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as an ancient crone ' s, the skin drained of luster and sucked tight over doorknob cheekbones.
    " Tom? " she said weakly, her voice barely audible to him. " Is that you, honey? "
    Tom took a breath and forced a smile onto his face. The room smelled like sweat and vomit and dust. " It ' s me, " he said softly, fighting the urge to gag. " I ' m home. "
    " Thank God, " she said. A tiny smile flickered over her lips, then faded into a grimace. " It ' s been a bad couple days. "
    Tom wanted to turn around and walk back out--of the room, of the apartment, of the building--and he hated himself for feeling that way. He loved her, he truly did, but it was hard to take, seeing her reduced to this wasted, shadowy remnant.
    Sometimes, he wasn ' t even sure if she was still alive at all. She might as well have been a ghost, for all the resemblance she had to the woman he ' d married...for all the help all the medications and treatments had been to her.
    But maybe, that was going to change today.
    " How was Mrs. Gunderson? " he said, forcing himself to walk to the foot of the bed.
    " She stopped coming after the first day, " said Sydney. " Had to babysit for her daughter. "
    Tom closed his eyes and shook his head. Mrs. Gunderson had promised to look in on Sydney twice a day while he was away. The fact that she hadn ' t been around for two days explained why Sydney was in such a state of neglect. She was so weak she couldn ' t really take care of herself anymore.
    " Why didn ' t you tell me when I called? " he said.
    " I didn ' t want you to worry, " she said. " How was the billionaire? "
    " Interesting guy, " said Tom. " You wouldn ' t believe his mansion. "
    Sydney coughed. " What did he have to say? " she said, her voice pathetically weak.
    " He gave me something for you, " said Tom, holding up Mayflower ' s baggie of powder. " He said it ' s the first treatment. "
    Sydney squinted up at the baggie from the dark pits of her eye sockets. " How many treatments do I need? "
    " One more, " said Tom. " If this works, I ' ll have to go get the rest. "
    A single tear crawled down her sunken cheek as she turned back to stare at the window blind. " It doesn ' t seem possible. It ' s just...too much to hope for...after what we ' ve been through. "
    " I know, " said Tom, " but we can ' t not try it. If there ' s any chance at all that it ' ll work, we have to try it. "
    Sydney said nothing in reply.
    Tom looked at her, wishing things could have been different, wishing she ' d never gotten sick. Wishing she could still get well and things could go back to the way they ' d been in the beginning.
    He wanted that more than anything. He wanted his wife back.
    " I ' m going to get this ready for you, " he said, turning away. " I ' ll be back in a few minutes, and we ' ll give it a try. "
    As he walked through the doorway, he heard her moving on the bed behind him. " Tom? " she said.
    He stopped and turned to look back at her. " Yes, honey? "
    " I love you so much, " she said, her voice breaking.
    " I know, " said Tom, mustering a smile though she looked so withered and pitiful. " I love you, too. "
    Then, he went to the kitchen and prepared her special tea just as Mr. Mayflower had instructed.
    Â 
    *****
    A week later, on his way back to the billionaire ' s mansion, Tom could only think about two things. He stared at the inflight movie on the plane (he hadn ' t rented the headsets, so he couldn ' t hear the audio) and overheard the teenage girls chattering behind him, and he only thought about two things.
    The first was this: in the oncologist ' s examination room, which had been such a chamber of horrors for Tom and Sydney for so long, Sydney had thrown her arms around him and kissed him full on the lips.
    Fifteen minutes before the kiss, Dr. Singh had shown them murky MRI scans and told them the good news while wagging her head in disbelief.
    " The tumor ' s shrinking, " she had said. " I don ' t know why, but it ' s down to half the size. "
    Eyes