Tuesday and Wednesday passed in a squall of worry and anxiety. What would her mother’s biopsy find? What if the lump turned out to be cancerous? Should she tell Cat? …No, not yet, she decided. It was probably nothing. Still, apprehension loomed over her.
On Thursday morning, Kylie stared at the computer screen at her desk, looking without seeing what she should have been writing; instead, her fingers clicked impatiently on the keyboard while she tried to force herself to focus, but it all proved useless. Images of her mother sitting before a faceless, nameless doctor telling her nothing but earth-shattering news swirled through her mind like a virus, consuming every ounce of focus she had. She prayed it would turn out to be nothing and that she would look back on all this worry and panic with a stiff yet relieved laugh. Her pep talk, however, made no difference.
She rested her cheek on her palm, still staring blankly at the screen and mentally counting down the minutes before it was time to leave to pick up her mother. Could time move any slower? It seemed to drag at a glacial pace. In the hopes that a little caffeine might help, Kylie made her way round the aisle of cubicles to a gray folding table in the back corner, home to an oversized coffee pot that was stained from years of use and (most likely) minimal cleaning and low-end coffee grounds. The foam cups were never big enough, either.
As she stirred the lukewarm coffee, loaded with powdered creamer and sugar, heavy footsteps sounded from behind.
“Kylie,” said Amanda.
She spun on her heel, spilling coffee down her blouse. Amanda had a calculating expression, her brow furrowed. Despite being several inches shorter than Kylie, she still somehow managed to make Kylie feel incredibly miniscule.
“Yes?” Kylie tried to wipe away the spots from her shirt, knowing all too well they would stain anyway.
“Have you finished that article? What time are you leaving? Why are you leaving, anyway?”
The email Kylie had sent yesterday stating she needed to leave early due to personal reasons (yet omitting the fact that her mother may or may not have…well, might be sick) had been overly vague. It failed to be something Kylie wanted to share with anyone at the moment.
Hoping Amanda would be somewhat understanding, she inhaled sharply. “I have to take my mother for a doctor’s appointment. It’s kind of serious, and I’m going for moral support.” Convincing enough without sharing too much, she prayed. “And I haven’t quite finished my work, but I’ll finish it from home.”
Amanda nodded stiffly. “I see. Well, then.” She paused, and her face contorted in the slightest way. “Good luck.” Once more, she nodded before turning away.
Kylie swallowed, suddenly wondering how many chances she would get to have more than a thirty-second chat with Amanda. This might be her only opportunity to ask about moving up. Do it. Just do it, she scolded herself. She hated any type of confrontation other than Cat’s badgering—that she was used to. Her palms began to sweat, and she nearly choked on her words. “Oh, um, Amanda, while you’re here,” she called.
Amanda turned quickly, her lips slightly parted, her brows raised.
Oh no, I’m pestering her now.
Clearing her throat, Kylie held her chin high. “I’ve been wondering if, maybe, um, there were opportunities for me to…do more…er…challenging stories. I’ve been here for several years, and I’d like to take on more. I was thinking maybe more investigative work.”
Amanda studied her for what seemed an eternity. Kylie had frozen, looking everywhere but directly at her. Finally, Amanda answered, “We don’t have the budget for you to move up right now. Besides, Bruce does good work. He’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. And you do good work, too, what you do. We can’t afford to move you anywhere else.” She offered a stiff, awkward smile and turned to walk away.
Not quite the answer Kylie wanted to hear. Her heart dropped into her stomach as she sighed to herself. Dejected, she returned to her desk with her cup of cheap coffee in hand and stared at the bouncing screen saver now flashing on the computer monitor. A long evening of work at home awaited her.
Bruce draped his arm over her cubicle wall, startling Kylie out of her thoughts.
“I happened to hear you talking to Amanda,” he said.
“So, you were eavesdropping?” She glared at him.
His mouth popped open, and he backpedaled. “No, no, wasn’t eavesdropping. Just happened to hear it.”
“What about it, then?” He probably wanted to say something demeaning or derogatory about her desire to work more in content.
