“Have you talked to her?’ I glanced into the room. The room was bathed in shadows still, but I could see the silhouette of Noah sitting next to the bed, holding Angela’s hand. “We should move her up to ICU.”
Jenny made a noise that sounded almost like a sob. “We told her that. We talked to both of them. Angela doesn’t want to be moved upstairs.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about? She needs to be where she can get the care she needs, and right now, that’s the intensive care unit. She might have to be intubated for a little bit, but we can use the same protocol we did with Mr. Crew. Angela’s young and strong. She’ll tolerate it well. They’ll get this turned around, and then we can continue treating the graft versus host disease.” I looked from one of them to another. “This is just another twist in Angela’s road. You know—weallknow—that sepsis is not the death sentence it used to be. But we have to be proactive.”
“Emma.” Deacon’s tone was harsh. “She doesn’t want it. She said . . . she doesn’t want us to treat this. She only asks that we keep her comfortable.”
“And you’re going to let this happen?” I heard the note of incredulity in my own shrill voice. “Are you out of your fucking minds?”
“We don’t force treatment on patients, Emma.” Deacon bit out the words. “We presented Angela and Noah with the options. Angela was very clear on what she wants.”
“What about what Noah wants? Did she think about that?” I turned on Jenny. “Did you talk to him apart from her? One of the primary symptoms of sepsis shock is an altered mental state. She might not be able to make the decision on her own.”
“She’s not altered, Emma. And Noah understands, too.” Jenny hesitated. “He’s heartbroken. He doesn’t agree. But in the end, he said it was her choice. He respects that. We have to respect it, too.”
I clenched my teeth together. “May I talk to them, please?”
Deacon rolled his eyes. “Oh, you think you’re going to have more luck getting through than we did?” He stepped aside, giving me a mocking half-bow. “Be my guest. Do your damnedest. But Emma, do not coerce her. Don’t guilt her into this. Remember that you’re not the one who has to live with the decision she makes—she does.”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “But she’s not going to livewithit—she’s going to dieofit.”
“Still not your call.” Deacon glowered at me. “Don’t let your overdeveloped sense of responsibility for the world at large hurt our patient.”
I opened my mouth to drop one final stinging retort—Angela wasn’t my patient, she was my friend—when I realized what I’d been about to say. Deacon was right. I was acting out of my own selfishness, not out of a desire to do what was best for the patient I was here to treat.
So I only nodded in response as I walked slowly into the room.
Noah barely glanced up at me. His eyes were fastened on Angela’s face, as though he was memorizing every line, every change in expression. Her chest was moving up and down rapidly, and her forehead was creased in pain.
“Hey, there.” I took the hand that Noah wasn’t holding. “What’s going on, Ang? I thought we had a deal when I left yesterday—you were going to get some rest and feel better, because you promised me a girls’ weekend with all your sorority sisters, remember?”
The ends of her lips tipped up just slightly. “Sorry . . . Em. Might have to . . . take a miss on that one.”
“Hmmm.” My gaze flickered over to Noah. His eyes were bleak. “Listen, Angela. I talked to Deacon and Jenny—they told me that you don’t want to go up to the ICU. I understand that you feel like you’re never going to be better, that you’ve been fighting for a long time, but if you can be brave and strong just a little longer . . . you’ll be so happy that you did. I can make sure that you get the best care upstairs. I won’t abandon you. I won’t let them do anything you don’t want—but don’t give up, please. Not yet.”
“Oh, Emma.” She closed her eyes and shook her head a little. “I’m not giving up. I’m just . . . knowing when it’s time to go.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she focused on me. “Not all lives are equal . . . you know. There are people . . . who merely exist for . . . a hundred years. And others who live . . . for twenty-seven.” Each word took effort, and I wanted to tell her to rest, to save her strength—but for what? Selfishly, I wanted to gather every bit of herself that she was sharing with me.
“I . . . have had a freakin’ good life.” This time, her smile was genuine and wide. “I’ve lived one of the world’s . . . great love stories for thirteen years.” She shifted to look at Noah. “With . . . the best guy in the whole world. And I had a family who loves me. Friends who . . . have always been there for me.” Her fingers tightened briefly on mine. “Who don’t want . . . me to go. That’s not a bad record . . . for a girl like me.”
I could feel an ugly, sob-filled cry building in my chest, but I wasn’t going to give in, not in front of Angela. “The only thing I want to be sure of, Angela, is that you understand everything. I want to make sure you know what your options are.”
She sighed. “I do. I know . . . if I go upstairs to ICU, they will give me meds. Help me . . . breathe. But no guarantees.”
“Well, no, but—”
“Emma.” She glared at me. “Even if . . . there were, I don’t want . . . to go. I’m tired, Em. I haven’t felt good . . . in so long. Please trust me. Please . . . be here for me. ‘kay?”
I managed to nod somehow. “Okay, Angela,” I whispered. “I just had to hear it from you. I’ll do anything I can to help you.”
“Good.” She sighed, seeming more peaceful. “Listen. Noah . . . is going to need you more than . . . me. He’s . . . telling everyone, so he’ll have friends to help him . . . but he is going to need you. Will you stick . . . close to him? Don’t forget him . . . when I’m not here.”
“Ha.” I cleared my throat, struggling to hold it together. “As if he could shake me loose. Don’t worry. I’m going to keep my eye on him.”
“Thanks. You and . . . Deacon, take him out. Make him . . . have fun.” She was fighting more now, fighting to breathe, fighting to stay awake. “And you and Deacon . . . you are so perfect together. Don’t let him . . . push you away. He loves you.”
I wasn’t going to argue with a dying woman. I patted her hand. “We’ll all be here for each other, Ang. Right now, you just try to rest. Can I do anything? Are you hurting?”
She shook her head slightly. “Deacon had them . . . give me something. I’ll be . . . comfortable. To the end. He promised.”
