Counting Stars by Michele Paige Holmes

aside and leaned back in his chair. “It’ll be two years this December that I was diagnosed. Liver cancer.” He grimaced. “Made a lousy Christmas present. They tell you right off that it’s fatal. Although actually dying can take years sometimes.”
    “That’s good, isn’t it?” Jane asked. “I mean the years part.”
    He shrugged. “It can be, but . . .”
    “What?” Jane prodded.
    “Though in my case, the doctor originally predicted months, not years.”
    “It would seem you’ve proved them wrong.” Jane put her fork down and picked up her water glass, swirling the ice cubes around as she waited for Paul to continue.
    He nodded. “At first Tami and I were aggressive with my treatments. When you’re told something is going to kill you, I think your feelings can go two ways. You either accept it—give up in essence and succumb to depression, that sort of thing, or you get really mad and decide that no, this is not going to get you. In spite of the terrible odds I was given, Tami and I felt certain we could beat the cancer.” He smiled faintly. “I guess we hadn’t quite outgrown the immortal feeling of youth.”
    “I would think that’s a pretty healthy attitude to have.”
    “It’s great—until your first letdown. When that first CT scan comes back showing no improvement, then you’re hit harder than if you’d just accepted reality at first.”
    Jane leaned forward across the table. “What do you mean?”
    Paul took a drink, then set his glass down and rubbed his eyes. “You said it best yourself.”
    Not understanding, Jane looked at him.
    He inclined his head toward the elevator doors. “How heartbreaking to have to leave them.”
    “But you haven’t. You’re still here,” she said, her voice subdued.
    For how long? he wanted to ask. More than that, he found himself wanting to tell her how long the doctors thought he had this time. Instead, he rose from the table.
    “You’re right. I am here, and I haven’t held my children yet today.”
    “I’ve kept you. I’m sorry.” Jane bent to pick up her purse, then stood. “Thank you for lunch.” She held out her hand.
    Paul took it, holding on a second longer than necessary. “Thank you. It was a nice break. I wasn’t feeling well—needed something to eat.” He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Too much coffee on an empty stomach . . .”
    Jane smiled. “I can imagine.” She turned toward the door.
    Don’t let her get away.
    “Jane, wait.”
    “Yes?” She paused midstride and looked back.
    Paul shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I think I’ll feel even better if I apologize.”
    “Oh?” Jane asked, her eyebrows raised.
    “I went about this whole thing all wrong today. I was a real jerk.”
    She folded her arms across her chest. “Now that you mention it, yes you did, and you were. However—” Her face softened. “Given the circumstances, I think it’s entirely understandable. Forgiveness granted.” She smiled again. “You’re off my list.”
    “ List? ” he asked, confused.
    “The never-going-to-give-my-children-that-name list. After this morning, Paul was right at the top.”
    He grimaced.
    Jane continued. “Now your name has been officially removed. Feel better?”
    “Not really,” Paul said. “You see, the thing is . . .” He stopped, wondering how on earth to even begin to ask what he had to. Agitated, he rubbed the back of his neck. “The thing is I feel guilty every time I go upstairs. I only spend about fifteen minutes holding Madison, then I head to the other side of the NICU and spend an hour or more with Mark.” He took a breath and rambled on. “It’s not that I favor him or anything, it just seems like he needs me more right now. And a lot of the time, I can’t even hold him. He’s in this isolette—all these tubes and monitors. I just hold his tiny hand and talk to him—tell him about his mom—tell him to hang in there.” Paul looked up, pleading in his