Page 39 of Doctor One Night

But when I finally stop, doubled over, hands on my knees, gasping for air, I know that nothing has really changed. The dilemma is still there, waiting for me. And no matter how much I want to, I can’t run away from her and the fact that she is my mother and I have the tools to help her.

The run was brutal, just what I needed to push everything else out of my mind, even if only for a little while. Hands on my knees, hanging my head, trying to catch my breath, the weight of it all starts creeping back in—until I hear her voice.

“Hunter?”

I look up, my breath still ragged, and there she is. Frankie. The last person I expect to see, yet exactly who I need at this moment. The stress, the anger, the frustration—all of it seems to dissolve the second I see her standing there, illuminated by the streetlights.

She walks up to me, her eyes full of concern, but there’s something else there too, something softer that I can’t quite put my finger on. “You okay?” she asks, her voice gentle, soothing in a way that nothing else has been tonight.

“Yeah,” I manage to say, straightening up, though my heart’s still racing—and not just from the run. “Just… needed a good, hard run.”

She gives me a small smile, the kind that makes pressure on my chest lighten. “Since we ran into each other at the park, I’ve been doing nightly walks. I’ve been loving it. Never thought I’d be the type to enjoy walking around the city at night, but it's my new thing.”

I can’t help but smile back, the tension easing out of my muscles just from being near her. “Glad to hear it. You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” My breathing is slowing enough that I can at least speak in complete sentences.

“I am,” she says, then glances at me, her brow furrowing slightly. “But you look like you need to catch your breath,” she says with a laugh. “Do you always push yourself that hard? Are you training for something?”

I shake my head, the words coming out automatically, even though my mind is still on that phone call with my mom. “No, sometimes I like to see what I can push my body to do. It's how I clear my head.”

She nods, accepting the answer without prying, but I can tell she’s curious. It’s one of the things I like about Frankie—she knows when to push and when to give space.

“I wish I exercised to clear my head. I go the opposite direction and eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. Going for a run sounds so much better for me.”

“Don't worry, I do that, too. Speaking of, want to grab a beer with me?”

“Now?” She looks at her watch, as if she is Cinderella and she needs to get home.

“Sure. After a run like that,” I say, shifting the conversation, “I usually like to grab a frosty one at the Back Forty right here on first. It's my reward. Want to join me?” I want to say that seeing her is my reward, but I resist.

Her eyes light up, and she gives me that smile again, the one that makes everything else fade into the background. “Sure. I’d love to.”

The Back Forty Beer Company

10:52 pm

The dimly bar lighting feels all the softer sitting here with Frankie. Nearby tables occasionally erupt in bursts of laughter, blending with the clink of glasses and the soft hum of conversation.

Frankie and I have been here for a while, mostly making small talk, easing into our out-of-the-office relationship. A pleasant outcome has been the complete unraveling of the tension from earlier. It’s easy with her, natural like we’re old friends instead of awkward colleagues who slept together once.

I take a sip of my beer, glancing at her over the rim of my glass. She’s pensive suddenly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. I wonder what’s on her mind, but it isn’t appropriate for me to ask.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with something, letting me know we have crossed from small talk to a deeper subject.

“Of course,” I reply, leaning in slightly, giving her my full attention. Whatever it is, it’s clearly important to her.

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers wiping the condensation on the side of her glass. “How much do you know about Hodgkin’s lymphoma?”

The question catches me off guard, but I manage to keep my expression neutral. “Quite a bit, actually,” I say, trying to gauge where this is coming from. “It’s a type of cancer that affects the lymphatic system. Why do you ask?”

She sighs, her eyes dropping to her drink. “Someone close to me… they were recently diagnosed. I’ve been trying to learn more about it, to understand what they’re going through, the prognosis.”

I nod slowly, empathizing with her all to well. Of all the things she could have asked about… “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, my voice sincere. “It can be a lot to take in. But the good news is that treatment for Hodgkin’s has come a long way. The prognosis can be very positive, especially if it’s caught early.”

I leave out the fact that there is this newer, more stubborn strain out there. It is rare, and the chances her friend, or loved one, has it are slim. No need to add to her worry.

She looks up at me, her green eyes searching mine, and I can see the concern there, the fear she’s trying to hide. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve been reading,” she murmurs. “But there are so many variables, you know? I guess I just want to understand as much as I can about it.”

I want to tell her about my mom, to let her know that I understand exactly what she’s going through. But something holds me back. Maybe it’s the part of me that doesn’t want to open that door, doesn’t want to admit how close to home this hits. So instead, I offer what comfort I can.

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