Laura liked to think she was honest with herself; it was everyone else she lied to. In the end, what difference would it make? It would only cause everyone to worry and fuss and make a big deal out of it, and she just wanted to live what little life she had in peace. Was that too much to ask?

            Actually, if she was honest with herself, she needed to acknowledge that it couldn’t be a secret forever. Questions would start popping up on the lips of busybodies, especially as she started to appear as sickly as she felt. She would cross that bridge when she came to it, though, throwing back her shoulders in the meantime, facing her encroaching doom head-on, albeit alone. She didn’t want her final days plagued by everyone wringing their hands and feeling sorry for her.

            Ollie was the first person to notice anything amiss. He was always sticking his big nose where it didn’t belong, and he’d been giving her plenty of his patented narrow-eyed glares of aroused suspicion, before graduating to not-so-subtle inquiries.

            “Taking off early again, Laura?”

            She would smile in response, overly sweet, contending with her hatred toward his particular tone, that incredible balance between smarmy and genuine. “No rest for the wicked,” she’d chirp back, or sometimes she’d pull a serious face and claim there was a family emergency, conveniently awkward enough that most people wouldn’t want to nudge her for details. Ollie was a special case, though. He was full of questions, from “who is it?” to “how bad?” that Laura had to extend the lie, making up all kinds of sob stories about alcoholic veteran uncles, beloved pets in jeopardy, and babysitting her brother’s kids after school because his wife left him for another woman and he had to pick up an extra job to make ends meet. Anything she could think of just to throw him off the scent of the truth, though she worried her tales were only whetting his appetite.

            Dealing with Ollie wasn’t nearly as bad as all those small, inconsequential things that most people never thought about. Smiling and pretending she was fine when people asked how she was; she was great, just great, how were they? Usually, they answered similarly, which made her wonder if they, too, were harboring something secret deep within themselves. The world as she knew it was probably all just one big lie, a bunch of people pretending their lives were uneventful or merry despite the truth eating away at them from the inside.

            She kept hoping it was all just an elaborate hoax, an April Fool’s joke a month too late, but it was as real and hard as the lump itself. Cancer. God damn mother fucking cancer. Even worse, the details of how aggressive it was or how long she’d had it or if she could beat it were still wildly unknown. One part of her desperately wanted to shake the dust off that bucket list, but the larger part of her, logical, reasonable, and above all, terrified, just wanted to go on with life as usual. There was comfort in routine, though she went about it with a manic rigorousness, clinging to every bit of life as it was before the news.

            The lies became easier as time went on, which surprised her a little. When he mother commented on how much weight she was losing, she espoused the merits of some new diet from a tabloid magazine in the checkout lane. When she was caught dozing off in the afternoon, weak and weary from her treatments, she suddenly had new neighbors with a bad habit of playing loud death metal at unforgivable hours. Knowing hair loss would eventually occur, she shaved her head and invested in a high-quality wig nearly the same shade as her old hair, so she could just shrug and tell them, “I’m thirty now; it was time for a change.” The compliments flooding in were an unexpected side effect, and they kept her spirits from nose-diving into depression. If she looked good, if she was pulling it off, then maybe things weren’t so bad after all. Maybe her friends and colleagues pitied her, too, but she tried not to think of that.

            Ollie, though. Ollie continued to be a problem. Had he always been so nosy? Was he constantly watching like a hawk and she’d only just now noticed since she actually had something to hide? Did he pay that much attention to everyone’s business, or was it only hers? She felt paranoia leaching into her bones where energy and life used to be.

            Her worried, suspicious questions were answered one particularly rainy day, the sky filled with gloom and foreboding. As Laura got up to leave early enough to beat traffic and get to her oncologist for her appointment, Ollie offered to lend her an umbrella. A perfectly normal offer, if it wasn’t for one small addition.

            “You’ve got to be careful,” he said, “with a wig like that.”

            It felt like a hard slap, a right hook out of nowhere. Laura lifted a hand gingerly to her hairline, tempted to tug at it, fix it back into place, like she always wanted to do when she first started wearing the stupid thing. It began to itch maddeningly, but she kept her hands at her side, curled into fists.

            “How did you know?” she hissed. All she wanted to do was give it a few pats, something subtle, like someone checking to see if their hairspray was holding, but she fought the urge. “it’s not that obvious, is it?”

            Perhaps everyone had notice and they had just been playing along with her, acting as though she looked fine when she really looked ridiculous. And this smarmy little shit was the only one with the audacity to say something, sitting there smirking at her expectantly the whole time.

