Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82893 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“You know I don’t like putting a timeline on these things,” he says gently, and my hand balls into a fist so tight my nails dig into my skin. “But without treatment, I’d say a year. Maybe a little less, maybe a little more.”
“One year.” Oh God, I’m going to pass out or throw up all over his fancy desk.
“Then we’ll make it the best year we’ve ever had,” Mom inserts, squeezing my fingers, and I wonder what the hell is wrong with her and how she can think this is okay. This is the furthest thing from okay. And the best year we’ve ever had? This will be the worst time in my life, not the best.
“Can we talk about pain management going forward?” she asks Dr. Howards. “I’m not in pain now, but I’d like to know what happens when I am.”
“Absolutely,” he agrees. I try to listen to the two of them discuss drugs and what she will be facing over the next few months, but I don’t hear a word they say because it feels like I’m sitting underwater, watching the world explode above me like some illusion.
When it’s time to leave, I walk out of Dr. Howards’s office, feeling the complete opposite of what I did on our first visit. That glimmer of hope he planted in my chest during our first appointment has been replaced by fear and inevitability.
“Sit with me for a minute,” Mom says, taking my hand in hers, I let her lead me into the atrium set up in the middle of the hospital. As we take a seat on a memorial bench someone’s family donated, she looks around. “It’s so beautiful in here.”
“It is,” I agree, not really seeing the flowers, trees, and plants that have been tended to with love over the years and overflow the space. Each one was planted in memory of someone who didn’t make it and probably some who did.
“I know you’re upset.”
Upset? I’m not upset. I'm devastated.
“This wasn’t an easy choice for me to make.” Her hand squeezes mine. “Please look at me, Elora.”
Slowly, I turn my head her way, and my chin wobbles when our eyes meet.
“I love you more than anything in this whole world. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Her smile is soft. “Me getting sick has been so hard on you, and I wish I could take your hurt away. I never want to hurt you.”
“Mom.” My throat constricts.
“I want to see you happy again. I want to be happy again, even if it’s just for a little while.” Tears fill her eyes. “I’m sorry I’m hurting you.”
“You’re not doing it on purpose.” And I know she’s not. Logically, I know this isn’t even about me. It’s about her. Even if I’ve brought her to each of her appointments, I’m not the one being filled with drugs that make me so sick I can’t get out of bed for days and days. I’m not the one suffering from radiation burns that blister and bruise.
I drag in a breath and close my eyes. She’s given me so much and never asked me for anything but this.
I can give this to her.
I can put my own feelings aside and pretend this is okay.
“All right.” I open my eyes and lean into her. “Let’s make this the best year ever.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, and I shove all the pain sitting on my chest like a lead weight into a tiny box, then lock it up, where I’ll keep it until the day I have no choice but to say goodbye to her.
Only, I don’t know the time for that will come sooner than either of us realize…
Roman
40.7644°N 73.9772°W
1:11 p.m.
I jolt awake when someone pounds on my bedroom door, lifting my head off my pillow to look across the expanse of the dimly lit room.
“What?” I bark, and the naked female sprawled out on the other side of the mattress opens her eyes to look at me.
“Roman!” Clifford calls through the thick wood, and I shake my head.
Fuck no. “I’m sleeping.” My head falls back against the pillow, and I close my eyes.
“It’s Valentino.”
My muscles tense.
“Fuck.” I toss back the sheet that barely covers me and get out of bed. After walking across the room to the door, I turn the lock and throw it open. When I see the look on Clifford’s weathered face, my knees weaken. “What happened?”
“You need to get dressed, kid,” he says quietly.
“What happened?”
“Roman, please, get dressed.”
“Just fucking tell me!” I bite out, and he shakes his head as his eyes fill with sympathy.
“He’s in the hospital.”
The hospital?
“How bad?”
“You need to get to him.”
I need to get to him.
My vision dims around the edges as dread crawls up my throat. “Can you get her home and call for my car?”