FIRST CONTACT
Celia Milbourne ran shaky fingers through her dark hair and checked her watch for the third time. Where was he? The file she’d plunked on his desk grabbed her attention like a neon light blinking on and off, never quite out of view. Her file. Her test results. Picking it up, she fanned the pages, then tossed it back onto the desk, thinking about the appointment she’d just come from. The whole discussion with her gynecologist made no sense. How could she be sick? She felt fine.
She thought about what had driven her to make the appointment. The minimal but out-of-character spotting and the feeling that she was on the brink of a bladder infection. Always feeling bloated. Maybe she wasn’t quite fine, but she was healthy enough for this to be some sort of colossal mistake.
She sat down in one of the stuffed chairs in front of Dr. Ted’s desk, but rose moments later, circling the office where medical diplomas shared wall space with pictures of sailboats. Celia touched the stethoscope on the credenza and stopped to pick up the photo of his wife and his two daughters, the latter both close in age to her own thirty five years.
Nostalgia momentarily dulled her worry. She’d been in this office many times, even had a couple impromptu Chinese take-out dinners as they discussed life or argued solutions to current world problems.
Ted Jameson had been more than just her family doctor for a long time now. First, by filling the gaping hole left after her father’s death. Then, he’d become her mentor when she took a job as a pharmaceutical rep. So it was only natural for her to run straight here when the specialist had started spouting words and possibilities that chilled her to the bone. She respected Dr. Ted. He would tell her the truth.
She just wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. A shiver slid down her back, draining any residual strength Celia had left. Her mind swam with results and percentages and possibilities.
The door opened with very little noise, yet Celia jumped, bobbling the family picture before she could place it safely back on the credenza.
“Celia,” Dr. Ted said in a voice reserved for, well, just about everyone. He was that kind of doctor.
That calming influence, that happiness to see her was exactly what she needed. Relief shored up her strength, fed it, until her smile was genuine. “Hi.”
“This is a nice surprise.” He picked up the cup of his favorite coffee, which Celia had placed on his desk, and gave a satisfied sniff, tipping it in her direction. “Thank you. Exactly what I needed. So what brings you here in the middle of the day?”
The smile died as her eyes pointed like a homing beacon to the file. “I need you to interpret—that.”
“Sure. Have a seat while I take a look.” He sat in one of the comfy seats and opened the file. Still easy. Still relaxed.
Unlike her. Celia’s chair felt like a bed of nails. Her hands clutched the arms, then unclutched them as she watched him read. When he sat straighter and frowned, then flipped the page, she was on her feet again, pacing, fighting to keep the ominous sense of dread at bay.
The trap sprung while she was in the corner.
“Come sit down, honey.” Dr. Ted took off his glasses and pinched the cartilage between his eyes.
“I-I don’t think I want to.”
“We need to discuss this,” he said, giving the file a little wave.
Her shoes felt like they were made of lead. She took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the chair. Sitting down wasn’t an option, though. Too confining. Everything was about to crash in on her for the second time that day. She needed space to deflect it.
Dr. Ted took a deep breath of his own. “First, your gynecologist was right to be concerned.”
Celia started to sweat. Not perspire, like a lady. Sweat. Like she was outside. In Philadelphia. In August. She hugged herself tightly and waited for him to say more. To tell her that “concern” didn’t mean what she thought it did. Silence filled the space between them until Celia finally spoke up. “It can’t be that bad.”
“We won’t know for sure until a biopsy is done.”
Her eyes widened as she sank onto the chair, no longer caring about confined spaces. The air around her had already closed in. “A biopsy? H-he said that, too.”
“I know. And yes, a biopsy. As soon as possible.”
“Hold on.” She saw his deeply furrowed brows. “It feels like you’re not telling me everything. You’ve never hedged before. Why now?”
He looked at her and the flash of apprehension in his eyes felt like a clap of thunder over her head. Dr. Ted towered over most people, but rarely intimidated them. Young and old alike were at ease with him, probably due to his friendly demeanor and boyish good looks, even at almost sixty years of age. He was one of the strongest men she knew; in fact, he’d been her rock more times than she could count. Now here he sat, worry evident in his eyes.
Sweat turned to instant chills and Celia shivered, as if a ghost had just walked over her grave.
“Anything I tell you would be pure speculation,” he said. “I’d rather wait until after the biopsy. But it’s serious, honey. Your lab work is significantly higher than it should be.”
“You mean, that CA something or other, right?” she asked.
“Yes. The CA-125. The lower the better, score-wise. Less than 35 is optimal, but even that isn’t a clean bill of health. Yours is a 65.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not. You shouldn’t wait. With your permission, I’d like to make an appointment for you with a gynecological oncologist I know and respect.”
