by Alicia Rae
For the first time that I could remember since I’d become sick, Iris let me be, as though she knew how fragile I was. Each time I passed her, I dimly noted that she had shifted in her seat.
At last, a knock sounded on the door.
I nearly shouted, “Come in!”
Dr. Enright strolled into the room, calm and collected as ever. My gaze traveled over his face, attempting to read his royal-blue eyes, in hopes of finding the answers I so desperately needed. They revealed nothing, of course. He was a sealed vault.
He tilted his head toward Iris, causing his gray hair to shimmer beneath the overhead lighting. Looking back at me, he said, “Ms. Jennings, how are you this morning?”
I couldn’t lie to him. This was Dr. Lucas Enright, the man who had to be around the age of my foster parents, and he held my future in his hands. He knew all my worst fears about this tumor—the main one, the possibility of having my life being ripped away from me. There was no reason to withhold the truth from him.
“I’m a mess,” I confessed on a whoosh. My chest deflated with the sudden harsh movement, and white stars danced in my line of vision.
Dr. Enright set his hand on my arm to steady me. I blinked several times until I observed his brows were scrunched together—in understanding or maybe pity.
Gosh, I hope that’s not pity.
“Raelyn, please have a seat.” He guided me toward Iris. “With my old age, I’m afraid my reaction time has slowed. If you faint, I’d hate for you to hurt yourself.”
I sat down next to Iris. She linked her hand with mine as Dr. Enright pulled up his chair from my left and positioned himself right in front of me.
I stopped breathing. This is it—the moment I’ve been waiting for.
“Raelyn”—Dr. Enright let out a breath and smiled softly—“I’m not going to go into in-depth medical details that you might not understand. Hell, some of it I don’t even understand, as it clearly goes against science.” His tone was full of wonder.
“Just tell me,” I cried unevenly, locking eyes with the doctor before holding my breath once again.
“I’m delighted to say that you’re in remission, Raelyn. There will be no need to continue another phase of chemotherapy.”
Iris shot forward in her chair, making it squeak against the white tiled floor. “Oh my God,” she wept with a death grip on my hand.
The room began to spin as my vision blurred. Ten thousand emotions seized me and held me captive. That short emotional fuse I’d been worried about was now lit.
“What?” I asked Dr. Enright, my voice splintering along with my heart at the possibility of his words being true. I was certain I had misunderstood him. “But…but you told me that my chances of survival were”—I blinked several times, but I stood no chance against the rush of tears—“minimal.”
“They were,” the doctor stated softly, shaking his head in awe. “I can’t really even explain it myself. As I said, the nature of your specific type of glioma tumor was extremely aggressive, and for it to respond to chemotherapy goes against science. My hopes were to give you more time, knowing the odds of a complete recovery would be slim to none. Today, I sit before you as a proud man to be proven wrong.” He revealed a genuine smile and handed me my most recent scan. “Your MRI is clear. You are in complete remission, Raelyn. You are cancer-free.”
Riveted in silence, I glanced down at the MRI. The mass I recalled seeing on the original scan was indeed gone. By some miracle, it had vanished with my treatments.
“I’m—” I broke off and inhaled a fresh breath of air. “I’m cured?”
“Yes.” Dr. Enright beamed at me. Within seconds, his expression sobered. “But, Raelyn, I need you to understand that, more often than not, tumors such as yours have a high chance of redeveloping at some point in time. With that said, there is little knowledge of how long you will remain in remission.”
My throat swelled. I swallowed thickly at this new information while nodding. “I understand.”
Dr. Enright placed his hand on mine. His eyes filled with compassion as he said, “I will still need to monitor you closely, and we will need to repeat an MRI every three months.”
“Okay.”
“Congratulations, Ms. Jennings.” Dr. Enright slightly lifted his hand and offered a handshake. “You are a free woman.”
I slipped my palm into his, overtaken by the emotions brewing inside me.
I’m free…but for how long?
Six Months Later
As I walked through the front doors of Adam & Jennings Accounting Services, I reveled in the feeling of the early morning slight breeze as it blew my sandy-blonde hair across my face.
To most, it would be considered a nuisance but not to me. My hair—my real hair—was actually growing. It finally bounced with my strides and was even long enough to curl the ends, which made me feel like a whole new woman in so many ways.
It was such a simple thing in life, yet to a cancer survivor, it was so much more. I’d been blessed to inhale the fresh air surrounding me for another day. I was alive.
I had three clear MRIs under my belt, and while I still feared the unknown of when my tumor might reappear out of thin air, I was determined to live life to its fullest. I wanted to have a thriving career, buy a tiny house on a prairie and decorate it with my own personal touch, and travel the world to see new places. Maybe someday, I’d even brave getting a tattoo.
“Hi, Raelyn!” Tim Beckett scurried after me.
En route to my office at the far end of the building, I waved at Kate and Liz. “Hey, Tim.” I smiled kindly at my personal assistant of five and a half months. “How are you this morning?” I queried, setting my briefcase down on my desk.
