by Claire Adams
“She told me,” I said, grinning. “I didn't understand what she was going on about, but she seemed happy. Something about dots, though.”
“Pixels,” Olivia said, grinning fondly. “That's how I got Harlan to go outside: I told him that he'd be amazed by the pixel quality of the backyard. I didn't think it would work, but with a little help from Emma, we had him outside in no time. Then, he still wanted to play his favorite video game, so he and Emma made up some sort of game on the spot.”
“Sounds fun,” I said, hearing the quiet enthusiasm in her voice.
“What do you mean, the pixel quality of the backyard?” Jeannie asked, sounding confused.
Olivia turned toward her, and I felt a momentary sense of loss once that smile was no longer directed at me. Stop that, I chided myself. I was there for work. It wouldn't be right to start developing a crush on Olivia.
“Harlan plays a lot of video games,” Olivia explained. “Those video games, and your computer screen and your television screen, are made up of pixels. They're these little boxes of color that make a picture when they're all together.”
“I don't understand,” Jeannie said. How could she not understand? It had to be her memory.
“You grew up with analog photography,” I stepped in. “When your photos were printed, how did that happen?” Jeannie looked blank. “Lots of little dots of ink on a sheet of paper,” I said.
Jeannie frowned. “Emulsifier,” she corrected. “It wasn't ink.”
“Right, emulsifier,” I agreed. I scratched the back of my head. “I don't know enough about analog photography to finish the analogy.”
Olivia laughed and shook her head. “You know those photos that are made up of a bunch of little photos, Mom?” she asked, taking another tack.
“A collage?” Jeannie asked, and we all laughed.
“No, like those photos that all make up...” Olivia trailed off and shook her head. “I guess it doesn't matter anyway. Just, I convinced him that the real world was just another video game.”
Jeannie's face clouded with worry. “I hope you didn't tell him that he had unlimited lives,” she said, and we shared another laugh.
I sobered a little, thinking about those test results that I still had to share with them. It was such a pleasant evening that I didn't want to spoil it. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt, like I was there for just a social visit rather than for an appointment. I had to get it over with.
“About those test results,” I began, as Jeannie brought out slices of rich pound cake for dessert. Just like that, the good mood shattered: all three of us now wore matching frowns. I sighed and forged ahead. “Unfortunately, the cancer is progressing,” I told them. “It's still early enough that we have plenty of treatment options. But we need to act fast before it can spread any further.”
Jeannie waved a hand, trying for a smile. “Come now, Dr. Jones. We're having a pleasant evening; let's not spoil it with that kind of talk.”
I frowned. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Sable, but the whole reason I'm here is so that I can talk to the two of you about these results,” I reminded her. “Now, I know that last time I saw you, we were concerned that some of your levels were off, but this time, it's looking like something is really, seriously wrong. Now, I can get you started on chemotherapy treatments, but you'll probably need Olivia to drive you to and from those appointments, which is why I wanted—”
Jeannie stood up, interrupting me by noisily beginning to clear the plates off the table.
“Olivia, talk to your mom,” I pleaded. “She needs to hear this; you know she does. Like I said, we need to get acting on this sooner, rather than later.”
Olivia shook her head, her sad eyes watching her mom move around the table. “I have to let Mom deal with this the way she chooses,” the woman said softly.
I barely bit back some insensitive words about Olivia pretty much allowing her mother to die. With Emily, we'd found the cancer too late for treatments to be effective. With Jeannie, we still had a fighting chance. But neither of the women seemed to realize what a big deal that was.
I got to my feet, following Jeannie as she headed toward the kitchen. “You can't just ignore this,” I told her.
Olivia caught my arm, though. “Wait,” she said softly, and something in the way she looked at me gave me pause. Olivia sighed, and her hand dropped off my arm. “Give me a little time,” she said. “To adjust, to try to talk to her.” She gave me a small smile. “As you can see, confrontation is not the best approach with my mother.”
