Gabe had signed Taylor as a consultant in exchange for filling in as a surgeon when the department was short-staffed. The arrangement had been in both of their best interests. It gave Gabe a break from his organization’s administrative duties and kept his surgical skills from growing rusty. Not that becoming rusty was a problem…when he and his staff were invited into an area with their supplies and equipment, they often assisted the local medical community.
“Who’s asking for a consult?” he asked.
“A Dr. Hector Aznar.”
Hector was one of the two Ciuflores physicians Gabe had come to know quite well. He and his partner, Miguel Diego, were dedicated young doctors who’d returned to their village after completing medical school. Both were intelligent men who could have established their practices anywhere in the country, but they’d chosen to take care of hometown folks.
“I’d be happy to, but I’m waiting for Leah to get back.”
“No problem. We’ll stop at the nurses’ station and tell her where you are. Do you want a wheelchair or can you walk?”
Just that easily, it was settled. Within minutes, Taylor had left a message for Leah with the ward clerk and Gabe was heading to the man’s office.
“Let’s see what you have,” Gabe said as he pulled a chair close enough to Taylor’s desk to view the monitor.
“A formerly healthy fifty-two-year-old woman with nausea, diarrhea, vomiting, jaundice and sudden weight loss.”
Gabe’s instincts went on full alert. The last time he’d been in Ciuflores and helped with a clinic, he’d run into a case very similar, if not identical. At the time, he’d had limited diagnostic capabilities and had urged Hector to send the woman to a more advanced facility. “Any palpable masses?” he asked, because at the time he’d seen this particular patient he hadn’t found any.
“Yes,” Taylor mentioned. “In her belly.”
Gabe hoped this patient wasn’t the one he knew… “Labs?”
“I have the basics. There are more abnormals than not.” Taylor handed Gabe a sheet of paper. “Her conjugated bili-rubin is elevated, along with the liver enzymes, including alkaline phosphatase. From what I can tell, there’s a lot of organ involvement.”
According to the numbers, it was clear the woman had cholestasis—a blockage in her bile duct—as well as issues with her liver. Her amylase was also off the charts and her glucose was abnormal, indicating pancreatic problems, too. As Taylor had stated, very few of her results fell within the reference range.
“They also sent a few ultrasound pictures.” The older surgeon clicked a few times with his mouse and the images appeared on screen.
In spite of the grainy quality, the mass in the region of the pancreas was unmistakable and the diagnosis grim. Eighty-five percent of pancreatic masses were aggressive cancers and of those sixty to eighty percent had tumors that had spread into surrounding tissue.
“I hate to make a definitive diagnosis with so little to go on,” Taylor said. “According to Dr. Aznar’s email, a CT scan and MRI are out of the question.”
“Hector and his colleague operate a small clinic and their resources are extremely limited. They didn’t even have an ultrasound until I gave them one two months ago.”
“How well do you know this Aznar fellow?”
“He’s a smart fellow. Cares deeply about his patients because he grew up in the area.”
“Can he handle a biopsy?”
“If he doesn’t have a choice then yes, but he doesn’t have any pathology capabilities. He’ll have to ship the specimen to another hospital, which will take time, depending on how far it has to go.” Gabe tried to remember where the nearest pathologist might be other than Mexico City, but came up blank.
“I assume they can’t send their patients to a larger facility?”
“They can, but the nearest one is a half day’s drive away and is only a step above their own clinic. The problem is, most of the natives either won’t travel the distance or can’t afford the trip, which is why internet access to specialists is so important.”
Gabe leaned back in his chair. “The question is, do you think the tumor is operable?”
“It’s difficult to say for sure,” the nearly sixty-year-old physician said soberly. “Considering the size, one would have to guess that the cancer has already spread. The lab results seem to support that theory. If so, surgery won’t help.” He paused. “I assume chemotherapy isn’t readily available.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then Dr. Aznar doesn’t have a choice. His patient has to go where she can receive proper testing and an accurate diagnosis. We can’t discount the possibility of a benign tumor, which can be a curable condition.”
“No,” Gabe answered, “but even if it is benign, we can’t guarantee a positive outcome.”
He glanced at the patient ID and the name immediately jumped off the screen. Carlotta J. Salazar. His gut churned as he pictured the woman who’d come to his clinic. The same woman who lived at the local orphanage with her three precious grandchildren as the facility’s main cook. From what David had told him, the poor woman hadn’t had an easy life, and now a serious illness had added to her troubles. It was a good thing he would be going to Ciuflores in a couple of days. While he was there, maybe there would be something he could do for the woman who’d always fussed over his team like a grandmother.
Immediately, her three grandchildren came to mind. If he couldn’t do anything for Carlotta, maybe he could do something for her family.
Taylor looked thoughtful as he stared at the images. “I like to play the odds and until we have a biopsy report, we have to. I’ll email Aznar and talk him through a biopsy procedure if necessary. Meanwhile, I’ll send the case on to a pancreatic specialist I know, unless you already have one in your network.” He raised an eyebrow.