Celia flinched as reality chucked a rock straight at her face. He’d used the “O” word. She struggled to compose her thoughts, shaking her head. “It can’t be that bad. I’m just having problems with my bladder. It’s a simple infection.”
“There’s also your energy level. You said yourself it was noticeably decreased.”
“But an infection—”
“An infection doesn’t explain everything. That’s why your gynecologist ran the additional tests.”
She remembered the blood work, the pelvic exam and ultrasound she’d endured. Could those tests really be enough to send her to the “O” word?
“So nothing’s conclusive yet?” she asked.
“A biopsy is the only way to know for sure, yes. But you should do this right away. The ultrasound showed significant masses on both of your ovaries and you’ll need to decide on intervention quickly.”
“Wait a minute. You’re talking about—” Breath, muscles, everything inside Celia froze, momentarily paralyzed by the possibilities. “It can’t be,” she said. “I’ve had all my regular exams. Cancer,”—she whispered the word on a rasping breath—“can’t grow that fast. Can it?”
“Some of the more aggressive forms can. This type doesn’t generally manifest symptoms until…” He paused. “I’m sure I can get you in to Dr. Mason tomorrow. Janice is right here in Seattle at Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center, highly respected and, in my opinion, the most knowledgeable on the coast. I think you’ll like her.”
Celia jumped at the only fact that made sense. “Tomorrow? No, I can’t. I have to be in Philadelphia tomorrow. I’ve got a convention in three days. I’m scheduled out on the 9:30a.m. flight to meet up with my team.”
“Let your people handle it.”
“But I need…”
“You need to be here.”
Impossible. This was her busy season. She couldn’t be here tomorrow. Everything was planned out. She would drop Nicci off at her mother’s house early. Thankfully, her nine-year-old never minded time spent at Grandma’s. Celia’s job allowed them their modest lifestyle, but the related travel meant a big chunk of time away from her daughter. She hated that part of a job in sales.
Damn. Celia’s hands cupped her cheeks, then rubbed at the itchy, blotchy hives she could feel surfacing over her neck and chest. She’d never be able to explain this to Nicci. Or to her mother. How could she tell her this after what they’d been through?
Transported several years back, to her father’s battle for life, Celia remembered the pain and worry. And the sorrow. Above all, the sorrow. He’d had the “C” word also. And had not lasted long once diagnosed. Her mother’s health had nose-dived for long months afterwards. Celia had worried she would lose her only remaining parent to a broken heart.
No, she couldn’t tell her mother or her daughter. Not yet. She’d need to know for sure before putting them through that. She leaned back in the chair as the realization hit her. The only way to know for sure was to see the oncologist. Tomorrow. Her shoulders slumped.
“All right. Make the appointment.”
Ted Jameson stood, drawing her up with him. As her legs wobbled, he drew her into one of his famous bear hugs. She’d always felt safe there. Until now.
“You’re one of my daughters, Celia.”
Her eyes brimmed with tears.
“We’ll help you fight this.”
He slowly released her and she sank down, not trusting herself to stand.
Dr. Jameson patted her shoulder. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Wait here. I’ll have Marilyn make the appointment.” He gripped her shoulder a little bit tighter. “You stay here as long as you need to.”
She didn’t hear the door close. A pounding had started, first in her ears, then her head joined the crescendo. The office looked different somehow. More medical. More menacing. The walls were closing in on her.
The door opened again and a whiff of disinfectant set Celia’s insides roiling. One hand went to her stomach, the other to her throat as she tasted the bile clawing its way up. She needed air.
She stood, grabbed blindly for her purse, and willed her trembling legs to move, quickly passing the nurse. By the time she got to the front desk, reception was a blur. She had to get out of there.
~~~
Seth sat quietly in the corner as Celia’s world became a whole lot smaller, a lot more focused, and filled with pain. He hit the arm of the chair in frustration. All he could do was watch. It wasn’t his time to intervene yet and just sitting here, powerless, was pure torture.
He left when she left. She stared at the elevator then turned to the stairs. He was outside the building when she burst through the doors and he saw the trapped look in her bright eyes. The word blue didn’t do them justice. In actuality, they were more like a kaleidoscope of blue and gray with a hint of green and brown thrown in.
Celia Milbourne was beautiful. Her dark auburn hair flew out behind her in long, thick, layered tresses. The tight skirt of her business suit along with the three-inch heels she wore made it difficult to run. Still, she managed quite a distance before she slowed, finally sitting on a park bench near the canal between Lake Washington and Puget Sound. He saw her head drop to her hands as she began to shake. There was nothing he could do to help her.
Seth crouched in front of her and held out arms that ached to comfort her. She couldn’t see him. Not yet. He knew that. He leaned in and placed an invisible kiss on the top of her lowered head, jumping back when she sat up abruptly and looked around. She ran her fingers through her hair.
Had she felt him? She couldn’t have.
Could she?
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