I sighed and ran a hand back through my brown hair. “There isn't much time to delay,” I told her.
“I understand that,” Olivia murmured. “But if you badger her over this and make her shut her ears, she's never going to listen to you. Or anyone else, for that matter.”
I was momentarily distracted by the way she bit her lower lip; it took me a second to drag my eyes back to hers. “I won't bother leaving the test results with you because I know they're gibberish if you don't know what you're looking at. But if you want to come into my office at any point to talk to me, just give me a call. You have my number because of the daycare stuff.” I paused. “Better yet, if you could have your mom come into my office sometime this week, I'd appreciate it.”
“I can certainly try,” Olivia said.
I frowned, wanting to urge her to do something more than try. But I checked myself at the last moment. I could see in her eyes that she knew how serious this was. There was nothing more that I could say to her. “I wish I had better news,” I said softly.
Olivia put on a brave face. “But there's still time,” she said firmly. “That's the important thing.”
“That's the important thing,” I echoed, thinking again about Emily.
“For now, it's getting late,” Olivia said. “Thank you for coming by for dinner, and I'll see you tomorrow morning at the daycare.”
I nodded my head and impulsively pulled her into a quick hug. Her small frame was warm in my arms, and I could feel how stiff and anxious she was. I wanted, I realized, to lay her down and massage her shoulders until she was able to relax a little.
I shook the thought away and quickly released her, feeling embarrassed. But Olivia, despite the faint blush staining her cheeks, looked pleased by the gesture. “I'll see you tomorrow,” she repeated softly.
“I'll see you tomorrow,” I agreed.
I couldn't stop thinking about that hug for the rest of the night. The way her curves had pressed up against me, the way she'd splayed her fingers across my back. I felt horrible for thinking about her like that, with everything that was going on with her mother.
But that's not the real reason you feel guilty, my brain reminded me, as I went into Emma's room to check on the sleeping toddler. I shouldn't be thinking about anyone like this, not so soon after Emily's death. Not when I am still grieving that loss. I was ashamed that I found myself even considering what it would be like to take Olivia out on a date, to have a proper dinner, just her and I.
It had been two years, but I had promised Emily that she'd be my only love, for the rest of my life.
I shook my head and tried to force the thoughts out of my head so that I could sleep. But even when I finally managed to sleep, I was plagued by uneasy dreams.
Chapter Four
Olivia
Friday was long, and the closer it got to the time when Eric had arranged to pick up Emma, the slower time seemed to go. It felt like I was checking the clock every couple of minutes for the last hour, willing him to show up even a little early. If I'd thought Emma had been bratty her first day in the daycare, it was nothing compared to how she had acted today.
I sighed at the trail of destruction she'd left in her wake: a broken chair, paint stains on my favorite rug, bruises on my shins from where she'd kicked me. I didn't know what she was so upset about, but whatever it was, I hoped it was resolved by Monday because the thought of another day like this made me want to cry.
Of course, i
t wasn't just Emma's antics that were pushing tears into my eyes.
“Hey,” Eric said as he came into the daycare. He frowned at Emma, who was sulking on the couch watching something silly on TV. “Uh oh,” he said when she didn't immediately run over to greet him.
“She was fine,” I lied again, not sure why I felt compelled to hide her bad behavior from him. I didn't want him to think that I couldn't handle her, though, or that she would be better off back with Nana. “She's just in a sulk because I put the paints up on a high shelf.”
Eric smiled a little. “Did you have a chance to talk to your mom?” he asked tentatively. We hadn't talked about this all week, and I'd kind of been hoping that we could wait until Monday to do so.
I sighed and looked at the floor, kicking my foot across the tiles and doing my best not to cry. “Yeah, we talked,” I admitted.
It had taken me a couple of days to get the guts to do so, but I'd finally managed to pluck up the courage the night before. I'd been over at her house for a Thursday night tradition that we hadn't gotten to do in a while: movie night. I hadn't wanted to spoil it with a conversation about her health, but I had remembered Eric's words about there being no time to delay.
