He was standing there in front of the doors to the cathedral, almost as if he were a sentry on watch. He smiled as he saw Grace walking up the steps. A soft smile. He knew she’d come. She rarely missed. “Morning,” he whispered.
“Morning,” she whispered back.
“Grace, I want to talk to you about a treatment.”
“I’m feeling a little ambushed.”
“You won’t return my phone calls.”
“It’s too late, Richard.”
“You don’t know that, Grace. I’m the doctor.”
“And I’m the patient.”
“It’s my job to make sure you make an informed decision.”
She looked at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but then thought better of saying anything at all. She didn’t want to argue with this man. This good man. And outside the cathedral. Before morning mass.
“I thought you were a fighter, Grace.”
“When I fight, I have to believe I can win.”
“You can.”
“Don’t do this, Richard. Please don’t do this.”
Today, she was angry. She wasn’t in the mood for begging. She ordered Saint Francis to raise her dog Mississippi from the dead. “She was as good a servant as any. When that man tried to hurt Mister when he was walking to the store, do you remember? She leaped on him like a wild animal. She was protector and companion, and it isn’t right that heaven prefers humans to animals.” On listening to her own prayer, she asked forgiveness for eating meat. It was a sin, after all, to eat animals. She was heartily sorry.
And then she prayed to Mary Magdalene, protector of prostitutes, transvestites, and addicts. Why not? God, in his ironic sense of humor, had chosen her to be the first to see Jesus risen from the dead. Today, she prayed for Silvia. If she isn’t in heaven, see to it. And guide the girls on both sides of the border. You know what I mean. You know exactly what I mean.
And tell the good doctor to leave me the hell alone.