her insurance policy… Thoughts jumped into her mind, flitted away.
She rose, sat down again. “I…I don’t know anything about leukemia or how it’s treated. I should check the Internet.” She wondered if she’d have time.
Dr. Sanders nodded. “That’s just what I expected you to say, and you’re right. You need to be informed. This will give you an introduction.” He handed her a pamphlet. “There’s a list of books and Web sites, too.”
“What about a doctor?” Mallory asked. “Who will we see?”
“The hospital gave me names of doctors on staff there. I can check them out and recommend one if you like.”
“I’ll trust you to pick the best.”
“Would you like me to tell Nicholas?” he asked gently.
She hadn’t even thought of that. “No, I’ll tell him,” she decided. “He’s at my parents’ now. They’ll help. And afterward—tomorrow maybe—then you can talk to him, explain the…the illness.”
Dr. Sanders nodded. “You’re a strong woman, Mallory. You’ve had to be, losing Dean, raising Nicholas on your own and running a business. Your son is strong, too, and brave. What the two of you have to face won’t be easy, but I have every confidence you’ll get through it.”
“Thank you.” Though she could barely feel her legs, they apparently worked, because she crossed the room to the door. Dr. Sanders opened it for her, but she stopped, grasping at a last shred of hope. “Could there be a mistake? Could the lab report be wrong? Maybe Nick should have another blood test.”
The doctor shook his head. “You’d just be wasting time.”
Time. It could be Nick’s ally…or his enemy. She wouldn’t waste a minute. She hurried to the parking lot.
Her damp hands clutched the steering wheel as she drove toward her parents’ home. They’d help. Her father, rabbi of Beth Jacob, Valerosa’s only synagogue, had sustained his congregants through times of trouble, and he and her mother had been her chief support through the dark days after Dean’s death. She’d lean on them now, and with their faith and courage to supplement hers, she prayed Nick would battle this illness and conquer it.
Half an hour later, sitting beside her son, Mallory took his hand. She forced her voice to stay steady. “Dr. Sanders found out what’s making you so tired. You have an illness called leukemia.”
She’d already told her parents the news. They’d been shocked, but they’d pulled together, and now she felt her mother’s gentle hand on her shoulder. Nick’s eyes widened and his fingers tightened around hers. But he surprised her and his grandparents by saying, “I knew something was wrong. I’m glad to know what it is.”
Mallory blinked back tears. “The doctors who can help you are in Houston,” she said, dreading the thought that he’d be away from everyone and everything he knew.
His brow furrowed. “Will I have to take shots?”
She swallowed. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Her son squared his shoulders. “Then I guess I will if they’ll get me well.” A half smile appeared. “Can we go to an Astros game?” The Houston Astros were his second favorite team, after the Yankees.
“Sure we can. Houston has lots of things to do. We’ll make it an adventure,” Mallory said, and hoped they could.
“That’ll be cool, seeing the Astros, huh, Grandpa?” Nick said.
Mallory’s father nodded and smiled, but his face was still pale.
“I’ll go to Houston with you,” Lydia Roseman said, but Mallory shook her head. She hugged her mother.
“I appreciate the offer and I wish you could be there, but you need to be home with Dad.” Although her father insisted he could manage on his own, Mallory would not be swayed. “If Nick…if I need you, then you’ll come,” she said, and finally they agreed.
“I need to go by the shop and talk to Lauri,” Mallory said.
“Of course.” Her father put his arm around her and walked her to the door.
“I’m scared,” Mallory whispered.
“I know, but remember, ‘For every mountain—’”
“‘There is a miracle,’” Mallory finished, smiling through her tears. Her father collected quotes to build his sermons around. He had a proverb for every occasion and this was one of his favorites. “I’ll remember,” she promised.
Leaving Nick in her parents’ loving hands, she hurried to the florist shop to tell her partner. Lauri hugged Mallory close. “Don’t you worry about a thing. This store’s way down on your priority list. There are plenty of college kids home for the summer who’d love to have a job in a nice, air-conditioned shop. Now, what can I do to help?”
They came up with a list, then Lauri shoved Mallory out the door. “Go home and don’t show your face here anymore.”
Grateful, Mallory went back to her parents’ house. She found Nick playing with his Game Boy. That, she thought, was the best distraction for any child.
At dinner that evening they all joined hands around the table as her father led them in a prayer for Nick’s recovery. The familiar Hebrew words comforted Mallory, and her father’s voice, as deep and calm as it was in the synagogue, steadied her. For the first time since she’d heard the grim news, her frozen limbs seemed to thaw.
Still, she couldn’t sleep that night. She wished for Dean, who’d been her rock for the eight years of their marriage. He’d been a wonderful husband and father. And when a drunk driver had hit his car head-on, she’d at least had the chance to tell him so. She’d held him in her arms in the hospital and told him how much she loved him…and then, in an instant, he was gone.
“Don’t let me lose Nick, too,” she prayed and vowed she’d fight this disease in every way she knew.
News spread quickly in a small town, and by the next afternoon, Mallory had dozens of calls with offers of help. Lauri’s husband Mark offered to drive Mallory’s car to Houston. She’d need it there, but she and Nick would fly in. Nick’s fever and listlessness had returned, and Mallory didn’t think he could handle a long car trip.
The members of her Torah study group already had a schedule for checking on her house and taking care of the yard. All that remained were the arrangements with the cancer specialist, and Dr. Sanders would let her know about that.
When they arrived for their appointment, he visited with Nick first, then called Mallory into his office.
“Have you found us a doctor?” she asked.
“Yes, he’s young—well, young by my standards—but he’s highly regarded.”
“That’s good to hear.” Mallory reached into her purse for the notebook and pen she’d brought. “What’s his name?”
“Berger. Dr. Kent Berger.”
“Berg…”
