September 6, 1997
Stevie pulled her jacket a little tighter around her neck as she stepped out of the back of the car and into the hospital, turning her collar up against the cool English September breeze.
Her assistant watched, still vaguely bewildered as to why Stevie had insisted on flying halfway across the world just to visit a friend in hospital. They were in the final rehearsals for The Dance tour, and the rest of the band and crew had been less than pleased when she announced her plans to take a few days out for the trip.
Inside the foyer of the hospital, she glanced over the rim of her sunglasses to look at the note in her own hurriedly scribbled writing. Olivia Harrison had called her out of the blue to tell her the news and give her the details in case she wanted to visit. Scanning the information board in front of her, she followed the arrows pointing her to the correct ward.
The place was eerily quiet. Patients slept soundly medicated in neatly made beds, and hospital staff huddled together and talked in hushed voices. She berated herself for wearing boots as the heels clacked obnoxiously against the polished floors and echoed off the white walls.
A nurse smiled at her. She asked for directions and was ushered into a private room off the main ward. The nurse closed the door softly, leaving her alone, and Stevie took a breath before removing her sunglasses and pulling back the curtain around the bed.
She was frozen for a moment, her breath stuck in her throat, the only sound the rhythmic beep of the monitor tracking his heart rate. She wondered if the nurses knew who he was. She wondered if, when he was awake, he'd been regaling them with stories of the places he'd been and the people he'd known. She wondered if he'd mentioned her.
Gathering her emotions, she lowered herself into the seat beside him and gently took his hand in hers. She was 49 now, and was often alarmed when she looked at her once slender hands and saw her age in them. She thought of the last time she'd held his, that last night together walking through the house. His strong hand could wrap fully around hers. Now, his was frail; bony and wrinkled. Had it really only been 20 years?
As she gazed at their hands, his moved, his fingers linking with hers.
"Hello again." Cancer had ravaged his voice, leaving it as little more than a rasping whisper. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked into his. His hair was completely gray now, still neatly combed as it always was. It felt as though she'd only seen him yesterday. "I was right."
"About what?" She giggled through her tears.
"Dreams. Your biggest hit. I said it would be."
She laughed aloud.
"So far."
They smiled at each other, Stevie gently rolling her thumb over his hand.
"Thank you for coming. You almost missed me, they're sending me home to die."
"Derek." Her eyes closed. "Don't say that."
"Darling, it's true. When you get to where I am you'll understand. You're still a child."
"I'm almost 50!"
"To me." He smiled as she rolled her eyes.
They sat for a while in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts, all the things they wished they'd shared in the time since they were last together, and the things that had been left unsaid. Derek closed his eyes for a moment and Stevie thought he was falling asleep again but that half smile played across his mouth and her stomach fluttered just the way it had always done before.
