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The doctor’s office was a tiny little building off Main Street, and Dr. Jenkins had been practicing long enough that he’d treated Adam’s mom when she was a kid. The man was ninety if he was a day, but Mama wouldn’t hear of going to someone else. There was no one else in town, and she didn’t like the thought of going into Odessa more than strictly necessary.
He walked through the door and froze, feeling like he’d just come through a portal into the past. The same faded posters hung on the walls—all cute baby animals with affirming statements—and the same faded blue fabric covered the uncomfortable seats. The receptionist had changed, though. It used to be John’s mom that worked here, but the whole family had moved away after his death.
Not that Adam blamed them. Sometimes it was easier to leave the past behind than to face it, day in and day out, while the walls slowly closed in and suffocated any chance of happiness a person had.
The woman behind the desk smiled brightly. “What can I do to help you?”
“I’m looking for Amelia Meyer.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t give out that information.” But the slight shift in her posture told him all he needed to know. His mom had beat him here. Hell, she’d probably moved up the appointment, hoping that he’d miss it altogether.
He eyed the door leading back to the appointment rooms. If he remembered correctly, there were two total. He was so goddamn tired of getting information secondhand from his mama, especially since she tended to sugarcoat everything to the point where it was damn near a lie. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to protect him or herself, but he needed to hear what was going on straight from the medical source.
“Excuse me.” He turned and strode through the door.
“You can’t go back there!”
Too late. He was already past the first open exam room and walking into the second one. His mom and Dr. Jenkins jumped, the former looking as guilty as a sinner in church. Adam shut the door on the squawking receptionist. “Mama.”
“Son.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “You’re early.”
“And yet somehow I was almost late.” He ambled over and sat in the spare chair, pinning the doctor with a look. “Bring me up-to-date.”
Dr. Jenkins was a nice man who specialized in pediatrics. He hadn’t known what to do with Adam as a kid, and he didn’t know what to do with him now. He adjusted his glasses, what was left of his white hair standing out against his dark skin. “Now, Adam, you know I can’t do that without Amelia’s permission.”
Her sigh was defeated enough to give Adam a twinge. His mom stood and straightened her dress. “You go ahead and tell him what he needs to know, Matthew. Though you’ll have to excuse me. I don’t need to hear this again.” She walked out of the room with the dignity of a queen, which only made Adam feel even more like an asshole.
He turned to Dr. Jenkins. “I’m sorry for barging in, but she won’t give me a straight answer.”
“Yes, I’m well acquainted with Amelia’s stubbornness.” He gave Adam a look over the top of his glasses. “It’s a family trait, if I remember correctly.” Dr. Jenkins sat back and rubbed a hand over his face. “I won’t mince words with you, Adam. It’s bad. It took her a long time to admit that what she was feeling wasn’t just age, and by that time the cancer had been at work for God alone knows how long.”
Adam had to force the words out. “How bad?”
“She’s got stage-four lung cancer.” Dr. Jenkins’s entire being came across as sympathetic. “She’s refused chemotherapy, and I don’t know that I’d recommend it considering her age and overall health. Unfortunately, the cure for cancer is sometimes worse than the cancer itself, and I believe that would be the case with your mother.”
He heard the words, but he couldn’t process them. He’d known it was bad. Of course he’d known it was bad. But bad and fatal were two different things. He swallowed, the motion doing nothing to help his dry throat. “If she’d come in earlier, would it have made a difference?”
“There’s no way to tell.”
Which wasn’t a no. His chest was so tight, he couldn’t draw a breath. My fault. If I’d been home, I would have known something was wrong. I would have made her come to the doctor. It would have made a difference.
“It’s not your fault.”
Dr. Jenkins had always seen too much of Adam. As a teenager, he hadn’t wanted the man’s sympathy. As an adult, he didn’t deserve it. He pushed to his feet, weaving a little. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Adam—”
“I’ll see you around, Doc.” He sidestepped the older man and walked out of the room. His mama wasn’t there waiting, but he didn’t expect her to be. She was pissed he’d barged in, probably pissed that he’d shone the hard light of day onto her situation and forced her to face it. His mama had always been great at self-denial. She denied that his dad leaving had hurt her, just went on without a hitch in her step. But when he was seventeen he’d caught her holding a faded photograph and crying like her heart was breaking. This wasn’t any different.
