Oncologist—the word hit him at full impact in the midsection, knocking the breath from his body. Why would her oncologist be needed?
“He works between here and Bozeman, so he isn’t always in Amber Ridge,” Clara finished.
The doctor moved to Clara’s bedside. “You passed out in the shower, is that correct?”
“Yes. I was already feeling light-headed earlier. I’ve also had a headache.”
“And you told the nurse you’ve been having some shortness of breath?”
“Yes. For a couple of days.”
Holden flinched. She’d had shortness of breath fordaysand hadn’t told him? And how had he missed her telling that to the nurse?
Dr. Bennett placed the diaphragm of his stethoscope on Clara’s chest and listened. “Any other symptoms?”
“Tired…really tired. And a bit of a fever.”
The oncologist nodded, shifting the diaphragm to another part of her chest. “Well, Clara, I’m sure it’s nothing. But I’d like to do a physical examination and take some x-rays just to be sure. You were due for your annual checkup in a month anyway, so this can just replace that.”
The tightness in Holden’s muscles grew stronger, and it was suddenly accompanied by a sharp pain in his chest. How many oncologist appointments had he sat in on with his mother? Andthe constant helplessness he’d felt then matched the concern crawling through his body right now.
Clara turned to him. “You should go.”
“No. I’m staying.”
“Holden, I know you hate hospitals, and this may take some time. Get a coffee, go outside, and get some air. I’m okay.”
He gritted his back teeth together, another “no” on the tip of his tongue. But then Clara squeezed his hand.
“Please,” she said softly, a note of desperation in her tone.
He didn’t want to leave her side. But maybe him leaving was more for her than him. He forced himself to rise and press a kiss to her temple. “Call me when you’re done.”
She nodded, worry in her eyes as he turned. Worry about what her oncologist was going to say?
Almost on autopilot, he walked into the hall. He’d only taken a few steps when Deb turned a corner and bumped into him.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She looked up. “Holden?” She wore her nurse’s uniform and her hair was pulled up into a slick bun.
He tried for a small smile but was almost certain he didn’t pull it off. “Hi, Deb.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Clara isn’t feeling well.” A fucking understatement.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, that’s not good. Do you need anything?”
“No. I’m just going to grab a coffee. But thanks.”
She nodded quickly. “Okay. Text if you need me.”
He continued down the hall. But he didn’t step outside or get a coffee. He didn’t want to leave the hospital, and he couldn’t stomach anything right now.
Instead, he went to the waiting area and paced. Then paced some more.
Back when his mother had been sick, he’d sit and wait for hours. Sometimes by her side in her room. Sometimes in thewaiting area. And it had always felt like he was waiting for the worst news. Like every day was both a gift and a ticking time bomb.
What if Clara’s oncologist told her the cancer was back?