“Have you talked to Dr. Jones about treatment options yet?” I asked softly as the credits rolled on the movie.
Mom frowned and took another bite of her ice cream. “Not yet,” she said. “And I don't plan to.”
I frowned as well. “But Mom, he said things are getting serious. The longer we wait, the more the cancer is going to spread.”
Mom waved her hand and laughed. “The whole thing is nonsense,” she said.
I blinked, gaping at her. “Nonsense?” I asked. “I don't know, Eric—Dr. Jones, rather—seems like an intelligent guy. I don't think he would be this concerned if it were nonsense.”
“Doctors and drug companies just like to keep the wheels of commerce rolling,” Mom said. She laughed again. “I suppose they have to, with the number of student loans they rack up!”
“Surely you don't think he's just trying to scam you,” I said.
Mom shrugged. “All I know is that my mother, drank, smoked, and ate bacon every morning for breakfast, for her whole life, and she still lived a good, long life. A happy life, too. Now, I know what happens when you start chemotherapy and your quality of living drops. You don't want to put your poor mother through that, do you? Especially when there's nothing wrong with me in the first place.”
“Nothing wrong with you?” I asked skeptically.
“I feel fine,” Mom insisted. “Don't you worry about me.”
The thing was, I was more comfortable living in that same state of denial, so I hadn't pressed her harder. But I'd felt guilty about it for the whole day. Now, with Eric asking about it, I felt even worse.
“I talked to her,” I admitted. “But the talk didn't go well.” I paused and glanced up at him. “I'd like more information if that's okay.”
“Of course,” Eric said. “I try to stay out of the office for the weekend so that I can spend more time with Emma and her Nana, but maybe you and I could talk over dinner tonight.”
“I'd appreciate that,” I said. The more information I had about what was wrong with Mom, the more I'd be able to combat her insistence that there was nothing wrong with her and that Eric was just trying to squeeze money out of her. Whether it was right or wrong legally, the truth was, I was worried about her. We all were.
Eric didn't really seem like the kind of guy to want to squeeze money out of his patients, though. If his true aim was to make money at this job, I had a feeling he'd be living in Chicago or some other city.
“I'll pick you up at 7,” Eric told me. “I have the perfect place in mind.”
That night, as I was getting ready, I found myself paying close attention to my appearance. I put on a nice green, spring dress that I knew made my hazel eyes shine, and I pulled my hair back into a neat plait. I blushed, feeling excited and nervous as I realized I was treating this like a date.
But that was ridiculous. Eric might be smart and handsome, and I might enjoy his sense of humor. He was my mother's doctor, though, and I doubted he was interested in me in that way. This wasn't a date; we were just having dinner so that we could talk about my mother's cancer and the different treatment options that were available.
Probably, I just wanted this to be a date because I wanted to continue ignoring the severity of Mom's condition.
That's not true, and you know it, my inner voice chided. I blushed again, putting on mascara even though I normally didn't bother with makeup.
A horn sounded out front, and I hurriedly headed downstairs and out to Eric's car.
“You look especially beautiful tonight,” Eric said, and I felt a warm flush go through my body as his eyes skimmed my curves. He looked embarrassed at having said it, though, and focused his eyes back on the road. He cleared his throat. “I thought we'd drive over to Kingsfield,” he told me. “I don't know how familiar you are with the only restaurant in Tamlin, Ernie's Diner, but the owner, Ernie, is the town's biggest gossip.”
I grinned. “Kingsfield sounds like a plan. Wouldn't want him getting the wrong impression.”
“Great,” Eric said. “It's about 20 minutes to get there, but I know a great Italian restaurant that I'm sure you'll love.”
I hummed an agreement and settled into the comfortable leather seat.
