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“What?”
“Check for yourself if you don’t believe me,” Isabelle urged.
I did a quick search online.Leo Petraeus, MD. Ph.D. Hepatologist. Dr. Petraeus is the premier specialist in hepatology and renowned for his treatment of liver abnormalities, particularly liver cancer.
I gripped the phone tight enough to hurt my hand and I trembled all over.Daddy.
“The mom I was a surrogate for had to see him. Her cancer and treatments left her infertile. I’m so sorry….”
My head spun, and my stomach recoiled. I retched and covered my mouth.
“Please don’t vomit in here!” Isabelle shrieked. “Stop the car! Stop the car!”
“She’s going to vomit?” The driver swerved to the sidewalk, and I climbed out and just made it in time to vomit on the street. Isabelle handed me a cloth from her bag, and I wiped my mouth.
Oh, no….
My head pounded. “It can’t be true. Mom would have told me.”
“We have to go, Nadia.” Isabelle tugged me back into the car, but I no longer wanted to go to the party. “I’m going back home.”
“Oh, no you’re not. You can’t, please. There is nothing you can do at home. You’ll have friends around. Besides, Paul is picking you up in Nantucket. You need the ride to get there in time.”
I shook my head. “I’ll take the ride to the port to meet up with Ben, but I’m not partying if my dad has cancer.”
“But I could have it wrong about the doctor. Maybe it’s another Doctor Petraeus. Come on, Nadia. At least stay long enough to hand out the suits?”
I sighed and gave her a curt nod. Isabelle was being selfish. However, she hadn’t known about my dad. The party was her chance to market her work, and I wouldn’t be a good friend if I denied her that opportunity.
We returned to the car, and I texted Mom as we sped off.Maybe Isabelle is wrong.
Nadia: Mom, is Dad seeing a cancer specialist?
Oh, Daddy.My mind flooded with memories of my big barrel of a dad carrying me around, making me laugh, and hugging me. How he taught me how to ride a bike, drive, repair a tire, and check my oil. The times he brought me scraps to sew and even his favorite flannel.But the best times were the two of us laughing together in the kitchen.I could see the three of us in the car singing Lonnie Donegan’s chewing gum song and Dad making the funny trumpet sounds to make us laugh.To try to make us forget he’s sick.
A wound spread inside of my heart. There was nothing to ease it. My dad was my hero. My mom would never survive his death.
I should be there.
Why am I not there?
Why did they keep me away?
They wanted me to have my dream.But what were dreams if those you loved weren’t there to share them?
I pressed my hand against my stomach to soothe the pain, and my temples throbbed. Digging into my purse for an aspirin, I asked Isabelle, “Do you have something I can drink?”
Isabelle gave me her water bottle that tasted suspiciously like tequila. “Isabelle, is this alcohol?”
She snickered. “Yes, it is.”
I sniffled.
“Oh, God, now you’re completely bummed out. I’m probably wrong about the doctor. If it were serious, they would have told you. Right? Don’t worry.” She patted my arm.
Isabelle’s wrong though; no one would tell me.Not even Paul.
My parents must have known, but something else was nagging me. Before Paul and I flew to Rome, Gunnar gave Paul a pointed look when he mentioned Texas.Did Paul know?
