We've played this game as long as I can remember. Whoever guesses which elevator will open, or the number closest to it, gets a prize. When I was little, it was a stop for a donut before starting the long drive home from the airport. After I turned sixteen, it was who had to be the driver.
We wait, expectant, and then adingfills the air. Our eyes swing toward the sound. Elevator five.
Mom makes a face. "I lost. I'll drive."
"No, I'll drive. I miss driving," I tell her, stepping on first and sticking out my hand to ensure the doors don't start to close before she can get on. I can’t believe she has even made the two-hour drive from Sedona to Phoenix in the first place.
She frowns. "You didn't get much sleep on the plane."
"I got enough," I argue. "A stop for some strong coffee and I'll be good to go."
She looks tired. There is no way I am making her drive.
Mom relents, and instead of relief I feel sadness. The mom I've known my whole life would insist on being the driver. She’d dig in her heels and order me to get in the car.
Not anymore.
After we collect my bags, I wheel them to her car and get in the driver seat. I turn on the air conditioning, but after fifteen minutes my mom reaches into the backseat and grabs a sweatshirt. When she pulls it on, I turn down the air with a frown.
"Nonsense," she argues, "that's why I'm putting this on."
"I was getting cold too," I lie. Does she not have enough fat on her bones to keep her warm? The thought completely freaks me out and my knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
I stop for coffee, ordering a double espresso for me, a tall morning blend for mom, and two breakfast sandwiches. The two-hour drive isn’t bad, but I want to get on the road before rush hour traffic, so I shoot the espresso as if it's tequila and we keep going. In between chatting, we eat our breakfast sandwiches as I point the car north. For the next ninety minutes, I stay on the same interstate, watching the scenery switch from bustling city, to suburbs, to saguaros, to scrubby brush. Beside me, my sweet mom sleeps against the glass window.
I alternate between driving and glancing at her. My mom. My protector, encourager, and teacher. I cannot live without her.
Owen has to save her.
Chapter 2
Owen
I never knewwhat tired meant until I became a doctor. I imagine it's like having two newborns on opposite sleep schedules. Not that I would know from experience.
It's not really the hours I spend at the hospital that exhaust me. I'm fine on my feet for extended periods of time. It's the emotional exhaustion I'm referring to.
Working in oncology will do that to you. Having patients die regularly hardens your soul.
Especially this morning. I wish with all my strength that my ten o'clock appointment wasn't with Faith Cummings.
In med school, I'd heard of patients who became like family. But what about people who were like family and then became patients? Med school didn’t have a chapter on that one.
I was an intern the first time Faith was diagnosed. The second time, I was a resident. This time, I'm her doctor. As my career developed, so did Faith's cancer. The maudlin parallel isn't lost on me.
I'm not stopping at oncologist though. I'm in a surgical fellowship, and when it's over I'll be a surgical oncologist.
Which basically means I can remove tumors from patients here in Sedona instead of sending them down to Phoenix. Tumors have always fascinated me. When you resect the pink healthy tissue, there it is, like a wadded piece of gum, so clearly alien to its surroundings.
Before I can head into Faith's exam room, I need food and coffee. I have to fuel up before I see her, because each appointment with her leaves me emotionally drained. It’s not the fact that she looks so much like her daughter, a daughter who was simultaneously the great love and complete destroyer of my life—okay, it’s a bit that—but mostly it’s the fact that Faith is like a second mother to me and the pressure to save her life is so heavy … at times it crushes me.
"Hey, Theresa." I stop in front of the stout brown-haired woman sitting behind the nurses' desk. She looks up slowly from the computer, her chin leading the way and her eyes the last part of her face to rise.
"What's up, Doc?"
I want to make a joke about Bugs Bunny, but I don't dare. Theresa is no-nonsense. To be honest, she scares me a little. But what she lacks in warmth, she makes up for in ability. Nothing shakes her. If I needed medical care, I'd request Theresa as my nurse any day.
My gaze shoots down the hall, then back to Theresa's cool expression. "I'm mentally preparing for Faith Cummings' appointment."
