No Need to Talk, Pt. 01: Andrew

I spent the next three days in my pajamas trying to deal with the steadily increasing symptoms. In addition to headaches and nausea, I had started losing my balance and experienced dizziness and numbness. My ability to speak coherently was also slipping. Thankfully, Mom was there with the ever-present bowl of hot chicken noodle soup which always helped make things better.

When my phone buzzed in my pocket, I thought I was having another seizure. But it turned out to be Patricia Dempsey from the Daily Record, who said she got my number from Robert and wanted to know if she could stop by for an interview. I invited her over, then struggled to get dressed as I didn't want her to see me in my pajamas. My mother fussed over me and then went to tidy up the living room.

"You didn't have to get dressed on my account," Patricia said when I opened the door. At first, I was at a loss for words. Patricia's friendly manner, along with her good looks, threw me for a loop, and I almost felt like a teenager.

Mom brought us each a cup of coffee, then left the room so we could talk. After asking permission, Patricia started a recorder to make sure she got my story accurate.

"When Robert told me what happened, I wanted to make sure your side of the story got told. Michael Simpson is a very powerful attorney. There's even been talk of a judgeship in his future. I'm surprised he would stoop to something like this," Patricia said with a hint of skepticism in her voice.

"Well, he filed the divorce papers, so they're a matter of public record," I told her. "The PI working the case has months of text messages and personal emails between Simpson and my wife plotting their affair. I'll tell Robert that you can have access to the evidence, though it might just be usable for background."

I smiled wanly. "I imagine the laws for reporters in media are different than laws for lawyers in the courtroom. This is the picture sent to me the day after they left the country. That definitely should be usable." I handed her my phone, though my hand shook as I reached out. I could see her quick flash of understanding and concern before she managed to pull up her professional mask.

"Left the country?" Patricia asked, shock on her face as she looked at the photo on my phone.

"Yes. They're in Cancun right now. That's been confirmed." I was tired already, but she could hear the disgust in my voice.

"May I have a copy of this photo?"

"Of course," I replied. Patricia sent a copy of the photo to her phone, then quietly listened as I told my story. The whole story. I had to pause a few times due to the emotions that welled up, and I had to stop a few times to rephrase a few sentences - they sounded fine in my head but came out garbled. "Sorry, that's the tumor," I apologized after the third contorted sentence.

"That's quite all right," Patricia assured me kindly. "Take your time. I'm in no rush."

"Unfortunately, I am. I don't think I'll be alive when they return at the end of the month."

"I... see," Patricia replied sadly. "So how do you feel about all of this?"

"How do you think I feel? I see you're a married woman," I said, looking at her rings. "What if you came home from work one day with terrible news only to be told by your husband that he was leaving with another woman - with your children?" I could see her wince and her body twitched almost as much as mine.

"I feel used and betrayed. I know it happens all too often, but there is a decent way to handle it. If you're not happy, try to fix it. If you can't fix it, then divorce. AFTER the divorce you can go looking for... whatever you think you need. The deepest regret I have is not being able to say goodbye to Olivia. To tell her how much I love her, one last time." There was a wave of pain, and I tossed my head like a horse dislodging a biting fly.

"I loved Anne with my whole heart for more than a decade. Everything I did was for her and my daughter Olivia. I always put their needs ahead of my own. Always. And what do I get in exchange? Crapped on. Dismissed like a schoolboy. Well, to hell with her. And the sorry-assed piece of shit she decided to ride off with," I hissed coldly.

Patricia looked at me with a mix of fear and shock.

I tried to take a deep breath but wound up in a coughing fit. "I'm sorry I blew up. I'm not normally like this."

"The tumor?" Patricia asked gently.

"Yes, unfortunately," I told her, nodding my head. "I was warned that the normal social inhibitions would start to... lapse as it spread."

"So, what are you going to do?" Patricia asked.

"I'm doing it now. Whatever else I could do has already been done. Anne will not benefit from my death - at all. My family will be well taken care of. My daughter will want for nothing. All I will leave Anne is the scorn of the world, I hope. And a middle finger," I added, showing her a picture Robert took of me the last time we spoke.

