Chapter Four
Olivia
Friday was long, and the closer it got to the time when Eric had arranged to pick up Emma, the slower time seemed to go. It felt like I was checking the clock every couple of minutes for the last hour, willing him to show up even a little early. If I'd thought Emma had been bratty her first day in the daycare, it was nothing compared to how she had acted today.
I sighed at the trail of destruction she'd left in her wake: a broken chair, paint stains on my favorite rug, bruises on my shins from where she'd kicked me. I didn't know what she was so upset about, but whatever it was, I hoped it was resolved by Monday because the thought of another day like this made me want to cry.
Of course, it wasn't just Emma's antics that were pushing tears into my eyes.
“Hey,” Eric said as he came into the daycare. He frowned at Emma, who was sulking on the couch watching something silly on TV. “Uh oh,” he said when she didn't immediately run over to greet him.
“She was fine,” I lied again, not sure why I felt compelled to hide her bad behavior from him. I didn't want him to think that I couldn't handle her, though, or that she would be better off back with Nana. “She's just in a sulk because I put the paints up on a high shelf.”
Eric smiled a little. “Did you have a chance to talk to your mom?” he asked tentatively. We hadn't talked about this all week, and I'd kind of been hoping that we could wait until Monday to do so.
I sighed and looked at the floor, kicking my foot across the tiles and doing my best not to cry. “Yeah, we talked,” I admitted.
It had taken me a couple of days to get the guts to do so, but I'd finally managed to pluck up the courage the night before. I'd been over at her house for a Thursday night tradition that we hadn't gotten to do in a while: movie night. I hadn't wanted to spoil it with a conversation about her health, but I had remembered Eric's words about there being no time to delay.
“Have you talked to Dr. Jones about treatment options yet?” I asked softly as the credits rolled on the movie.
Mom frowned and took another bite of her ice cream. “Not yet,” she said. “And I don't plan to.”
I frowned as well. “But Mom, he said things are getting serious. The longer we wait, the more the cancer is going to spread.”
Mom waved her hand and laughed. “The whole thing is nonsense,” she said.
I blinked, gaping at her. “Nonsense?” I asked. “I don't know, Eric—Dr. Jones, rather—seems like an intelligent guy. I don't think he would be this concerned if it were nonsense.”
“Doctors and drug companies just like to keep the wheels of commerce rolling,” Mom said. She laughed again. “I suppose they have to, with the number of student loans they rack up!”
“Surely you don't think he's just trying to scam you,” I said.
Mom shrugged. “All I know is that my mother, drank, smoked, and ate bacon every morning for breakfast, for her whole life, and she still lived a good, long life. A happy life, too. Now, I know what happens when you start chemotherapy and your quality of living drops. You don't want to put your poor mother through that, do you? Especially when there's nothing wrong with me in the first place.”
“Nothing wrong with you?” I asked skeptically.
“I feel fine,” Mom insisted. “Don't you worry about me.”
The thing was, I was more comfortable living in that same state of denial, so I hadn't pressed her harder. But I'd felt guilty about it for the whole day. Now, with Eric asking about it, I felt even worse.
“I talked to her,” I admitted. “But the talk didn't go well.” I paused and glanced up at him. “I'd like more information if that's okay.”
“Of course,” Eric said. “I try to stay out of the office for the weekend so that I can spend more time with Emma and her Nana, but maybe you and I could talk over dinner tonight.”
“I'd appreciate that,” I said. The more information I had about what was wrong with Mom, the more I'd be able to combat her insistence that there was nothing wrong with her and that Eric was just trying to squeeze money out of her. Whether it was right or wrong legally, the truth was, I was worried about her. We all were.
Eric didn't really seem like the kind of guy to want to squeeze money out of his patients, though. If his true aim was to make money at this job, I had a feeling he'd be living in Chicago or some other city.
“I'll pick you up at 7,” Eric told me. “I have the perfect place in mind.”
That night, as I was getting ready, I found myself paying close attention to my appearance. I put on a nice green, spring dress that I knew made my hazel eyes shine, and I pulled my hair back into a neat plait. I blushed, feeling excited and nervous as I realized I was treating this like a date.
But that was ridiculous. Eric might be smart and handsome, and I might enjoy his sense of humor. He was my mother's doctor, though, and I doubted he was interested in me in that way. This wasn't a date; we were just having dinner so that we could talk about my mother's cancer and the different treatment options that were available.
Probably, I just wanted this to be a date because I wanted to continue ignoring the severity of Mom's condition.
That's not true, and you know it, my inner voice chided. I blushed again, putting on mascara even though I normally didn't bother with makeup.
A horn sounded out front, and I hurriedly headed downstairs and out to Eric's car.