Tim had replaced Joe Hinesburg. Joe was my first assistant who had been with me for three years until he’d politely resigned when I fell ill. I completely understood his reason for leaving Adam & Jennings Accounting Services though. In my absence, there was no other place for Joe to move within the company, and he had a family to provide for. The two of us had parted on good terms, and I’d even written a letter of recommendation for him, so he could find another reputable job in the field.
“Never better,” Tim replied with a wink, approaching the side of my desk with a brown disposable cup in his grasp. I could feel his eyes on me with each step. “I brought you your favorite coffee with cream and one sugar.” He grinned. “Just like you like it.”
I gently took the cup from him. With him standing so close, I had to tip my head up to meet his gaze. The man was a staggering six feet two against my petite five-four frame.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Tim.” I smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A shy smile spread across his thin lips, and his brown eyes shimmered a little too much.
It made my belly coil with anxiety. I was hoping Tim wouldn’t start our jam-packed morning with the one question that would make me want to run ninety miles in the opposite direction of him—or any man, for that matter.
Right on cue, Tim asked, “I know it’s a workday and all, but I was hoping we could maybe have a bite to eat at that little café around the corner, if there is time for a lunch break today?”
My chest constricted around the walls of my heart, and my attention drifted to everywhere in the room but the man standing in front of me.
There was only one thing I’d absolutely denied myself since I was given a second chance at life, and that was falling in love. Love was a fantasy. I’d learned my lesson in the worst possible way. I’d been left alone, nearly on my deathbed, to battle for my next breath by a man who was supposed to love me until the end of our days, in health and sickness.
My stomach twisted painfully. That hadn’t happened though.
There was something to be said about being a survivor. With a wound that had broken the flesh came a rough dark scab. It was considered the first stage of healing. A deeper incision of the skin was guaranteed to leave a scar in its place, especially when
it was inflicted upon the heart. Instead of letting mine heal on its own, I’d stamped an armor made of impenetrable steel over it. That way, the armor would firmly seal over my heart, and they would fuse together, creating a bond stronger than any glue. This method would ensure my survival and save me from the possibility of ever allowing myself to be wounded again. It was a win-win all around.
I met Tim’s disappointed stare, feeling the sudden unease in the room at my extended silence. I swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, Tim. I can’t…” I began. My voice was light and sincere, hoping he wouldn’t take my words the wrong way.
Tim was just trying to be nice, and he was a nice guy, but I knew where this conversation was leading.
“I know, I know. Not a date. Just work stuff,” he rambled nervously, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his gray-and-white pinstriped suit. His embarrassment didn’t go undetected by me as he continued, “I thought we could take Heathman’s file with us and review some numbers for your appointment with Damien at one this afternoon.”
I couldn’t help but feel that Tim was changing his tactics, using work as his main reason to spend extra time with me, but I was quickly distracted. Just hearing the name Damien Heathman made my nerves spike into overdrive.
Heathman Enterprises was a huge account that my partner, Cale Adam, usually handled. However, Cale wanted to land another great opportunity with Bryson Hendricks, who had recently been shopping for a respectable accounting firm, so Cale planned to pass Heathman Enterprises over to me.
I pushed my anxiety aside, knowing I was beyond ready for this appointment. I’d studied Heathman’s file for the past two months, and I knew it like the back of my hand.
I politely told Tim, “I will block thirty minutes in my schedule late this morning, so we can look over the numbers together.” I nervously pointed to my desk and clarified, “Here. In the office. Say, eleven o’clock?”
“Sounds great.” Tim headed for the door. With his hand on the wooden frame, he softly smiled back at me. “See you soon.”
I emptied the rush of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, thankful I’d dodged a bullet. Now, it was time to get to work.
At my desk, I was knee-deep in finishing up some paperwork as Cale breezed into my office at half past ten.
Tearing my gaze away from my task at hand, I saw Cale’s vibrant green eyes lock on mine as he continued forward with his usual sense of superiority and mischief.
“Hey, Rae.” Cale smiled casually.
I quirked a brow at my business partner and longtime friend as he sat in the brown leather chair across from me. “Raelyn,” I corrected him for the millionth time.
Placing his hands behind his head, he leaned back in the seat and shot me his famous teasing smirk. “But that’s a mouthful. Rae is only one syllable.”
I was so glad to see him in a good mood. It was a rare sight these days. Still, I couldn’t help but playfully narrow my eyes at him. “Because two syllables are so much harder to say?”
He snapped his fingers and then pointed at me. “You got it.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing I’d never win this battle with him. Cale had been calling me Rae since college, only doing so to grate on my nerves, like a big brother would pick on his little sister. It was annoying and frustrating, to say the least.
I picked up a random piece of scratch paper on my desk, wadded it into a ball, and chucked it, aiming for his pretty boy face. “Is there a reason you are here to see me? Some of us have work to do.”
Laughing, he caught it in his hands in the nick of time. The rapid movement caused a loose strand of hair to flop forward on his forehead. “You mean, other than to bother you? No.”
Before I could figure out what to toss at him next, Cale added, “I just stopped in to see if you were ready for your meeting with Damien Heathman.” His expression softened. “I know how nervous you get before you meet with clients.”