Gabe thought a moment. “We do. Let me call Sheldon for his contact information.”
A phone call and a few clicks of a mouse later—along with several muttered curses as Taylor clicked the wrong buttons— Taylor had an address and phone number in his inbox.
Gabe watched as Taylor painstakingly typed a short message to Hector, then another to Dr. Stephen Wilkerson, before asking Gabe’s help in attaching the digital files for the specialist’s review.
Finally, Taylor leaned back and grinned. “Done. Medicine has certainly changed since I first became a doctor,” he said ruefully. “Who would have thought we would send images and reports around the world and back in less time than it takes to dial a phone number?”
“Who would have thought?” Gabe echoed.
“Knock, knock,” Leah’s voice came from the doorway. “I hear you’ve stolen my patient, Dr. Ewing.”
Taylor rose with a hearty smile. “You heard correctly, my dear. Come in, come in. How have you been?”
“I’m great. Thanks for asking. Did you two finish your business?”
“Just now,” the surgeon informed her. “I imagine you’re in a hurry to get our boy home.”
In Gabe’s opinion, her smile seemed a bit forced, but it was a smile, nevertheless. “He is rather impatient, as you can imagine,” she said.
“Then I won’t keep you.” He shook Gabe’s hand. “Stay in touch, okay?”
“I will,” Gabe promised.
In the hallway, he tried to read Leah’s reaction, but couldn’t. “I’ll bet you were surprised to get Taylor’s message,” he said, to test the waters.
“Surprised to learn that you were wandering around the hospital with Taylor? A little, but, knowing how eager you were to leave, I assumed you had a good reason.”
“I did. He got his first tele-medicine consult and wanted me to walk him through it.”
“How did it go?”
“From a technology standpoint, great. Not so good for the patient, though. What’s really unfortunate is that I know the woman.”
“Someone you’ve worked with?” she asked.
“Not really. Whenever my team and I
visited Ciuflores, she took care of us. Cooked, did our laundry, that sort of thing.”
“I’m sorry to hear she’s not well. Will she recover?”
“The odds aren’t in her favor.” He shifted gears. “Did you get my lab results?”
“I did. Your white count is down and Jeff says you can go.”
“Hot damn!” he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air.
She grinned. “I thought you’d be pleased. As soon as we get back to the room, I’ll take out your cannula and we’ll be on our way.”
“Fa-a-a-ntastic!”
But as they meandered through the hospital corridors to return to his starting point, he realized Leah had taken the long route. He knew she wasn’t trying to give him more exercise or to delay his departure. She’d done it purely to avoid passing by the OB unit and the nursery. He’d hoped she’d gotten past her aversion, but apparently she had not.
One day, soon, they would have to clear the air about that, but not today. Today, he was finally going home.
Leah drew a bracing breath before she stepped through the garage door into the house she and Gabe had built. As she clutched the two grocery bags in her arms, a hundred memories bombarded her—memories of feeding each other strawberries during a late-night refrigerator raid to the day when she’d plunked the packet of divorce documents on the counter. She’d half expected the pages to still be there, but they were gone. Either Gabe, or Carrie Erickson, their housekeeper for the past four years, had moved them.
Asking about the folder would subtly remind him of why she’d agreed to his unholy pact, but she couldn’t do it. Not only had she vowed to herself that sniping and innuendo wouldn’t make the next few weeks any more bearable, but the look of sheer delight on his face as he slowly turned a three-sixty wouldn’t allow her to say anything that would mar his home-coming. Cruel, she was not.
“I was afraid I’d never see this place again,” he said simply. “It’s good to be home.”
“I’m sure it is,” she answered, still trying to decide if she felt the same way. She wasn’t particularly happy about being here because of all the memories, both good and bad, but Gabe had insisted she move in with him instead of vice versa. It was infuriating to realize he’d stacked the deck in his favor but, as she’d told herself many times during the last eighteen hours, this wasn’t any different than enduring a mammogram. According to her mother and others who’d had one, the aggravation—and the pain—didn’t last long. In the grand scheme of things, six weeks wasn’t long, either.
Although perhaps once Gabe recognized and accepted that they both had fundamental differences about what they wanted in their futures, he’d sign those papers much sooner. She could only hope.
“Yeah,” he said with satisfaction as he glanced through the doorway into the living room before smiling at her like a kid on Christmas morning. “Just like I remembered.”
She took stock of the gleaming black granite countertops, the shiny stainless-steel appliances and the glistening cream-colored ceramic tile floor that she and Gabe had selected during what seemed a lifetime ago. A simple jar candle of her favorite Fresh Rain fragrance rested on the round table in the breakfast nook.
Nothing had changed and yet everything had.
He sniffed the air. “It even smells fresh.”
“Carrie came by yesterday to air out the house and get it ready for you. For us,” she corrected.
“Did you call her?” he asked.
“After our little talk. From the way the kitchen looks, she must have worked through the night dusting and polishing. She always did take good care of things.”
