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Six hours later, Lincoln stepped into the apartment and settled onto the couch as quietly as he could manage. In four short hours he’d need to take Kali to her appointment. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them again until the quiet, familiar noises of the kettle, a mug on the counter, and a spoon stirring gently roused him. He groaned, stretched, then rolled over to see Kali standing across the room, a coffee cup in hand.
“You were out late.”
“Went for a walk.”
Kali leaned against the wall. “Until almost three in the morning?”
“Visited a bar in between.”
“Ah.” She nodded, one hand wrapped snugly around the mug, the other rubbing the back of her neck. “Which one?”
“Tom’s Little Havana.”
“Have fun?”
Lincoln pushed himself up and swung his feet to the floor. “Some interesting conversations.” She rested casually against the wall, her delicate ankles crossed, her eyes, still heavy with sleep, gazing at him. He could watch that sleepy gaze every morning for the rest of his life.
“I was a bit worried.” Kali straightened and smiled. “But it was probably good for you. Get out of your head.”
Lincoln opened his mouth to question.
“Maybe I should have done that.” She took a sip of her coffee and gave a little shrug. “Walk the night. Meet strangers who know nothing of my life. Get out of my head.”
Something in Lincoln’s chest clenched. “It’s going to be fine.”
Kali nodded. “We hope.” She turned, vanishing from Lincoln’s sight. He reached for his phone. Forty-five minutes before they had to leave. Enough time to shower and eat.
After finding a spot large enough for the truck, Lincoln rested his hand on the small of Kali’s back as they travelled the sidewalk. She was tense. Quiet. He tried to catch her gaze but she focused straight ahead, which meant as far as she could see, he wasn’t even there. Her cane tap tapped ahead of her. She took it everywhere now, preferring it to using his arm as her guide.
They walked through the crowd of people milling in front of the hospital doors. A man, broad, with a limp, paced the area. Broad wasn’t even the word; he was massive. Almost two of Lincoln’s arms would fit inside his one. But he looked timid, nervous. Near him, a woman brought a cigarette to her lips, her hands trembling so hard it took three tries to light it. Another man sat on a bench, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Lincoln looked away and tried to pull his mind from thoughts of these people. Were they waiting for someone they loved? Had they just received news that would forever leave their lives shattered?
He brought his gaze back to Kali. Would that be them in an hour? Nervous, uncertain, wishing to be anywhere but here? It could be bad news, that the treatment did nothing, that the tumour was still growing, that Kali would lose her sight entirely and maybe, sooner than should be possible, her life. Lincoln stared at her back, the slight sway of her hips, the tall stance of her shoulders. It couldn’t be that. It wouldn’t be that. She was going to be fine.
Kali made her way to the clinic doors, tap, tap, tap. Her head held high, her steps sure. She pushed open the door before Lincoln had a chance to hold it for her.
“Do you want me to—?”
She cut him off with a shake of her head. “No.” She kept her chin raised. “Thank you, but go on home.” She pushed out a smile. “It’s going to be hours. I’ll give you a call when I’m done.”
“I don’t mind.” Lincoln put a hand on her shoulder. She grasped it and gave a squeeze.
“No. There’s no point us both wasting the day here.”
“It’s not a—”
“Go home, Lincoln. I’ll call you when I need you.”
He wanted to protest, tell her again he didn’t mind waiting, tell her she might need him, want him, when she came out with the news. He kept silent and caressed her arm as he let his hand fall.
***
MARISSA, KALI’S FAVOURITE radiation therapist, offered a wink. “It’s been nice not seeing you so much.”
Kali pushed out a laugh. “I hope we see each other less and less as the years go on.”
Marissa gave Kali’s shoulder a squeeze. “Me too. How have you been?”
Kali swallowed. “Surviving.” She paused. “There’s been good.”
“There always is.” Marissa led Kali to the MRI room. “You remember the drill? No jewellery, zippers, buttons, nothing metal.”
Kali nodded. She climbed onto the MRI bed and waited for the machine to move. She should be used to it by now, but still the tight space and clanking made her jaw tighten. Wind rushed through the tunnel, chilling her. She clenched and unclenched her fists, started at 300 and counted backwards by threes. It should calm her. 297. It would calm her. 294.
At last it was over. Once out of the tunnel, Kali eased herself onto her forearms.
“Not so bad?” Marissa entered the room and offered Kali a hand to help her off the table.
“Better than a root canal.” Kali put a hand to her head, fighting the dizziness that threatened.
Marissa’s brow furrowed. “We’re going to get you all figured out today, okay? Dr. Manning will be ready for you soon and then on to Dr. Jones for the MRI results.”