            Ollie met her question with a shrug, his smirk tilting even more. “My brother is a drag queen,” he explained. “I can clock a wig from a mile away. And yours is very nice, don’t get me wrong. I just know what to look for. Your secret’s safe, don’t worry. I think I’m the only one who can tell.”

            Laura glared at Ollie, searching for the vindictiveness in his face, then feeling frustrated when she couldn’t find it. At least she could still be irritated by his dumb, dopey look, the clever brighten in his eyes, and that awful smile.

            “I’m not worried.” Laura thrust up her chin, as if that could help make it true. She became hyper-aware of every shift in her wig’s position, the desire to fuss with it overwhelming her. “So what if it’s a wig? It’s none of your business.”

            “You’re absolutely right.” Of all the things he could have said, that was the one thing Laura hadn’t been expecting. She had always thought of him as so sarcastic all the time, but he was suddenly, undeniably sincere, the smile gone, his eyes intent and steady on her face. It made her feel as though she’d been pushed back, almost losing her footing, definitely forgetting about the wig for a brief moment.

            “It’s none of my business,” he continued, “but I know talking can help. If you need anyone, there’s at least one person you don’t have to explain much to. Whenever you’re ready, anyway.”

            Was this some sort of trick? Laura’s body tightened, throwing up walls to defend herself. She hadn’t even opened up to her own mother about the whole thing, she wasn’t about to reveal everything to Oliver Barker in Accounting, of all people.

            “There’s nothing to explain,” Laura said, shouldering her bag and turning to go. “Thank you for offering your umbrella, though. It’s kind of you, but completely unnecessary. It’s barely even drizzling out there.”

            When she got to her car, her tears did far more damage than the rain could have done. Safely ensconced inside, she clutched the steering wheel as heaving sobs wrenched out of her. After the emotions had all been drained, she couldn’t help feeling stupid for getting so worked up, and she felt worn and ragged and empty. It wasn’t the end of the world if one person knew; she just wished it could have been anyone else. Still, a lightness moved in where the tears had been, a weight lifted from her heart. She blew her nose, wiped her eyes, and checked her haggard appearance in the rearview mirror. It was all she could do, really, before moving on.

            Laura was late for her appointment, so the bad new received there felt like some kind of karma. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly good. No progress, but the turn toward the worst was minimal. She braced herself for more draining procedures, the long, never-ending nightmare that almost made her want to let the cancer win.

            She considered calling in the next day, but that would just make it seem like Ollie had won, even if Laura wasn’t sure what game they were playing. She had persevered so far, and she would continue to do so. She would be useless and ineffective from the moment she sat down, but that was the same for half of her co-workers. If Ollie noticed, he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even paying attention to her, plugging along with his work, as he did through the next week. Was it some kind of head game? She couldn’t stop thinking about it, wondering if he was trying to break her or actually being considerate, giving her space and leaving her alone as she asked. If it was the latter, it tugged at something in her chest and almost made her want to walk through that door left ajar for her.

            Monday came around with a quiet start to the day, as the office slowly built up its routine, still slogged down by the weekend. Lunchtime hit just as everyone picked up the speed of productivity, and Laura resolved to take her lunch at her desk, a resolve that grew stronger when Ollie stood up from his desk and threw an invitation her way.

            “I’m going down to Chester’s,” he announced, tilting his head curiously, “Want to come with?”

            “I’m fine.”

            Laura tried to mask the sour feeling in her gut, but when he asked if he could bring anything back for her, she couldn’t hold back a tart response.

            “No, thanks. I brought something.”

            He asked again on Wednesday, and on Friday, and Laura spent all of the weekend after that dreading the invitation to come on Monday. At least he was giving her something else to worry about besides her own traitorous body. But when lunchtime came on Monday, Ollie stood and just slipped away without a word. Feelings of betrayal and loss swept over her, despite the fact that she didn’t even want to go. It was difficult realizing that she had actually enjoyed that he asked.

            Again, she scrutinized the action, trying ot figure out his game. Whatever it was, it was working. She thought that if he ever asked her again, she would continue to refuse. He never asked again, though, and she surprised herself when, one day, Ollie stood and she asked, “Headed to Chester’s?”

            For a brief moment, Ollie appeared just as shocked as she was, but he grinned briefly and wrestled his face into a mild expression. He nodded, causing a shadow of his smirk to reappear. “Care to join me?”

            Part of her wanted to, this time, but Laura still said no. They repeated the dance several more times, genial questions, soft refusals, Ollie shrugging his shoulders and controlling his smile before continuing on his merry way. Sometimes, he brought back cookies to share with everyone, and Laura would eventually allow herself to take one to nibble on throughout the day. She would catch Ollie’s eye and realize that he was enjoying their secret as much as she was. It sent a strange, wonderful, confusing jolt through her, and, finally, one Monday, she joined him at the diner.