He licked his lips and stared back at her for a moment. “I wanted to offer a good luck and a prayer for your mother.”
Kylie’s irritation subsided, if only slightly, her brows knitting together. Her mother could use all the luck she could get, and she couldn’t exactly tell Bruce to buzz off for that.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“I’m here if you need moral support.” He gave a jaunty nod, winked, and left.
Kylie exhaled, puffing her cheeks out as she did so, and turned back to her computer.
When both hands on the clock finally touched twelve, she tossed her belongings into her purse and rushed down the stairwell, outside, and down the block to her car. The images of her mother still swarmed her head, and she dropped her purse while fishing out her keys, spilling her things and muttering choice words under her breath. Flustered, she scrambled to gather them before throwing it all in the passenger seat and hurling herself in, her face hot and flushed as she blew her bangs out of her eyes.
The viral images continued to buzz, stinging her repeatedly as she parked in front of her mother’s house. Sitting for a moment, Kylie closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deliberately. She’ll be fine. It’s probably nothing. Stop panicking. Taking one last sharp breath, she stepped out and headed up the pansy-lined sidewalk.
Sarah stepped out the front door, closing and locking it behind her, and reached out to pull Kylie into a hug. “Thank you for coming with me.” She strained a smile.
“Of course. Let’s get going.”
Her mother watched out the window for the entire ride to the hospital, which was located in the heart of downtown Charleston. Comforting words evaded Kylie as she drove. What could she say? Even Sarah remained silent, her palms leaving imprints of sweat on her thighs. Kylie’s jaw stayed clenched. Not until she parked in the seven-story garage did Sarah look at her and speak.
“I’m a little nervous.” The deep creases in her forehead and around her eyes suggested more than a little.
Kylie reached over to pat her hand. “It’ll be okay,” she soothed, hoping to convince herself as well.
With Sarah trailing a few paces behind, Kylie climbed the steps to a tall, intimidating building that was the hospital. Its glass windows reflected the wispy clouds and glaring sun above—she idly wondered how often the glass got cleaned—and they stepped through the automatic doors. They were immediately greeted by the sterilized stench of illness, a creeping mixture of acetyl alcohol and stale bodily fluids. A chill ran down Kylie’s spine, partly from the germ-suppressing chill but mostly from the sheer creepiness, in her opinion. After watching her grandfather die in this very hospital, she had since loathed medical facilities. Her fingers gripped the strap of her purse, and she braced herself to endure her anxiety.
An overhead sign read REGISTRATION, and Kylie pointed to it. Sarah nodded vaguely and made her way to the first desk while Kylie headed to the waiting area. After surveying the dingy, worn chairs, checking for any exceptionally questionable stains, she sat. The sounds of vomiting came from two rows of seats behind, and she had to fight down her own urge to vomit. Instead, she focused on the doctors and visitors as they passed, some with rapid steps, some strolling more casually, and she was morbidly curious about the reasons for their visits. Was it a happy occasion like a newborn baby? Or were their loved ones sick and dying?
Sarah eased herself into the seat beside Kylie, fidgeting with her new adornment of a hospital wri
stband and tucking it into her sleeve. Kylie’s lips parted as she searched for comforting words again but, at a loss, she faltered, interrupted by a screaming child four seats down. Instead, she patted Sarah’s knee. How much could one say to a woman frightened she might have cancer? Her mother’s face set in mask-like calm, giving no indication of what ran through her mind.
“Lewis.”
Sarah blinked, her expression blank until Kylie nudged her and whispered that the nurse in royal blue scrubs had called for her. Sarah’s strained smile looked more like a grimace, and she stood and followed the nurse through the far doorway.
Kylie stared down at her hands as she wrung them together, wishing she had had the forethought to bring a book. A good murder mystery still lay on her nightstand. Left to seep into a cesspool of her own horrid thoughts, she stared blankly at her thighs. Soon, the vomiting and screaming became background noise.
