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I almost laughed. “At least somebody does. Good luck, Rick.”
“I’m thinking I’ll need it.”
I closed the passenger door and he drove away, and I wondered if I’d ever see him again.
When my cell phone rang the next day, I checked the caller ID and my heart caught in my throat. It was Dad.
“Hi, Dad? What is it?”
Like I was afraid he would, he said, “The test results came in.” His voice was serious, tired. Bad news, I was ready for bad news. “It’s positive. Malignant. She’s going in this afternoon to talk to the doctor.”
“Do I need to come over? Do you want me to come over? What can I do?”
Nothing. Nothing but sit here and worry.
“I’m going with her to the doctor, but if you could come over for dinner, I think it’d be good. I think it would help.”
“Really?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. This happens to people every day—but it feels like we’re the first people in the universe to have to deal with it. Does that make any sense?”
“Yeah, it does. You want me to pick something up? Chinese? Pizza? Just so no one has to cook.”
“Sure, that sounds great. How about six?”
“I’ll be there. Thanks for calling, Dad.”
“See you soon.”
I clicked off the phone and started crying.
Ben had a new case to work on and begged off for the evening. Cheryl had also bowed out of dinner. One of the kids had caught a cold, Mark was working late, they didn’t want to be a bother. A dozen excuses. But I wondered: Now who was shirking her filial duties?
I arrived at my folks’ place with a bag full of take-out Chinese and a cheerful disposition.
Mom took the bag from me as I asked, “What did the doctor say? What’s happening?” I didn’t even say hello first. She was back to her put-together self, her fashionable blouse and slacks, with the right amount of jewelry and makeup. But she seemed harried.
“Let’s eat first,” she said. She wasn’t smiling.
Dad came in from the kitchen and hugged me—something he never did, not right away like this. His face was pale, and he wasn’t smiling either. Silently, the three of us put out plates, spooned out rice and stir fry, and settled in to it.
This was the most stressful meal I’d ever eaten. Not that I could honestly say I ate anything.
“How’s work?” Dad asked finally, falling back on the standard question.
I blathered on, determined to keep the grim silence from falling again. It had definitely been an exciting weekend, even after leaving out all the stuff about Carl and Meg, vampire politics, learning how to shoot, and instead sticking to the upcoming book release and how great it was that I could break a story like Mercedes Cook being a vampire. Running my mouth also meant I mostly moved my food around on the plate without really eating. Mom and Dad did the same. At this rate, the leftovers would last a week.
Mom pushed her plate away first, and Dad and I gratefully followed suit.
“Jim, would you clean up, please? Kitty and I can go have our talk.”
In reply, he kissed her cheek—a communications shorthand after thirty-five years of comfortable marriage—and collected plates. Mom took my hand and led me to the living room. We sat side by side on the sofa.
“Okay,” I said, trying to be brave. “How bad is it?”
“It’s a little worse than we thought. They didn’t remove all the cancer, it turns out. It’s invasive.”
“What does that mean?” And how could she be this calm?
