Page 45
Thirty-Eight
“HEY SCOTT, IT’S time.” Abby’s spoke slowly, steadying her voice with every word.
She’d been practicing until she could say them with the same calm she could assess a fibrillating heart or a collapsed lung.
Practicing hope instead of despair. Her new therapist called her a badass. She wasn’t sure she believed her.
“When?”
“She had her bloodwork on Monday. Dr. Singh says the results are in and they’re ready to meet with us. Will you...” Her voice cracked, but she took a deep breath and tried again. “Will you come?”
“I can pick Dylan up at three, unless you need us there sooner?”
They’d talked a lot in the last several weeks about the future, Gen’s and theirs. When the Raptors won the Super Bowl, the players’ families had rushed the field and, one hand gripped in Dylan’s, the other sleeve caught in Kelly’s unrelenting grasp, she’d been dragged along.
Scott had reached for his son, tossed him into the air, and, together, they’d screamed in victory. The moment had been caught by a photographer and immortalized on the front page of every major news outlet in the country.
Abby, not sure she even belonged there, had allowed the momentum of the crowd to carry them away, but Dylan tugged at his dad’s sleeve and dragged his ear down so he could shout into it. A moment later, Scott’s head jerked up and his eyes locked with hers.
Even as the amoeba of people moved between and around them, he reached out, and, like a lodestone, she found herself responding.
“You came.” He had to shout over the melee.
Mute, Abby nodded. Her throat had closed over the words she wanted to say, but this wasn’t the time or place for them, anyway. Instead, she held up her hand, index finger, pinky, and thumb extended. I love you .
Taking her hand in his, he’d gathered it close until it rested against his chest. Dylan still on his hip, eyes shining, he’d mouthed the words she couldn’t say. I love you, too .
Then, sweaty, disgusting, and sticky from the Gatorade that had splashed all over the players as they dumped it on their coach, he’d crushed her to him and refused to let go.
The words had come later: apologies from both of them, shared joy over the outcome of the custody battle and the game. Harder words, too: Abby’s uncertainty for Gen, her inability to hope, the mistruths she believed about herself and about everyone around her, her fear of being alone again.
Since then, Abby had worked hard to change.
Going back to therapy had been only the first step; she’d applied for a business license to start a therapy dog school—no matter what happened with Gen; she’d attended Dylan’s most recent concert and sat in the front row, giving him a huge bouquet of yellow roses when he finished; she’d even called her parents.
The road ahead of her wouldn’t be easy or quick, but for Scott, for Dylan, and most importantly, for herself, she’d walk it.
“Scott, are you sure?”
She’d been hesitant to have Dylan in the room when they got Gen’s test results.
What if the treatment hadn’t worked? What if she had only days or weeks left with Gen?
What if she’d misunderstood the control and Gen had never had any treatment at all?
What if she lost it in front of Dylan? What if she scared him?
Abby shook her head, forcing the swirling thoughts away.
Quiet, Tom. I won’t believe you.
Her therapist had recommended naming the intrusive, negative thoughts, so she could address them directly.
Even if she could never tell the real Tom to shut his trap, she got to do it inside her head a dozen times a day.
It was, indeed, therapeutic, especially after the hospital rumor mill churned up the juicy tidbit that it had been Tom Cunningham who’d spoken to The Charleston Herald , at the behest and payment of some psychologist from New York.
How Dr. Ferndale had dug up Abby’s contentious past with Tom escaped both her and Scott, but rumor soon swirled again, confirming his new supervisor, Dr. Edgerick, had filed a disciplinary warning for workplace gossip and undermining the reputation of the hospital in public.
Abby was a colleague, after all, even if she wasn’t a doctor.
“Abby, Dylan loves Gen,” Scott said gently. “We’ve talked about this.”
They had, the two of them and then with Dylan, as well, and Abby had to trust Scott would protect his son, even when she doubted herself.
“Alright. See you soon.”