How long her mother remained on the other side of that doorway, she couldn’t tell. Her cesspool of worst-case scenarios, all playing in rapid replay, had distracted her from the clock on the wall. No, Mama will be fine, she thought firmly after some time. But what would Kylie do if she lost her? The idea made a lump rise in her throat. Stop panicking and stop overthinking it, she scolded herself.
Sarah returned through the same doorway some time later, her face calm as she returned to the seat beside Kylie.
“What did they say?” Kylie asked, both eager and reluctant.
“They did a fine needle aspiration or whatever it’s called.” The words came barely more than a whisper. “She said to wait while she talks to the doctor.” She slumped in her seat, clutching her purse to her chest.
“Oh.” Kylie wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be okay.”
“I hope so, pea.”
Sarah turned her attention to her hands and fell silent.
Gently, Kylie rubbed her mother’s arm while they sat otherwise motionless and silent, her eyes on the clock. The second hand ticked away the minutes while patients and doctors and nurses came and went. The poor vomiting child was seen and discharged in the time they waited. One minute turned to five, ten, fifteen, all while Kylie tried to shut out her anxious worrying.
Another hour passed before the nurse in blue called for Sarah again. Kylie gave her hand a squeeze, and Sarah rose and followed the nurse through the doorway once more.
Alone again, Kylie’s mind finally shut out her anxiety, a short reprieve. It wandered to the concert, and Adam drifted through her thoughts. No, why was she thinking of him? There was nothing special about him. Still, something about the gentle curve of his jaw and the way his hair stood in disarray had captivated her.
Shaking her head, she shoved the thought aside.
Ten more minutes passed before Sarah returned again. Her face had grown chalky and pale, her eyes distant. Kylie stood, her stomach tightening.
“Well? What did they say?” She reached for her mother’s hands; her fingers were ice.
“They scheduled me for an excisional biopsy tomorrow,” said Sarah, her eyes watering, voice shaking. “They want to cut out the lump. Said it looked suspicious.”
After dropping off her mother and returning to her quiet apartment, she went straight to her laptop. Typed an email to Amanda explaining her need to be out of the office. Half-heartedly typed her work. Passed out in bed.
In the morning, Sarah’s face had drained of color to a ghostly pale, and she remained uncharacteristically quiet. Kylie waited while her mother checked in at Registration again, was adorned with another white wristband, and she and Kylie followed the same plump nurse down a long, sterile hallway. Kylie’s tennis shoes squeaked on the freshly mopped, pale green tile, loud enough that she mumbled “it’s me” every time they passed anyone. A large sign pointed to Same Day Surgery, leading farther down the hall to a round desk. While the nurse led Sarah into a small room and shut the door with a resounding click, the receptionist at the desk gave Kylie a bright, jovial greeting and handed her a pager. She explained the routine: after the procedure, Kylie would be asked to pull her car up to the front while they wheeled Sarah out. At the woman’s cheerfulness, a part of her wanted to shout, “Don’t you realize my mother might have cancer!” But she smiled in return and found a seat, one with only a few small stains. Her murder mystery lay happily open on her lap, and it served a much-needed distraction.
Fifteen minutes passed before Sarah emerged and sat beside her. She stared at the wall with wide, unblinking eyes.
Kylie took her hand. “You’ll do great.”
Sarah nodded stiffly, almost robotically, and returned to staring at nothing in particular without a word. Suddenly, Kylie noticed how much noise truly surrounded her. The receptionist’s tapping on the keyboard. The murmur of the wall-mounted television playing the national news—stocks had dropped, apparently. The phone rang intermittently in a low beeping. Between the buzz of ambient noise and having her mother a silent statue beside her, Kylie’s focus faded from her book.
“Lewis.” Another nurse, dressed in dark scrubs, motioned for her.
With a squeeze of Sarah’s hand, Kylie offered an encouraging smile. Sarah’s lips parted, but she failed to say anything and snapped her jaw shut, straining a painful smile.
“Try to relax. You’ll be fine. I love you,” murmured Kylie.
“Love you, too.” The words came soft, trembling slightly.
