A TEST OF SURVIVAL

C H A P T E R  3  (continued)
He underestimated her. Dani flung herself out of the chair and grabbed him around the neck. Gus lifted her in a release of joy and stepped away from his desk, swinging her in a circle.

When he put her down, she tipped her face to his. “I don’t want her to die, you know,” she said with a little laugh. “Although once upon a time ….”

He brushed her nose with a finger. “Nice lady.”

“I can’t handle another teenager in the house, that’s all.”

“Zero chance of that,” Gus said. “Leo would never come to me. Even if Gretchen doesn’t make it.”

“You’re his father.”

“Dwayne Cooper was his father,” Gus said, turning his face to the window. “That’s the way he looks at it. He’s made it clear enough.”

Dani pressed her cheek to his chest. “It’s you he called for help. What does that make you?”

“I don’t know. The rock or the hard place, I guess.”

* * *

A carnivore with hot teeth beavered away inside Gretchen Judd, chewing through what remained of her gut. It was a pain peculiar to surgery’s aftermath. She thought it might make her a better doctor. From time to time, people hinted she could stand to work on her empathy. Here was a customized curriculum, courtesy of Whoever Almighty: major surgery, confused treatment options, a gradually terminal diagnosis.

Gretchen picked up the bedside phone in Room 378, checked for the dial tone, and returned it to its cradle. Gus said he would put her slides at the front of the line and call as soon as he had an answer. It took four days to culture a specimen. His time was up.

The call came just as Gretchen had disconnected her feeding tube from the port taped on her stomach, gimped into the bathroom, and eased down to empty her bladder. She fumbled for the nurse call button and squeezed it, then surged to her feet too fast and had to hold to the sink for a moment, her head lowered. She made her way back, muttering, “Don’t you dare hang up on me.”

Gus sounded as close as the next room. “Did I wake you?”

“Yeah. I was dreaming about waterfalls. Hold on.”

She stretched the phone to reach what she had come to think of as Alta’s recliner, a blue imitation leather. The chair groaned as she settled into it, cold against her exposed skin. She drew Alta’s afghan up to her waist, taking her time.

A nurse appeared around the half-open door, wearing the blank, ready-for-anything face of the chronically overworked. Gretchen waved her away. She picked up the phone with one hand and clamped the other over her eyes. Gus would use a bluff hearty tone with her and then she would know he had found nothing.

“So go,” she said.

“You know those jokes that start out, I’ve got some good news and some bad news?”

“Your jokes suck. I can’t laugh, anyway.”

“Okay. It’s very very good, Gretchen. I tried this one combination because I’ve been convinced that – oh never mind. The thing is, it drilled a big hole in your cancer. Technically a lovely, lovely assay. I’ve worked out a response probability way over average.”