Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Open / Talk

"I thought you'd already decided," she said haltingly.

"I haven't given them my final answer. It's only been three days." He sighed. "According to all the previous doctors who'd refused me, it would be reckless. And I understand that this surgeon is only giving into the pressure from the Colonel. Plus the pay will be substantially more than under normal circumstances, I reckon," he added sardonically.

Anya studied his face. He seemed almost distracted. She asked herself what it was that she was missing.

C'mon, my recently developed weird sixth sense, do your thing! What is he thinking about?

Anya put aside her napkin, rose, and walked up to the bed.

"May I?" She pointed at the spot next to him.

He nodded. She sat down, away from him just as he'd done before, despite how much she wanted to touch him. Just as always.

Wait, what did he just say about wanting her more than she wants him? Or was it 'needing?' Or even... 'loving.' Mind-boggling.

"You don't need to ask, remember?" he said quietly.

"You always do," she answered.

He nodded again. It's all the same barney that they're having, isn't it? Anya shifted closer to him and pressed her forehead into his upper arm. Just as he did before.

Except that's not it, is it? That's not what he needs.

"I'm OK with discussing it with you. If it helps you to decide," she said, stammering.

He was quiet, and she peeked. A deep furrow lay between his eyebrows.

"You said that you couldn't do it on your own," Anya continued. "And you've always been telling me about your other doctor's visits, so I think I can keep up. And–"

The longer he remained silent, the more she deflated and the more uncertain she was feeling.

"Klaus?"

"I keep thinking that if– if we make this decision together, and it all goes wrong, you will blame yourself," he said, still without looking at her.

"But–"

She paused - because he was right. She would. Except–

"Klaus, if you don't survive the operation, it really won't matter whether I've supported your choice or not." Her voice was almost monotone. It's because it hurts so much to even imagine it. "It wouldn't make any difference. It just couldn't be any more– any more unbearable."

Some sharp pain slashed between her ribs, and she sucked a breath in and pressed her palm over her side. He sharply turned his head and stared at her.

"If the operation goes well, there will be at least a fortnight of uncertainty," he spoke slowly, keeping their eyes locked now. "The graft might get rejected. I'll be bed-ridden, and there's still a chance of a heart failure afterwards. And there will be a lot of pain. I'll be drugged probably, and–" He stopped and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "Anna, please, take a moment and think about it. I don't want– any of this for you. Neither the weight of the decision on your shoulders now, nor sharing my recovery afterwards. And I know that you will agree if I ask you to go through all of it with me. Because you care. Always, and about everyone. You're a giver. And I can't just keep taking from you."

She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued before she did. "Please, let me finish." His tone was soft, and she nodded. "You're a strong, grown-up, intelligent person, Anna. I'm not saying you can't make your own choices. But please, give yourself some time to think about it. Nothing will change in our relationship either way, that I can promise you," he said with determination. "If you walk away right now, and if you decide to shield yourself– And Varya, too," he added with a small pained grimace. "If you step aside; and when I'm better, when I recover, we can go back to where we are right now, and resume our relationship–"