“I love you, Abby. You won’t be alone, okay?”
“Okay.”
After she hung up, she pulled Gen into her arms and hugged the dog. “No matter what, girl, I’m here for you.”
She whispered the promise but would keep it with every fiber of her being.
If the treatment didn’t work, she’d make sure her dog had the best, most spoiled life of any dog ever.
They’d visit the kids, eat cheeseburgers, and swim in Scott and Dylan’s pool every day.
If it did, they’d still go visit the kids, and she’d tell them about how Gen, too, had fought a battle, and she’d beaten cancer, so they could, as well.
Either way, Abby swore she would value every day she had with Gen, whether she had only a little time or a lot.
And soon, there would be another puppy to train. Maybe two.
Abby had met with her bank and her accountant in the weeks since Scott’s victory and transferred some of her savings into a new business account. She’d applied to the city for a business license and filed her non-profit business plan with the IRS. Now, she needed to find the right litter.
Abby wondered if Gen would like having a new puppy around the house.
Would she want to play with it, or would she be annoyed and ignore it?
She supposed, as long as it didn’t compete with her attention from Dylan, Gen would probably be fine.
She ran her nails over Gen’s delicate head and rubbed her ears between her fingers.
They’d come a long way from a gawky puppy and a woman with nothing more than a few shattered pieces of her heart left to give.
Whatever came next, they’d figure that out, too.
Dr. Singh entered the small exam room and took Abby’s hand, pressing it between both of his, then nodding as she introduced him to Scott and Dylan.
Gen, stretched lazily on the exam table, thumped her tail at Dylan’s name.
“Congratulations on your win, Mr. Edwards. Very exciting for all of us.”
Scott nodded.
Dr. Singh turned to Gen.
“Beautiful lady,” the doctor greeted the dog, scratching her under the chin. “Shall we give your Mama the good news, darling?”
Abby’s fingers, twined together, spasmed. “Good news?”
Dr. Singh smiled, and Abby’s heart leapt with hope. Surely, he wouldn’t have said those words, wouldn’t have that expression, if Gen were still dying.
Scott moved closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and Dylan’s hand creeped toward her.
Unwinding her fingers, she took it.
His small voice filled the room. “Do you mean Gen’s going to be okay?”
Dr. Singh nodded. “She is. As you may have already guessed, we included Gen in the T-cell treatment group of our study. We finished her course of treatment, an abbreviated version of chemotherapy combined with the T-cell adaptation injections, rather than chemotherapy alone. Because she presented initially with stage II symptoms and B-cell lymphoma, it was always likely she’d have a high chance of responding positively to the treatment.
As of right now, according to her lab work, she is in full remission. ”
A choked sob wrenched itself from deep within Abby, and her shoulders shook, but she pressed her lips together.
No more crying .
Scott pulled her into his side and Dylan squeezed her hand.
A moment later, she straightened and turned to Gen. Ruffling her ears, she pressed her forehead to the dog’s.
“You did it, girl.” She whispered the words, and Gen’s tail thumped the table again. “You beat it. You’re going to be okay.”
The dog snuffled Abby’s ear, then gently took her hair in her mouth and tugged, as if to say, Of course I did. I learned how to be a fighter from Liam.
Dylan, too, threw his arms around Gen. “She’s going to be okay? She’s not going to die?”
Scott laid one hand on Dylan’s shoulder. The other stroked Gen’s spine. “She’s going to be okay.”
Tears flooded Abby’s eyes at the words, but she blinked them away. Turning back to Dr. Singh, she threw her arms around him. “Thank you!”
The veterinarian cleared his throat and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“Of course, Ms. Barclay. We’ll want to see Gen again in a month and continue to monitor her over the next year – all things we’ve already discussed.
But, between you and I, I believe there’s a good chance she’ll live a full, long life. ”
Dylan laid his head against Gen’s stomach, arm encircling her, and Abby smiled.
“The fullest.”
Table of Contents
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