“It’s metastatic.” Dr. Watson’s voice was even, his hands folded on his desk. “The cancer has spread to your neck.”
“This means it’s . . . it’s Stage IV?”
“It’s Stage IV, yes.”
She should’ve brought a sweater. Was the AC on blast?
“I advise aggressive chemotherapy,” he was saying, “followed by a mastectomy, radiation, and likely more chemotherapy.”
Kendra was reeling. “And if I do . . . do all of that, is there a chance it’ll be cured?” She had to ask, though her research had already supplied the answer.
“This is not treatment with a curative intent. This is terminal.” His expression was empty. “But if you respond well to treatment, you might live a little longer—although I can’t give you any guarantees.”
Derek came forward in his chair. “What do you mean ‘a little longer’? How long are you giving her?”
“The five-year survival rate for inflammatory breast cancer is about 30 percent.”
“Only 30 percent live five years?” Derek asked. “And given Kendra’s particular diagnosis, what’s your best guess for her?”
The doctor looked at Kendra, as if questioning whether he should say.
“I’d like to know,” Kendra said.
“I’ve seen dozens of IBC patients, and my best guess is that two to two and a half years would be optimistic, if she responds well to treatment.”
Kendra had read story after story. She knew the life expectancy, even of a metastatic IBC diagnosis. But hearing it about her life . . .
She scrambled for air, scanning family pictures on the doctor’s desk, one of his wife and him as bride and groom. They probably had a perfect wedding, both in perfect health.
Dr. Watson was jotting notes. He looked up briefly. “I’m also advising that you start the chemo next week.”
Kendra’s eyes went wide. “Doctor, I’m getting married next week. We’ve been planning this for months. I can’t take the chance that I’ll be sick on my wedding day because of chemo.”
The doctor paused his pen. “Miss Woods, you’re sick now. I don’t think a dream wedding is your goal at this point.”
Kendra stared at him, dumbfounded. Did she no longer have input in her own life? Had she relinquished it to a man she’d known all of ten minutes?
“With all due respect, Dr. Watson,” she said, “you just told me this is not a cure, and there’s no guarantee it’ll even extend my life. So I’m not understanding why I can’t put it off for one week, to enjoy the wedding we’ve planned.”
He removed his glasses and looked pointedly at her. “My job is to effectively treat the cancer, Miss Woods. I can’t do that when patients get in the way. I need you to put all the ‘life’ things you want to do behind you and focus on the matter at hand.”
Kendra stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Watson.”
Kendra left the doctor’s office, almost more upset about his attitude than her diagnosis. Put the wedding behind her? Is that what he was saying? Chuck all the planning and money invested—not to mention how much her heart was invested—and do what? A quick vow exchange outside the chemo room?
She needed another oncologist. But she also needed a second opinion, just in case. She needed to know that her desire to proceed with her wedding as planned wasn’t insane.
Kendra remembered Dr. Myra Contee, a former neighbor back home and an oncologist who specialized in breast cancer. On staff at the Siteman Cancer Center at Wash U, Dr. Contee had made herself available for questions and support during Kendra’s mom’s illness.
Kendra called, and Dr. Contee said to fax her medical records ASAP so she could take a look. And while she waited to hear back, Kendra was determined to stay in the swing of wedding planning. She was inside the federal courthouse, making her way to the chambers of the Honorable Jayne Cardwell to discuss the final order of the ceremony. Derek had planned to come, too, but got called back to the office to handle a client crisis. They would connect a little later this evening, when they’d have dinner with his best man and Charlene.
It was after five, and the judge’s assistant and current law clerks were gone. The judge buzzed Kendra through the door herself.
Kendra smiled big when she saw her, sans black robe, impeccably dressed in a summer suit and top. They hugged like old friends. “Judge Cardwell, it’s so good to see you.”
The judge, nearing retirement age, smiled from her eyes. “Always a joy to see my favorite clerk.”
“You say that to all your former clerks.”