Her mother vanished behind the nurse through another doorway, and once again, Kylie was left to drown in her thoughts, as her focus on her book had gone completely. Perhaps a soda or some tea or coffee might help clear her mind. Anything, she thought, would be better than simply sitting here. Shoving the paperback in her purse and the pager into her pocket, she rose to her feet and navigated her way to the cafeteria.
Sitting down with a cup of coffee, Kylie pulled out her phone before staring down at the steam rising in slow swirls. Maybe she should call Cat. She had picked up a replacement phone the day after the concert, as it was something she sometimes needed for work. Cat would understand without needing Kylie to spill every horrid, turbulent emotion swirling in her mind. She had been her best friend since kindergarten, long enough that it was as though she could read her mind without having to ask. But perhaps Kylie was not yet ready to share her fears, as if sharing, in the same fashion as a child divulging a wish from blown-out birthday candles, would jinx her situation, causing the universe to ensure her mother’s lump was malignant. So, she would wait to tell her, wait until after the biopsy results came back. With a firm nod to herself, she leaned her temple against her palm and sipped on her coffee until the pager buzzed in her pocket. Startled, she jerked in her seat, nearly knocking over her cup before pushing herself to her feet.
Back in the waiting room of Same Dame Surgery, she found the doctor waiting for her. Her pulse skipped a beat and quickened. Had something gone wrong?
“Dr. Morris,” he greeted, reaching out to shake her hand.
“How did she do? Is she okay?”
He nodded and slipped his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. “She did fine. She’s just waking up now. A sample will be sent to the lab, and we should have an answer by Wednesday or Thursday at the very latest.”
“Wednesday or Thursday?” Taken aback, she frowned. “That seems like a long time.” More like an eternity to wait with bated breath.
“I understand it’s nerve-wracking to wait so long, but I can’t promise when the results will come back. It may be as early as Monday or it may be as late as Thursday.”
Kylie bit the inside of her cheek, choking down all the words she wanted to say.
Dr. Morris continued, “If the biopsy is negative, then that’s it. Nothing else needs to be done. If it is cancerous, we’ll get her set up with the oncologist, Dr. Gordon.” He glanced at his watch. “She should be ready to go in about ten minutes.” With another shake of Kylie’s hand, he backed his way through the door.
Dread weighed heavily on Kylie’s
shoulders. The results from the lab were the final precipice on which her mother’s health, and perhaps even her life, rested. One phone call, one simple word, could alter their lives in an irrevocable way. Whether they would heave a sigh of relief or have their world shattered would be determined by a single word.
After returning to her mother’s house, and while Sarah rested in her bedroom, Kylie lounged along the sofa, watching television, but it only served as another distraction. Her putrid thoughts refused to leave her alone, and she fidgeted incessantly. Her fingers wandered from picking at a frayed thread in her jeans to tugging at her earlobes or tying and untying her hair. At the end of an hour’s program of Italian cooking, she quit the screen, eased herself to her feet, and headed into the kitchen.
When the pot of coffee finished brewing and Kylie was leaning against the counter with her eyes closed, Sarah shuffled in with tousled hair and red lines etched onto her face from her pillow.
“How long was I asleep?” She stifled a yawn, running a hand over half her face.
“Couple hours,” answered Kylie, pouring herself a mug.
Sarah rubbed her daughter’s arm and kissed her temple. “You don’t have to stay, pea. There’s nothing we can do right now, anyway.”
“You’re sure you’ll be okay? Are you still drowsy?” she asked, although she was unsure if she wanted to stay any longer. Part of her wanted a glass of wine—cheap boxed kind or not—and to finally have some solitude to sift through every awful thought and feeling.
Sarah smiled, although it appeared forced. “I’ll be fine.”
The lights from the streetlamps shined brightly despite the position of the blinds, leaving horizontal slivers of light across the length of the beige carpet. Glass of wine in hand, Kylie settled into the sofa, her free hand smoothing the nap of cream fabric so that it appeared one color. A thriller movie played on the television, and, losing herself in it, Kylie sank deeper into her seat.
The Days Without You: A Story of Love, Loss, and Grief Page 4
