Page 95 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

When he was done, I began to cry.

He put his arm around me, and we talked in fits and starts until I finally pulled it together.

“I guess I lied,” I said. “I’m not tougher than I look.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said.

“You just told me I’ll be dead in a few weeks. Make up your damn mind.”

We both laughed. Graveyard humor.

“Can I go home now?” I said.

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to stay the night so I can evaluate you in the morning,” he said.

“That depends,” I said. “Does the hospital have an extensive wine cellar and a world-class sommelier?”

He laughed again. “I’m guessing that’s a no to staying the night.”

“Dr. Brubaker, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I really want to go home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Heartstone. I took the train in.”

“Well, I’m definitely not letting you take the train back. Is there someone you can call to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“In that case,” he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out my cell phone, “make the call.”

I went to my favorites list and hit the speed dial.

“Hey,” I said through the tears. “I need you.”

“Was that your husband?” Brubaker said when I hung up.

“Yes. He’s on his way. It’ll probably be about two hours with traffic.”

“Why don’t you stay here and get some rest while you’re waiting.”

“I will, but can I ask you a few questions before you go?”

“Under one condition,” Brubaker said. “I get to ask you a few questions in return.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

I picked his brain for about ten minutes, and then it was his turn. His questions to me were intelligent and insightful, and I answered every one of them with a lie.

When he left, I crawled into my hospital bed and waited for my ride home. But it wouldn’t be my husband.

I had called Johnny. He was the only one I trusted to help me make sense of whatever life I had left.

FIFTY-SEVEN

The ride from New York Presbyterian to Heartstone was the most sobering and unforgettable journey I ever took in my life, and I don’t think I could have handled it with anyone else but Johnny Rollo.

How far the two of us had come since the day that Van called me from Korea, and I went running to Johnny’s seedy apartment, where I shotgunned coma-inducing marijuana and had the most uncomplicated sex of my life.

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