Page 31 of The Fall

Nineteen…eighteen…seventeen…sixteen—

“Badly,” I said, turning to walk toward the elevator. “You were there, too,” I whispered, thinking he wouldn’t hear me.

“Yes, I was,” he said softly. I paused mid-stride but didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I knew he was still staring at me.

Three…two…one.

I walked into Mr. Carson’s room, waiting for Dr. Pierce to give the results of the chemo. If it had shrunk just another few millimeters, there was a good chance he would live to fight another day. Against my better judgment, I was fully vested in Lance Carson. I couldn’t stand to see his wife in so much pain. I knew the odds were against him. I also knew that with cancer, anything was possible. It was a nonbiased killer but carefully executed medicine, and with the help of divine intervention, it could all turn around.

“Dr. Whitaker, have you ever thought about branching out to oncology?” I scanned Mr. Carson’s hopeful face, praying to God I’d made the right decision in telling him to take another round of meds. He’d gone through so much during this round of chemo that I thought we would lose him…twice. Still, he sat in his bed, smiling at me.

“No, I’m opening a general practice with my sister.”

“Plans change. You should think about it. And no matter what comes out of his mouth, I’m thankful you made me fight.” I turned to Mr. Carson, who gave me a quick wink and took in a deep breath, waiting on Pierce to deliver the verdict.

“It worked.” Dr. Pierce nodded at me with appreciation as he walked into the room. It took everything I had in me not to burst into tears. In the case of Lance Carson, I was heavily involved.

I saw Mrs. Carson’s face light up, and she let out a scream of delight and hugged her husband furiously. I watched, unable to speak, fearing my voice would betray my emotion.

“You saved my life today. Think about it, Dr. Whitaker,” Mr. Carson said over his wife’s shoulder, who was sobbing.

“I will go set up your surgery,” I said, quickly excusing myself.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Carson threw her arms around me, stopping my retreat, and sobbed into my jacket. I hugged her back fully with my warning.

“We aren’t out of the woods yet. We still have to get the tumor out. Stay optimistic, and I will see you both shortly with the orders.” I walked out of the room, dodging all of the awe-filled stares, including Dr. Pierce.

“Beatrice, it worked! Schedule him for surgery right away.”

“Well done, doctor.”

“Thank you!” I beamed, my chest full.

I had been spending more and more time in the hospital’s oncology department. I hadn’t mentioned it to Rose due to the fact that I didn’t want to tell her I was becoming more interested in that particular field. It would interfere with the plans we have had for years. I couldn’t do it to her, and I wasn’t so sure this wasn’t just a phase. I’d been interested in several other fields, as well. Still, I couldn’t deny that this felt much different. I walked quickly across the street to meet her for coffee. Dallas Memorial was situated minutes from her campus. I walked into Starbucks and stopped dead in my tracks as I watched her. She was beaming at her phone as she texted someone. I could see it on her instantly. When she realized I was watching her, she quickly pocketed her phone and came toward me. It seemed my baby sister was hiding something of her own. I gave her a knowing smile, and she shrugged away my interest. I turned my attention to the young barista in front of me.

“I’ll have a caffeine-free, frothy, cold, chocolate thing with chocolate shit on top, please.”

I heard a puff of air escape my sister. “Are you serious? I’m sorry, ma’am.” She turned to the young girl at the counter, who was laughing hysterically at my order. “She’s not fit for public. She’ll have a decaf chocolate Frappuccino with whipped cream and extra drizzle, and I’ll take a chai tea, please. Dallas, go get us a table.”

“Thanks, Rosie. I never know how to order this crap.”

“It takes brains, Dallas. Take your damn drink, will you? I don’t want people knowing I drink this poison.”

“You guzzle tacos, Rose,” I pointed out as we situated ourselves at a high-top table with a view of the hospital.

“True,” she said, her smile never far from the surface.

“Spill it. I only have ten minutes,” I said, dreading what was coming. I adored my sister. Today she had decided to style her hair in her usual knotted, curly red mess on top of her head. I had tried for years to get her to embrace her feminine side, and for years she had told me to ‘go to hell’. In all honesty, she didn’t need to change a thing. Rose carried a confidence about her that I admired. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, which I was sure made her even more appealing to the opposite sex. She was a true natural beauty.

“So, I met someone. His name is Grant. He is beautiful, smart, caring, funny, and he smokes weed.”

She looked up at me with an impish grin as I laughed harder than I had in months. “Ha ha ha, holy shit, Rose. He’s a pothead?”

“No, he smokes weed,” she defended. “There is a difference.”

“He’s a pothead,” I said, egging her on.

“No, he’s not, damn it. I’m telling you, sister, I’ve never had it this good,” she boasted, eyebrows raised, and perfectly plump lips puckered out. I chuckled at her.

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