            Ollie recommended the Reuben, but she got a bacon cheeseburger, with extra fries, because why the hell not? She feared that the awkward conversation about her illness would inevitably start up, but they mostly talked about work and the office and a TV show they were both enjoying, although Laura didn’t mention that she watched it at the clinic while waiting for her oncologist. He asked after her family, and she said there wasn’t much to tell, so he told stories about his brother, Sasha, as he liked to be called, his adventures and exploits, his quibbles with his parents over his lifestyle, that sort of thing. Ollie offered to take her out to a show one evening, which she turned down. Always turning him down and stretching it out before accepting. One would think she would want to live as much as she could, but she liked the slow and steady build. Each time they got closer to something, it made her world lighter and brighter, almost enough to make it seem less tragic.

            She hadn’t noticed it at first, but Laura began to look forward to Mondays, eagerly eyeing the clock for the arrival of her lunch break. Ollie’s integration into her life felt so seamless, turning him from a little buzzing pest to a crucial part of her acceptance of what was happening to her. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember how she managed without his help. But they never talked about it, never acknowledged it, beyond the occasional sympathetic glance or knowing nod.

            She was ready, though, to let him in on the truth. After all he’d been to her, she owed him that much. He had been patient and understanding, though she still didn’t know how to decode all of those soft, mysterious smiles that he quickly tucked away when he caught her noticing.

            “Ollie?”

             She kept her eyes focused on the salad in front of her, fighting the urge to tug at the wig that had started it all. “Why are you doing all of this for me?”

            He didn’t say anything at first, and Laura chanced a glance upwards, to catch him thoughtfully mulling over his answer while chewing on a bread roll.  As usual, he smiled when he caught her looking, but it seemed particularly sad this time.

            “I have my reasons,” he said with a shrug.

            She implored him with lifted brows. “Tell me.”

            He let out the ghost of a laugh. “I should make you wait a few weeks,” he said, “just like you took your time letting me in. But I won’t. I just wanted to help, any way I could, because I know what you’re going through.”

            Laura shifted in her seat. She wasn’t used to talking about this outside of a medical context, and a wave of guilt had just smashed into her. This whole time, had Ollie been lying to everyone else just as she had? Was she too caught up in her own problems to have noticed?

            “You?”

            He shook his head before she got too far. “No,” he explained, swallowing down a lump in his throat, “not me. My wife.”

            Laura sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t even know you were married.”

            Ollie’s face turned red, his own eyes diverted, over a smile now shy and reserved. “I don’t talk about her much,” he said. “It was all before I moved here. Hell, that was the reason I moved her in the first place. She kept it to herself, too, and did a damn good job of it. By the time she finally opened up, it was too late. I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve gone back and tried to pick out all the signs and symptoms and agonize over how I could have made things different, if maybe I was better, more perceptive, I could have somehow saved her. I know you can’t go back and change the past, but when I started to see you doing the same things she used to do, I knew. I just knew, and I couldn’t just sit there this time, even if I don’t know you that well. I couldn’t let you go through this alone, and I couldn’t sit by and just watch it happen to someone again.”

            Laura sat back against the worn cushion of her chair, trying to think of what she could possibly say to that. Their small booth in front of the window became a bubble, a silent little microcosm surrounded by the clatter of dishes and voices fading into the background as she stared at him. Slowly, her brain started to work, and she shook her head, gaping a few times before words made their way out of her mouth.

            “Ollie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

            His previously smarmy smile would never look the same to her again. It wasn’t a jocular confidence, but pain trying ot mask itself. He shrugged again and lifted his Reuben with both hands. “You’re not the only one with secrets, Laura,” he said, ending the conversation with a large bite. That was fine; there wasn’t much more to say, anyway, at least not in that moment. She watched him chewing for a moment before she picked up her fork and continued in kind.

            There were plenty more secrets to reveal, she knew, and they would be uncovered in their own good time, little by little, bit by bit. Finally, she felt that perhaps she might have enough time life to discover them, too.

– L.S. Engler

Note: This piece was originally published by The First Line in Summer 2015.

Author’s Note: When I sat down to write “Laura and Ollie” for the First Line journal in 2015, I was not expecting to come out with a story that still resonates as a personal favorite, but that is exactly what I got. There was catharsis in this story, as someone who lost a person very close to me to cancer around that time, and in finding how so much comfort and unexpected friendship can come from unexpected places, in the smallest of ways. Those little slices of life can make all the difference sometimes.