I hear you say you almost blew something up? All I could think about was the surgery, so I was only half listening. Were you trying to cook again? Lord, I hope not. You could have blown up your house.'
Kate protested. 'Just because of one little mishap in your kitchen you assume-'
Jordan snorted. 'Little mishap? The fire department showed up.'
'All this talk about cooking has made me hungry. Do we go out or would you rather order in?'
They spent at least ten minutes deciding and ended up walking two blocks to a neighborhood bistro that Kate thought served the best seafood chowder in the city.
They chose a booth in the back of the restaurant so no one would bother them, but neither of them ate much. Jordan looked worn out.
Kate's stomach ached from the knot that wouldn't go away, but the rest of her body was numb. She knew if she allowed herself to feel, she'd melt into a pool of tears. She decided to try to take Jordan's mind off her worries for a few minutes.
'Don't you want to know how I almost got blown up?'
Jordan stopped swirling her spoon in the now-congealed chowder she'd barely tasted and smiled. 'I'm waiting for the punch line.'
'It's not a joke. I had a big bump on the back of my head, and haven't you noticed the whopper of a bruise on my forehead?' She lifted her hair away so Jordan could get a better look.
'Of course I noticed, but I just assumed…'
'Assumed what?'
'Kate, you've got to know by now that you're kind of a klutz. I just thought you tripped or something.'
'I beg to differ. You're a klutz, not me.'
Jordan didn't argue with her. 'You weren't joking about almost being blown up, were you?'
'No, I wasn't. Do you want to hear what happened or not?'
'I want to hear.'
'I guess I should start at the beginning. Have you ever heard of the Wonderbra?'
Chapter Nine
Kate had a selective memory. Because of her mother's long illness, she and her sisters had spent what seemed like a lifetime in numerous hospital waiting rooms, and yet Kate couldn't remember what any of them looked like. It was odd, she thought, that she couldn't recall a single piece of furniture, a wall color, or a carpet. She supposed all waiting rooms were pretty much the same, cold and sterile, with mass-produced paintings of mountains and meadows on the walls.
She did remember the people who came and went while she was there, almost every one of them, and she remembered the anxiety. The air was thick with it, and like a virus, it passed from one person to the next, attacking anyone and everyone who walked into the room to wait.
Time and fear, a horrible combination. She remembered the families huddled together, trying to gain comfort and hope from one another. She remembered the young father who looked so lost sitting with his two little girls squeezed up next to him while he read stories and waited to hear if their mother would live or die. He had broken down and sobbed when he was given the good news by the smiling surgeon.
And she remembered the elderly woman who was sitting all alone until Kate and her sisters walked in. She decided to keep them company, told them she was waiting to hear if her husband of forty years was going to survive bypass surgery. She told one story after another and another and wouldn't let anyone else get a word in. Faster and faster the woman talked until Kate's head was spinning. At one point Kate pictured herself sitting there with giant cotton balls stuffed in her ears. It was an uncharitable thought, but the image did make it easier to smile through the woman's endless chatter.
Waiting was always a miserable experience. Today was no exception. Jordan wasn't taken into the OR until a little after ten, and she'd been ready since six-thirty. An emergency had caused the delay. Kate was able to stay with her in preop, but when Jordan was wheeled away, a volunteer who looked about twelve years old showed Kate the way to the surgical waiting room.
She led her down a maze of corridors, and Kate soon became suspicious that the girl didn't know where she was going. It seemed they had made a complete circle and finally found the waiting area by chance.
There were actually two waiting rooms with a desk and a phone manned by another volunteer in between. The larger room was packed, and after giving her name to the woman behind the desk, Kate went into the smaller room.
A family of five, all with red-rimmed eyes, was just leaving as she walked in. There weren't any other people, and Kate was thankful she was alone. She wasn't in the mood to talk to strangers. She sat down in the corner by the window, picked up a magazine, and promptly put it back. She was too nervous to read.
The truth was that she wanted to sit down and have a good cry, but she couldn't do that, of course.
Kate reached for another magazine and noticed how her hands were shaking. Get a grip, she told herself. Jordan would be okay. It was just a little bump, not a lump, and everything was going to be all right. Except that the surgeon had been so grim about it. According to Jordan, anyway, but then Jordan tended to overreact.
Now who was she trying to fool? Her friend never overreacted. She was too… practical… and cautious to a fault.
The key to an effective pep talk was honesty, she decided, and so Kate decided to come up with some honest reasons why everything would be okay.
She paced back and forth while she thought about it. All right then. Jordan had told her that the surgeon had been quite grim. Maybe he had to anticipate the worst so that he would be prepared, and he needed to prepare his patient for the worst, too, didn't he? Wasn't that part of his Hippocratic oath or something?
How convoluted was that reasoning? Time for a little realism. Yes, it was true that one of Jordan's aunts on her mother's side of the family had died because of a lump she had pretended wasn't there until it was too late. And yes, there was a cousin on the same side of the family who had also been given the same diagnosis. But so what? The cousin was in her late eighties, and so was Jordan's aunt, wasn't she? Which meant that statistically the odds were on Jordan's side, and she should and would have a happy, healthy life for the next sixty-five years, give or take a few.
Except that she'd found the lump last week, not sixty-five years from now.
That reminder took the wind out of Kate. She sat down and bowed her head. She was suddenly so tired she could barely think. Early detection was important, right? And Jordan, her sister, Sydney, and their mother had all taken charge of their health. They had the usual examinations-and then some-on a regular basis.
Don't borrow trouble. Kate's mother had often said those very words. Oh, God, she didn't want to think about her mother now. She had enough to deal with.
What was taking so long? Kate was looking at her watch for about the fiftieth time just as her cell phone rang.
Kiera was calling. 'How is she?'
Jordan had given Kate permission to talk to Kiera about the surgery but no one else. 'Still in surgery,' she answered. 'They were running late, so she didn't go in until almost ten. It's been over an hour now. Isn't that long enough for a biopsy?'
'No.'
'But…'
'I'm a medical student, not a doctor, and I'm not going to speculate.'
'You're a fourth-year medical student, which means you're almost finished.'
'But still not a doctor.'
'Come on, Kiera,' Kate said in exasperation. 'Make a calculated guess. I'm not going to sue you if you're wrong.'
'No, I don't think an hour is too long. Remember, the surgeon's waiting for the pathologist's report. And since you didn't go into the OR with her, you can't know exactly when they started.'
Kate relaxed. 'Good point. They could just be starting now, for all I know. I'll call you as soon as I hear
