The two oncologists would agree, disagree, toss about ideas. Both were passionate about their work.
While Cory haunted Annalise’s autopsies, Jennifer honed in on studies of the genetic sequence of tumors, a relatively new field.
Harry and others like her were well served by doctors whose life’s work was battling cancer.
Feeling as though she were being pulled back by an undertow, Harry knew nothing of this. She heard her mother’s voice and smelled Popsicle’s wonderful odor, Eau de Cheval, loved by horsemen, less admired by others.
“Champ, Champ, come on, Mom’s worried the food will get cold.”
The magnificent collie put his cold nose in her hand, and they ran from the barn to the house, snowflakes falling on both their noses.
“Mom.” Harry threw open the door, at which time another door opened.
She saw lights overhead, which fuzzed up. She heard voices. They weren’t her mother’s voice or Champ’s. Which way to go?
Meanwhile, sitting outside the recovery room, tired even though they hadn’t undergone an operation, Fair and Susan waited.
Susan had already texted Harry’s battalion of good friends who had sense enough to leave her husband and best friend in peace. They’d show up one by one or in pairs once they knew the length of her hospital stay or when she was coming home.
The Reverend Herbert Jones, pastor of St. Luke’s Lutheran Church, would be one of the first. He’d offered a small prayer service in the chapel off the main nave at St. Luke’s for her friends. He didn’t know if it was his memory, but he felt there were so many more cancer cases these days. He had inaugurated special prayer sessions and short readings of the Gospels to offer comfort last year. This service expanded to other crises, drawing back people who had drifted away from the church.
Mrs. Murphy, Tucker, and Pewter lay around at home, wondering, worrying. Not until Fair walked through the door would they really know. He wouldn’t have to open his mouth. Everything about him would tell the truth, especially his smell. Human sorrow, stress, loss, anger, fear, and happiness gave off signature smells.
With Herculean effort, Harry pulled herself into the present. A moment of feeling lost was overtaken by a wave of nausea. As she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything, there was nothing to come up. She felt awful, though. Her mind slowly focused like a camera’s lens, spiraling inward very slowly.
At last, she knew where she was and why she was there. She did not, however, know the outcome of her operation.
Tears rolled down Harry’s cheeks, not because of the operation but because she’d seen and heard her mother, touched Popsicle, felt Champ by her side. She’d loved them so, and they had loved her. Her mind played tricks on her as she came out of the anesthesia, but her heart had not. If only the creatures, the people you love, could go through all of life with you. But one by one, the Angel of Death leaves his calling card, and those called cross the bridge.
She felt cold but couldn’t quite get her fingers to work to pull the sheet tighter.
In the recovery room, Bill leaned over her, did it for her. The nurse looked into her eyes.
She looked right up at him and blinked.
“You’re doing just fine.” He smiled.
She smiled back and closed her eyes, although not asleep. She felt an exhaustion she’d never felt before. She wondered if her mother, Popsicle, and Champ had visited her to give her hope and direction. Irrational as that thought was, it gave her deep comfort.
“Love never dies,” she whispered.
Violet, who knew Harry in passing, was nearby with another patient who was still out cold. She turned. “What?”
Harry opened her eyes. “Violet, love never dies.”
Violet put her hand on Harry’s shoulder, the warmth flowing through the sheet. “I know.”
• • •
As Fair finally came through the door back home, he was grateful to the doctor. In fact, to everyone at Central Virginia Hospital who had helped Harry and who had been so kind to Susan and him.
“He’s exhausted, but he isn’t scared,” Tucker observed.
He pulled a cold Sol out of the fridge, popped the cap, sat in the kitchen, and just drained it. He hadn’t eaten. The taste of the crisp beer picked him up a bit.
The two cats sat on the table.
“Girls, I forgot.” He rose, opening two cans of Fancy Feast.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Murphy minded her manners.
Face in the bowl, Pewter forgot hers.
Then he fed Tucker, who licked his hand.
He thought about drinking another beer, but he needed to get up early in the morning to take Harry home. He took a shower and crawled into bed. Mrs. Murphy snuggled on one side, Pewter on the other.
Tucker curled up on the sheepskin rug on his side of the bed. Fair liked to sink his feet into the thick rug when he first got up.
His head hit the pillow. He was out.
Tucker called up to the cats, “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
Pewter, sleepy herself, replied, “While she’s recuperating, at least she’ll stay out of trouble. Easier for us.”
Mrs. Murphy whispered, “Don’t bet on it.”
Annalise Veronese was at the Lampo dealership on her day off. A soft spring breeze sent tiny blossom petals across the lot, many falling to outline windshield wiper blades.
Tired of hearing Cory Schaeffer trumpet his electric car, Annalise came to see for herself. She knew a bit about motors, since her father ran a gas station.
The salesman—Sean Hedyt, young, twenty-four, with the latest haircut and sporting the stubble fashionable among young men—was personable and smart enough not to try the hard sell.
No one was going to sell Annalise anything. Show her. She’d make up her mind.
“So, tell me, Sean, how many volts does the battery have?”
“Four hundred forty volts at forty amps. You can cruise for three hundred miles and then the four-cylinder engine will take over.”
Annalise knew that at four hundred forty volts, less than one amp would fry a person. “What are the safety measures?”
“Well, the Lampo is in the top third for crash tests. The front end absorbs most of the impact.”
“No, I don’t mean that. Sorry not to be precise.” She smiled at him. “What are the safety measures concerning the power from the battery?”
“There’s a bypass safety relay, a series of relays, to shut down power from the battery in the event of a crash.”
“And what if corrosion occurs in the relay? Perhaps the battery wouldn’t shut down.”
Surprised that he was talking to a woman who knew her beans, he swallowed. “Ma’am, that’s why you have to follow the service schedule. But you should do that regardless of what kind of car. It’s a lot easier to keep things running smoothly than to fix a problem.”
“I worked in a gas station as a kid. You’re one hundred percent right.”
This pleased him. “Would you like a test-drive?”
“Not right now. I’d like more literature to study the car. It’s all so new. I want to make sure I understand it, and I’d like you to pop the hood.”
“Be glad to.” He opened the driver’s door, leaned down, and pulled the release to the left of the steering wheel, down low in the driver’s footwell by the door.
He turned on the car and then joined her. They both peered down.
“Amazing.” Annalise whistled. “Quiet.”
“I’ll confess that took some getting used to. When I drive, I listen for the engine.”
“And you really listen when it’s a manual shift, which I love. This is truly amazing. I don’t know if the idea will catch hold, but it does seem to me, who loves a big gas engine, that we have to find some compromise.” Annalise felt a leaching loss even at the thought of bidding the internal combustion engine goodbye.