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17
Ally
Trent and I walk down the hallway holding hands when we come to a stop at the nurses’ desk. The nurse recognizes me immediately.
“Good morning, Ally. How are you today?”
“I’m good. How are you, Cynthia?”
“Can’t complain.” She looks at Trent. “How are you?”
Trent offers the elderly woman a smile. “Pretty good.”
“It’ll be a few more minutes before they call you back, Ally. They were having problems with the machine, so they called in a technician. He’s back there now.”
“That’s fine.” I gesture to the chairs behind us. “We’ll take a seat and wait.”
Trent and I walk over to the chairs, and I smile when I see the same little girl from last week sitting in her wheelchair beside them.
“Hey, Erica,” I greet, taking the empty chair closest to her, while Trent takes the remaining one.
“Hi,” she says shyly.
“It sure is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Erica nods, her lips tipping up slightly.
“You doing okay today?” Trent asks, leaning forward so he can see Erica.
“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugs.
I frown, concerned with her less-than-happy answer. “You sure you’re okay?”
“My stomach’s been hurting me today.”
I reach over and pat her hand. “I’m sorry to hear that. I have stomach issues too sometimes.”
Her head tilts to the side. “You do?”
I smile softly at her. “Yeah. It sucks, doesn’t it?”
She nods. “Yes. I hate it because I can’t eat a lot of my favorite foods anymore. They always make me sick.”
Trent leans his elbows on his knees. “What food do you miss the most?”
Her answer comes immediately. “Barbecue potato chips.”
“Oh, man, that’s one of my favorites too. I would hate not being able to have them. But I bet Mrs. Miller will buy you your very own bag once your treatments are finished and you’re all better.”
Erica’s eyes fall away, and she stares down at her lap. Her frail fingers twist together, and her voice is so low we barely hear her.
“I’m never going to get better.”
A weight the size of a bolder drops on my chest with her quiet words. “Why would you say that, sweetie? A lot of people get better after chemo and radiation.”
I don’t know what kind of cancer she has, but modern medicine can help most. It’s obvious the doctors believe she has a chance since she’s going through treatments.
Erica’s eyes are filled with unshed tears when she lifts her head. “Because my mom was sick just like me and she died.”
