to be in and usable.

Then, under the pretense of just picking up dinner, Bill had slipped out with a pair of them to buy a vid unit for the den so that they could all watch the pyramid playoff game. It was an indulgence, but as far as he was concerned, they’d earned it, so he’d treated them to a big screen, steaks and lobsters, and they’d all settled into the new den furniture to watch.

Laura had immersed herself in the camaraderie with these people who were charged with her safety and he had been glad to see it, not certain if she would after having told them this afternoon of her diagnosis. It had not been an easy thing for her to do, but he’d encouraged her to do it, knowing they would figure it out anyway since they were her constant shadows, and that her trusting them with the information would engender a degree of loyalty that would serve her infinitely better than any whispered speculations that might be overheard.

Truthfully, she needed them to know, so that they could be vigilant to any medical needs that might arise at some point in the future, and to allay their fears — and they had been fearful — about her intentions with yesterday’s stroll into the sea.

Pointedly, she’d asked them to not mention it to anyone else as she had yet to inform the president, which she would do later in the week, and that she’d prefer it not be public or widespread knowledge amongst the security services. She’d also done him one better, telling them that she was going to request they be made her permanent detail, unless they wanted out, for as long as their presence was deemed necessary.

That had surprised him, considering her reservations about having them in her life at all — and that they’d only been with her less than a month — but he approved of that virtual “adoption” of them as an inner circle. She needed loyal people around her, who would protect more than her life.

He had felt, watching them all tonight, Laura amongst them cheering on the Bucs, that he could trust these people to do that. If he was wrong in that, though, there’d be hell to pay for whoever betrayed her. He would make sure of it.

Closing the bin, Bill walked back toward the house, enjoying the sight of light in the windows of his new home. It was faint, ambient illumination coming from the lamps, fireplace and vid unit in the den, but it was light nonetheless, a sign of habitation, of warmth and welcome.

The thing that made it a home to him, though, was the woman inside. He was so looking forward to laying down with her for the night, sleeping in their new bed for the first time. He’d love to inaugurate it with a slow, gentle frakking, but he wasn’t sure either if them had the energy for that. He’d just see how things went. If she wanted to make love, he would see what he could do. If she just wanted to sleep, he was okay with that, too.

There was something incredibly comforting in the thought of that, he admitted as stray gravel on the paved drive crunched under his feet.

He had never minded sharing a bed with someone. There was something comforting in sleeping with a warm body next to yours. With the right person, it came with a sense of belonging, which is why he loved sharing a bed with Laura. From the beginning, he’d felt welcome with her, no matter what bed they were in, no matter what position they slept in, naked or clothed, and he relished that.

Being wanted was no small thing. Being wanted by the person you loved…

That was everything.

< Lamentations VIII | The Good Fight II >