Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 361(@300wpm)
Her eyes were trained on Ben’s somber face. He sat on a big chair close to the sofa. He didn’t look like he’d slept at all, his face was dark with stubble, hair mussed and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows with the hem trailing out of the waistband of his charcoal chinos
“The doctor wants to speak with us.”
“What’s the time?” she asked, getting up and doing more futile smoothing of her hair and clothes.
“It’s just gone eight in the morning.” He got up as well, tucking his shirt in and rolling his sleeves back down. He ran his fingers through his hair and immediately looked almost immaculate again. If not for the stubble, she wouldn’t have guessed that he’d spent fifteen of the last twenty-four hours traveling. “He wants to see us in his office.”
“Any word on Gramps?”
“No change. You ready?”
“Hold on.” She scrounged around her shoulder bag for a breath mint and popped it, offering him one as well. He took it without comment, before holding out his hand to her.
For a second she stared at the proffered hand in confusion, until she understood that he was waiting for her to take it.
Oh.
She wavered for a second, before busying herself with the clasp of her bag. She kept her head ducked as she brushed past him—ignoring his hand—on her way to the door. She was aware of him standing there for a second, and felt his eyes boring into the back of her head, but refused to look at him. He sighed, impatience and annoyance riding on the long exhalation of air, and moved to catch up with her. He dropped a hand to the small of her back and steered her to the left when she turned right at the exit.
“It’s this way.”
She said nothing, merely adjusted her course and walked beside him in silence.
“Mr. and Mrs. Templeton, good morning. I trust you had an uneventful journey back?” the doctor greeted somberly, running a hand through his luxurious salt-and-pepper mane, causing it to stick up in tufts. He was a distinguished looking man in his mid-forties, sporting black rimmed glasses and a neatly trimmed beard. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He offered Lilah a small smile. “I’m Dr. Jason Mendelssohn. I’m so sorry I haven’t been available to talk before now but I’ve had back-to-back surgeries.”
He directed them toward a couple of uncomfortable chairs before sitting down behind his desk across from them.
“How’s my grandfather?” Lilah asked after sitting down, dispensing with the formalities and keen to get to the heart of the matter as soon as possible.
The doctor sighed and tugged at his short beard.
“He’s stable, but his prognosis isn’t good.”
Lilah’s stomach dropped and she swallowed before framing her next question. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m afraid there’s no easy way to put this, Mrs. Templeton… but your grandfather has end stage pancreatic cancer. At this point there’s little we can do but keep him comfortable.”
Lilah stared at the man uncomprehendingly, not sure if she’d heard him correctly.
“What?” She was dimly aware of Ben’s hand creeping over her cold, clammy one where it tightly clutched the arm of the chair, and she latched onto him desperately, squeezing his fingers so hard it actually hurt her. “That can’t be right.”
“Lilah…”
“No Ben, that’s not right,” she insisted, her voice gaining strength as her outrage grew traction. “He’s only been treating Gramps for a few hours. He can’t just say that! With all due respect, Dr. Mendelssohn, you haven’t had enough time to run the proper tests. We can’t simply take you at your word about something like this. Tell him, Ben.”
“Mrs. Templeton,” the doctor said, his voice patient and gentle. “I’ve been your grandfather’s oncologist for the last year, trust me when I say we’ve done all the tests and we’ve tried all the treatments.”
“I don’t trust you. How can I trust you when I don’t even know you?”
“What’s important is that your grandfather trusts me,” Dr. Mendelssohn said calmly. “And he has done so for the better part of a year.”
“I don’t…” She turned to Ben, her eyes wide, her vision blurry with tears. She couldn’t quite see his face but he was pale, he looked grief-stricken. Her fingers tightened around his. “I don’t know you. We don’t know you and I think it’s only right that we seek a second opinion in this matter.”
The doctor gave Ben a slightly confused glance, before clearing his throat and putting his hands on his desk to steeple his fingers.
“I recognize that this news has come as a shock to you and I completely understand your desire to seek other opinions, but your grandfather has fought long and hard, he’s exhausted, and about six months ago he eschewed all form of chemotherapy in favor of palliative treatment. He’s made his decision and understands what comes next.”