“She is?”
“Yep. That’s what I’m here for.”
Isla was scared. I couldn’t blame her. It didn’t matter how lovely Lucy was, or how much she loved Barbies, all Isla understood was the fact she was sick and needed a doctor.
“Luke, come here,” I called him over and without hesitating, he rounded the bed and sat on the other side, sandwiching Isla between us. When his arm wound around Isla and wrapped around my waist, I almost cried. Right now, when the chips were down, I was sure the only picture Lucy could see is of one of a normal family.
“Isla?”
“Yes, Doctor Williams?” she answered politely.
“It is okay if I talk to you about what we need to do?”
“Can my daddy and Charlotte stay?” Isla asked, forgetting about teddy and reaching for us both.
Even if Lucy had said no, we weren’t going anywhere. It was going to take a SWAT team and a body bag to get us out of here. Thank fuck I knew she wouldn’t even ask.
“If you want them here, then they stay. You’re the boss here, Isla?”
“I am?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Did you hear that, Dad? Doctor Williams said I’m the boss.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, I heard her. Now we need to listen to the pretty doctor so she can tell us what we need to do to get you better. Okay?” Luke was so patient with her. He was doing an amazing job trying not to scare her but not to baby her either. If anyone ever doubted how good of a father Luke was, all they had to do was take one look at him in that moment and they’d see just how wrong they were.
“Okay, Dad,” Isla agreed.
Exchanging glances with Luke, he offered me a small nod and squeezed my shoulder encouraging me to ask. “Okay, Lucy. Let’s do it. Where do we start?”
24
LUKE
The last coupleof months had been a blur.
Christmas came and went. New Years was toasted with a glass of apple juice beside Isla’s hospital bed after a round of radiation therapy didn’t go exactly to plan. And yesterday, after being told directly, Charlotte and I had celebrated Valentine’s Day while Mrs. Neal held down the fort.
It was hard.
I don’t think I’d ever been so scared and so tired before. It didn’t even compare to those first few weeks after I’d brought her home completely clueless. I was spending every waking minute either working or hanging out with Isla.
And my little girl was a trooper. Sure, she had her days when it was all too much, watching her lose her hair hadn’t been easy but Isla was tough. Instead of letting it get her down, she kept smiling, even insisting on going to school when she could.
Watching Isla fight leukemia took its toll on all of us. Mrs. Neal had dissolved into tears on my shoulder more times than I could count, and she’d changed everything. Isla was spoilt rotten. Anything she wanted, anything she asked for, her wish was our command.
Last night while Charlotte and I went to dinner, Isla had her first sleepover with Mrs. Neal since her diagnosis. Even though I trusted Mrs. Neal with Isla’s life, leaving her was hard. Harder than I was ready for. But part of the deal was, we were only allowed to check in once. Any more and she was turning her phone off and not answering.
When Charlotte stepped out of the bedroom wearing a black dress that fit her like a second skin and a pair of heels that had my tongue rolling out of my mouth, it made it a bit easier.
Isla had headed off an hour ago, leaving us time to get ready to go out. It was the first time since we’d received the news that upended my world. From that moment everything else had taken a back seat, including my relationship with Charlotte.
I was still in love with her, maybe more so now than ever, and she still slept more nights in the bed beside me than at her own place, but my focus, our focus, had been on Isla and getting her through. And Charlotte being Charlotte, hadn’t once complained. She’d stepped up and been incredible throughout this long, painful journey. She visited with Isla when she was in the hospital and she had a spare second, often sneaking her an extra Jell-O or a cookie. She sat for hours on the floor playing tea parties and even slept beside her, cuddling her, and holding a damp washcloth to her head when she was struggling.
“You look incredible,” I commented as she stepped out of the bedroom, tossing her cherry red coat over the back of the couch.
“Thanks. You don’t clean up so bad yourself,” she replied, tugging on the hem of her dress.
