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“Yes, let’s talk about it,” Kate broke in. “That’s all we’re asking, honey.”
“Any hope is still hope,” Cara chimed in.
“Talking some sense into her is all we want,” Jacob growled.
Oh, dear, this poor family.
“Platitudes are my favorite,” Ginger whispered. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gave her head a shake before settling a determined gaze on Ally. “I’m totally fine talking about it. With treatment, my odds of beating this are less than two percent. Treatment would consist of more brutal chemo. The first rounds left me helpless and miserable and incapacitated and nearly killed me. But if I opt out of the treatment I could have three or four or as many as six or even eight months with relative quality of life. Way, way better than the chemo version of quality I’ve suffered through already.
“I could smoke weed—sorry.” She gave her dad a pointed look before addressing Ally again. “I could legally partake of medical marijuana until I can no longer stand the pain. Then I’ll hook up to a morphine drip and sleep peacefully until I die with as much dignity as dying allows.”
“Stop talking about dying!” Cara barked, her tone bordering on a shout. “You have to fight, Ginger. Why won’t you fight?”
Kate choked on a sob. “Ginger, honey, Cara’s right. Please think about Ella. She needs her mother.”
Jacob stood his ground, menacing and gruff, his blue eyes settled on the wall above Ginger’s head. Ally’s heart went out to him; she wasn’t fooled by the man of steel routine. Why was it that the harder the shell, the more devastating the heartbreak seemed?
A passionate, circular conversation ensued, and Ally understood why Ginger had requested some help. She glanced at Flynn, whose only response was a gentle upward nudge of one brow.
Ally had experienced an uncommon amount of death in her life. Palliative care was one of her grandfather’s strong suits and Ally had shown a knack for assisting him at a very early age. She knew when a patient was making a decision for the wrong reason and when they were making it for the right one. As far as she knew, her intuition and experience had never steered her wrong.
Beside her, Ginger’s eyes were shining and filled with anguish. The sight caused an ache deep in Ally’s chest. She reached across and placed her hand over Ginger’s, lightly squeezing her fingers.
Ignoring the others, Ally asked, “So, Ginger, now that you’ve decided, what are you planning to do with the rest of your life?”
The room grew silent while Ginger’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re the first person to ask me that…” Dipping her chin, she nodded for a few seconds before swiping at a tear on her cheek. “I’ve thought about this a lot.”
“I’m sure you have. I know I would.”
“It even has a title, this last chapter of my life. It’s called Photographs and Memories, like the Jim Croce song. Do you know it? I’m plagiarizing, but I’ll be dead by the time anyone figures it out so let ’em sue me.”
Ally smiled. “Know it and love it. He’s one of my grandfather’s favorite singers.”
“I want a few more months of taking photos and making memories. One last glorious Alaskan summer…” Ginger swallowed and nodded as if to blink back more tears. “I want to spend time with my daughter and take photos to leave for her. I want us to do things and make memories and document them together. Memories that don’t include me sick and vomiting and so weak that I can’t even hold her or read to her or sing Jim Croce songs…”
Ally squeezed her hand while she gathered her thoughts, awed by her strength and bravery and the beautiful poetry of her words.
“What I don’t want…” She cleared her throat. “What I don’t want is to lie in bed wishing out the window, you know what I mean? Lying there dying and thinking about all the things I wish I was doing? I want to do them, live while I can. So, Ally, that’s what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”
“Ginger, that sounds just lovely.” Ally lifted a shoulder. “I can’t imagine anything better.”