“Yeah.” Kali knew all this, knew many people had to wait, knew it was a favour. And she was thankful. But some days, today, it felt impossible to believe all of this was okay, impossible to smile. It was bull, what she’d told Lincoln, that whatever had happened had already happened, that today changed nothing. Today changed everything ... or at least had the potential to.
“Back to your fella?”
“Huh?” Kali turned to Marissa. “No, uh, he’s gone. The Sunshine Room. I think I’ll wait in the Sunshine Room today.”
“Great.” Marissa’s smile was broad. Her shiny black hair glinted in the light. “You want me to send some—”
“No.” Kali raised her hand. “I need time alone.”
“Right.” Marissa nodded, her dark lashes lowering over her even darker eyes. She squeezed Kali’s arm. “Someone will come get you when Dr. Manning is ready.”
Kali stretched out on a couch in the Sunshine Room, thankful she had it to herself, though she almost wished she’d asked Lincoln to stay. She could be curled up in his arms right now, feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the caress of his fingers along her skin. She took a deep breath then released it slowly. She repeated this, again and again, until a nurse she didn’t recognize led her to the neuro-ophthalmology wing. After a round of tests, Dr. Manning’s less than confident smile sent Kali sinking back into her chair.
“It’s bad?”
“It’s not better, which is what we had hoped. It’s somewhat worse.” The doctor smoothed back her non-existent stray hairs. “But that doesn’t mean much. It’s not unusual, Kali. The treatment can cause swelling and for some it takes longer to settle than others. Most likely you’ll come back in a month and we’ll be looking at an entirely different scenario.”
“Improvement?”
Dr. Manning pressed her lips together. “Hopefully. At least no further decline.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t even always see someone this early after treatment. We were hopeful. For your job. For—”
“I get it.” Kali stood. She put out her hand. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”
Kali made her way back to the Sunshine Room and closed her eyes. It didn’t mean anything. Most likely her reduced vision was due to swelling. Most likely it was fine.
A little over an hour later she was in Dr. Jones’ office, waiting. She sat, her hands clasped. Let it have shrunk. The clock on the wall tick, tick, ticked. Let it be a miracle. Let it be almost gone, or dead. Let it be dead.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Kali startled as the door pushed open.
Dr. Jones sat. She could see the news on his face before he uttered a word.
“So it’s larger? It’s grown?”
“It appears larger. But as I said, the swelling—”
“You don’t know. What you’re saying is you don’t know.”
“Not conclusively.” Dr. Jones folded his hands. “You know we often don’t have definitive answers.”
“So it could be enlarged because it’s growing, because it’s taking over my brain. I thought at least—”
“Most likely,” he held out a hand, “the tumour cells are dead or dying, and in four to six weeks we’ll see an entirely different picture. There’s no reason to think the worst.”
She knew that. Of course she knew that. But she’d thought. She’d hoped ... “Does this lessen the chance of ever regaining the vision I’ve lost?”
“Not necessarily.”
“But maybe.”
“I can’t—”
“You can’t say.” Kali looked to the ceiling. Where was the peace she’d found? Where was the woman who’d accepted her fate, who decided life could be lived and lived well even if her vision remained as it was, even if it got worse?
“My professional opinion is that you’re never going to regain all you’ve lost. And you’re definitely never going to come in and see this magically gone. Whether it’s residual meningioma, dead meningioma, or scar tissue ... all of them will affect your vision.”
“But the hope is dead or scar ... so no growth.”
“That is the hope.”
Kali stared at him, seeing the basketball player in the church parking lot. Seeing the way he used to lean against his car with a group of girls and guys surrounding him. Did he ever imagine he’d be sitting across from the little girl who’d watched from a distance, telling her that her optic nerve and chiasm would always be scarred? Did he even remember she was that girl? He’d never mentioned it.
Kali had caught his ball once as it rolled to the sidelines, thrown it to him. And he’d grinned. That casual, careless grin. Shelley had elbowed her and Kali smiled back. Even though she wasn’t interested in guys, and certainly not one five years her senior, she’d never forgotten that grin.
“Kali?”
“Mmhmm?”
“You’re going to come back in,” he looked to his calendar, “in five and a half weeks. Until then, we’re going to hope for the best.”
Kali stood.
“I see you’re using the cane.”
Kali looked at it, she hadn’t even realized she’d taken it out of her satchel when she’d stood, hadn’t realized she held it in her hand.
“That’s good. That’s wise.”
Was it? Or was it giving in?