that I’d been wrong. I wanted so badly to be wrong.
My stomach turned, and I threw up. Whether from the poison flowing through my veins or the hurt smoldering in my gut, I didn’t know. Time stood still, allowing the pain to take over. I curled up in the chair and cried over someone I never had. Ridiculous.
The door didn’t move until Leslie returned to unhook the central line. She must have noticed my puffy, red eyes, but she didn’t mention it—probably because I didn’t give her time. Her lips formed a straight line, and she sighed as she sat down beside me. Understanding her not-so-subtle ways, I jumped to my feet. I fumbled with my bag, stuffing my things in as I started for the exit.
In a defeated voice, Leslie reminded me, “Treatment on Friday this week, Kate.”
Thanksgiving. Whatever.
“See you then,” I muttered and walked out the door.
Stopping at the elevator, I pushed th e down arrow half a dozen times as if it actually helped move the cables faster and waited. Most days the wait didn’t bother me, but today, all I wanted was to crawl under my covers. Leslie’s words rang in my head: “ You’re strong, and I know you can handle it. ”
I wasn’t handling it. I was falling apart.
I lifted my head to the ceiling. Stupid elevator .
“ Kate! Wait!”
I jerked around to look down the hall. Tammy, the new nurse, jogged toward me holding a long white box in her arms.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said, a soft smile on her face.
I stared at her. I hadn’t really spoken to Tammy since she helped insert my central line. She spent most of her time with the kids who had to stay in the hospital. She handed me the box , which had a large red ribbon wrapped around it that tied in a perfect bow.
“What’s this?”
Tammy shrugged. “The florist dropped it off about ten minutes ago. It has your name on it. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Sure enough , Kate Browdy was scrawled across the top of the box in black ink. I scanned the top, moved the bow to the side, and turned it over. No sign of who it could be from. I began to pull at the satin when the elevator bell rang, and the metal doors opened. Six people already stood inside. Glancing between the bench behind me and the package in my hands, I tipped the box vertical and side-stepped into the elevator.
Not surprisingly, everyone got out on the first floor. Instead of taking my time, I hurried to the car. I tossed my bag in the backseat and laid the box gently on the passenger seat. The bow slipped off easily. Clamping my lower lip between my teeth, I lifted the lid and gasped. Inside laid a dozen red roses. A blank white envelope sat on top of the thorn-free stems. Swallowing, I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.
I studied the flowers; they were beautiful. Someone cared enough to send them.
Who? Why?
The answer waited in the small pocket trembling in my hands. My breaths exited in uneven spurts. What if they were? What if they weren’t?
With my eyes closed, I lifted the flap and pulled out the card inside. I held it in my hand for a few moments, hoping, before opening my eyes. The card was white with tiny red roses printed in the corners. I traced my fingers over the handwriting.
Out of town for the week, visiting grandparents.
Meet me Saturday? My house. 6pm.
Sorry about Friday. I didn't know you'd be there.
Damian
I smiled tentatively and slid the card back inside the envelope. Picking up one of the roses, I lifted it to my nose and inhaled. My eyelids fell as the delicate petals glided over my cheeks like velvety satin. The weight in the pit of my stomach lifted a little.
The flowers looked beautiful in the vase on my night stand. When my mother asked, I told her the truth—just not all of it. I said they were from Dr. Lowell’s son who was volunteering at the hospital.
“He keeps me company during my treatments.” I swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“And?” The eagerness in her irises was crystal
My stomach turned, and I threw up. Whether from the poison flowing through my veins or the hurt smoldering in my gut, I didn’t know. Time stood still, allowing the pain to take over. I curled up in the chair and cried over someone I never had. Ridiculous.
The door didn’t move until Leslie returned to unhook the central line. She must have noticed my puffy, red eyes, but she didn’t mention it—probably because I didn’t give her time. Her lips formed a straight line, and she sighed as she sat down beside me. Understanding her not-so-subtle ways, I jumped to my feet. I fumbled with my bag, stuffing my things in as I started for the exit.
In a defeated voice, Leslie reminded me, “Treatment on Friday this week, Kate.”
Thanksgiving. Whatever.
“See you then,” I muttered and walked out the door.
Stopping at the elevator, I pushed th e down arrow half a dozen times as if it actually helped move the cables faster and waited. Most days the wait didn’t bother me, but today, all I wanted was to crawl under my covers. Leslie’s words rang in my head: “ You’re strong, and I know you can handle it. ”
I wasn’t handling it. I was falling apart.
I lifted my head to the ceiling. Stupid elevator .
“ Kate! Wait!”
I jerked around to look down the hall. Tammy, the new nurse, jogged toward me holding a long white box in her arms.
“I’m glad I caught you,” she said, a soft smile on her face.
I stared at her. I hadn’t really spoken to Tammy since she helped insert my central line. She spent most of her time with the kids who had to stay in the hospital. She handed me the box , which had a large red ribbon wrapped around it that tied in a perfect bow.
“What’s this?”
Tammy shrugged. “The florist dropped it off about ten minutes ago. It has your name on it. Happy Thanksgiving.”
Sure enough , Kate Browdy was scrawled across the top of the box in black ink. I scanned the top, moved the bow to the side, and turned it over. No sign of who it could be from. I began to pull at the satin when the elevator bell rang, and the metal doors opened. Six people already stood inside. Glancing between the bench behind me and the package in my hands, I tipped the box vertical and side-stepped into the elevator.
Not surprisingly, everyone got out on the first floor. Instead of taking my time, I hurried to the car. I tossed my bag in the backseat and laid the box gently on the passenger seat. The bow slipped off easily. Clamping my lower lip between my teeth, I lifted the lid and gasped. Inside laid a dozen red roses. A blank white envelope sat on top of the thorn-free stems. Swallowing, I picked it up and turned it over in my hand.
I studied the flowers; they were beautiful. Someone cared enough to send them.
Who? Why?
The answer waited in the small pocket trembling in my hands. My breaths exited in uneven spurts. What if they were? What if they weren’t?
With my eyes closed, I lifted the flap and pulled out the card inside. I held it in my hand for a few moments, hoping, before opening my eyes. The card was white with tiny red roses printed in the corners. I traced my fingers over the handwriting.
Out of town for the week, visiting grandparents.
Meet me Saturday? My house. 6pm.
Sorry about Friday. I didn't know you'd be there.
Damian
I smiled tentatively and slid the card back inside the envelope. Picking up one of the roses, I lifted it to my nose and inhaled. My eyelids fell as the delicate petals glided over my cheeks like velvety satin. The weight in the pit of my stomach lifted a little.
The flowers looked beautiful in the vase on my night stand. When my mother asked, I told her the truth—just not all of it. I said they were from Dr. Lowell’s son who was volunteering at the hospital.
“He keeps me company during my treatments.” I swallowed. “Sometimes.”
“And?” The eagerness in her irises was crystal
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