The judge laughed, neither confirming nor denying. Kendra had learned much from her about diplomacy in the year she’d spent there.
“How are you?” The judge always asked in a way that questioned the soul.
Kendra’s gaze faltered. “Fine, thanks.”
The judge’s eyes sparkled at her. “Can you believe the wedding is almost here? This is the most exciting thing on my docket.”
“Well,” Kendra said, “I guess I’m flattered that our wedding beats the trials of hardened criminals on the excitement meter.”
The judge chuckled. “And don’t forget those month-long patent infringement suits on the intricacies of computer hardware wiring. They’re a rousing good time.”
“Ah, yes, I remember well.”
“Let’s have a seat and get comfortable.”
Kendra followed Judge Cardwell from the outer chambers to her office, where she took the sofa and the judge took a chair.
“First, I want to say again that I am humbled that you’ve asked me to officiate your wedding. I consider it a great honor.”
“The honor is ours,” Kendra said. “We didn’t want anyone else to marry us.”
When they’d first gotten engaged, Kendra considered getting married back home, since her mother was sick and doing little travel. But the only pastor she knew was Pastor Lyles of Living Word Church, and she hadn’t been there in over a decade. Then her mother died, mooting the question.
Judge Cardwell grabbed a notepad from the side table. “So, the service starts at five o’clock in the evening,” she said. “What time should I arrive?”
“There’s another wedding before ours,” Kendra said. “Our party will be allowed in as early as three o’clock. Maybe since you won’t be able to attend the rehearsal you could arrive at four, for any last-minute instructions.”
“That’s a good plan,” the judge said. “In terms of the ceremony, when the string quartet signals the start of service, I walk out with Derek and the best man. Correct?”
“That’s right,” Kendra said. “Then our attendants will partner up and walk down the aisle—we have four bridesmaids and four groomsmen—then the maid of honor, flower girl, ring bearer, then yours truly.”
Kendra got butterflies picturing it. How often had she dreamed of that moment, when Derek would see her in her gown for the first time?
“And you’ll be walking down the aisle alone?”
“Yes. My father won’t be there, and it doesn’t make sense for anyone else to give me away.”
“Okay,” the judge said. She looked at her notes. “I have the Scripture verses that will be read, two songs, and”—she glanced up—“I believe I have the final copy of the vows?”
Kendra nodded. They’d cut and pasted different versions of traditional vows they’d found.
“Okay, and one more question—”
Kendra’s phone sounded. She’d given Dr. Contee a special ringtone too. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I need to get this.”
A million beats per second. That was her heart’s rhythm as she walked into the outer office. “Dr. Contee, hi.”
“Hi, Kendra, sorry to make you wait all day.”
“Not at all,” Kendra said. “Thank you for taking the time.”
“Even now, I only have a second before I see a patient,” Dr. Contee said. “But I wanted to give you my thoughts on this.”
Kendra closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“You’re not insane, is the short answer.” Dr. Contee had a soothing tone. “I see no problem with your moving forward with the wedding as planned. But you need to postpone the honeymoon and begin chemo right after the wedding.”
“Dr. Contee, I can’t thank you enough. This is the best news I’ve heard in days.”
“Kendra, again, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m still stunned. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call my private number. I’ll also compile a list of recommended oncologists in the DC area, as you asked.”
“I appreciate everything, Dr. Contee. Thank you.”
Kendra held the phone after she’d hung up, turning over her words.
I see no problem with your moving forward . . .
She couldn’t wait to share the news with Derek.
CHAPTER EIGHT
KENDRA SAT ACROSS FROM DEREK AT ONE OF THEIR FAVORITE restaurants on Capitol Hill, staring at a curious text message from Charlene.
U 2 LOVEBIRDS WANNA BE ALONE, HUH? I GUESS I’M NOT MAD AT YA, EVEN THOUGH I DON’T GET TO MEET THE SIDEKICK YET ;-) CALL ME LATER.
“Charlene’s not coming now?” Kendra flipped the phone around to show Derek. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. Let me call her.”
