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"I can," Beth said with a big smile. "Actually, I'm very good at fruits and vegetables. I'm also good at bread! Well, I'm good at buying it…. It won't solve all the problems, but it might get you over the hump."
Julie put her hands over her face and began to cry.
"Aw, now what are you crying about?" Cassie asked, tugging at her hands.
"This is what friends do when someone dies!" she sobbed.
"Or when someone's a little down on their luck," Marty said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. "Now, come on—you'd do the same. What are you crying about?"
"I don't know," she said through sobs. "I don't know if I'm totally embarrassed, totally touched that you would do that or just helpless. I don't know anything. I don't even know myself anymore…."
"Join the club," Marty said. "I've been feeling that way a lot lately. I walked out on Joe the other day. We had a fight—same fight. I was furious that he couldn't pick up his own mess or take a shower. I drove around and ended up at Martinelli's for takeout and who'd I run into? Ryan Chambers!"
"Oh, no," Cassie said. "What did you do?"
"Just talked to him awhile, waiting for my pizzas. Jules, baby, I wish you could help me with my problems by fixing a couple of casseroles every week. I don't think we're going to make it—me and Joe."
The conversation shifted to Marty and Joe, as happened with them routinely. When one of them became more revealing, others opened up even more. They didn't realize they were like that, but they traded secrets. Marty laid it out—she didn't even want to sleep in the same room with Joe anymore. He'd begun to repulse her. The thought of his whiskers against her breast was unimaginable. She wanted to cut up the gym shorts, sink the boat, put a pipe bomb in the goddamn big screen. She longed for a romantic partner, even if it was only occasional. She'd be happy if he'd shave and shower before coming to bed, even sometimes.
Cassie confessed about the assault, tilting Beth and Marty back on their heels. She admitted to becoming friendly with her rescuer. And she was adamant—she was positively through with dating. Walt was just a diversion, a good friend to pass some time with.
The one person who didn't have anything to share was Beth.
  Beth knew that closing herself off was not only a bad idea, it was going to ultimately be impossible. First of all, she'd had to meet with the senior staff at the clinic, let them know she'd begun treatment that would soon not only affect her schedule, it could diminish her energy and ability to put in those long hours. Of course, she was extended all the support her colleagues could offer—it was, after all, a women's clinic. They dealt with these medical issues with patients every day and, unfortunately, had a couple of staff members who had faced similar challenges. Their head nurse was a breast cancer survivor; their senior female physician had undergone a hysterectomy several years ago for a cancerous tumor in her uterus.
The rest of the world she hoped to hold off for a while, at least until and if she began to lose her hair.
She'd always been a private sort, not because she was secretive, but because she had a tendency to be intense, to think about things deeply for a long time before putting her emotions out there to be examined. Some of that was natural, some learned during the minefields of residency when it felt as if everyone was constantly gunning for the young, inexperienced doctor. And, of course, she'd had that history—her last bout with this disease.
She had been in her third year of med school, only twenty-five, and involved in a very comfortable relationship with Mark, a first-year surgical resident. It was serious; he'd chosen his residency to be in the same city with Beth while she finished school. They had moved in together a few months prior to the diagnosis and had casually kicked around the idea of getting engaged as soon as she graduated, got her M.D. It was, in fact, the first serious relationship she'd had.
The news of the malignancy devastated her, threw her into a complete tailspin. She wasn't a totally abnormal girl—she'd cried before—but nothing like the hysteria brought on by facing that battle. Of course, her parents came at once, although, God bless them, they weren't much comfort. She'd never seen her mother more scatterbrained and fretful, her father more helpless than ever. Since they'd never been in the least domestic to start with, they were more trouble than help around the house and with meals. They drove Mark crazy in two days.
Her girlfriends were better, especially Cassie, a born nurse. All three girls were completely domesticated and nurturing; they knew exactly what to do to bring comfort, order and nutrition. And for young women, they had been so wise, coming in turns instead of en masse. But they had such pain, pity and fear in their eyes. They were too quiet and polite, too careful of her feelings, void of the usual relentless laughter when they were together.
She survived the surgery and was managing the chemo fairly well; she didn't have to leave school, though she suffered too much time off. And she held her parents off to keep her medical and personal lives from converging; instead of having them visit to "help" she took a few very quick trips home to let them look at her, see that aside from being a little on the pale and thin side, she was holding up well. But all this time, she could feel Mark shrinking away.
It was so gradual, she hadn't been sure until the end what was coming. Her treatment lasted for six months, and it was hard to pin down what was happening to her relationship—first-year residents are worked so constantly, his absence was not suspect. Mark's time at home was minimal at best.
Within a year of her diagnosis her energy was back. Her MRI looked good, she appeared to be in remission if not cured. There was color in her cheeks again and a soft cap of hair on her bald head when Mark said, "I'm sorry. This is the most terrible thing I've ever done to anyone in my life, but I can't go on. I don't know if the illness took its toll, or if this was going to happen to us, anyway. I swear to God, I don't know."