“You look especially beautiful tonight,” Eric said, and I felt a warm flush go through my body as his eyes skimmed my curves. He looked embarrassed at having said it, though, and focused his eyes back on the road. He cleared his throat. “I thought we'd drive over to Kingsfield,” he told me. “I don't know how familiar you are with the only restaurant in Tamlin, Ernie's Diner, but the owner, Ernie, is the town's biggest gossip.”
I grinned. “Kingsfield sounds like a plan. Wouldn't want him getting the wrong impression.”
“Great,” Eric said. “It's about 20 minutes to get there, but I know a great Italian restaurant that I'm sure you'll love.”
I hummed an agreement and settled into the comfortable leather seat.
“I don't know what magic you worked on Emma this week, but she seems to love the daycare,” Eric told me. “Every day when she gets home, she calls her Nana up and has dozens of things to say to her about all the things that she did. I heard you made and painted pasta necklaces today; Emma can't wait to bring hers home to show us.”
I smiled over at him. “Glad she's enjoying it,” I told him.
“I hope she's behaving herself, too,” Eric said, glancing over. “I know she can be a handful sometimes.”
I laughed. “Kids are always a handful sometimes,” I told him.
“I bet they are,” Eric said, nodding. “I can't imagine being a daycare provider and working with kids day in and day out. I hardly ever have to see kids for appointments here in Tamlin, and it's still too much for me!”
“I'm sure it's great for you, though, since you can bribe them with suckers,” I said. “If I bribed my kids with suckers every time I needed them to behave, I'd be going through a small fortune supplying them, and it would only make them bounce off the walls even more!”
Eric laughed. “That's true,” he agreed.
“Still, I can't imagine being a single parent,” I mused, shaking my head. “At least I get to hand the kids back to their parents at the end of the day.”
“You still have to worry about screwing them up for life, though,” Eric joked.
I laughed. “But at least if I do screw them up for life, I'm not the one who has to deal with them later,” I reminded him. “You're stuck with them for life.”
We chatted the whole way to the restaurant, and there was something easy about it. I really liked Eric; he was funny and witty, and very down-to-earth. If this had been a date, I definitely would have said that sparks were flying.
But this isn't a date, I reminded myself as we waited for our meals to arrive. I took another sip of my wine. It was my second glass, and I was starting to feel a little flushed. But the wine was tasty, and the food, when it arrived, was just as good as Eric had promised.
I just couldn't figure out how to bring up the questions that I had regarding my mother's medical situation. It was the elephant in the room, the reason for this whole affair. As much as I wanted this to be a date, I couldn't help remembering that this was Dr. Jones sitting across from me, and he was waiting patiently before telling me all the details about my mother's cancer.
Fortunately, he was the one who finally brought up the conversation. He placed both his palms flat on the table as our plates were cleared away. “Regarding your mother,” he said slowly.
I nodded. “You said the cancer was progressing,” I said.
“It is,” Eric agreed. “Her last scan showed significant progression.”
“What are our options for treatment?” I asked. “Can it be surgically removed?”
“With the way that it's spread already, I'm afraid that's just not possible,” Eric said. “The best chance that we have to slow its progression is chemotherapy. But we'd need to begin that immediately.”
“What are her other options?” I asked, knowing that there was no way I was going to convince Mom to start chemo immediately, not when she thought this was just a ploy to get her money. Chemo was expensive, I knew. I wondered whether she would even be able to come up with the money: Mom had been a schoolteacher in a low-income part of the city for the past two decades. She had always loved her job, but it wasn't particularly well-paying.
“I'm afraid there aren't any other options,” Eric said slowly. “There are some experimental treatments that might work, but most of those would be used in conjunction with chemo treatments.” He paused. “I understand what your mom is going through. This is very scary business.”
I shook my head. “It's not just that it's scary,” I sighed. But I didn't exactly want to tell him that Mom thought he was scamming people out of their hard-earned money.
“I know,” Eric said, though, looking away from me for a moment. He looked pained but also thoughtful. Then, he shook his head. “I know,” he repeated. “But trust me, no matter how scary the idea of chemotherapy is, it's better than the alternative. She could get worse, faster. Neither of you wants that to happen, trust me.” He frowned. “I know I must sound like the boogeyman, saying that. I don't want to scare you, but I need you to realize that this is a very serious disease that we're talking about.”
He looked so earnest that I realized there was no way I could continue to deny this. I nodded slowly. “What do you need me to do?” I asked.
“You and your mother are close,” Eric said. “If you could have a frank talk with her, make her realize what could happen, remind her how much it would hurt you as well if she were to get worse, maybe she could begin to see reason.”
“I'll try,” I said softly. “No promises, but I'll try.” I didn't know if Mom would listen to me, but I couldn't even imagine how much it would hurt me to have to watch her get worse and worse.
I swallowed hard and resolved to talk to her as soon as I saw her again. But for now, I took another sip of my wine and followed along as Eric changed the topic of conversation.