Derek covered her hand. “No need to call.”
“Why not?”
“I texted Charlene and Phil and asked them not to come. We need some time, just the two of us.” He paused. “It’s been a lot today, Ken.”
She stared at him a moment, then tucked her phone inside her purse, slightly irritated that he hadn’t discussed the change with her. It had been a lot today, but for that reason she’d been looking forward to escaping, just for a night, in laughter and wedding talk. Maybe he wanted to process it aloud. She had to remember that he was in this too.
“Good to see you two this evening.” Franklin, their preferred server, appeared with their favorite bottle of wine. He glanced at the place settings. “We’re waiting for two more?”
“Actually, no,” Derek said. “It’ll be just us.”
“Very good then.” He lifted the bottle toward Kendra. “Shall I pour you a glass?”
She almost nodded. Would alcohol be harmful? There was so much she had to learn about her life now. “Not tonight,” she said. “Water will be fine, thanks.”
Franklin tipped it Derek’s way. “Sir?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Kendra settled in as he poured, inhaling her surroundings . . . the soft lighting, light jazz, tables spaced with intimacy in mind. Maybe Derek had the right idea. They needed this time.
“Shall I start you with the pan-fried calamari?” Franklin asked.
Kendra’s mouth watered. She remembered the warning to stay away from fried delicacies so she could fit into her dress perfectly. But with the day she’d had, she might order the chocolate hazelnut cake for dessert as well. “I’d love that,” she said. “Derek?”
His thoughts were with his wine. He finished a sip and looked up, his brow questioning.
“Calamari?” Kendra said.
“Oh. Yes, sure.”
“Excellent,” Franklin said. “I’ll return shortly for your order.”
Kendra sipped her water. “You didn’t say much on the ride over here.” She stared into his eyes. “Were you upset that Dr. Contee advised postponing the honeymoon? I know how excited we were about Paris.” She added quickly, “Now that I think about it, it was just a recommendation. We could still go and—”
“Kendra . . .” Both hands cupping the glass, Derek stared into the red wine for long seconds, then looked at her. “I don’t think you’re operating in reality.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You received a terminal diagnosis of cancer this morning, and by evening you’re ready to hang out with friends and talk honeymoon in Paris?”
“Derek, my world was rocked this morning,” Kendra said. “You saw me. I could barely breathe, couldn’t stop shaking until we left that office.” She felt a shiver now thinking about it. “Is it wrong to try to find a little joy in other aspects of my reality? This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life.”
“I guess that’s what I’m saying.” He was staring at the glass again. “Nothing is as it was supposed to be. It’s all changed.” He looked at her, and his face wore an expression she’d never seen.
A different kind of shiver went through her. “What do you mean?”
“Kendra, it was a terminal diagnosis. Have you played that out in your mind?” His words were slow, pained. “We had so many plans for the future, for our careers, our kids, where we’d live, other trips we’d enjoy. That’s all . . . lost.”
His words pummeled her gut. She hadn’t wanted to play all that out in her mind. She wanted to focus on next week. The wedding. Then she’d deal with the rest of her new reality.
“But it’s not all lost.” Kendra needed him to see. She needed to see. “I’ve read a lot of stories of women who beat the odds, lived longer than expected, accomplished more than anticipated. It wasn’t easy, but they didn’t give up. They adjusted their plans.”
Derek nodded slowly. “I love you, Kendra, so much. And that’s one of the things I love about you, that you don’t give up. You go hard after everything in life. Even . . .”
The emotion in his voice tugged at her. She leaned in, to hear, to understand.
“Even . . .” he said again, “with this wedding. You wanted to do what you could to make it happen.”
“I’m just glad I thought to ask Dr. Contee,” Kendra said.
“But, Ken, you didn’t ask me.”
His words, almost a whisper, lunged at her. Her insides staggering, she couldn’t find her own words. Didn’t know if she wanted to.
