The Road Ahead:
Part 7
M.A.B.
"Why did you wait so long?" Kyle wondered aloud later Saturday night, as
they got supper ready.
Sam had gone into work that morning and stayed until late afternoon. Kyle
meanwhile, had gone to the hardware store to pick up some items. The next
day, he and Sam were going to fix up whatever needed to be repaired, as Sam
knew that after the chemotherapy started, he wouldn't feel like playing
'handyman.' Oh, they had already began, but the big stuff could wait until
Sunday.
"Because I thought that it was nothing," Sam replied.
This threw Kyle. "You *thought* that it was nothing? The fevers,
the weight loss, the night sweats didn't clue you in on anything?"
"No," Sam answered honestly, adding rice to the boiling water.
"Man, talk about serious denial."
"It's not denial," Sam argued, "It's just that... It could have been
anything."
"Listen to me little brother, you should have gone to see a doctor
immediately."
"Kyle, I had work to do, and there's this cold that's going around--not to
mention the flu--then that thing with Josh--"
"Bullshit."
This shocked Sam. "Pardon me?"
"You heard me."
"I may have, I'm not sure."
"Sam."
"Listen, I'm not in the mood, okay? Let's just have a nice, quiet,
uneventful supper."
Kyle shrugged. "Fine."
Silence. Then a few moments later, Sam turned to his brother. "And
what the hell did you mean by that? 'Bullshit'?"
Kyle sighed. "So much for a nice, quiet *uneventful* supper," he
muttered.
"Who are you to tell me that?" Sam persisted. "What gives *you* the
right to say that? And what does it mean?"
"Simple," Kyle began, as he turned the brochettes over, on the
indoor-grill that was part of the stove-settings, "The reason why you didn't
go, was because you were afraid."
Sam laughed. "What?"
"You were afraid," Kyle reiterated. "It had gone on for a while--too long,
in fact--and you were afraid that it was something other than the cold or
flu."
"That's *not* true," Sam replied vehemently, as he got out two plates from
the cupboard.
"Yes, it is, Sam. You can deny it all you like, but it's true."
"How can you say something like that?"
"Because I *know* you. Also, it's something that I may have done myself,
once-upon-a-time."
Sam took the rice off of the burner and let it set, as Kyle took the
brochettes off the grill. "That and the fact that Jaime would have your
hide."
"He already has it, but for that, it wouldn't be for the reason that
I'd like," Kyle said slyly.
Sam made a face. "Uh, too much information. And you say that you don't like
hearing about my sex life?"
Kyle snorted. "You don't have a sex life."
"True," Sam agreed, as he passed a plate to his brother.
"You know," Kyle began thoughtfully, as he put some already-prepared
salad onto the plate, "That's the most reaction that I've gotten from you,
yet--about the cancer, I mean. It hasn't hit you yet, has it?"
"What hasn't hit me?" Sam asked, fluffing up the rice.
"Sam."
"Maybe it hasn't," Sam admitted, "It's no bit deal, though."
'It is a big deal,' Kyle thought, as he glared at his brother. He knew full
well that it was a big deal, and suspected what might happen once it did
sink into that stubborn brain belonging to his brother.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"So, did you get any reading done for your book?" Sam queried, changing the
topic.
"Yep," Kyle said, as Sam put rice onto the plates and the brochettes
on top. The former then proceeded to speak about what he found as they sat
down at the table, and how it could be incorporated into his book. He also
kept away from speaking about the cancer for the rest of the night. It was
obvious that Sam wasn't ready--nor was he willing to deal with it just yet.
So now it was only a question of time. But he would be there to help pick
his brother back up, and to be there for him.
That night, Sam was in the den doing work, when he decided to take a break
from it. As his eyes roamed the room, they fell back onto his desk. And onto
the information on Hodgkin's disease that Kyle left for him to read. He
didn't want to read it yet, and a part of him was afraid to, but he forced
himself. As he read each bit of information, he realised that he didn't feel
anything. It was as if he was numb to it all, as though it didn't apply to
him.
And he didn't know what to make of that.
