Page 54 of Riding the Edge

“I understand that but without the pathology report—” Realizing she’s not going to confirm anything without hard facts, I push back the chair and adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder.

“Thank you for your time,” I say.

“Mrs. Bianci, I know this is difficult, but it’s important we don’t jump to conclusions.”

Reaching the door, I glance over my shoulder at her.

“But there’s a mass on my breast.”

“Yes.”

“And the tissue you took today will confirm if it's cancerous.”

“Correct.”

“In your experience, would you say it is?”

“Eighty percent of biopsies are negative.”

“Thank you, I could’ve googled that myself,” I say as I turn my back to her. Straightening my shoulders, I walk out the door and completely bypass the receptionist. Desperate for air and more importantly solitude, I hurry out of the office and down the hall as quick as my legs will carry me.

Lost in my head, I take a wrong turn and find myself standing in front of the hospital chapel, a room I often escaped to when my daughter was in the hospital. Remembering my faith has gotten me through some of the darkest days of my life, I push open the doors and step inside. I barely make it three steps before my knees threaten to give out on me. Clutching the wooden pew to steady myself, my body shutters as I begin to sob uncontrollably.

“Please, God…” I beg. “Please let me be okay,” I cry, blinking through the tears to stare at the crucifix on the wall. “I beg you,” I whisper.

“Lady?”

Frozen in place, I gasp at the sound of Al’s voice.

“Please go away,” I rasp.

I’m not foolish enough to believe he didn’t just witness me fall apart but I’m not willing to give him any more than that.

I won’t give him my tears.

I won’t give them to anyone.

They are mine and mine alone.

Yet the moment his hand touches my shoulder, they fall without restraint. I feel my body sway and before I realize it, I lean my back against his chest, sobbing while he wraps his arms around my waist. Tightening his hold on me, he kisses the top of my head.

“Shh… it’s okay,” he says in that gruff voice of his. How something so masculine can also be so comforting is beyond me. “Tell me what happened. Why are you at the hospital? Did you have an accident?”

The idea of telling him why I’m there is not appealing and as much as I want to push him away, I don’t. For the first time in my life, I just want to lean on someone. I want to cry and not worry about everyone else. Just this once, I want someone to hold me and tell me it’s going to be okay.

“Can you hold me?” I ask hoarsely. “Please just hold me and don’t let go.”

“Yeah, Lady,” he whispers against my ear. “I’ll hold you for as long as you’ll let me.”

I don’t know if its seconds, minutes or an hour, but I cry until there are no tears left in me. Part of me wonders if I’m crying because I might have cancer or because I’ve spent the last thirty years of my life bottling my emotions, braving one storm after another.

Drawing in a deep breath, I lift my hands and wipe my eyes. Finding my courage, I slowly turn around in Al’s arms and meet his worried gaze. He doesn’t ask me to share my grief. Instead, he slides his hands to my hips and bends his head to kiss me.

Softly and comfortingly.

It’s a kiss that whispers a promise.

You’re not alone.

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