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Tom closed the door behind her and dropped into one of the arm chairs, head down, running a hand through his hair. She felt Ethan’s presence behind her, a ghost of a hand on her back. Reassurance. She looked over at Tom.
“Cancer, right?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you’re going to tell me?”
Tom looked up at her, his eyes filled with agony. “Pancreatic.”
“Pancreatic?” she mimicked dumbly. She dropped onto the sofa. She knew that was an awful diagnosis. Tears filled her eyes and she tried to brush them away, but it was useless; they continued to flow. “How long?” she asked in a hoarse whisper?”
Tom shook his head his mouth firmly closed.
“Has he had a second opinion?” asked Ethan.
She glanced at Ethan who took a seat on the sofa beside her.
Tom shook his head. “No, I don’t know. Apparently, he got the diagnosis a month ago.”
Shock rushed through her. A month? He’d known for a month? Why hadn’t he said? “Did you know about this? Why didn’t you tell me?” She could hear the shrill note in her voice, and she fought to control herself.
Tom shrugged. “The doctors were surprised when I didn’t know. They’d assumed Dad had told me.”
“You didn’t know, either?”
Tom shook his head. “You think I would have kept this from you?” There was a hitch in his voice. “I would have insisted he tell you. You had a right to know. We both had a right to know.”
“Did he say why he didn’t tell you?” asked Ethan.
Tom gave him a pained look and shook his head. “I haven’t asked. It’s been…well, it’s been frantic. The doctor explained the situation to me only this morning. He’s the specialist. Dr. Morrison. He said that at the moment they’ve been focusing on pain management. Hospice care. He’s had radiation therapy, apparently. But he won’t have any more treatment, other than what he’s had.”
“Hospice care?” Denial echoed through her mind. “Did you talk to Dad at all?”
It was still difficult for her to take in. Questions crowded her mind, but she found it difficult to sort through them.
“Yeah, for as much as I could get out of him. He’s the one who told me he’d had treatment, and that was that. There was nothing more to be done. And then he told me he didn’t want to talk about it.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but shut it. It wasn’t Tom’s fault her father was showing his stubborn streak.
“Does he know I’m here?”
Tom nodded. “I told him last night when I managed to get up here for a few minutes to see him before they shooed me out. He said he was glad.”
“Did the doctor say what the plan is?” asked Ethan in a quiet voice. “Will he have to stay in the hospital now?”
“How long has he got?” She asked. “Weeks? Months? Days?”
Tom’s eyes filled. He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said hoarsely. “The doctor said it’s impossible to be specific, but he said it could be months. Maybe three, maybe four. The radiation has helped.”
“Has it spread anywhere else?” asked Ethan.
Tom looked at Ethan, panic on his face. “What? No. I mean I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“That’s okay,” said Ethan. “I wouldn’t have changed what the doctor said anyway. He’d have taken that into account when he was telling you how long to expect.”
The words washed into Kate, a few lodging, stuck in her mind, while the rest flowed away. She tried to focus on her breathing. She wanted to be strong, capable when she met her father. After all, she wasn’t the one who was facing death. Her mind hitched on that thought, and she skittered away. One thing at a time. Go greet her father. See what he needs. Find out if he’s staying. The list of tasks lined up, giving her a tether for her to grasp and pull her forward.
She gave a nod that might have been directed at Tom, but was more likely to herself. “Thanks, Tom.” She rose, took a deep breath. “I guess it’s time to see Dad.”
In her handbag slung over her shoulder, she heard her phone ring. Giancarlo. She fished it out of her bag, confirmed he was the caller, and rejected the call. She couldn’t talk now. He’d have to wait.
* * *