Another bad thing about close friends was that they knew your weak spots. I, for one, was a catastrophe waiting to happen when it came to presentations and public speaking. No matter how much I practiced and memorized my speech, I’d always clam up, and my mind would go blank. I was hopeless.
That didn’t mean I would ever acknowledge my weakness aloud, so I feigned complete nonchalance and squared my shoulders. “I’m not nervous,” I stated on a fib. “I’ve read Heathman’s file at least twenty times, front to back, so this should be a walk in the park.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Cale lifted his hand and tossed the wad of scrap paper in the trash can at the right of my desk. “Damien is an outstanding guy. I don’t foresee him giving you any trouble—as long as you know your numbers.”
“That’s a relief,” I replied, knowing I could always trust Cale to be honest with me.
Plus, he and Damien were friends outside of work, so my partner’s admission put me at ease.
“All right.” Cale rose from his position and stood before me. “I have an appointment with Wittman and Sons Law Firm at twelve sharp. I expect to be back in time to sit in on your meeting with Damien, but I want you to go ahead and start without me if I run a few minutes late.”
My heart fell with the weight of Cale’s words related to his ongoing heartache over his unexpected divorce from Sage. Of all the people who I’d thought would be married for the long haul, it was the two of them. They’d been the perfect couple all through college and exchanged vows shortly after we’d graduated.
“Are you okay, Cale?” I asked, unsure of what else to say. Then, I silently chided myself for my stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay. I quickly recovered with, “I mean, is there anything I can do for you?”
A dozen emotions skirted across his features. The grief and regret were apparent in his eyes, and I hurt for him.
“No, thanks.” He smiled sadly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be okay soon.”
“I’m sorry.” I squeezed my hands together in my lap, wishing I could give him a hug.
Cale wasn’t a hugging kind of guy though. He rarely showed his feelings, and when he did, he would be a ticking time bomb with a short fuse. I didn’t want to be the one to set him off.
“Don’t be.” He sighed, hiding the pain in his eyes. “It took me a long time to realize that Sage and I were never meant to be husband and wife.” He tucked his right hand into the front pocket of his suit and shrugged. “Separating is the best thing for the both of us. I don’t want to be the one to drag her down.”
Confused, I wanted to ask him to elaborate.
Before I had a chance to respond, Cale opened the door and said, “See you later, Rae. Good luck.”
I frowned at my door. Something had been off with him lately. I only wished I had the slightest clue as to what that might be.
After my rundown over Heathman’s account with Tim, I felt confident and prepared. Gathering all my necessary documents, I stacked them into a neat pile on the corner of my desk. It was twenty till one, but I wanted to be extra early to my meeting, so I could be in the room first to help keep my nerves at bay.
My head whipped up at the sound of a light tapping on the door.
“Come in.”
“Hey, Raelyn.” Kate, our secretary, popped her head into my office and smiled. “Mr. Heathman, your one o’clock appointment, is here. Would you like me to take him to the conference room, or should I seat him in the waiting room?” she asked, shooting my whole plan to shit.
I let out a deep breath. There goes having the upper hand of being the first person in the room.
Surely, men like Damien Heathman, who was our top-paying client, were never seated in a waiting room, so I told her, “No, that’s all right, Kate. Please show him to conference room A, and tell him I’ll be with him in just a moment.”
“Of course. Good luck.” She winked.
All I could do was nod as Kate shut the door. Once alone, my breathing began to accelerate, but I tried to remind myself to remain calm. After all, Heathman Enterprise
s was already a secured account with Adam & Jennings Accounting Services. I was merely showing Damien that he was being transferred to capable hands.
With my self-assurance firmly tucked back into place, I lifted my files and tightly clutched them to my chest. I walked to the door where I opened it with clammy fingers. My pulse hammered unsteadily with every step down the narrow hallway en route to my destination. I focused my attention on the elegant water paintings that Cale and I had collected in an effort to spruce up our office.
Tim was waiting for me outside the conference room with the wooden door still closed. He leaned his tall, slender body toward mine. “You ready?” he asked with a grin.
“Yes, of course,” I said, feeling anything but.
His eyes searched mine with worry. “Would you like me to sit in on this with you until Cale arrives?”
Disappointment rolled through me at learning that my wingman was still amiss, but I quickly squashed it like a small bug. It was just me and the numbers. They were facts—consistent, reliable, and truthful. There was no room to doubt them. I could do this.
“No.” I shook my head adamantly and reiterated, “I can do this.” The latter was more reassurance for myself than for Tim.
I’d just have to follow Cale’s advice that he always used when he felt intimidated by powerful clients that our company depended on. I’d search Damien for some kind of flaw visible to the eye. Maybe I’d get lucky, and he’d have a ketchup or mustard stain on his shirt for me to stare at, a large bald spot on top of his head, or a big red pimple on his crooked nose that I could focus on. I just needed one minor imperfection to zone in on.
“Yes, you can.” Tim set his hand on my shoulder and gently squeezed it. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
“Thanks.” I laughed nervously.