Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  “For you, I have many seconds,” she says. “What’s up, kiddo? You all right?”

  “My advisor just called and told me I have to do a whole other study for my dissertation.” I lean against the wall. “This could keep me from graduating on time.” Spots float in front of my eyes. It might take me another year to get everything done. My thoughts whirl with images of tuition bills, loan applications, the big red flag on my resume …

  “Breathe, Nessa,” she says quietly. “I wish I was there. You sound so upset, and I know how hard you’ve been working.”

  “And now I have to do this! I have patients for the rest of the day. I can’t even start to figure it out until I get home.”

  “How many hours have you worked so far this week?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “No idea.”

  “I have a feeling I know what you’re going to say to this, but … I think you might be better off if you take a break tonight. Maybe get a fresh start tomorrow?” She pauses for a second, then adds, “Are you still going out with Aron?”

  I hang my head. “Yeah, but with this study on top of everything—”

  “Nessa, don’t do that. Don’t cut off all your supports just because—”

  “Just because? Mom, I might. Not. Graduate. After all these years. There is no ‘just because’!” I sniffle and stand up straight. “I have a client in a few minutes. I have to go.”

  “Okay,” she says hesitantly. “I’m sure you’ll figure out what to do. Please call me later if you need?”

  “Thanks, Mom.” I hang up and allow myself a few minutes to pull it together, wipe my tears, check my mascara in the pocket mirror from my bag, and head to the oncology unit. I’m supposed to meet with Ursula now, the patient I share with Dr. Feldman. Yesterday they got the results from a battery of diagnostic tests, but her parents don’t want her to know how bad it is, and they’ve instructed all of us to keep the information from Ursula. They’re afraid that letting her know how sick she really is will steal her hope. I feel uneasy keeping information from this kid—she’s fourteen years old—but her parents get to make the call.

  The walk between the psychology intern office and the main hospital is one I make several times every day. And now that October is upon us, I’ve switched from pumps and sandals to knee-high boots, so it’s slightly more comfortable. As I pass through the elevated passage between the rehab center and the main hospital, I gaze out at the bright blue, sunny sky, and my thoughts wander to Aron. I was hoping we could go out tonight, but now there’s no chance of that. I’ll be spending all my free time in the foreseeable future trying to make sure I graduate on time.

  Ursula’s lying in her hospital bed when I walk into her room. Unlike many of the kids on this unit, Ursula has her hair, and that’s because she hasn’t yet shaved it or lost it. Yet. She was a patient here years ago, when she was just a preschooler. Acute lymphoblastic leukemia. She spent three years in and out of treatment, and with chemo and a bone marrow transplant, she was finally pronounced cancer-free. But a few weeks ago, she came back in for a check-up after feeling tired and losing weight. Tests confirmed that the cancer is back, and even worse than that, it’s metastasized, making her chances of long-term survival extremely slim. Transplant isn’t an option this time. In fact, only Phase I clinical research trials to test maximum dosages of certain chemotherapy drugs are on offer. It’s an awful choice, but her parents know what they want for her.

  I’ve only had one conversation with Ursula, when Dr. Feldman brought me in and introduced me to her and her parents, but after spending only a few minutes with her, I’m not convinced this painful and grueling treatment is what Ursula would choose for herself if she was making the decisions.

  “Hey there,” I say softly as I approach her bed.

  Her eyelids flutter, finally revealing her lovely, dark brown eyes. She gives me a brave smile. “You’re the psych person, right?”

  “Yep. Nessa. I wanted to chat with you for a while. I know you’ve been admitted for some tests.” I’m fishing. And hoping her parents have relented and told her what’s happening.

  She gazes out the window to the construction site across the street from the hospital. “Do you know what I remember most about being a little kid?” she asks.

  “Tell me.”

  “Being here.”

  My heart clutches. “Any specific memories you want to share?”

  “We would have head-shaving parties before the start of another round of chemo,” she said. “The nurses tried to make it fun. There was this girl, Kendra, and we did it together once. It was like a slumber party. We had popsicles after.”

