Seven
Her hand tightened enough around the brass knob only enough to push open the brownstone door. The usual creek accompanied the rush of hot air as the door swung inward.
Cancer.
Her nose burned as tears formed in her eyes for what had to have been the eleventh time in the short distance she had walked from the hospital. The train had seemed useless because the last thing she’d wanted was to be trapped underground with tons of eyes on her as she attempted to pretend to be copasetic about the news she received.
You have cancer. The pained cry streaked through her mind seemed to knock the wind from her body, as Cassandra sat on the bottom step of the winding staircase that led to her third story apartment. The crushed carpet offered no padding, and the discomfort was only a momentary distraction.
“How am I going to get through this?” She spoke at her reflection in the mirror across from her—the one the landlord used to give the appearance of a larger entryway. “You don’t have the support group people who beat cancer have.”
Blowing out a deep breath, Cassandra let the tears fall down her face and drop onto her shoes and the carpet as she blinked. She knew any beating an illness required strength. Having strength in the doctor’s office was one thing. Now, all alone in her building, the isolation of her life was setting in. In Boston, she was hardly a social person. She spent so few weeks a year in America her friends from work or the occasional college friend in for a trip.
“You need to tell someone. You need support.” Bitterness left a putrid taste in her mouth, and she stared once more into her reflection. She was young and attractive enough. She spent her life helping others. She’d barely spent more than a handful of hours helping herself, and yet cancer had chosen her. “So what are you going to do? Huh?” The last question was barked out so harshly it echoed in the entry hall space. If she didn’t stop talking to herself, one of the three first-floor apartment doors would open.
Every movement stung, but not from pain, from sorrow. The emptiness of her life in America was bearing down on her. Her last social outing had been just before she’d left for a small orphanage in Russia nearly ten months ago. Her hand trembled as she slipped into her purse and retrieved her phone as she carefully took each step up toward her studio.
Her index finger moved in jerky twitches over the screen. “Two hundred and nine contacts,” she uttered as she looked at the contacts app. “And none of them are close enough for me to drop this burden on.”
Inhaling, she stopped on the top step, feet from her door, and wondered just for a moment what it would be like to die accidentally, to not know the end of her life was racing toward her like a flame down a candlewick. What if she simply slipped and fell and then knew nothing?
Her phone vibrated in her grip, snapping her from the ridiculousness of her thoughts. Blowing out a breath she hesitated before answering. The last person she wanted to speak to now was Giselle.
“Cassandra here,” her key slipped into the lock and she pushed the door open as she forced herself to take steadying breaths.
“So glad to have you home in the states.” Giselle’s gravelly voice was loud in her ear, her pleasure legitimate. The older woman always called whenever her employees had been home a few days. As far as CEO’s went, Cassandra loved working for her. “I saw you had requested another trip. Though I find it too soon, I’m pleased to tell you the sponsors have cleared you for your next adventure.”
Her heart dropped out of her chest. A deep breath of air through her nose constricted her torso. The universe was fucking with her. Can I just say thank you and worry about it later? “Do you know the date range I’ve been given?”
“The standard thirty day wait period. We’ll, of course, need to review the results from your medical check-in, but I’m sure you’re right as rain as usual.”
Hot tears cascaded over her face as she squeezed her eyes shut. “Giselle, I’m–” icy fingers seemed to wrap around her heart, slicing into it like frozen blades. The tears fell faster. Saying it aloud to her had been one thing. Swallowing, she sniffled and tried to steady her heartbeat. “Giselle, I -”
“Cassandra, is everything alright?”
Her vision blurred so thoroughly with tears it was impossible to even recognize her apartment as she shut the door behind her. She couldn’t seem to force herself to function and admit her problem to another person. Bile rose in her throat, and a sour taste latched onto her tongue.
“I can’t go. I . . . I’m finding it hard to explain why but I believe I need to work with Boston programs for the foreseeable future.” The words rushed out on a breath, audible but mushed together.
I’m not there yet. I’m just not able too.
“You can discuss this tomorrow with Diana when you come in for paperwork.” If Giselle was concerned, her tone didn’t indicate it. In fact, irritation trickled out of the phone’s speaker.
Irritation I don’t deserve it. And I’m about to get even more of it. “I need to change to Thursday. I’ve been to medical, and they’ve requested I come in.” Not a lie. Not quite the truth of the matter.
“Oh.”
The single word was punctuated with all the sympathy she hadn’t been ready for. Her chest ached as she strangled a sob back. Her fingers tingled, from what she didn’t know, and all she wanted to do was hang the phone up and sleep as if dreaming she didn’t have cancer would make it so.
“All right then. I hope it’s nothing serious. We will see you Thursday.”
Cassandra lost her grip on the phone, letting it drop to the hardwood beneath her feet. Once upon a time she would have cringed thinking she’d broken the screen, today there were far more broken things in her life—like life itself.
“I’ll be in.” Her words were hallow, as empty as she felt at the moment, but she called them out. Bending, Cassandra hit the red circle and ended the call and dropped to the floor, sprawling out.
Admitting she had cancer to herself had seemed like the hardest part. She’d been wrong. “How do I tell people? Do I have to tell people?” Tears fell off the side of her face and dropped onto the floor.
Though the sun streamed in through the windows, the world around her was dark as night. Cassandra needed to get up. Her apartment needed to be cleaned. Things needed to be purchased, and she didn't have a whole lot of time to get started. Cancer was more than a diagnosis. It was a complete lifestyle change she’d never fathomed. For some time she’d felt comfortable in silence as if she’d had a friend or guardian watching her while she’d been in Africa. Now, all she felt was the blow of heat from the vent. No warm embrace or watchful eye or an invisible watcher. Just the coldness of the life she’d created at home by spending too much time in foreign countries focusing on others.
“Get up, Cass. Fight.” Gnashing her teeth together, she wiped her eyes and dried her hands on her clothes before rolling over and pushing up. “Get up, or all is lost.”