Something inside me gathers, growing like a tornado, extracting all my strength from the furthest corners of my body. Faith deserves a doctor who can be strong for her. I should be consoling her.
I level my gaze on hers, throat tight. "Faith, your most recent blood test results showed an increase in white blood cells. Chemo actually works to lower your white blood cell count in its effort to attack the cancer cells, so an increase as drastic as yours tells me we need to get you in for a CT scan. The cancer is … growing."
Her face remains passive. I'm waiting for the breakdown, but I don't think it's coming. Not yet at least.
"Alright," she says, stoic. "Just tell me when."
I grab for my appointment book and open it. Despite all the technology surrounding me, I'm old school. I like writing down my appointments. I’m booked solid tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll work late to squeeze her in. Javier is the best radiologist we have and a good friend. He will squeeze her in too. That way, I can see if it’s spreading to her lymph nodes or surrounding organs.
My mind calculates all of the treatments we can try if this looks bad. Bone marrow, blood transfusions, even stem cells. I know of a great clinic in Scottsdale. I will pull every fucking favor I have to save this woman.
"How is tomorrow at two?"
"That works." Faith straightens her shoulders. I can't believe it was only a few nights ago that I sat at her kitchen table, eating a meal cooked by her hands, while something new, possibly another cancer, spread and grew inside her. It was a typical Monday evening, or so we thought.
Her eyes search mine, beseeching. "Can I ask something of you, Owen?"
I nod, afraid of what it is she might request.
"Don't tell Autumn. Not until we know something concrete."
My heart falls at her request but I completely understand it. I don’t want to worry Autumn unnecessarily either.
With one finger, I gesture from me to her. "Client-patient confidentiality, remember?"
She raises an eyebrow. "Do you think in the dark of night, when they are with their lovers, doctors don't break their code?"
I point back at myself. "Not this doctor."
Faith smiles, just a small one, and gently pats my cheek. "You're a good man, Owen Miller. I hope my daughter knows how lucky she is."
"I make sure to tell her every day," I say, with a wink.
Faith chuckles and stands, prompting me to follow her. At the door, she turns around. "We'll take this one day at a time. Just like we always have." Then she steps through, letting the door close behind her.
The first time I told her she had cancer, I was an intern and I said we'd take it one day at a time. And that's what we've been doing ever since. Maybe that's all we can ever do, cancer or not.
I want to be optimistic like Faith, stoic in the face of something frightening, but I have the burden of knowledge.
I chose not to tell Faith something I'd learned only from experience, something not yet verified by testing but known by gut feeling.
What I'll see tomorrow on those scans won't be good. It will be a downhill road from here on out.
I've failed the one person who never turned her back on me.
Chapter 20
Autumn
The night is dark and clear. Owen has pulled his outdoor couch to the middle of his back yard. Turns out, it converts into a bed of sorts, kind of like a futon.
We're on our backs, gazing up at the charcoal sky. We are linked together, the sides of our bodies pressed so close we could be the seam of a piece of clothing. Owen, however close he may be in physical proximity, is a million miles away.
"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask, keeping my gaze trained on the sky overhead. He has been like this since he picked me up this evening. I was afraid to ask why, didn't want to pry. A part of me feels like I should ask what's wrong, we've known each other long enough that I don't need to tread lightly. The other part of me feels our newness, the parts of him I don't know as well as I used to, or at all.
Owen pinches the bridge of his nose, and though he doesn't make a sound, I see the deep rise and fall of his chest.
"Tough day at work," he says, his voice immensely sad.
I shift so I'm on my side, bringing my hand up and palming the fabric of his shirt over his heart. "Can you talk about it?"
His gaze flickers over to me, then back up. I watch his eyelashes as he blinks four times in rapid succession. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head.
"Is there anything I can do for you to make you feel better?"
He rolls over onto his side, facing me. He looks at me, his eyes an ocean of anguish. There is apology in his expression, sown into the squint of his eyes and the pleat of his lips. What is he sorry for?
Insecurity snakes in, starting in my heart and slithering out like spokes on a bike tire. Has Owen changed his mind about us? Is this not what he wants?
I should ask him, but I know I won't. When it comes to Owen, there is still a young girl inside me nervously biting her lip, uncertain of her place in the world. I may have grown into a woman, but Owen has a way of stripping me bare and exposing my heart. Will giving it to him again lead me straight into disaster?
"Mom?" I stick my head in her bedroom door. She's sitting on the end of her bed running her hand over her freshly shaven head.
“Oh.” Seeing her without hair startles me. It’s been slowly thinning, even with the use of the cold cap, but I didn’t want to say anything to make her uncomfortable, and now … it’s gone.
She gives me a small smile. “It’s been falling out in chunks. This is easier. I think it looks kind of punk rock, no?”
I choke back the sob that wants to escape me and nod. “Totally punk rock. We should book your skull tattoo later.”
That causes her to genuinely smile before nodding her head. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
It's chemo day. I can't tell if the treatment is working, and that bothers me. It's not like a skin rash that we can apply cream to and watch it disappear, or a bruise that changes color and eventually fades away. No visible progression.
Mom nods at my question, yawning as her head bobs up and down.
"How can you be tired? You slept in today. It's like you're a teenager." I smile teasingly as I grab the bracelets she always wears from her nightstand and hand them to her. "Good thing I don't do to you what you used to do to me when I slept in."
She winds her hand through the bangles. "I was tough on you, wasn't I? Probably a little tougher than I should've been." She pushes the hair back from my shoulder, her fingers brushing lightly over the skin left bare by my tank-top. "I was trying to be both mom and dad. I made mistakes."
Her admittance takes me by surprise. And as nice as it is to hear, it makes me uncomfortable. It's hard hearing your parents are faulty. It humanizes them. And I was only joking so I’m thrown by this serious admission.
"I can't imagine how difficult it was to be a single mother. You did a great job, Mom."
She nods once, acknowledging my words. "Let's go."
As she steps around me, I feel a squeeze of my hand.