KENDRA ALMOST WISHED SHE’D LET LANCE COME TO HER doctor’s appointment, to help her understand. Dr. Contee was talking, but the words landed sparsely, as if choosing for themselves whether to reach Kendra or stop just short. And what did land, landed hard. She was reminded of June 17, a date seared on her brain, when she sat in Dr. Watson’s office. Her life before that bore no resemblance to life after. She had that feeling right now, like life was taking another big hit.
“It’s not working?” Kendra said. “That’s what you’re basically saying, right? The chemo’s not working.”
It was too much to comprehend. Weeks of industrial-strength chemo pumped into her body and knocking her flat on her back, with one thought pushing her through—that something was getting better, and then finding out it wasn’t . . .
“It’s not that it’s not working,” Dr. Contee said. “We’re seeing some positive change. Just not to the extent we had hoped.”
“Which means it’s not working.” Kendra’s head fell in her hand as more words sailed over and around her. Lord, why? This road is hard enough. Why can’t I get good news on the hard road? Why is everything on this road hard?
“Kendra,” Dr. Contee said, “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. It’s not what I wanted to hear. This is an aggressive cancer, and as we discussed at the outset, I can’t give any guarantees.” She eyed Kendra with compassion. “But by changing your chemo cocktail for the next two sessions, I’m hoping for excellent results.”
“Dr. Contee, I don’t even know what that means anymore—‘excellent’ results. What’s excellent? If it extends my life by two more months?”
Kendra stood to go. She knew the answer.
Dr. Contee rose as well and came around her desk. “You told me last month that you were praying regularly.” She hugged her. “I’m praying too. Keep the faith, Ken.”
“Thank you, Dr. Contee.” Her voice was bare. “I know you’re doing the best you can.”
Kendra’s phone vibrated as she left. Looking at it, she saw three text messages and as many missed calls from Lance, starting early this morning. She’d left the house at six, before anyone was up, tired of lying in bed under an avalanche of thoughts. But the thoughts buried her still as she drove around and ate at a breakfast spot. Now, with this latest news, it was hard to see daylight.
She walked to her car, envisioning long stretches of highway to drive so she could think for as long as it took to make sense of her life—but it would never make sense. And she barely had the strength to make it three miles to home.
Her next-best scenario was to sneak into the house and up to her room, close the door, and shut out the world. But when she walked through the garage door and into the kitchen, Lance was the first thing she saw.
Now late morning, she was getting hungry again, but she kept moving. “I don’t want to talk right now,” she said.
“Kendra, we need to talk.” Lance followed. “I want to hear how the appointment went, and I need to talk to you about last night.”
She turned before she reached the stairs. “Oh, about Adrienne? Or about our complicated non-relationship?”
“That’s why I need to talk to you,” Lance said. “Adrienne told you about a conversation we had almost two months ago. I told her last night that you and I are in a relationship . . . and that I love you.”
“It doesn’t even matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?”
“Whether we’re in a relationship. What does that even mean? I don’t know what anything means anymore.” She went up a stair and turned back. “No, here’s a better way to say it. Nothing means what it used to anymore.”
“So you’re saying it doesn’t matter to you if we’re in a relationship?”
“I’m saying the relationship doesn’t matter, period. How could it?” She threw up her hands, forgetting it hurt her arms to do so. “There’s no future. And the little future I thought I had is dwindling.”
He stepped closer. “What did Dr. Contee say, Ken?”
Kendra took a breath, feeling the weight of the doctor’s words again. “She said we’re not getting the tumor shrinkage they hoped we’d get. My interpretation: I’ve had four cycles of aggressive chemo, four cycles of intense pain . . . for nothing.”
“No way it’s been for nothing,” Lance said. “I know Dr. Contee didn’t say that.”
“She’d never say what the real deal is. You have to read between the lines.” Tears came. She couldn’t hold them any longer. “What she might as well have said is that I’m part of the statistic for whom the ‘treatment regimen’ doesn’t work. Somebody has to be in that statistic, right? Why not me?”
“What is she going to do?” Lance asked.
“Change the chemo cocktail. Use different drugs.”
“That sounds positive,” Lance said. “I’m sure it’ll work much better.”
He pulled her to himself, but she backed off.
“I really need to plant myself in reality.” Kendra dried her tears. “I can’t do the fake optimism of ‘this’ll work great’ and ‘hope for the best.’ I can’t.” She flinched when he tried again to hold her. “And I can’t tell myself this ‘relationship’ can work and then look out the window and see what a real relationship for you could look like.”
Lance’s eyes welled up. “Don’t do this, Ken. You’re tired, probably hungry, and you got less than favorable news—”
“And none of it means I can’t think clearly,” Kendra said. “I was thinking about this before today. The appointment only sealed it.”
“Sealed what?”
Kendra looked into his eyes. “You asked if I would let you love me, but I can’t, Lance. It would be selfish of me.” Her tears were back, because of his. “It’s all one-sided. You give, and I take . . . of your time and your energy and your strength. You were having so much fun outside dancing, just loose and . . . unburdened. I want that for you. You don’t have to shackle yourself to my illness.”
He wiped her tears. “That’s not what this is at all. I love you, Ken. That was just one dance, mainly because Brooklyn—”
“See, now you’re justifying why you were having fun.” Kendra shook her head. “No, Lance. Have fun. Please. You shouldn’t be worrying about me. You’re not even working like you used to.”
His eyes held a sadness she’d never seen. “I’m going to let you rest,” he said, “and we can talk about this later.” He took her arm to help her upstairs.
Kendra stiffened. “I drove to a breakfast place and to the doctor’s this morning,” she said. “I can walk up the stairs.”
Lance let go and she could feel him watching as she made her way up. Going ahead with her next-best scenario, she closed the door and shut out the world.