I’ve read about this wine. It’s known for its incredible ability to age for decades.
How extraordinary is that?
To think of a wine that is so patient. That takes such time to build, but in the end, the payoff is an exquisite wine that sets itself apart from the others.
This is a bottle you save for a reason.
And I don’t have one.
“Mel?” Trudy calls from a few feet away.
I glance over my shoulder. “Coming.”
I look back and hesitate for a second, wishing things in my life were different. Then I join the ladies at the end of the table.
Chapter Twelve
Colton
Iopen the chart for the new patient. What I find already has my body preparing for a blow.
New admission. Advanced stages. Poor prognosis.
His notes are already thick with consults he’s had prior, but I don’t hesitate. I head straight for room 447. Paper never tells the whole story. I like to see my clients first before I make any recommendations.
I look over his latest scans. Imaging worse than I would have hoped.
When I walk into the room, Melissa is standing over him, adjusting his blanket with a big smile on her face. She looks up, and her eyes meet mine, and that pretty smile fades.
I did that.
“Good afternoon,” I say, forcing my voice steady. “I’m Dr. Fisher.”
The man in the bed squints at me, then grins. “That makes you the boss, right?”
Melissa clears her throat softly. “He’s the chief oncologist,” she says, gentle but warm.
“So, yes,” the man says as he nods. “The boss.”
Despite myself, a huff of air escapes my nose. “You could say that.”
He studies me for a moment, as if he’s trying to put together a puzzle. “You look younger than I expected.”
“I get that a lot,” I reply.
“And more serious,” he adds, glancing between Melissa and me. “Which is interesting because, five seconds ago, this lovely woman was threatening to tuck me in so tight that I’d never escape.”
Melissa’s smile flickers back to life despite herself. “I said I was making sure you were comfortable.”
“I was comfortable,” he says. “Now I’m cocooned.”
I glance at Melissa before I can stop myself. Her shoulders relax a fraction, like the joke loosened the tension in her shoulders. The room feels lighter than it has any right to be.
“I’m Frank,” the patient says. “And before you even begin … yes, I know the situation isn’t great. Everyone keeps giving me that look, like they’re afraid I’ll crumple with the news.” He taps his chest. “I won’t. Not yet.”
Something about the way he says it—completely unafraid—makes me pause.
“We’ll talk through everything,” I say. “At your pace.”