“I don't know what magic you worked on Emma this week, but she seems to love the daycare,” Eric told me. “Every day when she gets home, she calls her Nana up and has dozens of things to say to her about all the things that she did. I heard you made and painted pasta necklaces today; Emma can't wait to bring hers home to show us.”
I smiled over at him. “Glad she's enjoying it,” I told him.
“I hope she's behaving herself, too,” Eric said, glancing over. “I know she can be a handful sometimes.”
I laughed. “Kids are always a handful sometimes,” I told him.
“I bet they are,” Eric said, nodding. “I can't imagine being a daycare provider and working with kids day in and day out. I hardly ever have to see kids for appointments here in Tamlin, and it's still too much for me!”
“I'm sure it's great for you, though, since you can bribe them with suckers,” I said. “If I bribed my kids with suckers every time I needed them to behave, I'd be going through a small fortune supplying them, and it would only make them bounce off the walls even more!”
Eric laughed. “That's true,” he agreed.
“Still, I can't imagine being a single parent,” I mused, shaking my head. “At least I get to hand the kids back to their parents at the end of the day.”
“You still have to worry about screwing them up for life, though,” Eric joked.
I laughed. “But at least if I do screw them up for life, I'm not the one who has to deal with them later,” I reminded him. “You're stuck with them for life.”
We chatted the whole way to the restaurant, and there was something easy about it. I really liked Eric; he was funny and witty, and very down-to-earth. If this had been a date, I definitely would have said that sparks were flying.
But this isn't a date, I reminded myself as we waited for our meals to arrive. I took another sip of my wine. It was my second glass, and I was starting to feel a little flushed. But the wine was tasty, and the food, when it arrived, was just as good as Eric had promised.
I just couldn't figure out how to bring up the questions that I had regarding my mother's medical situation. It was the elephant in the room, the reason for this whole affair. As much as I wanted this to be a date, I couldn't help remembering that this was Dr. Jones sitting across from me, and he was waiting patiently before telling me all the details about my mother's cancer.
Fortunately, he was the one who finally brought up the conversation. He placed both his palms flat on the table as our plates were cleared away. “Regarding your mother,” he said slowly.
I nodded. �
�You said the cancer was progressing,” I said.
“It is,” Eric agreed. “Her last scan showed significant progression.”
“What are our options for treatment?” I asked. “Can it be surgically removed?”
“With the way that it's spread already, I'm afraid that's just not possible,” Eric said. “The best chance that we have to slow its progression is chemotherapy. But we'd need to begin that immediately.”
“What are her other options?” I asked, knowing that there was no way I was going to convince Mom to start chemo immediately, not when she thought this was just a ploy to get her money. Chemo was expensive, I knew. I wondered whether she would even be able to come up with the money: Mom had been a schoolteacher in a low-income part of the city for the past two decades. She had always loved her job, but it wasn't particularly well-paying.
“I'm afraid there aren't any other options,” Eric said slowly. “There are some experimental treatments that might work, but most of those would be used in conjunction with chemo treatments.” He paused. “I understand what your mom is going through. This is very scary business.”
I shook my head. “It's not just that it's scary,” I sighed. But I didn't exactly want to tell him that Mom thought he was scamming people out of their hard-earned money.
“I know,” Eric said, though, looking away from me for a moment. He looked pained but also thoughtful. Then, he shook his head. “I know,” he repeated. “But trust me, no matter how scary the idea of chemotherapy is, it's better than the alternative. She could get worse, faster. Neither of you wants that to happen, trust me.” He frowned. “I know I must sound like the boogeyman, saying that. I don't want to scare you, but I need you to realize that this is a very serious disease that we're talking about.”
He looked so earnest that I realized there was no way I could continue to deny this. I nodded slowly. “What do you need me to do?” I asked.
“You and your mother are close,” Eric said. “If you could have a frank talk with her, make her realize what could happen, remind her how much it would hurt you as well if she were to get worse, maybe she could begin to see reason.”