  “That sounds kind of nice.”

  She looks back at me. “Kendra didn’t make it to her tenth birthday.”

  I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Ursula.”

  The girl’s beautiful eyes fill with tears. “I’m going to die, too. I know it. They’re not telling me, but they don’t have to.”

  My own eyes start to sting. I’m already worn thin, and this is killing me. “Have you talked to your mom and dad about your fears?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t want to hurt them, and they don’t want to hurt me, either. But they won’t tell me what’s going on. Do you know?”

  “I … I’m not a doctor, Ursula. I’m not really the person to—”

  “You do know, though. Can you tell me? I won’t tell anyone you did, but I have a right to know.” She sits up a little, and it looks like it takes a lot of work.

  I put another pillow behind her back. “Have you asked your parents?”

  “They tell me they’re not sure yet, and I don’t want to fight with them.”

  Frustration crashes down on me. I stand up. “Are they here now?” I ask her.

  “They went to get lunch, I think.” She watches me closely, looking hopeful. “Will you find out, Nessa? Find out and tell me. I deserve to know.” Her clammy fingers touch my wrist.

  “I think you do,” I say to her. “I’m going to see if I can get you some answers.”

  I turn to the door. Dr. Feldman is watching me from the hallway. “Can I see you in my office, please, Ms. Cavenaugh?” she asks in a flat voice, then stalks down the corridor without waiting for my answer.

  I put on a brave face, wave goodbye to Ursula, and follow Dr. Feldman to the staff hallway and into her office. She whirls on me as soon as I enter. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she snaps.

  “I … was telling a patient that I’m going to talk to her parents?”

  “You told her she deserves to have answers,” Dr. Feldman says. Her voice is a razor, as severe as her rail thin frame and her slate gray eyes. “Did it occur to you that maybe she doesn’t? She’s a minor, and her parents have decided not to tell her about her prognosis.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, as if that’s going to protect me. “I didn’t mean to say anything to create more conflict, but I disagree about her not deserving to know. In fact,” I tell her, my voice starting to rise, “she already knows. She told me she thinks she’s going to die. Is she right?”

  Dr. Feldman grimaces. “It’s impossible to say. If she participates in this Phase I trial, she might—”

  “What if she doesn’t want that? If her prognosis is as grim as I think it is, shouldn’t she have some say in what you’re going to put her through?”

  If looks could kill, I’d be disemboweled. “Watch yourself, Ms. Cavenaugh. What I’m going to put her through? You sound like a child. Like you think I do this because I enjoy hurting kids. And if that’s how you feel, you don’t belong in a pediatric setting.”

  Once again, I’ve said exactly the wrong thing, but I don’t back down. This isn’t about me—it’s about Ursula. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that she’s not an infant, and she shouldn’t be treated like one. And her parents … they think they’re doing this for her, but they’re not. They’re doing it for themselves, and I—”

  “How dare you,” Dr. Feldman
snarls. “They’re good people. Accusing them of selfishness is really low.”

  “I never said they were being selfish!” But then I realize it sounded that way, and I close my eyes and try again, wishing I could do one thing right today. “I think it hurts them too much to think of her being scared, and so they’re trying to spare her, but she’s too perceptive. If I could talk to them—”

  “A better option might be to remove you from this case entirely.”

  I rock back. “What?”

  She leans forward. “I’ve heard some disturbing things about your conduct, Ms. Cavenaugh, and I’m getting the sense you feel entitled to do whatever you want.” She looks me up and down. “Now I’m seeing it for myself, and I don’t like it.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask, but there’s no air behind my words. I clutch at a nearby chair to keep myself upright. Possibilities churn in my head, all the ways I could have screwed up.

  “I don’t usually pay attention to rumors. I don’t usually care about trainees’ personal behavior.” Her eyes narrow. “Except to the extent that it reflects on their ethics and professional habits.”