"Once this goes out, I'm sure she'll get a lot of that," Patricia snickered as she stopped the recording. "I think I have everything I need for now. I'll do some background and put together a final draft. Mr. Horton asked to review anything before I release it, so I'll be sure to run it by him before doing anything with it."

"Thank you. I deeply appreciate that."

"No sir. Thank YOU. I really am very sorry to hear all of this, but I promise you that your story will be told. I don't know if you're a religious man, Mr. Coleman, but I'll keep you in my thoughts and prayers."

"We all would appreciate that," Mom said from the doorway.

"I'd better get going. Thank you for your time. And the coffee. Good day," Patricia said as she packed her things. Mom escorted her to the door and thanked her again for writing my story. She returned to find me sobbing in my chair.

"Why, Mom? What did I ever do to deserve this? All I did was love her with all my heart."

"You did nothing wrong, sweetheart," Mom said cradling my head. "Nothing. She's just a selfish bitch who needs a good spanking. I know it hurts, but you're better off forgetting about her. She'll get what's coming to her."

Mom held me until I settled down, then escorted me to my room, where I changed back into my pajamas and slid under the covers. I fell asleep after eating another bowl of her chicken soup.

Robert stopped by the house about three days later to inform me that Empire had accepted my conditions for the sale of my business. They had reviewed the financials Robert provided and would discuss their final offer that night at a board meeting.

"They're very impressed with everything you and your team have done. The preliminary numbers I've heard so far are well beyond your expectations. And they're willing to work with me in your stead. In fact, they wanted me to express their condolences to you and your family."

"Thanks, Robert. That takes a load off my mind. And I'm sure it takes a load off my employees' minds as well. Have you already informed them?"

"I have. Along with all the usual disclaimers. Even so, they're very happy," Robert said.

"What about..."

"Anne? I can't get into it right now, but I think she and Simpson are going to be in for a rude awakening when they return. Seems the authorities have gotten even more interested in their jaunt to Cancun. I can't get into it because I don't have all the specifics, but the state attorney's office is chomping at the bit.

"And I understand more than one three-letter agency is also interested. Don't worry. It's all under control. Justice will be done. I promise you that," Robert said with a gleam in his eye.

"Thanks, Robert. I feel like I can go in peace now," I said quietly, trying not to slur my words too much.

A few days later, Bill reluctantly called the Palliative Care Unit to pick me up, as I had degenerated to the point that I needed round-the-clock care. I handed him the key to what used to be my house.

"I'll take your stuff back. Don't worry about a thing," Bill said as tears dripped down his face.

"Mom, could you please make sure Olivia gets the shelf of my old favorite books? Something to remember me by?" I asked when she hugged me.

"Of course, I will, Son," Mom sobbed as she held me tight. "I love you, my sweet, sweet boy."

"I love you too, Mom," I gasped. We all exchanged tearful hugs and farewells before the orderlies loaded me in the back of their ambulance.

The next several days were awful. The constant pain, nausea, dizziness, and fuzziness were interrupted only by bouts of screaming agony. It felt like a fanged, clawed monster lived in my skull, and would randomly fight to rip its way out. I felt horrible at what my pain must have been doing to the caregivers, but they never once complained, treating me with never-ending smiles and attempts to make me feel better.

I don't know how long I lay in that state, but I recalled seeing the tearful faces of my family more than once. I wanted desperately to tell them everything would be all right, but all could manage to get out was garbled nonsense.

Early one morning, though, I opened my eyes to find that all my pain was suddenly gone. Was I cured? Did the tumor go away? I looked at the clock on the wall and saw it was 4:30 in the morning. Then I saw something else - a man.

But he wasn't just any man. He was my father. Or at least, a younger-looking version of my father. And he was smiling.

"You ready to go do some fishing? Got a prime spot picked out," he said. I remembered fishing with Dad and Bill when we were younger. Mom happily cooked the fish, but insisted we clean it ourselves.

"Fishing sounds good, Dad," I said.

"C'mon, Son. Let's go," he said, holding out a hand, which I accepted joyfully. I rose into the sunlight and gave him a hug.

...

To be continued...