Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103719 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Lydia waited until he took a break halfway through to catch his breath. “I want to know how much time. And enough with the I-don’t-answer-questions-like-that and every-patient-is-different bullshit. We’re way past that point now, and you know it.”
She turned back to the view out into the laboratory. All those brilliant minds working around the clock, trying to create a future that wasn’t going to come fast enough. At least not for the person she cared about.
As Gus came across to her, she braced herself, but all he did was glance over his shoulder at all the drinks like he desperately wanted to bring something to her.
Crossing her arms, she nodded at the laptop on the table. “FYI, I will launch this thing at you if you try to offer me an orange juice.”
“Vitamin C is important for a good immune response.”
“Then let’s infuse Daniel with twenty gallons of Tropicana. How’s that for a protocol.”
Gus finished his Coke, and when he put the can down, there was a declarative sound to the impact. “I’d say two months. Tops. He tolerated the immuno-therapy like a champ. The chemo as well. He’s extraordinarily healthy, except for the cancer.”
Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the play.
And “tolerated”? That was not a word she would use to describe the way the man she loved had had to endure the brutal side effects of all the courses of drugs.
“Is there anything else we can try?” She put her hand out. “Except for… well, you know he doesn’t want Vita-12b.”
“I told you, I’m not going to argue with him about his decision.”
“You’re a better man than I,” she muttered. And yet could she blame Daniel?
“Here’s the thing.” Gus picked up the can and brought it back to his mouth, a hissing sound rising into the silence as he tried to find another sip in the empty. “He should be able to choose whether or not he wants to be a guinea pig—”
“I’ve never said the choice wasn’t his—”
“—but now that we’re out of conventional options, maybe he changes his mind. Or maybe he doesn’t.”
Drowning in frustration and sorrow, Lydia ripped the tie out of her hair. Then she recaptured everything she’d just freed and wound the loose bun right back up.
Sometimes you just had to do something with your hands. Other than throw things.
“Daniel has to make the call soon, though, right? I mean, he’s as good as he’ll be today—”
“Actually, he’s going to rebound some now that the immunotherapy’s going to be stopped. As I said, he’s a healthy man in his prime underneath it all, and we’ve always been on top of his symptoms and complications. And we can do CyberKnife on his liver again and put in a stent if we have to. The bone mets in his spine and hip are what they are, but they haven’t gotten much worse. Of course, his lungs are the real problem. Bilateral is a bad new development.”
No, shit, Dr. St. Claire.
Lydia pulled out one of the executive chairs and all but fell into the baseball-mitt-like seat. As she stared at the laptop screen, she wanted to cry, sure as if she were already at Daniel’s wake. She wanted to weep and gnash, pound the glossy table with her fists, stamp her feet, kick the glass wall, throw the computer so hard that it splintered into a Dell-branded jigsaw puzzle. But you only fought what you did not accept, and as a numb helplessness started to wrap her in cotton batting, she realized that she was finally putting down her sword.
How had it come to this, she wondered. Then again, if the pair of them were walking down the aisle together, her in a white dress, him all tatted up in a tuxedo, she would have had the same sense of confusion. Awed, rather than awful’d, of course.
“Do you tell him or do I,” she said softly. Then she looked up sharply. “And if it’s going to be a doctor, it has to be you, not one of those other… well. Anyway.”
“Not one of those über-compassionate, windup toy researchers? I’d be touched by your request, but they set a low bar at the bedside, don’t they.” He held up his forefinger. “They are exactly who you want in the lab, however.”
“I believe that.” Lydia shook her head. “I need to go tell him. Probably best coming from me.”
“You want me to be with you?”
“It’s not going to be a news flash.”
When Gus got quiet, she glanced over. The man was staring off into the distance between them, his eyes not really focused, like he was reviewing the case for the seven millionth time in his head and looking for something, anything, they could try.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
“Sure feels like it is on my side.” He fired the Coke can across the space, pegging the wastepaper basket at the far end of the credenza like it was a basketball rim. “I’m going to grab a break. You can always text or call, ’kay?”