“I’ll have to call and thank her.” He leaned against the counter to gaze around the room again. “If you only knew how many times I pictured this. Your fresh flowers on the table, the dishes stacked in the sink, the shoes by the door, the smell of your banana bread.”
The flowers on the table had disappeared two years ago. Several months later her desire to bake had vanished and the dishes in the sink had eventually dwindled down to a coffee cup, saucer and a spoon because they’d eaten out more often than not. The only shoes by the door were the ones she’d deposited there a minute ago.
And yet could she blame him for thinking back on happier times in order to survive the most stressful period of his life?
A wrinkle appeared on his forehead, as if he realized real life wasn’t comparing to his memories. “It’s been a while since those days, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Then, because she felt awkward and didn’t want to say anything that might sound petty, she changed the subject. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“That would be great.”
“Why don’t you relax in the living room and I’ll bring it when it’s ready?”
“I’d rather sit here.” He pulled a chair away from the breakfast table and sat down, wincing as he did so.
She’d noticed. “Ribs still sore?”
“Afraid so. They’re better than they were, though.”
“After another week or two of rest, you’ll be back at the gym as usual.”
“Probably,” he said. “Do you still go?”
She shook her head as she poured water into the reservoir and spooned several tablespoons of Gabe’s special dark roast they’d bought on their way home from the hospital. “I prefer walking or jogging outdoors.” Truthfully, she’d started that so she wouldn’t risk running into Gabe because he didn’t work out on a set schedule.
“When I’m able to, I’d like to join you.”
Surprised by his suggestion, she blurted, “But you hate to run. You always lifted weights, or swam laps.”
“Nothing says I can’t try something new. And I’d like to jog with you. We used to go to the park together.”
“To walk,” she corrected, “and it was when we were first married. That was a long time ago.”
“So? Going back will be like old times. Remember when I flagged down the ice-cream truck in the middle of traffic because you wanted a vanilla cone?”
“Yes, and you almost got run over by a vehicle for it.”
“True, but my quick reflexes saved the day.”
“Quick reflexes?” she scoffed. “I saw that car hit your leg.”
“It was a tap, not a hit,” he insisted. “I didn’t even get a bruise, which, if you recall, we spent hours looking for.”
She remembered the evening in question quite vividly. It had been the same evening that had ended in a midnight kitchen raid for strawberries, peanut butter and chocolate ice-cream topping. The next day she’d sent their comforter to the dry cleaners to deal with the sticky stains.
“I know what you’re doing,” she said suddenly.
“What?”
“You’re hoping to get what you want by going through the back door when you normally tear down the front.”
“Is it working?” he asked hopefully.
“Not so far.”
“Too bad. But for the record, I know how difficult it is for you to move into our house when you weren’t mentally prepared.”
His insight caught her by surprise and she simply gaped at him.
“But we have to learn to talk to each other again and dusting off the good memories seems a good place to start.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Did you read a do-it-yourself marriage counseling book somewhere?”
“No. I just spent a lot of time thinking,” he said simply. “So, how does my theory sound? Shall we begin there?”
She didn’t want to because she sensed what would follow. She’d drop her defenses and be vulnerable, but they couldn’t spend the next six weeks limiting their conversation to the weather or medicine. To be honest, she’d like to know what had been going on in Gabe’s mind during those days when life had become so dark and bleak because he’d appeared so…unmoved by it all.
Or, as she’d already considered briefly, had he simply been better at hiding his reactions? Or worse yet, had she pushed him away so completely
that he’d felt as if he couldn’t talk? The latter question was one that she hadn’t considered before, and the potential answer didn’t sit well on her chest now. But, as he’d said, they had to start somewhere…
“Sure, why not?” she said. “We can stroll down memory lane, but I never have denied that we had some great years together. However, all good things come to an end.”
“That’s debatable, but for now we need to deal with a few housekeeping issues first. Moving your things comes to mind.”
“I thought after you were settled, I’d run home and—”
“I’m coming with you.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Afraid I won’t come back?”
“No,” he said solemnly. “You gave your word and I trust you. I want to come along so I can help.”
“You want to help? You’re limping worse than a Saturday night drunk, your ribs hurt if you breathe too deeply or move suddenly, and you aren’t supposed to lift anything heavier than a pen.”
“It’s not that bad,” he defended.
She cast him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “No offense, but let’s be realistic. How much help do you think you’ll be?”
“Maybe not much, but I want to go with you.”
“What for? To supervise?”
“No. To keep you company.”
He wanted to keep her company? Once again, he’d surprised her. “Oh.”
“Do you mind?”
Of course she did. The little house she was renting was her childhood home—her sanctuary. She didn’t want Gabe’s overwhelming presence to ruin that for her.
Yet, once again, it seemed cruel to make a fuss over something so trivial, especially when they wouldn’t be on the property any longer than it took to empty out her refrigerator and throw a few clothes into a travel bag.
Letting out a soft sigh, she surrendered. “Suit yourself, but if I catch you overdoing things, I’ll convince Jeff to re-admit you.”
“Understood. Is the coffee ready?”
Six-Week Marriage Miracle Page 7
