Though Malik had assumed as much, the news was a shock. He felt a strange tightening in his chest, as though his breath were being shut off. Bowing his head, he buried his face in his hands and groaned.
“This isn’t the end of things, Malik. There are treatments.” Dr. McNeil informed him.
Malik leaned back in the chair and pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “How did this happen?”
Dr. McNeil frowned. “The tumor?”
Malik nodded.
“Well, it’s difficult to say,” the doctor replied. “Actually, the cause of tumors is unknown.”
Malik pushed his tall, athletic form out of the chair and paced the floor. “Dammit, you’ve got to have some clue!” he snapped.
“Malik, a lot of money and time has gone into studying tumors and their causes, but there’s still no concrete piece of evidence that gives a satisfactory explanation. Studies have shown that cancer can be caused by viruses, forms of radiant energy, even heredity.”
Malik shook his head and pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. “This hasn’t happened to anyone else in my family.”
“There’s always a first,” Dr. McNeil quietly pointed out.
“Thanks,” Malik replied dryly, rolling his intense dark gaze towards the ceiling.
“There is the possibility of surgery,” Dr. McNeil suggested.
“No way. No surgery.” Malik firmly refused, his slanting eyes narrowing further.
Dr. McNeil stood behind his desk, obviously surprised by Malik’s attitude. “You do realize that this could save your life?”
Malik waved his finger at the doctor. “Yeah, well, what if something goes wrong with the surgery, what then? This is my brain we’re talking about. Can you guarantee that if I survive the surgery I’ll be all there, mentally?”
Dr. McNeil sighed. “No, I can’t. There is always a risk when surgery is involved.”
“Well, Doc, that’s a risk I don’t want to take.”
“Malik—”
“Doc, please.” Malik interrupted, raising his hand. The stress of the moment had finally gotten the better of him and he dropped to the windowsill and sat there holding his head. “Believe it or not, all this scares the hell out of me. But surgery scares me more than the tumor.”
“Malik, I can understand how this might be affecting you, but you should keep a positive outlook on this. The operation could very well be a success.”
Malik’s voice was slightly muffled beneath his hands covering his face. “I can’t let Zakira see me that way, stuck in a bed. And I can’t let her see me die.”
By eight o’clock that evening, Zakira’s nerves were in overdrive. After leaving Badu’s, she took a long drive, did some Christmas shopping and visited a few friends. Feeling a little better, she decided to go home. When she called the restaurant and discovered Malik was not there, nor had he been home, she became worried again. Trying to keep an open mind, she washed her hair and braided the thick mass into two pigtails which she wrapped around her head. She even cleaned the already immaculate house in an attempt to keep from fretting over the whereabouts of her husband. So much activity eventually exhausted her, and she collapsed on the sofa for a short nap.
Malik’s key scratched the lock some thirty minutes after Zakira fell asleep. He entered the house quietly, not wanting to frighten her if she was still awake. The tense, guarded look in his dark eyes turned softer when he found his wife fast asleep in the living room. He crept across the thick carpet so he would not awaken her. Easing his heavy frame to the sofa, he took a seat next to her.
Malik’s exquisite charcoal gaze roamed Zakira’s face as though he were trying to memorize her lovely features. Very lightly, he traced the soft line of her brow and Zakira instantly awoke.
Frowning a little, Zakira got her bearings before glancing up. When she saw Malik leaning over her, she bolted up on the sofa. Her small fingers, curled around the lapels of his suede jacket and jerked him close to her.
“Where have you been all day? Why didn’t you call me?” she asked frantically.
Malik pulled Zakira’s hands away and held them tightly in his. “Shh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to the tops of her fingers.
“Where were you?”
Malik shrugged and let go of Zakira’s hands as he leaned back on the sofa. “There was someplace I needed to be.”
“Like Doctor McNeil’s office?” Zakira softly inquired.
Malik’s narrowed gaze snapped to her face. “How’d you—”
“He called today, but you weren’t here. It sounded urgent.”
Malik ignored the faint pain near his temple. “It was just an exam. Routine.”
Zakira propped her elbow on the arm of the sofa. “You didn’t tell me you changed physicians. That’s why I was worried.”
“Damn, Zaki, does it matter?” Malik snapped. He desperately wanted to confide in her, but something wouldn’t allow him to. The inability to be honest with his wife caused his already short temper to boil.
Zakira’s eyes widened slightly at the outburst, but she chose to ignore his mood. “Why don’t you come sample what I worked on today?” she asked instead. She knew Malik too well to believe nothing was wrong. She would just have to use a different tactic to get some answers.
Malik’s gorgeous grin instantly returned. He leaned across her and lowered his mouth to the side of her neck. “Should I go to the kitchen or the bedroom?” he teased.
Zakira burst into laughter. “The kitchen, man!” she ordered, pushing away his heavy body.
A look of mock disappointment clouded Malik’s handsome dark face, but he did as he was told. It took much longer than usual to reach the kitchen with his hands tugging at Zakira’s blouse.
“Sit!” she ordered, when they finally reached the kitchen.
Malik got comfortable at the kitchen island while Zakira removed the light dinner she had prepared from the oven. There were the delicious chicken potpies, a mixture of broccoli, tomatoes and cucumbers marinated in a zesty wine vinegar and crushed herb dressing, and huge apple-walnut muffins. A light white wine topped off the tasty meal.
For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were the clinking of utensils and glasses as they feasted on the dinner.
Several times, Zakira’s wide gaze traced every nuance of Malik’s face. She tried to search out any signs that something might be wrong. Of course, he looked as fit as ever.
“These dinners get better and better,” he complimented, after taking the last swig of wine from his glass.
“Thanks, baby,” Zakira whispered across the table, genuinely pleased by the compliment. “Did you have enough?”
Malik massaged the back of his neck and stood. “I’m just gonna get another drink.”
Zakira’s wide eyes followed him as he made his way to the counter. He lost his footing, just before he reached his destination. He had to grasp the edge of the oak counter for support.
“Malik?” Zakira called, rising from the table as well.
“I’m all right, Zaki,” he said, hoping he sounded convincing. “I don’t think I need another drink.”
Zakira was not amused by