Chương 10
“Romantic.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
Lena watched the swing.
“The problem is he’s wonderful in emergencies,” she said. “He knows how to carry things. He’s less good at believing I should see the emergency before he has arranged it.”
Maya sipped her coffee. “Dad was like that.”
The mention of their father entered quietly.
David Hart had hidden overdue bills, a suspicious mole, and the fact that the transmission in Maya’s first car was failing. He called it preventing unnecessary worry. After his stroke, Lena found a drawer filled with unopened bank notices and appointment reminders.
Ethan was not her father. The similarity was small enough to dismiss and deep enough to frighten her.
“I thought I had chosen differently,” Lena said.
“You did. Ethan apologizes.”
“Dad apologized.”
“Dad apologized while explaining why he had been right.”
Lena looked toward the kitchen window. Ethan stood inside washing mugs.
“He’s making the coffee cups cleaner than they have ever been,” Maya said.
“He does that.”
“Annoying.”
“Yes.”
They sat until a cloud passed over the sun.
On Monday morning, Lena went to her oncology appointment alone.
Ethan offered to drive. She declined. He offered to order a car. She took the train.
She wore a blue cotton cap rather than the repaired wig, which remained in Priya’s drawer. On the platform, a woman stared at her for several seconds and then looked quickly away. Lena could not tell whether she had recognized her from the video or simply recognized illness.
At Ellison, the receptionist did recognize her.
Her face changed before she said Lena’s name.
“Ms. Hart. I’m so sorry about what happened.”
Lena handed over her insurance card. “Thank you.”
The receptionist lowered her voice. “My daughter sent me the video. I told her people shouldn’t share things like that.”
“Thank you.”
“Your statement was very strong.”
Lena looked at the card reader.
The receptionist flushed. “You’re checked in.”
In the waiting room, a television played a home renovation show with captions. A man in a surgical mask slept beside his wife. An older woman knitted something yellow. Nobody else spoke to Lena.
Dr. Baines entered the exam room carrying a laptop and a paper cup.
“You came alone,” she said.
“I took the train.”
“That was not my observation.”
Lena sat on the exam table. The paper beneath her crackled.
“Ethan and I are taking space.”
“How much?”
“He’s at his townhouse. I’m back at my apartment.”
“Are you safe there?”
“There were two photographers yesterday. The building manager made them leave.”
Dr. Baines set down the laptop. She was in her late forties, with silver beginning at her temples and the habit of pausing before difficult sentences.
“Your scans show no evidence of active disease,” she said.
Lena stared at her.
The words had been expected. The preliminary reading had been good. Still, they entered the room as something enormous and strangely quiet.
“No evidence,” Lena repeated.
“Correct. That is not the same as a guarantee. We continue monitoring. We discuss the next phase. We do not use the word cured today.”
“I know.”
“You’re allowed to be pleased.”
Lena looked at the floor.
She had imagined hearing the result beside Ethan. He had attended every scan except one. He knew which radiology technician played country music too loudly and which vending machine accepted only exact change. He had planned to take her for pancakes after this appointment.
Her eyes filled.
Dr. Baines handed her a tissue.
“This is not how I expected to react,” Lena said.
“There is no approved reaction.”
“I should call him.”
“You may call whoever you choose.”
Lena pressed the tissue beneath one eye. “He knew his mother was investigating me.”
Dr. Baines sat in the rolling chair.
Lena told her the rest. Not every detail, but enough.
When she finished, Dr. Baines rotated the paper cup between both palms.
“Do you trust him to tell you if a scan changes?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you trust him to tell you if he is frightened?”
Lena considered.
“Eventually.”
“That may be the larger problem.”
“You’re an oncologist.”
“People continue having lives while I treat them. It’s inconvenient.”
Lena laughed, then cried harder.
The crying remained quiet. Her shoulders moved. She pressed the tissue to her mouth and waited until the wave passed.
Dr. Baines did not tell her she was strong.
Before Lena left, they discussed follow-up imaging, fatigue, cardiac monitoring, and the slow return of hair. Dr. Baines examined the red marks on her scalp and said they would heal.
In the lobby, Lena called Ethan.
He answered before the first ring completed.
“Are you all right?”
“The scans are clear.”
He made no sound.
“Ethan?”
“I’m here.”
She could hear him breathing.
“No evidence of disease,” she said. “Monitoring continues. We don’t say cured.”
“I know.”
His voice broke on the last word.
Lena leaned against a wall beside a framed photograph of donors holding ceremonial shovels.
“I wanted to tell you first.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
She almost told him to stop saying it. Instead she closed her eyes.
“Where are you?”
“At the foundation office.”
“The board meeting?”
“In twenty minutes.”
“Are they letting you in?”
“They restored building access, not systems.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Tell the truth.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“Even the parts that make you look weak?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“Call me after.”
“Do you want me to?”
“I just asked you to.”
He exhaled. “Right.”
The board meeting lasted three hours.
Ethan called at one-twenty from his car. He sounded drained.
“Claire resigned,” he said.
“Because of Vivian?”
“Because she failed to verify authorization. The board asked her to stay through the review. She said she couldn’t.”
“And your mother?”
“Temporarily removed as chair.”
Lena sat at her kitchen table, where wedding gifts still occupied one wall in unopened boxes.
“Temporarily.”
“There will be an outside investigation.”
May you like
“Into the statement?”
“The statement, the false contact number, and whether foundation resources were used to gather information about you.”
