Sweet Salt Air by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online Page A

know anyone you know. She can be trusted with a secret. Same with the kids.” His son was eighteen, his daughter twenty-one. “It’s been four years, and we see them a lot. Don’t you think they’ll be hurt when they finally find out?”
    “So I should tell them now and have them terrified that I’m going to die—or worrying that they’ll get it someday? There’s no test to tell them that. What can they do?”
    “Support you. Support me .”
    He didn’t answer, simply said a despondent, “Well, I just wanted you to know about the leg.”
    “I want to help, Julian. What can I do?”
    “There isn’t much.”
    “You’re my rock,” she warned, only half kidding. His solidity was one of the first things she had loved about him. He knew what he wanted and made it happen.
    “Rocks don’t have tremors. They don’t go numb in front of a roomful of colleagues.”
    “Being a rock is a state of mind. You’re usually upbeat.”
    “So maybe I’m human,” he snapped, but eased in the next breath. “Oh baby, I don’t want to argue. I hate it when I get like this. It’s just that I don’t understand my body. I don’t know why I react negatively to the best of the meds. Shortness of breath, high blood pressure, stiffness—so we change meds, or I take another pill, cut out salt, stretch more, add yoga. I can’t operate. Barring a miracle cure, I won’t ever operate again. So what’s left? My self-image. I want to be seen as healthy, at least. But the longer this goes on, the greater my chances of being publicly exposed, and once that happens … pffffhhh. ”
    “You’ll always be able to teach,” Nicole said, though her eyes had filled with tears. “You can do research and write papers. Your mind is brilliant. That won’t go away.”
    She must have said something right, because he seemed to regroup. “I know,” he said. “I just feel weary sometimes.” He took a breath. “Not the kind of future you expected, huh?”
    No. It wasn’t. She tried not to go there, but it was hard not to—hard not to google MS and read about its progression; hard not to think about Julian being there in not-such-a-long time. MS didn’t kill. It disabled. Sometimes badly. And as his wife, she was totally helpless.
    “Let me come home,” she begged again. “You’re all alone with this. At least I know .”
    “I don’t want pity.”
    “I have never pitied you,” she shot back. “That’s such an unfair thing to say. But I could cook, do errands, pay bills—”
    “Paying bills is my job. My income may be down, but I’m still the earner here. Don’t rush me into a wheelchair, Nicole. I’m not debilitated yet.”
    “I didn’t say—”
    “You focus on your business, I’ll focus on mine.”
    “That’s not how a marriage is supposed to work.”
    He was silent for a time, then sighed. “Oh God. I didn’t ask for this. I’m just trying to deal.”
    “So am I. I love you.”
    “Love can’t cure tremors. Let me concentrate on what will, okay? Talk later. Bye.”
    *   *   *
    “Later” was twenty minutes. Nicole had spent the time sitting on the bed, alternately rocking forward and back, side to side, trying to soothe the shakes inside and to think of something to do. When her cell rang, she jumped.
    “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t take it out on you.”
    Her eyes filled again. “I’m just trying to help.”
    “I know. But this is the hardest thing I’ve ever faced. I grew up wanting to be a surgeon. I never wanted to be anything else.” They had talked about this before. Each time he started, she let him vent. “My father is still operating, and he’s sixty-eight. I know, I know. He’s in orthopedics. It’s not fetal. But it still requires a steady hand. Me, I was supposed to have another twenty years. I was supposed to discover newer forms of in-utero intervention. This was just supposed to be the start.” He was silent. Then, “You