“Hot and delicious pan-fried calamari.” Franklin set it down between them with two appetizer plates. “Are we ready to order?”
“We need a few minutes, please,” Derek said.
“No problem at all,” Franklin said. “Enjoy.”
She was shaking again. “I don’t . . . know what you mean.”
“You didn’t ask what I wanted to do about the wedding, what I wanted to do about us.”
She only stared at him.
“I love you, Kendra, but I’ve thought about it and thought about it.” He sighed. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do”—her breath stuttered—“what?”
“I can’t go through with this wedding next week.”
Her mind struggled to find nuance, to overthrow the obvious and claim the unlikely. He said next week—maybe he needed more time?
“I can’t go through with it at all,” he added. “I’m sorry. I really am. I feel awful, but I have to be honest with you and with myself. This is not what I envisioned.”
“And I did?”
“I know, babe.” He reached for her hand, and she pulled it back. “I just . . . What do you want me to do?”
“How about thinking about it for more than a few hours? How about that? You don’t think you owe us that? You don’t think I’m worth that?”
“I considered that,” he said. “But the only thing that’ll change by tomorrow or the next day is we’ll be that much closer to the wedding. How would that be fair, to let you get your hopes up that much more?”
“Oh, now we’re talking ‘fairness.’ Is it ‘fair’ to keep one’s word? Because what happened to ‘we’re in this together’?” She heard her voice rising and pulled it down. “I believed you. I thought you would be there for me.”
“None of this means I won’t be there for you,” Derek said. “I still love you, Ken. Whatever you need, I’ll walk with you through this.”
“I have to go.” She got up, covering her mouth, afraid she might vomit.
“Go where?” he said. “We took my car.” He stood. “I’ll drive you home.”
She pointed back at him. “Stay away from me.”
Kendra passed Franklin on the way out of the restaurant.
Outside, she doubled over suddenly. The valet rushed to her. “Miss Woods, are you okay?”
“Yes.” Her forehead beaded with sweat. She fanned herself with muggy air. “Can you hail me a taxi, please?”
He looked confused, especially as Derek walked outside. “Of course,” he said.
“Kendra, please.” Derek held her up. “Let me take you home. I can’t let you leave like this.”
A taxi swerved over to the curb, answering the valet’s signal.
She jerked away, wobbly, wanting the strength of his arms but needing to embrace the truth. She was alone. And she’d be alone the rest of her life, the little life she had left.
Kendra’s eyes hit her engagement ring. She pulled it off and dropped it in Derek’s hand. Then she made her way into the taxi and crouched into a ball in the backseat.
CHAPTER NINE
LANCE QUIETLY SCOOTED BACK HIS CHAIR, POISED TO SNEAK OUT of a meeting of various church leaders. They’d been at it more than two hours, and no one in the room seemed aware of the hugely urgent matter begging his attention—the VBS carnival kicking off outside.
Vacation Bible School wasn’t Lance’s ministry area—a dedicated children’s ministry staff and tons of volunteers pulled it off beautifully every summer. But for years he had spread the word in his old neighborhood and arranged transportation for as many as wanted to come. And this year, their new sister church was bringing a busload of those same kids.
Lance became a kid himself at the carnival, hyping the fun with his popular photo booth. He’d set it up earlier, with all kinds of silliness for the backdrop and props for the kids to dress themselves in. Many came straight from the face-painting booth. Others planted their faces in a mound of cotton candy. But it was all about capturing the moment and taking home pictures as souvenirs. Hearing the first squeals of laughter outdoors made him anxious to get out there.
“Anything else?” Pastor Lyles was asking.
Lance inched forward, hopeful.
“I just thought of something.”
Lance slumped in the chair, foiled by his friend Darrin, the worship pastor, sitting next to him.
“We’ve talked sort of informally about our next church plant,” Darrin said, “and a possible Clayton location. I’m wondering if and when we’ll take the next steps to flesh it out.” He nudged Lance. “I do know there’s a growing consensus that my man here would be a great choice to head it up.”
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