A ping of recognition in my chest. I look to Aaron. His eyebrows are knit. He looks, all at once, like it’s just occurred to him, what that really means. The possibility ahead.Ding ding ding. And then I realize it’s my cell phone that’s ringing. It’s been in my hand, vibrating and tolling.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Kohan, it’s Dr. Shaw’s associate, Dr. Jeffries. He wanted me to call and give you an update.”
My breath holds. The air stills. From somewhere in the distance, Aaron takes my hand.
“We’re going to take a biopsy of her colon and abdominal tissue. But everything is going according to plan. We still have a few hours ahead of us, but he wanted you to know so far so good.”
“Thank you,” I manage. “Thank you.”
“I’m going to get back now,” he says, and hangs up.
I look to Aaron. I see it there, the love in his eyes. It mirrors mine.
“He said it’s going according to plan.”
He exhales, drops my hand. “We should get back,” he says.
“Yeah.”
We reverse the process. Elevator, door, street. When we get to the lobby of the hospital, someone calls my name: “Dannie!”
I turn to see David jogging toward us.
“Hey,” he says. “I was just trying to check in. How’s it going? Hey man.” He extends his hand to Aaron, who shakes it.
“I’m going to head back up,” Aaron says. He touches my arm and leaves.
“You doing okay?” David folds me into a hug. I reach up and embrace him.
“They said it’s going well,” I said, although that’s not entirely the truth. They said it’s going. “I don’t think they need to get into her stomach.”
David’s eyebrows knit. “Good,” he says. “That’s good, right? How are you?”
“Hanging in.”
“Have you eaten?”
I shake my head.
David produces a paper bag with a Sarge’s logo, my bagel with whitefish salad.
“This is my winner’s breakfast,” I say sadly.
“She’s got this, Dannie.”
“I should head back up,” I say. “Shouldn’t you be at the office?”
“I should be here,” he says.
He puts a hand on my back, and we go upstairs. When we get to the waiting room, Jill and Frederick are still on their cell phones. A pile of Scarpetta’s takeout sits upright in a chair next to them. I don’t even know how they got them to deliver this early—I don’t even think they’re open for lunch.
I brought my computer and I take it out now. The one good thing about the hospital: free and strong Wi-Fi.
Bella has told very few people. Morgan and Ariel, who I email now, and the gallery girls, for logistical reasons. I update them, too. I imagine these tiny, waiflike women contending with their beautiful boss having cancer. Does thirty-three seem ancient to them? They haven’t even crossed twenty-five.
I work for two hours. Answer emails, punt calls, and research. My brain is a haze of focus and paranoia and fear and noise. At some point, David forces the sandwich on me. I’m surprised by my appetite. I finish it. David leaves, promising to come back later. I tell him I’ll meet him at home. Jill steps out and comes back. Frederick goes in search of a charger. Aaron sits—sometimes reading, sometimes doing nothing but staring at the clock, at the big board where they list where patients are. Patient 487B, still in surgery.
