“The one I removed a while back.”The doctor looked at her strangely.“You knew about that, didn’t you?”
Her voice was weak.“No.”
“Surely he told you.”
“No!When was this?”
Pushing his glasses higher on his nose, the doctor shifted a few papers in Brendan’s file until he found the right one.“Brendan first came to me in the spring of ’76 with a growth on his shoulder.I removed it.It was malignant.”
“Malignant,” Pam echoed in a whisper.She couldn’t believe it.
“At the time, there was mixed sentiment about treatment of that kind of melanoma.Many of my colleagues felt that surgery alone was sufficient.I took the conservative route and followed the surgery up with chemotherapy.”
“Chemotherapy,” she echoed again.She couldn’t believe it.
He put his glasses on the desk and eyed her awkwardly.“Quite frankly, Mrs.McGrath, I was surprised when Brendan told me you’d had a baby.Before I recommended the chemo, I asked whether he thought he’d ever want more children.As a matter of course, chemotherapy usually renders the patient sterile.”
He went on to talk about the fact that Brendan was one for the books, that being disease free for twelve years was remarkable, that if only Brendan had had regular checkups things would look brighter.
Stunned, Pam only half-heard him.As soon as she could, she escaped and went to see Brendan.He was sleeping when she stole quietly into the room.She pulled a chair close to the bed and watched him until he woke.
He gave her a tired smile that came and went with lightning speed.Soberly he asked whether she’d talked with the doctor.
She nodded.
For a bit he didn’t say anything, just looked at her.When he reached for her hand, she held it tightly.
“I should have told you, Pam.”His eyes and voice were tired.“I know that.I should have told you before we married.You were young.You had a right to decidewhether you wanted to be saddled with someone who would probably get sick.But I was afraid you’d say no.So I was selfish and kept still.You held such promise for me.I reasoned that if I had to die before my time, I had a right to some good times with you.And they have been good.Pam.You’ve been wonderful—”
“You talk like it’s over!”She couldn’t accept that.He was too good a man to die young—and, yes, she’d always thought of him as young.He was a young fifty-nine-year-old, or had been until the cancer had stolen his pep.
“It doesn’t look good.”
“That’s because they haven’t started treatment yet.You responded to it last time.You’ll respond again.”
He blinked in mild rebuke.“Last time it was a preventive measure.This time it’s for real.There’s a lot to fight.”
“Then we’ll fight.”
He gave her hand a weak squeeze.“You have spirit.
That’s one of the things I love in you.”
He was looking at her, knowing all she didn’t.“It’s hard, Pam.It’s unpleasant, the treatment.”
“You did it before, you’ll do it again.”
“I’m twelve years older now.”
“And you have that much more reason to live.Before, you had the boys.They may be grown now, but they still need you.Ariana and I sure do.”
She had been talking on pure instinct, saying things straight from the heart.At the mention of Ariana, though, her expression must have betrayed some of the guilt she felt, because Brendan gave her a sad smile.
“It’s Cutter, isn’t it?”
She didn’t answer.She didn’t know how much to say, whether to say anything at all, or whether Brendan would fight his illness more if he knew the truth.
He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it lightly, anchored it on his chest.“It’s time,” he admonished softly.
