It was just the kind of place that Alan and Joe liked to go. It was a little one-story building, the size of a small house, that had been gutted at some point and filled with a cozy little diner. Joe and Alan shared a tiny booth where the benches were painted plywood covered with handmade cushions. The table was a chunk of recycled countertop and was bolted to the wall so securely, you could have set a car engine down on top.
“Can I warm that up for you?” the waitress asked.
“Please,” Alan said.
Joe rubbed his forehead.
“I want to talk to you about school, Joe,” Alan said.
Joe looked up briefly and then his eyes found the table again.
“We know you’ve had some problems adjusting, and some conflicts with some of the kids.”
“Only a couple,” Joe said.
“Sure,” Alan said, “but significant conflicts, especially with Polly.”
Joe nodded.
“We’re wondering maybe if that school isn’t the right fit for you.” Alan paused. He expected a big fight. “You have a couple of other options. We could try homeschool for a little while.”
Alan let that statement sit for a second.
“You could still do sports with the other kids. We could pull you out at Christmas break or even in November if we want—we only have to give them ten days notice.”
“You would teach me?” Joe asked.
“Yes. I would teach you when I could. There are lots of online resources. We can learn some of the stuff together. I’ve forgotten more than I remember about history, so a lot of it would be new for me as well. Your progress is measured by standardized tests, so we’ll know if you start to fall behind.”
Joe nodded. He used both hands to take a big sip of his water.
“There’s another option, of course. If we wait until the new year, we could enroll you in private school. There are a couple of excellent ones close to the house. I would drop you off in the morning and pick you up in the afternoon. They would definitely offer you an opportunity to excel. Small classes and individual learning plans make sure that you’re challenged.”
Joe nodded.
“Joe? Are you okay?” Alan asked.
“Can we go, Dad? I don’t feel good.”
“Sure,” Alan said.
He dropped a twenty on the bill, grabbed their jackets, and herded his son to the door. In the tiny parking lot, Joe hunched over and stared at the asphalt for several seconds before he could walk.
“I’m going to call your mom to come pick us up,” Alan said.
“Okay.”
Alan patted his son on the back and they stood while Alan waited for Liz to answer her phone.
“You didn’t eat anything else this morning, did you? We had the same thing for breakfast. I wonder if you’re coming down the flu or something. That’s why they have these breaks in October, I guess. They have to break the flu cycle somehow. But you had your shot, didn’t you?”
“What’s up?” Liz asked over the phone.
“Can you pick us up? Joe’s not feeling well,” Alan said.
“Dad, I can’t see right,” Joe said.
Alan rubbed his son’s back. “He says he can’t see right.”
“Where is that place? Behind the movie theater?” Liz asked.
“Yeah,” Alan said. “Just take a left immediately before the parking lot and then take your first right. You’ll see us. I’m the tall one, and Joe is the green one.”
Alan smiled and coaxed Joe over to a little patch of grass. If he was going to throw up, it might as well not be on the asphalt.
“Okay,” Liz said, “I’m at the gas station now, so I’ll be…”
“Dad?” Joe asked.
“Hold on,” Alan said into the phone.
Joe collapsed.
“Joe, if you take a left at that desk, you’ll find a couch and a TV and an Xbox. Is he allowed Xbox?” the doctor turned to Liz.
She nodded.
“We’ve got at least three or four games out there. I’ll be done with your parents in a moment.”
“Okay,” Joe said.
Alan watched his son walk down the hall. Joe was looking better, but not by much. The doctor had introduced himself, but Alan couldn’t remember the name. It was on the outside of the building as well.
Something like Ambroccia, or Andoccia? Are those names?
As he closed the door behind Joe, the doctor’s face changed. He lost his don’t-scare-the-child face and dropped right into his straight-talk-to-adults face. His mustache and frown made him look like Wilford Brimley.
“You want to have a seat?” Dr. Wilford asked.
Liz sat on the rolling exam stool. Alan sat in the chair with the wooden arms. Dr. Wilford leaned back against the counter.
“So no listlessness, nausea, or vision problems before today?” Dr. Wilford asked.
“No, not that I can think of,” Alan said. “He’s been going to school and hasn’t complained of any of those things.”
“What is it?” Liz asked. “You clearly have something in mind.”
“What I have in mind is a trip down to Portland on Friday and a contingency plan,” Dr. Wilford said.
“How do you mean?” Liz asked.
“Well,” the doctor said. He paused before he continued. “I’d like to get an MRI. There’s a chance that it will come up clear and you’ll come home. Then we’ll start looking for another explanation.”
“But you think you know what the MRI will show. Just tell us,” Liz said. “What’s the contingency plan?”
Dr. Wilford nodded at Liz for a second.
“There’s a chance that the MRI will show us a medulloblastoma, producing intracranial pressure. That means that there may be a tumor that is blocking his fourth ventricle and causing fluid to put pressure on his brain.”
“A tumor,” Alan said. “Cancer?”
“If we see that tumor, then we’ll want him in surgery before the end of the weekend.”
“Then we’ll take him right now,” Liz said. “Why would we wait? Let’s get this over with so we can eliminate this possibility.”
Dr. Wilford shook his head at the idea.
“When I stepped out earlier, I was checking on the schedules of Portland, Boston, Manchester, and even down in Connecticut. Friday is our day.”
Liz turned to Alan. She took his hand in hers.
“What are the odds that this medullo-thing is the problem?” Liz asked.
Dr. Wilford looked down for just an instant and then locked eyes with her. “Given all his symptoms, I’d say it’s a definite possibility.”
“Give me a percentage,” Liz said. “Give me a number.”
The doctor didn’t flinch. “More than fifty percent.”
Liz turned to Alan. “We need to take him south. We’ll go to Virginia or New York, Alan. What’s the best hospital there?”
“The surgeons will come to us,” the doctor said. “After the MRI in Portland, if necessary, the surgeons who specialize in this type of surgery will join us in Boston for the procedure. We don’t take any chances with this kind of procedure. These are elite surgeons.”
Liz squeezed Alan’s hand.
The doctor pushed away from his counter. “I know the urge to act is overwhelming, but trust me, the course of action I’m suggesting is lightning-fast. We will have done well to catch Joe’s problem this early.”
“Have you ever seen this type of problem before?” Alan asked.
Dr. Wilford nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“And the patient?”
Dr. Wilford shook his head. “We didn’t act fast enough. That’s not going to happen this time. Take him home, keep an eye on him, and check his temperature every four hours. Let me know if you see any change. My staff will give you a number you can call day or night.”