The doctor nodded. “Not might. Will.”
The appointment concluded on a decidedly unsatisfactory note. As they left the building, Andrew said, “Candace, I’d like to talk with you a little bit. Would you walk over to the Diner on the Corner with us and get some ice cream or something?”
“Sure.” Candace had time before she needed to pick up the children from school. She altered her direction, and they crossed Whittington Street, then continued down the block to where the little eatery perched at an intersection right across from the hospital. The staff often came here for a bite to eat, and it was affectionately known as “the Corner” around the hospital.
Andrew held the single glass door open, and Candace and Robin preceded him into the little diner. Robin led them to a booth along the front wall beneath the window, where she and Andrew slid onto one of the dark green vinyl benches. Candace took a seat across from them.
The yellow café curtains all along the plateglass windows gave the room a cheerful look. A long counter stretched the length of the diner, with a small area at one end where there were several tables. Metal stools with green vinyl padded seats stood in a rigid line, while the sizzle of meat on the griddle, the clatter of flatware and the constant hum of animated conversation filled the air.
Candace saw several familiar faces from the hospital but no one she knew well.
A young waitress rushed up with glasses of water. “Hi, folks. My name is Lindy—oh hi, Candace! Didn't recognize you out of your scrubs,” she joked.
Candace smiled back. “Hi, Lindy.”
“What can I get you folks? Our specials are up on the board.” She gestured at a chalkboard near the center of the counter.
“I would like a hot fudge sundae,” Candace told her.
“Aha. Going straight for the chocolate fix today,” Lindy said.
“I think I’ll have one of those too,” Robin said.
Andrew opted for apple pie, and as Lindy left to get their food, he said, “So we need to discuss this surgery.”
“No, we do not,” Robin said. “I will not endanger the life of our baby unnecessarily.”
“It's not unnecessary!” Andrew sounded as if his patience was strained to the breaking point. Candace could see the tension in the young husband's face as he went on. “You can't let this tumor grow inside you for three more months. Who knows how big it will get and how much it could spread in that time. You have to have it taken out, Robin.”
Robin put a hand over her husband's, which was clenched into a fist. “Honey, I understand how you feel. But it's just too great a risk.”
Candace had been quiet as the couple argued. But at Robin's words, she cleared her throat. “That's not exactly true, Robin.”
“You, of all people, should understand my position. You’ve been pregnant. Would you want to risk losing your baby?”
“I think you’re being a little pessimistic.” When the young woman leaned across the table, eyes flashing, Candace held up a hand and calmly said, “Hear me out. Please.”
Robin sat back, altering her taut, aggressive posture. But her shoulders were still set and tense, and her mouth was set in an unyielding line. “Okay. Your turn.”
Candace chose her words carefully, not wanting Robin to feel as if Candace and Andrew were ganging up on her. “Dr. Prelutski gave you up-to-date statistics on the risks associated with surgery and anesthesia. I would like you two to go home and read over the information he provided before you make any final decisions.”
Andrew's face fell. “But—”
“Those statistics may reassure you,” she went on, speaking to Robin. “If you contrast them with the mortality statistics associated with stage III and stage IV breast cancer, which could be the case if you decide to delay treatment for three months, you should be able to see which choice is safer for you.”
“It's not me I’m worried about,” Robin reminded her in a testy tone. “My first priority is the baby.”
Lindy returned with their order, and Candace paused before continuing. As the young waitress set down their sweet treats, Candace decided to lighten the intensity of the discussion for a few moments. “Have you decorated your nursery yet?”
Robin's face lit up. Within moments, she was describing their preference to be surprised to find out if the baby was a boy or girl and how they had chosen the gender-neutral Winnie the Pooh theme. That led into the merits of various types of baby accessories.
When a short pause fell, Candace decided to return to the previous topic.
“I understand what you were saying earlier about your baby being your first priority.” Candace smiled. “And I don't blame you.” She took a breath, deciding that plain speaking was the only choice. And that her own pain came in a poor second behind the need to be sure Robin understood exactly what she might be consigning the rest of her family to. “But do you want your baby to grow up without you?”
Robin froze.
Candace pressed on, though every word was difficult to utter. “Do you want your husband to have to raise your child by himself?”
The questions hung in the air for a long moment. Neither of the couple across the table appeared to even take a breath.
“No,” Candace said in a soft tone. “You don’t.” She paused, then took a deep breath and continued. “You never met my husband, Robin, but he was a wonderful man and an amazing father. He died three years ago when our children were eight and two.” As Robin's gaze flashed to her face, she bore down, refusing to cry, though her throat was so tight her words were hard to get out. “I miss him every day. Every time one of them does something funny, or learns a new skill, I want to share it with him. Sometimes I still glance around before remembering he's not there.”
“Candace.” Robin's voice was a stricken whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
Candace made an effort to smile. The knot strangling her vocal cords eased slightly, and she was able to force her lips into a weak smile. “I’m sorry too. I didn't intend to bring my personal life into this.”
