Simon's Reunion

Zoë went upstairs to get her sunglasses, handbag and a hat. On her way down she heard voices from the back of the house, angry voices.

“I might as well be dead now as live like sick drunk spewing out my guts,” Simon’s voice exploded.

The female voice expressed frustration. “How do you know it’s not making you better?”

“I’m a doctor, Nola. I can read reports just as well as he can. He’s telling the truth. So far the chemo hasn’t budged the cancer.”

“So far, Simon, so far. Are you going to give up so soon?”

“So soon?” Simon’s tone was incredulous. “It’s almost a year now. Does stopping the chemo that makes me sick mean I’m giving up?”

“Doesn’t it? The cancer won’t go away on its own.”

“Who said so?” Simon challenged. “I’ve heard of people dying of cancer one day and the next it’s completely gone. We all die sometime, Nola. Even you will have to die.”

“Not without a fight,” she declared with resolution.

The level of Simon’s voice dropped. He pleaded. “I want to concentrate on living, not dying.”

“You don’t care about me,” Nola wailed.

“Care about you?”  Simon’s voice squeaked.

“What will I do when you’re gone?”

“I’m sorry, Nola. I didn’t see this coming. I’d like to live what time I have left in some halfway reasonable shape. Surely you can understand that.”

“No, Simon, I can’t.”

“I’m not sure I can go on with this treatment.”

As their voices moved closer, Zoë remembered she stood on the stairway eavesdropping. Outside on the porch Sharleen waited seated in one of the wicker chairs.

They drove to the Seaview Square Mall where Zoë perused racks of glitter and sequin decorated tops with matching slacks and skirts while Sharleen made her purchases. Sharleen not only found an outfit, but jewelry and shoes to match. Zoë envied Sharleen’s style and pizzazz. By Zoë’s standards Sharleen overdid the jewelry, but with confidence and daring, no apologies.

After leaving the mall they stopped to have coffee at a little teashop on Main Street. Quaint Victorian décor with chintz and lace, teapots on display, and teacups in every color and shape adorned the shop smelling of warm baked bread, cinnamon and freshly ground coffee.

“Did you hear Nola and Simon arguing?” Sharleen asked when they had each received their coffee and a bowl of homemade soup.

Zoë hesitated, taking a sip of the creamy tomato soup with chunks of fresh tomato and cheese floating on top. “Do you think Simon will quit his chemotherapy?”

Sharleen cocked her head. “You know, I can understand how he feels. I had to take pain medicine after my surgery that made me sick to my stomach. I don’t know which was worse the pain or the painkiller.”

They enjoyed their soup for a moment in silence.

“Nola’s such a selfish, self-centered little witch,” Sharleen declared between spoonfuls, dabbing her mouth with a floral-printed napkin.

Zoë regarded her with astonishment.

“Well,” Sharleen retorted, “it’s all about her isn’t it?  What am I going to do?” She managed a falsetto voice with fluttering hand motions to imitate Nola. “You perfectly well know what she’s going to do.”

Zoë stared unsuspecting. “What is that?”

“Hop in bed with Quentin, of course.”

Zoë choked on her soup and sputtered.

“Surely you knew they were an item.” Sharleen accepted a refill on her coffee.

Zoë conceded that she did, but had no idea Sharleen knew. Sharleen hadn’t been at the beach in those years when Simon and Nola met. “I don’t think they’ve seen each other in years,” Zoë defended Nola.

“So what? You can see Quentin still adores her.”

“Do you think so?” Quentin admired Nola with the interest of the unattached male, but Zoë wouldn’t have described it as adoration.

Sharleen shot Zoë a scorching glance.

Undaunted, Zoë continued her defense, this time of Quentin. “He’s been married since then.”

“He’s not married any more,” Sharleen pressed her case. “Let me tell you, Stephanie led him a merry chase. When she divorced him, he had to