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"Me?" Remy said with a laugh. "Who's chair did he sit beside every morning, waiting for toast?"
"Oh, those were just little pieces of bread," Madeline said, and clapped her hands together, summoning Marlowe back to her. "That never hurt him."
She gave Remy a smile and that sly look out of the corner of her eye that even after fifty years of marriage still got to him. He put his arm around her and she leaned into his side, resting her head on his hip.
"I miss him terribly," she said wistfully.
Marlowe trotted back toward them, ball held proudly in his mouth. Until suddenly, something distracted the goofy animal, probably a smell in the grass that he hadn't noticed before, and he dropped the ball, sniffing furiously.
"And don't even get me started on how I feel about being away from you," Madeline continued quietly.
Remy felt an invisible fist squeeze tightly around his heart. "Then come home," he said, watching as the dog rooted around in the grass. "We'll go in right now, gather up your things, and bring you back to Beacon Hill."
"I'm sick, Remy," she said, head still resting against his hip.
"I'll take care of you."
Madeline raised her hand to his butt and patted it lovingly. "You're a good guy," she said, sounding weaker than he ever remembered hearing her sound. "But it wouldn't be fair to you, or to Marlowe. The kind of care I need…»
"I told you I'd take care of you."
"And you would. I haven't a doubt in my mind about it, but that's where the trouble would start."
Remy looked down at her then, seeing past the illness that was slowly stealing her life away, staring into the eyes of the woman who had taught him the beauty and power of love, and to whom he had so willingly given his heart.
"I can't have you sitting around watching me die," she told him with a slight shake of her head.
Remy looked away, hating to hear her talk about the inevitable. Marlowe had found a new friend. An old man in a heavy winter jacket sat in his wheelchair, patting Marlowe's big head while the dog did everything he could to try and lick the old-timer's face.
Madeline took Remy's hand in a disturbingly icy grip, pulling his attention back to her. "I know you don't like to hear me talk about it, but it's all right," she said with a small smile. "I know I'm going to die, Remy, and I accept that, but I don't want you to die with me."
He was suddenly thinking about Nathanuel's visit to his office — about the missing Angel of Death, and what it meant to the world.
What it means to me.
"What if I told you that you weren't going to die," he said aloud, before he even knew the words were coming out of his mouth.
"I'd say that you were kidding yourself. I am dying, Remy. No matter how much you hate to think about it. I have cancer, and I will die soon."
One of the nursing assistants had picked up Marlowe's ball and was playing with him now.
"Nathanuel came to visit me today," Remy said, holding Madeline's hand tighter, willing some of his own warmth into her icy grip.
"Nathanuel… the angel Nathanuel?" she asked with disbelief. His wife was fully aware of his past dealings with the Seraphim, how they felt about him, and his feelings toward them. "What on earth did he want from you?"
"Israfil is missing," he said, looking back to her.
"Israfil," she repeated. He could tell she was playing with the name inside her head.
"The Angel of Death," he clarified. "The Angel of Death has gone missing, and there's nobody doing his job."
Madeline let go of his hand suddenly, grabbing at the collar of her sweater, pulling it up closer around her neck as if protecting herself from a sudden chill. "Does this have anything to do with the case you were talking about yesterday? The one where the man could actually see you?"
Remy nodded. "It does," he explained. "Before he shot himself, he said that he'd been dreaming about the end of the world."
"Then he killed himself," she stated, her voice almost a whisper.
Remy slowly shook his head. "He tried… but he hasn't died."
And then it seemed to hit her. He could see the meaning of his words flooding into her expression. She reached for his hand again, pulling herself to her feet.
"Nobody is doing his job," she repeated, her stare intensifying. "Nothing is dying."
He took her into his arms, hugging her close to him, not caring if anyone noticed the intimacy in the embrace between the supposed mother and son.
"They want you to find him, don't they?" Madeline said, her cheek pressed against his chest. "They want you to find Israfil."
"Yes." Remy held her tightly.
She pulled away from him slightly, looking up, trying to find his eyes, but Remy was looking elsewhere, focusing on the dog at play, doing everything he could to not think of the repercussions of what he had been asked to do.
"You're going to do it… right?" Madeline asked.
Remy remained silent.
"Remy?"
He lowered his gaze to finally meet hers and saw that she was crying.
"I know what you're thinking," she told him, her voice trembling with emotion. She raised a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. The hand was freezing, but at the moment Remy could feel nothing.
"And I want you to stop."
Remy brought his hand up to hers, taking it from his face and kissing it softly.
"I love you," he said, the words almost excruciatingly painful as they left his mouth.
"And I love you too," she told him. "But I don't want to live if it has to be this way. I need to go soon, darling," Madeline said. "I don't want to, but I'll need to. Do you understand?"
He nodded, understanding completely, but not wanting to accept it.
"I love you now, and will always love you, Remy Chandler," Madeline said, smiling at him wistfully. And he was reminded of his wedding day, when she had said the very same thing to him.
"And I love you now, and always will, Madeline Chandler."
"That's nice," she said, and hugged him again.
Remy hugged her back, kissing the top of her gray head. And they stood there like that for quite some time, breaking apart only when Marlowe finally found his way back to them, te
"There he is," Madeline said happily, and Marlowe's tail began to wag. She squatted down, putting her arms around the black dog, hugging him close, pressing her face to his. "Thank you so much for coming to visit me, you goofy thing."
Marlowe licked her face, and she began to laugh.
Again, Remy thought of how much he loved that sound.
And how much he would miss it when it was gone.
Chapter five
"Maddie come home?" Marlowe asked from the backseat of the car, tilting his head and pointing his moist, jet-black nose toward the flow of air coming in from the partially open windows.
"No," Remy responded more sharply than he meant to as he tried to navigate Huntington Avenue's rush-hour traffic.
It had to have been the fourth time the dog had asked about Madeline since they'd left Cresthaven. Remy understood exactly where the pup was coming from, which just made it all the harder for him to explain why Marlowe's favorite female wasn't going to return to the pack.
Remy brought the car to a gradual stop at a traffic light near the Pru and casually looked into the rearview mirror to check on his buddy. He found himself staring into the dark, reflective eyes of the Labrador.
"Why?" the dog asked.
Remy sighed, turning the corner as the light changed to green.
"You know why," he told the animal. "Madeline's sick and needs to stay at the get-well place, where they'll take care of her."
The dog's head suddenly turned, zeroing in on a particularly interesting scent as they made their way down Boylston Street toward the Public Garden. Remy hoped that he would lose interest in the discussion of Madeline, but that wasn't the case.