  “I’m not … I don’t know what you heard …” But I do. Nick’s probably been whispering to whomever would listen. I can’t stop the tears that glaze my eyes, and any logic I might have had deserts me. Dr. Feldman is staring at me with this pitiless, disgusted expression. Not worthy of being here, it says. Not worthy.

  “Excuse me, please,” I whisper, then pivot on my heel and walk as quickly as I can for the staff elevator. I lean against the wall, jabbing at the down button until I hear a soft ding.

  And of course, when the doors slide open, Aron and Mark are standing there, holding cups of coffee. Their smiling faces freeze when they see me.

  I dive for the stairwell, desperate for escape.

  Chapter Eight

  I take the steps so quickly that I nearly fall.

  “Nessa!” Aron calls from one flight above me. “Wait!”

  The sound of his voice makes me even more frantic. People walk up the stairs past me, trying not to stare. Especially because I’m being chased by a tall Swedish doctor who’s shouting for me to slow down. Finally, I reach the bottom floor where the food court and cafeteria are, and I dart through the doors.

  “Oh no, you don’t.” Aron hooks his fingers around my arm before I can reach the women’s bathroom, and he walks us briskly toward Stokes auditorium, which, mercifully, is empty at the moment. He keeps a firm grip on me as he steers me through the doors and closes them behind us. “You’re scaring me,” he says as he turns to me, and he winces when he sees my tear-stained face. “Nessa …” He opens his arms, inviting me in.

  “I can’t.” I put my hands out to ward him off.

  His arms fall to his sides. “Okay. Will you at least tell me what’s going on?”

  I blink fast, trying to regain my composure … and failing. “I’m not sure I can do that, either,” I choke out.

  “Why?” he asks, frustration creeping in.

  I back up until my shoulders hit a wall. “I need to figure this out by myself. And it’s all too much right now.”

  He moves toward me slowly. “If it’s too much, you could let me carry some of it.”

  “I should be able to do that myself. And if I can’t—”

  “It would mean you’re human.” He pauses a few feet away. “Nessa, if you tell me to leave you alone, I will. I don’t presume that I have the right to know what’s going on in your head. But this doesn’t have to be only casual conversation and fantastic kissing,” he says, gesturing between us.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I moan, covering my face with my hands.

  “Then forget what I just said. It was stupid anyway.”

  I peek at him from between my fingers and see the good-natured exasperation in his expression. “I’m having a really bad day,” I whisper, tears welling up again.

  “Let’s keep this simple, then. I’m going to hug you now.”

  I’m too wrecked to back away or resist as he moves forward and enfolds me. Before I can think to stop myself, I’m wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing the side of my face to his chest, inhaling his scent, soaking up his warmth. And then I start to sob. I can’t hold it in anymore. He’s going to think I’m a nutcase. I mean, we’ve been out on maybe four dates, and yes, they’ve been perfect and fun, but—

  He guides me over to the chairs in the back row of the auditorium, and we sit down. He puts his arm over my shoulders and brushes my hair away from my wet face, swiping a tear with the pad of his thumb. “What’s up? Can I help?”

  I look toward the far wall, trying to bring the shudders under control. “I don’t think so.” I think my relationship with him is part of the problem, but the idea of letting it go is enough to send new tears streaming down my face. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  I let out a raspy laugh. “No, you don’t.”

  He strokes my cheek and guides my face back toward his. “I’ll make time. Tell me.”

  Between sniffles, I do. I tell him about Frank’s phone call, and what I have to do, and then I tell him about Ursula. And Dr. Feldman. His expression grows angrier as he listens. “Nick has been hard at work,” he says, deadly quiet.

  “I don’t want to think about what he’s been saying to people.” I cross my arms over my middle. “I don’t know how I managed to mess everything up so badly.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you messed up anything. It sounds like you had bad luck with your graduate work and that you’re getting actively screwed over by a vengeful, immature colleague.”

