stop the ride so they could get off before they started plummeting.
“Mom? Please tell them they’re wrong,” she begged.
Looking directly into Dr. Sullivan’s eyes, Olivia said clearly and loudly, “I’m going to be fine, Evangeline. Could you let me talk to the doctors alone, honey?”
Even though she knew that she should stay, Evangeline nodded, feeling like a coward but unable to stop her feet from trudging out of the room. She slid down the wall and settled on the hall’s tiles beside the open door so she could eavesdrop. She swiped at the hot tears running down her cheeks.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” Dr. Sullivan asked.
“Yes.”
“Stacy, let’s start the IV morphine,” Dr. Sullivan said. “You said you’ve only been symptomatic for a few months?”
“It started with nightmares, headaches, then no appetite, nausea and some vomiting.”
“And the delusions?”
“Um…they started about a month ago, but I thought—I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought now. I saw things like my teeth and hair falling out, and spiders on my face…”
Spiders?
Evangeline clenched her eyes shut and thumped her head against the wall trying to wake up because this had to be another nightmare. But when she opened her eyes, she was still sitting in a hospital corridor beneath harsh, fluorescent lights.
“Hallucinations aren’t uncommon with a tumor of this size and location,” Dr. Sullivan said.
“I think…it’s the same thing that happened to my mother.”
“Your mother had a brain tumor?” Veronica asked.
“I don’t know, but I heard she had headaches and delusions before her death …maybe it’s hereditary?”
“How did your mother die?” Aaron asked.
“She drove her car off a cliff—I was seventeen.” She paused. “How long?”
“The tumor is inoperable,” Dr. Sullivan said.
“But—” Veronica started.
“It’s inoperable,” Dr. Sullivan repeated. “We can give you aggressive chemotherapy and radiation and try to keep the tumor from growing, but best-case scenario, you’re looking at buying yourself a few months, and in addition to the pain you’re already experiencing, you’ll have severe nausea, hair loss, and vomiting. Or, we can make you more comfortable. Is there anyone we should call, maybe your husband?”
“No, I’m not married.”
“A relative, then?”
“It’s just Evangeline and me…and Sa—” Olivia’s words trailed off. “Dr. Sullivan,” she mumbled, “will you make sure Evangeline gets home safely…dinner, homework—”
Evangeline pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number, listening to the line at the other end ring four times.
“This is Samantha Harris. Please leave a message. Beep.”
“Sam, are you there? Pick up—please! It’s me. Call me back, please! Call me right away! It’s my mom…she’s really sick.”
Chapter Nine
The maze-like greenhouse was jam-packed, filled with rows of tiered plants in all sizes and shapes, creating a forest of rough trunks, swaying stalks, random shocks of bright flowers, and canopies of leaves. Most of the plants were not beautiful. Some were gnarled and yellow-brown, like bunions on an old woman’s foot. Others had blossoms that looked like a sickness, weapon, or poison. Vines slithered everywhere—along the floor, climbing the wooden planks, and stretching their greedy fingers up the glass walls. The air was moist, warm, and fetid.
Beeswax candles suspended in battered copper lanterns illuminated the greenhouse. Clad in a long, hooded white robe tied with a belt fashioned from interlocking loops of hammered gold, a woman walked between the narrow rows of plants. Following her was a group of women in matching robes. On the second toe of their right feet, they each wore a gold ring inscribed with a single word: Pandora.
The group entered an open space—concrete floor, glass walls, encroaching brown vines. Candlelight cast vein-like shadows around the room, making it seem like a
“Mom? Please tell them they’re wrong,” she begged.
Looking directly into Dr. Sullivan’s eyes, Olivia said clearly and loudly, “I’m going to be fine, Evangeline. Could you let me talk to the doctors alone, honey?”
Even though she knew that she should stay, Evangeline nodded, feeling like a coward but unable to stop her feet from trudging out of the room. She slid down the wall and settled on the hall’s tiles beside the open door so she could eavesdrop. She swiped at the hot tears running down her cheeks.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” Dr. Sullivan asked.
“Yes.”
“Stacy, let’s start the IV morphine,” Dr. Sullivan said. “You said you’ve only been symptomatic for a few months?”
“It started with nightmares, headaches, then no appetite, nausea and some vomiting.”
“And the delusions?”
“Um…they started about a month ago, but I thought—I guess it doesn’t matter what I thought now. I saw things like my teeth and hair falling out, and spiders on my face…”
Spiders?
Evangeline clenched her eyes shut and thumped her head against the wall trying to wake up because this had to be another nightmare. But when she opened her eyes, she was still sitting in a hospital corridor beneath harsh, fluorescent lights.
“Hallucinations aren’t uncommon with a tumor of this size and location,” Dr. Sullivan said.
“I think…it’s the same thing that happened to my mother.”
“Your mother had a brain tumor?” Veronica asked.
“I don’t know, but I heard she had headaches and delusions before her death …maybe it’s hereditary?”
“How did your mother die?” Aaron asked.
“She drove her car off a cliff—I was seventeen.” She paused. “How long?”
“The tumor is inoperable,” Dr. Sullivan said.
“But—” Veronica started.
“It’s inoperable,” Dr. Sullivan repeated. “We can give you aggressive chemotherapy and radiation and try to keep the tumor from growing, but best-case scenario, you’re looking at buying yourself a few months, and in addition to the pain you’re already experiencing, you’ll have severe nausea, hair loss, and vomiting. Or, we can make you more comfortable. Is there anyone we should call, maybe your husband?”
“No, I’m not married.”
“A relative, then?”
“It’s just Evangeline and me…and Sa—” Olivia’s words trailed off. “Dr. Sullivan,” she mumbled, “will you make sure Evangeline gets home safely…dinner, homework—”
Evangeline pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number, listening to the line at the other end ring four times.
“This is Samantha Harris. Please leave a message. Beep.”
“Sam, are you there? Pick up—please! It’s me. Call me back, please! Call me right away! It’s my mom…she’s really sick.”
Chapter Nine
The maze-like greenhouse was jam-packed, filled with rows of tiered plants in all sizes and shapes, creating a forest of rough trunks, swaying stalks, random shocks of bright flowers, and canopies of leaves. Most of the plants were not beautiful. Some were gnarled and yellow-brown, like bunions on an old woman’s foot. Others had blossoms that looked like a sickness, weapon, or poison. Vines slithered everywhere—along the floor, climbing the wooden planks, and stretching their greedy fingers up the glass walls. The air was moist, warm, and fetid.
Beeswax candles suspended in battered copper lanterns illuminated the greenhouse. Clad in a long, hooded white robe tied with a belt fashioned from interlocking loops of hammered gold, a woman walked between the narrow rows of plants. Following her was a group of women in matching robes. On the second toe of their right feet, they each wore a gold ring inscribed with a single word: Pandora.
The group entered an open space—concrete floor, glass walls, encroaching brown vines. Candlelight cast vein-like shadows around the room, making it seem like a
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