"1400 people were expected to die last year," he spoke aloud, as he
gazed outside the window. That should have worried him, but it didn't. The
same thing went for the potential side effects and possible
long-term illnesses related to the disease. Nada.
'Why did I wait so long?' he kept asking himself. Why didn't he go
sooner? Was it because he thought that it was nothing, or did Kyle have it
right? Had he been afraid that it may have been something else? Sam sighed.
And why did it feel as though while it was happening to him, that at the
same time, it *wasn't* happening to him? When he put down the papers, he
went back to work. He felt that he ought to have brought more home because
he suspected that when the chemo began, that he wouldn't feel like doing
much. Well, at least on those days when he had it. He wouldn't have to
undergo treatment everyday, would he? No, he would dismiss that thought, it
wasn't even worth it to bother asking. Was it?
Sam rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to leave Toby and the others with the
bulk of the work, it was in his nature to try to take as much of the load as
possible. Maybe Lisa had been right, maybe he was a workaholic. At the
thought of work, Sam's eyes went wide open.
Work.
No one knew at work, except for the President and the First Lady.
None of the senior staff. God, he wasn't looking forward to that. He would
also have to tell Kathy, as he would need her help more now
than anything. But how would he tell them? How *could* he tell them?
"Gee, everybody, remember how I wasn't feeling well--but said that I
was fine? Well, I lied!" Sam said almost-giddily. It almost seemed
surreal. "Augh! I have to get my mind off of this." He checked the
digital clock and noticed that it was almost midnight. And here he
was wide awake. He contemplated then got up, went downstairs to the
kitchen, and got out various ingredients and pans.
While it was well-known in Washington that Sam was rich (even if he
hadn't gone into law, he still would have been rich, due to the
Seaborn wealth--and there was plenty of that), everyone knew that Sam didn't
act like it. In fact, many would have said that it appeared that his only
indulgences were his suits and his boat (to which he spared no expense,
after all, it was his baby). But not many outside of the senior staff (in
fact, only Josh, CJ, Toby and Kathy were privy to this), knew that when Sam
first moved to Washington, he lived with Josh for a few months (an
experience he didn't wish to repeat), as he had his kitchen remodeled.
The reason for this was due to his other indulgence, cooking. He
was a good cook, and he loved to cook and bake away his
frustrations. During the Lillenfield fiasco, Sam couldn't sleep one
night and so he decided to make mincemeat pie from scratch.
And man, did he ever mince the meat.
He kept thinking of how to tell the senior staff that he had cancer
as he mixed the ingredients, then pulled the pastry out and added
the crushed nuts and syrup to it. Everything he came up with wasn't
good or seemed too planned. "Now there's an oxymoron," he mumbled
to himself. "Trying to come up with a plan without it sounding
planned."
The deputy director was putting his creation in the oven when his
brother came down.
"Samuel Norman Seaborn, it's after 12:30, what the hell are you
doing still up?"
"Making baklava," was the reply.
Kyle sighed. "What's on your mind little brother?"
Sam looked up as he put the oven mitts down. "What?"
"What's bothering you?" Kyle persisted.
Sam glared at the elder Seaborn. "I'm trying to come up with something."
"What exactly is this, 'something'?" Kyle asked, as he pulled out a
chair and sat down.
"How to make a plan without it sounding too planned."
Kyle shrugged. "That makes sense. I think."
Sam laughed. "You're tired, go to bed."
Kyle shook his head. "No, I'm here for you," he protested. "Talk to me."
"Yeah, you're here for me alright, your eyes closing and you yawning. Go.
To. Bed. I'll tell you in the morning."
"You promise?"
Sam sighed. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."
Kyle harumphed. "No need to act like some of my more juvenile students."
Sam chuckled. "Well, I am your kid brother."
Kyle got up, went to his brother, then hugged him and kissed his forehead.
"Yeah, well, night kid brother. Don't wake me up before
noon."
"I won't," Sam promised, as he let go and bent his head to see the
dishes to gather. "Now get out of here, unless you want to help me
clean up." When he brought his head back up, he saw his brother
walking very quickly to the stairs.
Part 8
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