  I close my eyes. “I didn’t need his help. I mean, Dr. Feldman obviously thinks there’s something to those rumors, but you should have heard me, Aron. Every sentence out of my mouth made things worse. And now she wants to pull me from the case because she thinks I’m some sort of loose cannon.” I laugh bitterly. “‘Loose’ being the operative word.”

  He stiffens, and then slowly pulls his arms away and crosses them over his chest. “This isn’t fair to you,” he says in a tight voice.

  I shiver at the loss of his warmth, but I’m scared to ask for him to come closer, scared of how much I want it. Even worse, how much I need it. I don’t want to need it. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess. You met me at kind of an intense time in my life, and I’m not sure I can juggle all this ...”

  “I don’t mind the mess.” He takes my hand. “But I’d mind if you pushed me away.”

  I look at our joined hands and then lift my gaze to his face, only a few inches from mine. I can smell the green tea on his breath. “You would?”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Most definitely. I like you.”

  I chuckle. “I wish Joanna Feldman liked me.”

  “From what you told me, this case has gotten to her. She knows Ursula probably won’t make it, and she’s mad as hell about that. She took it out on you. It’s not fair, but my guess would be that’s a huge piece of this.” He strokes the back of my hand. “Wait until she’s calmed down, and you’re calmed down, and go talk to her again. Make sure she knows that you understand what she’s trying to do, and that Ursula’s life is important to her. She’ll come around. Joanna’s a reasonable person. Most of the time.”

  I bow my head against his shoulder. “Perfect. Now all I have to do is calm down.”

  His fingers slide over my hair. “Do you have thirty minutes?”

  “I guess so. I mean, no, I have no time, but—”

  He takes my face in his hands. “Listen to me. You will never have time. You are a busy professional, and there will always be things you have to do. But you’ll get a lot more done if you’re relaxed and happy instead of on the verge of tears, right?”

  “Who’s the psychologist, here?”

  He grins. “Will you come somewhere with me? It won’t take long.”

  “Yes.” I’m not quite smiling, but I’m
getting there. He tugs me up and, with my hand firmly in his, he leads me out of the auditorium, out of the hospital altogether. We walk through the plaza as a cool breeze gusts at our hair, blowing a few orange and brown leaves past. It’s a gorgeous day, and the sun warms my face as we weave through the Penn science complex and cross Curie Boulevard.

  “Are we going to a park?” I ask, eyeing the oasis of trees that peeks out at us from between buildings up ahead.

  He gives me a sly smile. “Wait and see.” We stroll along a sidewalk until we reach a path that disappears into the woods.

  I look around in wonder as we make our way along the stone-lined walkway. We’re in the middle of Philadelphia, the center of the Penn campus, and it’s like we’ve been swallowed by a forest. Finally, we reach a pond. “It’s part of the bio department,” Aron says. “Used for botanical research. It’s a rather well-kept secret. I love coming here.”

  I can’t hold in my laughter. “Are those turtles?”

  “Indeed they are,” he says, watching my face. “And they made you smile.”

  One of the turtles plops into the brownish water of the little pond, disappearing into the murk as a huge bird pops up from behind a tangle of branches. It’s a heron. And there are fat, multicolored Koi swimming near the rockwall around the pond, and a gently splashing waterfall … “Good call.”

  He draws me toward him, green eyes resting on me with a tangible, sensual heaviness. “I’ve never brought anyone here before. I usually come here to be alone.”

  I’m falling into this, into his gaze, and it’s almost too much to take. “Don’t tell me that,” I whisper, looking away. I shouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling, especially with rumors swirling and everything falling apart. I can’t do this now—

  “Do you play chess?” he asks, snapping me out of my spinning thoughts.

  “Huh?”

  “Come on.” He pulls me over to a table with a built-in chessboard. There’s a box on the table with some old plastic chess pieces in it. “My father and my brother Max would play every Sunday afternoon, and I would sit at the table, watching them. They thought I was too young to understand, but I picked it up quickly.”