She couldn't look at either of them, so she dropped her gaze to the scarred top of the white table. “Please weigh the benefits of surgery against the possible negative outcomes. Evaluate your and your baby's chances of surviving with each choice. And trust your medical professionals. Yes, bad things sometimes do happen. In medicine, as in life, there are few guarantees. But most of the time, medicine offers an excellent chance to improve the quality of health and life.”
Andrew told her soberly, “You’ve made this much more real to us. It's very scary to think of being a parent without Robin around to keep herding me in the right direction.” He smiled at his wife and put an arm around her.
As Robin cuddled against his side, Candace battled back a pang of envy. Lord, she prayed, fill my heart with joy that these two young people have each other. Fill my mind with the wonderful memories of my years with Dean. And while You’re at it, could You please erase this nasty feeling of jealousy? It's hard to see happy couples, and I don't always do such a great job of appreciating the blessing of the years Dean and I had together. And also, if You don't mind, help Robin and Andrew make the right choice to treat her cancer successfully with no lasting side effects.
Picking up her handbag, she said, “I must be going. But please call me if there are any other questions I can answer for you. I’ll see you in class.”
“See you in class,” both Robin and Andrew echoed. Before Candace could pick up the check Lindy had left on the table, Andrew slapped a hand over it and grinned. “Nope. Our treat. We really appreciate your taking the time to come with us and to share your point of view.”
Robin awkwardly maneuvered her burgeoning belly out of the booth and stood to give Candace a hug. “I don't know what I would be doing right now without you.”
Chapter Seven
ON SATURDAY, JAMES ENTERED THE STAFF LOUNGE. IT was nearly deserted, with just one X-ray tech reading a hardback book on one of the couches.
James slow
ed and glanced at the book as the tech looked up and smiled. It was Dan Brown's latest. “Great story,” James said.
He moved on and seated himself at one of the computers kept available for staff use. Pulling a small flash drive from his scrub top pocket, he inserted it into the computer and opened the document he’d been working on. As he began to review and revise his work, the door opened and Anabelle entered the lounge.
Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she crossed the room to his side. “Hello, James.”
“Hi, Anabelle. How are you doing?” As he looked at her more closely, he realized that she seemed disturbed and upset. “Are you all right?”
Anabelle sighed. She dragged a chair over from one of the tables and sank down. “I’m okay. Just a little down. Remember I told you Kirstie moved into her own place?” He nodded, and Anabelle sent him a wry smile. “I’m not doing a very good job of not worrying about her.”
James and Anabelle had gone to the same church for many years. He remembered how long Kirstie was on the prayer list after the terrible bicycle accident in which the young woman had lost a leg. Calculating time in his head, he realized it had to have been more than a decade ago. “What are you concerned about?”
“Her health,” Anabelle said promptly. “I’m afraid she’ll overdo it, not take proper care of herself. She's completely recovered, of course, but she's always going to have a little bit more to think about than most people.”
“Sounds like you’re the one who's not recovered,” James said, giving her a sympathetic smile.
Anabelle tried to laugh, but it was obvious there was a grain of truth in the comment.
James absently watched the technician close his book and leave the lounge. “I imagine it's hard to let go after so many years of watching over her.”
“It is.” She twisted her fingers together in an uncharacteristic sign of nerves. Then she inhaled and exhaled deeply. “But I have to.” She cocked her head. “What are you doing?”
“I’m working on my résumé,” James told her.
“Oh, James, I wish you’d reconsider.”
He shrugged. “I wish I could. But I have a family to support; and I’m afraid if I wait, there will be a million other people who all have the same idea.”
Ruefully, Anabelle nodded in acknowledgment. “I suppose you’re right. So what kind of jobs are you looking at?”
“I don't know. Anything here in town, for starters. And, of course, I have to have a day job so I can help with the boys in the evening, so maybe a doctor's office or clinic would be best.” He looked down.
“But you like the hospital setting best,” she said.
“I do.” James raked a hand through his hair, balancing the chair on its back legs. “I love working in a hospital. This hospital. If I didn't have a family, I probably would take my chances. But I do have a family.” He smiled. “Thank heavens.”
Anabelle smiled too. “Thank heavens for family is right.”
“I could go farther away, to another hospital, but I would hate being so far away from Fern. It really bothers her that she can't contribute more. If it came to a choice between being close to home or working in a hospital, I’d choose to stay close.”
“Unless the money was amazing,” Anabelle said.
“Well, yes,” he admitted. “That would change things a little. I’ve been thinking of remodeling the house to put a master bedroom with a full bath on the main floor. The way our house is set up now, Fern has to go up and down the stairs at least once a day. She has days where her spasticity makes it very difficult, and I don't want to wait until we’re desperate, just to end up making hasty decisions.”
Anabelle nodded. “I don't blame you.”
“What are your plans?” James asked her. “If the hospital closes, I mean.”
Anabelle shrugged as she ran her fingers over a scratch on the tabletop. “I’ll probably retire. I’m getting a little long in the tooth, you know.” Her eyes twinkled, inviting James to laugh with her.
“Right,” he said. “I’d like to see the day you grow old. You’ve got more stamina than most people I know—and that includes my two teenage sons.”
