She went into the white starched room, took his untouched tray and set it beyond his reach and out of his sight, and busied herself tidying up. She thought he was asleep, or unconscious, but he watched her with gentle eyes hidden behind lowered lids.
"Cara," he said softly when she was about to leave the room. She started.
"Daniel. I thought you were asleep."
He chuckled softly. "No, not asleep. I'm going to die, you know."
"Not yet," she said. "You'll live a long, happy life."
"Empty words," he said. "Not what I want. I'm going to die, Cara."
The finality of his words struck her, and she bowed her head before replying, "Yes, you are."
"How long have you known?"
"Since the day you came here," she said honestly. "I didn't know exactly when, but the doctor said you had another year."
A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "And I've had that year, just about. Clever doc, huh?"
She sat down at the foot of his bed and said, "Daniel, you're tired. Go to sleep." She knew that by saying this she was giving him to whatever happens to us after we leave this world, and she was at peace with that. The hospital staff had done everything they could.
To her surprise, he said, "I'm not ready to go yet. There's something I still want to do."
Cara was familiar with last requests. "As long as it lies within my power, you can have it."
"This lies entirely in your power."
And then she knew, knew what he would ask, knew she should stop him, but she said nothing, afraid and flattered by turns, and he said it. "I want to have sex with you."
He wants to have sex with me, she thought, and almost laughed out loud. And immediately the excuses rushed to the forefront of her mind: she was married, a mother of three, she could lose her job over this...
No one would ever know. The man was about to die.
He was about to die, and his body was decrepit and old beyond its time.
But how flattering, for one of her patients, who was younger than her, to express a sexual desire for her.
No. Yes. Yes. No! Yes... No. Yes! No!
He was looking at her, his eyes no longer gentle. Rather they were so intense that she felt compelled to kiss him and turned her face away so that she wouldn't actually do it.
His breath drew in sharply. "That's a no, then."
She started to speak, to list the reasons, and then stopped, only standing up and moving closer to his head so she could reach to turn the bed-side light off.
"Goodbye, Cara," he said listlessly, turning his face to the wall after finishing the last syllable of her name, a syllable that hung in the air between them like a promise half-made, and an impulse took over her and she bent over him and kissed him, a short, sweet burst of kindness and compassion, passed from one to another like a memory. And then she straightened, and turned, and left the room.
