Page 82 of Look on the Bright Side

Fungal pneumonia. That one seemingly harmless cough last night hadn’t been from ice cream. It had been from a fungus growing in Justin’s lungs. She should have known. Should have told him to go to the hospital. She should have sensed something.

“I’m on…” Terror cut off her voice, and she had to force herself to speak. “I’m on my way. Can I talk to him?”

“They’re intubating now.”

No. “Tell him I love him.” Her voice was taut and strange.

“Drive fast, Lark. Safe, but fast.” Theo’s voice choked off, and then the call ended.

She ran to the car.

Fungal pneumonia was the single greatest fear they’d had these past twelve weeks. Spores could burgeon in the lungs, and Justin’s already too-active white blood cells would swarm to fight them, which would then prevent enough oxygen from being in his bloodstream. What was the treatment? Antifungals, antibiotics…but they weren’t always effective…or fast enough.

He had coughed Wednesday, too. Yes. They’d laughed in bed after making love, and he’d laughed so hard he choked a little. That happened, of course, it was even normal, but…

The fungus had already been in his lungs then. She hadn’t picked up on it. Oh, God. When they’d said goodbye yesterday morning, he’d rubbed his chest. Just an idle motion, but pleuritic chest pain was a sign!

She’d missed it.

She tore out onto Bradford Street. Blew through the stop sign, did fifty in a thirty-mile-an-hour zone, was yelled at by a bicyclist, passed her, then squealed onto Route 6. It would be an hour to the bridge, best-case scenario, another hour and fifteen to Dana-Farber. Without traffic, but there was always traffic. Goddamn it! She’d be lucky to get there in three hours, and she’d be hitting Boston at prime rush hour on a Friday.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I love you, Justin. Please, honey, I need you.” She was speaking out loud, she realized, flying past the other cars. If a cop flashed his lights, could she get a police escort to Boston? Get the fuck out of my way, she thought viciously, illegally passing an SUV. Could she get away with seventy miles an hour? How about seventy-five? The slowdown in Eastham at all their damn traffic lights. The rotary.

She was passing the sign for Harwich when Addie’s number appeared on her phone. She hit the “accept” button.

“Justin’s at Dana-Farber,” Lark said without preamble. “Fungal infection. I’m on my way there. He’s intubated.”

“Oh no. Oh, shit, Larkby. Okay. Um…we’ll be right behind you,” Addie said. “Why don’t you pull over, and I’ll pick you up? You probably shouldn’t be driving.”

“No. I’m past Harwich already.”

“Okay. All right, we’re on our way, honey. Hang in there.”

“They won’t let you in the hospital,” she said. “He’s too high risk.”

“That’s okay. We’ll be close by. I love you.” Her sister’s voice shook.

Lark swallowed against the jagged piece of metal that seemed lodged in her throat. “Addie, don’t let anyone call me. I need to concentrate.”

She hung up. Route 6 was a one-lane highway at this point with stupid yellow metal poles so you couldn’t pass. The person in front of her was doing fifty-five. That was only five miles above the speed limit. Was this or was this not Massachusetts? No one did the speed limit! She pushed the button for the hazard lights and leaned on her horn, bringing her car inches from his bumper.

“It’s a fucking emergency,” she screamed. “Get out of the way!”

He pulled over. She passed, and soon after the road widened to be two lanes. Lark stomped on the gas and flew west, tailgating, passing, nearly sideswiping a landscaping truck. Her hands were sweaty on the wheel.

“Hey, Siri, call Heather.” Her voice was thin and tight with fear.

“Calling Heather,” said the phone. Heather picked up right away.

“How is he?” Lark asked.

“It’s not good,” Heather said through her tears. “He said he started coughing last night but thought it was allergies. After breakfast, he took his temperature, and it was one hundred and one, Lark.” The desperation in her voice made Lark grip the wheel even harder. “His white count dropped to four eighty. They’re waiting on the culture, but they started antifungals already.” There was a pause. “I’m scared,” she said, and her voice was just a whisper. “Where are you?”

“Coming up on Mashpee.”

“Oh, honey, hurry.”

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