“Cam has called me a workhorse on more than one occasion. And I don't think it was a compliment.” They shared a chuckle.
“Will you really be content to retire?” James couldn't quite envision Anabelle in that role.
“Maybe not completely,” she said. “I probably would take on some private-duty work to keep from growing old and moldy.” Her eyes grew wistful. “It might not be so bad. I hope to be a grandmother one of these days, although my children certainly seem in no hurry to oblige me!”
James laughed. “All in good time, I’m sure.”
Anabelle's pager vibrated. Checking it, she said, “I’d better get back downstairs. I just need a hit of coffee.”
“I’ll see you later,” James said as she turned and bustled over to the counter where the coffee machine stood.
“All right.” She smiled at him as she took a sip and hurried toward the door. “Good luck with your project,” she said as another staffer entered the room.
James smiled and waved. He appreciated her circumspection. Even though it probably was a given that many of the hospital employees were quietly evaluating their options if the hospital closed, he preferred not to advertise the fact that he was considering leaving.
On the following Monday, the foursome met for lunch again. Unfortunately, rain precluded having their meal in the courtyard, so they gathered at a square table in the small cafeteria.
Candace arrived at the same time James and Anabelle did, but their fourth companion was running a little late. By the time Elena arrived, Candace and the others had already begun to eat.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly as she rushed through the door. “Sorry I’m late. One of my critical patients has not had a good morning, and I waited to talk with the attending physician about his pain management.”
“No problem,” James said. He was blowing on a large bowl of steaming cream soup.
“Yum,” Elena said. “What's that?”
“Cheddar-broccoli,” he told her. “When I got Anabelle's message about meeting here, I decided to leave my lunch upstairs in the fridge for tomorrow. This cafeteria has yet to serve a soup I don't like.”
“I was in the mood for soup too,” Candace said, indicating the cup of soup and tuna sandwich on her tray.
Elena eyed the Hershey bar beside Candace's plate as she opened her lunch bag and began to set out her own food. “That's not all you were in the mood for,” she teased.
Candace laid a protective hand over her chocolate. “I need a pick-me-up. It was one of those mornings.”
“A bad one?” Anabelle asked. She was idly picking at a mammoth plate of french fries liberally drenched with ketchup.
Candace nodded, her lighthearted moment fading. “We had a mom come in for a scheduled C-section. We already knew the baby had Down syndrome and a heart murmur; but as it turned out, there was a much larger hole than anyone had anticipated. He had to be life-flighted to St. Francis.” OSF St. Francis Medical Center was the area's only level I trauma center and the fourth largest hospital in the state of Illinois. “Thankfully, the obstetrician was cautious, and we were prepared for that possibility. They whisked him away like that.” She snapped her fingers with a crisp, staccato sound.
“I’ll keep him and his family in my prayers,” Elena said.
Anabelle nodded. “We all will. Those surgeries have a great success rate, you know.”
“I know.” Candace's eyes filled with tears, and she reached for a napkin. “But when you’re facing two absolutely devastated, frantic parents who just watched a helicopter fly away with their newborn, and you can't offer an ironclad guarantee that their baby is going to be all right…”
“It's difficult,” Anabelle finished. She put a hand over Candace's. “I’m sure you were a comfort to them.”
Candace smiled, blotting away
the tears. “I tried.” There was an awkward pause. Then she said, “Okay. Time for a subject change. Let's talk about something cheerful.”
James looked troubled. “With this hospital closing hanging over our heads, I’m having a little trouble finding my ‘cheer.’”
“Oh, I know!” Elena raised a hand as if she were a school student, then hastily lowered it when Anabelle grinned. “Let's talk about the hospital not closing.”
“I can get behind that,” James said. “What's up?”
“I have a meeting scheduled with Zane McGarry soon,” Elena said. “Last night, it occurred to me that the more information I can present, the more likely he is to look seriously at my proposal.”
“What kind of information do you have in mind?” Anabelle asked.
“Cost projections, for one thing,” Elena said. “Maybe recommendations for materials and a rough design, but the biggest thing I think we need to know is exactly how much it will cost us for each brick and then for the construction. That probably will be the biggest factor in deciding whether this is worth pursuing.” Her brow wrinkled. “I’d like to have that information in my arsenal; but I have to confess, I’m a little lost. Where do I start? I don't even know who engraves bricks.”
“A monument company,” Candace told her. “Gravestones, statues, that sort of thing.”
Elena swallowed. It was obvious that she realized why Candace had the answer at her fingertips. “Thank you.”
“You could check with different builders to get bulk prices on bricks,” James suggested. “They might also have recommendations on what type of bricks would work best for this project.”
“There are different kinds of bricks?” Elena rolled her eyes. “Oh boy. I am in trouble!”
“I have an idea,” Anabelle said. “My husband, Cam, owned Scott Landscaping Company until he retired. Now our son Evan has it. I bet Cam would be happy to work with you, Elena.” She rose and pulled her phone out of a pocket. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said, walking out into the corridor and heading for the front door.
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