𝐋𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐚 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 🍞PEAKY BLINDERS 🥖

Chapter Seventy-Nine

TW for mention of cancer and death.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

The word over the doctor's door had a lot of O's.

Kizzie noticed that the most important words had lots of vowels. There were a select number of vowels, but she couldn't remember them all. Her name had three: Kezia. Did that make her name important?

Alfie coughed beside her, but stifled it with his white handkerchief. He'd been coughing since he picked up her and Ozzy.

Dread bloomed in her gut. Alfie was not a sick man. He was strong. The last man she knew who was sick had died—Ada's husband and father to her son.

The door behind them opened. Alfie turned to greet the person.

"Doctor," he said, with a handshake. He then motioned to Kizzie, who still faced forward, eyes glazed over. She did not want to be here. But Alfie wanted her here. He did not like doctors. Neither did she, but she would be strong. For him.

"This is Kezia."

"Well met."

Kizzie turned to face the man. "Hello."

He was Jewish and wore one of the small hats at the crown of his scalp. She did not remember what they were called. Alfie wore one, most days, under his hats. But today, Alfie left his home without either hat. His dark blonde hair looked brown against the grease. The rashes along his skin were redder than normal; he wasn't taking care of himself. Why?

The doctor shuffled around to his desk. A well-tailored suit was hidden under the white lab coat he wore. Kizzie wanted to crawl out of her skin.

He set down a manilla folder and folded his hands on top. "Thank you for coming today, Mr. Solomons."

Alfie grumbled and adjusted himself. "Bad?"

He opened the file. "A bit, but if we act now, we can limit your discomfort and pain down the road."

Kizzie didn't understand what they were talking about. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

"You were exposed to mustard-gas, Mr. Solomons?"

"I was." Clipped. Uncomfortable.

Kizzie knew of mustard-gas. Not because she went looking for it, but because her brothers sometimes talked about it for a time when they returned from the war. Spoke when they thought Kizzie wasn't paying attention. But Tommy always put a stop to the conversation.

"I think it's always important for patients to understand the gravity of a diagnosis," he said, pulling out a black and gray photo. "This image is of the cancer in your lungs." He ran a finger along the black—like blooming black flowers in Alfie's lungs. "These are the cancer. As you can see, your left lung is more infected than the right. We can focus our initial treatment here. See how you respond, and go from there. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like you're the expert. I'll listen to what you got to say."

He smiled. "Perfect."

♡ ̆̈

"What is cancer?"

"Somethin' you don't come back from."

"But what is it?"

Alfie stared out into the distance. They were in the doctor's office. Alfie wanted a moment of privacy with Kizzie. Kizzie felt like she was going to vomit everywhere.

"You never got to see the gas. And I'm fucking grateful for that. It melted skin and blistered your lungs..." He shook his head. "It was hard to avoid, even with the masks on."

War-talk was outlawed in the Shelby family. None of Kizzie's brothers wanted to talk about it. Made their colors static and skin sallow. "Why was there gas?"

"Wars need to be won."

"Oh."

Alfie pressed himself deeper into his chair. It creaked under his weight. "Kizzie, I...I have someone to live for. If you weren't here...I'd let it take me."

Her confused eyes met his, blue as denim and impossibly bright. "But that would hurt."

"Living hurts, little bird."

"Oh."

"Kezia," Alfie leaned into her. Held her hands in his. They were clammy and trembling. His were always warm and rough. "This will kill me. I don't know when. I can only pray it won't be for a long time, but I promise you, I will spend as much time as you need with me."

Kizzie didn't want to cry right now. She wanted to wait until she was home, in the privacy of silence and familiar smells.

She wanted to be with Alfie forever. But forever did not mean anything in the face of cancer. This monster was consuming Alfie from the inside-out. Would black replace his colors? His soul?

"I want to be with you," she voiced her thoughts. "Forever." Her mouth suddenly went dry as an image appeared behind her eyes. Floral bouquets and her sister and aunt Polly and dresses and the Torah and rings. Time was running out. Between Alfie and Italians and Kizzie caught in the middle. She needed forever to come much sooner.

"I want to marry you."

Alfie pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. His sigh of pure bliss deflated him. "Then you will." 

Author's Note:

I'm sure it will be fine.