Listed: Volume V by Noelle Adams Page A

not about me."
    Emily
shook her head. "It's about both of us."
    He
helped her out of the bath, and she dried off and pulled on some clean pajamas.
Then she brushed her teeth, went to the bathroom, took some pills, and climbed
into bed.
    Before
she lay down, though, Paul went to get a well-worn piece of paper and a pen.
    Emily
was able to cross one more item off her list.
    ***
    Today was one of
Emily’s “good” days, but it wasn’t very good.
    They’d
gone to the hospital for another one of Dr. Franklin’s treatments and another
blood test that had shown the virus was still getting worse. It was progressing
a little slower than before she’d started the experimental treatments, but it
just wasn’t getting any better.
    When
Emily had felt that drop of despair in her stomach that morning and seen a
matching expression on Paul’s face, she’d made a decision. She wasn’t going to
get hit by this sledgehammer every other day for the last few weeks of her
life. She just wasn’t. And she wasn’t going to let Paul get hit by it either.
    So
she’d asked Dr. Franklin not to share the results with them until there was something
noteworthy to report—noteworthy meaning that she was about to die in the next
few days or she was going to get better.
    Paul
hadn’t been happy. In fact, he had objected to this idea quite strenuously. She’d
dug in her heels, however, and—since she was legally in control of who had
access to her health information—Dr. Franklin had agreed to her wishes despite
Paul’s vocal disapproval.
    “Don’t
sulk,” she said at last, tired of his silent glare from where he sat in the
back of the chauffeured car beside her.
    He
turned his head and arched his eyebrows speakingly.
    She
made a face. “Don’t give me that look. You know it’s better for our mental
well-being if we’re not constantly on this roller-coaster every two days.” She
sighed. “Especially since the roller-coaster isn’t doing anything but plunging
down.”
    “Stop
it,” Paul gritted out, “It’s too early to give up hope.  Dr. Franklin said
there are other options he could try. There’s no reason to assume nothing is
going to work.”
    Emily
shook her head and looked out the window. She didn’t want to argue with
Paul—not when she knew how much he was hurting, how much he was torn up over
being powerless to save her.
    But
he wasn’t going to be able to save her. She was dying. She felt worse
every day. She’d been delirious with fever most of the day yesterday, and today
large doses of ibuprofen were barely holding off the unbearable achiness. Even
her eyes seemed to hurt.
    It
used to be that her fevers were pained, blurry blips, interrupting the cycle of
her life. Now her life was a blurry downward spiral, interrupted by her good
days like short, disconnected blips.
    She
glanced back over to his to find he was staring out his window as she’d been
doing. Today, he wore a French blue dress shirt and black trousers, since he’d
gone into the office that morning. His clothes were expensive, and he wore them
with the ease and authority with which he wore everything. But he looked tired,
pale, tense. His forehead under his dark hair glinted slightly, as if he were
perspiring.
    He
was only twenty-three. Much too young to watch his wife die.
    Much
too young to be a widower.
    “I’m
not giving up,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I just think it would
be better if we have longer between the updates. There’s nothing we can do with
the information every other day except worry about it. I don’t want you to
worry so much.”
    His
mouth twisted and he reached out to cup her cheek briefly before he dropped his
hand to the seat between them. “I’m going to worry about you anyway.”
    “I
know. But I don’t want to give you any more ammunition. Dr. Franklin will tell
us when there’s something we need to know.”
    He
nodded his head stiffly. He wasn’t happy. He didn’t approve. But he