Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
Now, when she looked at Kent or stared through the open roof, she knew her vision was worsening. The tumor was growing and progressing faster than she thought it would. She’d hoped she’d have more time to explore and see the country she lived in. Palmer had already wasted years and years of her life working and saving, and for what—to take a trip before she died? If everything she researched was true, she wouldn’t remember most of it by the time they got to the end. Her memory was going to fail. It was going to slip, and she’d be left fumbling through a thick haze of nothingness.
Palmer dropped her hand. Not because she’d tired of touching Kent’s neck, but because the strenuous activity hurt her. To think that touching someone would physically hurt her brought tears to her eyes. Her body was failing her with every breath she took. She could no longer walk long distances, sleep through the night, see well, or even sit for any amount of time. Yet, if she moved, she would be in pain. Palmer’s life was the definition of a no-win situation.
She shivered, and the motion caught Kent’s attention. “Are you cold?” he asked. He reached for the dial to turn on the heat.
“I didn’t think I was.”
Kent frowned and signaled to change lanes. He worked hard to mask his emotions when something happened, and Palmer appreciated him for being a stoic medic and a friend. She never saw pity in his eyes, only concern. He cared for her like he’d care for anyone else. Her heart longed for him in ways she had never experienced, and each day they were together only deepened her feelings for him. Kent had gotten Palmer to do what no one else had been able to—fall in love.
The Jeep slowed, and Kent pulled off the road. Palmer sat up and saw they had turned into a rest area. Kent found a spot nearest the building, which would shorten the walk for her. He closed the top and turned off the car. “We can get something to eat here.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, and he frowned.
“I know, but you need to eat something.” He got out and went to her side, opened the door, and held his hand out for her. Her body hurt. The other night, it was her feet. Today, it was her torso. She felt like she had run a marathon or ten and hadn’t rested for weeks.
Kent kept his arm around her and tucked her into his side, instead of letting her hang on his arm for support. They looked like a couple, and not travel companions or a medic taking care of his patient.
Inside, they parted ways when they got to the bathroom. Thankfully, she wasn’t at the stage in her life when she needed him to help her. Those days were approaching fast, and there wasn’t anything Palmer could do to slow them down. It seemed that once she’d accepted her fate, her body had stopped fighting.
Palmer used the facilities and then went to wash her hands. Next to her, a little girl stared. Palmer tried to smile, but her thick cheeks prevented her mouth from lifting. When the little girl looked at Palmer, she wondered what she saw. She looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how she’d gotten where she was now. She’d listened to her body and taken care of herself. Palmer had been to the doctor, but he’d only prescribed pill after pill. He’d never suggested she go for testing. “Take this,” he’d said to her. “Drink more caffeine,” he’d told her. “It’s only a migraine.”
Only it wasn’t a migraine. It was a tumor. The neurologist had called it a claw. Palmer called it an octopus whose tentacles continued to grow, sucking the life right out of her and taking up every free space she had left, until one day her head would explode.
Back in the food court, Palmer found Kent sitting at a table with a tray of food. Her stomach rolled, and she felt queasy. She sat down across from him and looked at the pile of junk he’d accumulated while she was in the bathroom.
“I’m not eating any of this,” she told him. The food was deep-fried or fake meat from the fast-food places. He handed her a cup of yogurt and a bowl of fruit.
“No, you’ll eat this.”
“You’re awfully bossy,” she snapped.
Their gazes met, and Kent’s eyebrow raised. “Nice attitude.”
She glared and ripped the lid off her yogurt. She was mad at him for making her eat. Deep down, she knew she had to, but for some reason, Palmer wanted to fight about it. Mood swings were a part of her diagnosis. Kent knew this as well.
Palmer added the fruit to her yogurt and then threw the empty cup onto the table. Kent watched as it slid across until it fell off. He looked at her again and shook his head.