I balk internally at the half-truth. After all, Lachlandidhave another daughter. But she was nowhere to be found, was she? Really, it was just me.
“Please,” I say plainly, aware that I haven’t even used the word with him yet. Looking into the doctor’s eyes, I try to convey my grief and myneed, my need to know the truth.
Why did it seem like the universe was so hellbent on keeping it from me?
“He—he had cancer, right?” I ask, undeterred by the man’s silence. A long pause stretches out between us.
“Please, Dr. Wagner.Please,” I beg.
I had looked up the medications that my father had tested positive for listed on the tox report late last night. Most of the meds indicated treatment of middle to late stage cancer, of various different kinds.
My heart already knew what my head refused to accept. All I need now is for this man to confirm it. I need to hear it said aloud, to make it real.
Dr. Wagner heaves out a heavy sigh as he rounds the rectangular marble desk. He hesitates just another moment before lowering his eyes to the desk and finally speaking.
“Stage four pancreatic cancer,” he says softly, “your father was in the terminal stages, Ms. Pearson. Most of his prescriptions at the end were to reduce his pain and enhance his comfort.”
And there it was. Dad knew he was dying. And he wanted to do it on his terms.
Dropping my hands to my lap, I also drop my head, shaking it in disbelief. Dad’s suicide had been one thing. The shock, the guilt, the complete lack of understanding that had followed it.
But this?To have been battling cancer… andsuffering… all alone? This was something else entirely. Something I didn’tknow how to process or understand. It filled me with a familiar desire… the desire to run.
“How long?” I ask, breaking the momentary silence. The words leave my mouth before I even have time to think.
“How long what?” Dr. Wagner inquires.
“How long were you treating him?” I clarify.
“Ah. I believe I was his second or third opinion. He first came to me around six months ago.”
Six months.Six fucking months.And if this Dr. Wagner was his second or third opinion, that means that Dad had known about his diagnosis for a hell of a lot longer than that. Why hadn’t he let me in on it? I could have moved in with him, helped him. I would have ensured that he got the very best care in Washington. In the country!Fuck.
My hands curl into fists at my sides and I feel the sting of tears at the corners of my eyes.
“Thank you, Doctor,” my voice croaks out.
“You’re welcome,” he replies. And then, seemingly thinking to tack on, he adds, “And Ms. Pearson? I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Oh yeah. Me too, I think bitterly. But words feel stuck in my mouth.Bound by silence. A family fucking legacy, I think bitterly.
“Thank you,” I whisper. And quickly, I close the heavy office door, racing down the stairs before the tears spill onto my cheeks.
____________________
An hour later, I slam the shot glass down, and the bar spins around me.Shit.
It all started innocently enough. In a haze of fresh grief and confusion, I had made my way into the nearest bar I could find. Sliding onto the leather barstool, I ordered my usual glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I had sat and drank and thought. And then I thought some more. And the more I thought, the more I drank. A second glass of wine had turned into a third, and then somehow morphed into vodka martinis. Then vodka shots.
The bartender eyes me warily as I squint at the bill, struggling to correctly settle my tab. He offers to call me a cab, but I decline, promising him that I’m not driving.
I know I should be calling Bea. Like an hour ago, probably. But I don’t. I pull out my cell and attempt to type out a text to her instead.
My keyboard screen is all blurry, despite having my glasses on. I close one eye in an attempt to see the letters more clearly, but the best I manage to type out is:
ME: “hey B, I’mon my way over, need to talk and need to crash if that’s ok.XO”
I’m about to order myself a Lyft, when I suddenly think to check and see how far I actually am from Bea’s. Opening my maps app, I see that Bea’s apartment complex is only a twelve-minute walk from here. I can do that. And a brisk walk in the cool night air will do me some good.
