Desperately Seeking Epic(22)
“Who are they?” Neena asks. I’m not sure, but I’m sure as hell going to find out. We climb out and all eyes dart to us.
“Paul James?” a woman calls, and then they all swarm us. I take Neena’s hand and pull her to me as I push through the barrage of people throwing questions at me. When we finally reach the front door to the office, Ashley, the high school reporter, opens the door and rushes in behind us.
“I told you to leave,” Clara spats at her.
“Neena,” Ashley continues, ignoring Clara, “I want to tell your story. All of you.” She looks around. “The world just wants to meet her,” she says to Clara. “Her ad touched so many people. They just want to know who she is. And I want to be the one to tell this story.”
Clara inhales deeply as she struggles to keep her cool. “Ashley,” she states simply. “Leave.”
Ashley frowns, seemingly hurt, before she looks at Neena. Handing Neena a little card, she says, “Maybe they’ll change their minds.” Neena takes the card and looks at it as Ashley walks out. We all watch her climb in the van, which has the same kid from the other day, Zane, driving, and they pull away.
“She’s relentless,” I snort.
“Well, they found us,” Clara mumbles as she looks at the five people standing outside the office.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Neena murmurs as she drops her head.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” I assure her. “The important thing is, you guys found me. This . . .” I motion behind me to the people outside, “Will pass.”
“Neena, why don’t you go rest for a bit,” Clara suggests.
“I’m not tired.”
“Just for a little bit. Please.”
“Fine.” Neena turns to me, giving me an eye-roll. I have to fight not to laugh at her. “Bye, Paul.”
“Bye, kid.” I smile and kiss the top of her scarf-covered head. “See you tomorrow?”
“Will you tell me more about the places you’ve been to?”
“I think I can handle that.”
She waves and scurries off down the hall. When the office door shuts, Clara turns to me. “I’ll be meeting with the doctor in the morning for the results.”
“Oh?”
Taking a deep breath, she exhales slowly. “I’ll call you afterward.”
I stare dumbfoundingly at her for a moment. Shouldn’t I get to be there, too? Neena is my daughter, as well. I want to question her, demand to know why I wasn’t invited, but I decide now’s not the time. She’s already frustrated with the reporters outside. “Okay,” I answer instead. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Clara,” Dr. Jones says. “Would you like to tell her or would you rather I told her?” I know I need to answer him, respond somehow to this devastating news, but my throat is so tight with emotion right now that if I open my mouth I’m afraid I’ll melt into a puddle of despair. Standing, he calmly gaits over to the watercooler and fills a small, plastic cup, then sets it on the desk in front of me. I’m sure he’s been taught not to show fear or panic, since the patient or the family member he’s delivering the bad news to is taking care of that all on their own. I bow my head and nod a thank you before taking the cup and swallowing down a small sip.
Paul is not a match.
Neena is going to leave me.
Oh, God.
My lungs burn, and I’m finding it hard to breathe. “Would you like a few moments, or would you like me to tell you where we go from here?” Dr. Jones asks as he returns to his cushy office chair. I bob my head yes in response. My body is starting to feel numb, preventing me from speaking. “You’d like me to go on?” he confirms. The pressure increases, and with my chest tightening, I nod yes again.
My baby is leaving. No parent should ever have to endure their child passing. I could be run over at this very moment by a speeding semitruck a hundred times and still not feel this level of pain. Staring blankly, I listen as he continues. After he tells me he’ll give her meds for any pain or nausea, he gives me a list of local hospice places, reiterating I should get everything in order now, before things get really bad. On the outside, I’m stoic. But inside, I’m a raging mess, screaming at the top of my blazing lungs. When he finishes, he escorts me to the door and squeezes my hand. I can’t help thinking what a shitty job he has, having to tell a parent their child is going to die.
“Call me if you have any questions or if you’d like me to tell Neena.” I bob my head once and exit his office. I refuse to break down in the hospital. I won’t. I just need to make it to my car. By the time I exit the hospital, I’m sprint-walking, trying to get to my car before the dam of sobs and emotion break loose. When I’m twenty feet away from where I parked, I see Paul sitting on the hood of my car, his arms crossed, his eyes closed. I freeze and watch him for a moment. I know it’s wrong, but a part of me hates him right now. He was our last hope. I needed one thing from him. I needed him to be a match.