back toward each other to make her reach out to stop them. She stepped off and glanced at the board that listed the patients and room numbers. Mr. Phillips was still in room five, down to the left.
When she arrived she heard laughter coming from inside. Giving a quick knock and forcing a spring to her step to avoid looking like a funeral director, she entered the room.
Someone was sitting in a chair next to the head of the bed, a grin on his face that was as big as Mr. Phillips’s. Two pairs of eyes swung toward her. But it wasn’t the man’s daughter who sat there. It was Clay.
He kept smiling, but a subtle shift took place as his eyes met hers. She made her own lips curl, although it took an enormous force of the will to get those muscles to tighten.
She glanced around the room, hoping his daughter might be there. But she wasn’t. Just Mr. Phillips and Clay.
“What are you two talking about?” she asked. Her voice was light enough, but it had an artificial timbre to it that reminded her of those sweetener packets she used in her coffee.
Mr. Phillips’s eyes crinkled around the corners. “Just comparing notes.”
“Guy notes.” Clay’s gaze never left her face.
He knew. She could see it in the slight movements in the muscle at his cheek, in the firming of his glance.
And it was Clay who provided the opening she needed. “I was telling Mr. Phillips his break is healing just the way we like to see. Do you have news on that spot you removed?” He stood and motioned her to take the chair so she could be closer.
“I do. Do you want your daughter to be here?”
Just like that, the crinkles disappeared, dying a terrible death. “That bad, huh?”
Tessa could have taken the chart and studied it as if there was something important written there and avoided meeting Mr. Phillips’s gaze altogether, but she wouldn’t do that to him. She owed it to him to be direct and honest, without taking away all hope. “Your scan showed some areas that we need to look into.”
“Where?”
“Your liver. Your lungs.”
The man’s breath exited in a soft sigh. “Cancer?”
“We need to do so some more—”
“Tessa.” That single word came from Clay.
Mr. Phillips looked from one to the other. “I’ve been around the block a couple of times. Something’s eventually going to get me. Why not this? I’ve outlived most of my friends. My brothers and sisters. My wife. So just give it to me straight.”
Swallowing, she nodded. “Yes. We’re pretty sure it’s cancer that has spread from your leg. We’re going to get a treatment team together and see what we come up with.”
He looked at her for a minute or two. “You do your talking. But if it doesn’t look like an easy fix, I’m going to have to turn you down. I can’t do that to my daughter and son, and she’s traveled a long way to see me already. At least I’ll have time to say my goodbyes.”
Mr. Phillips’s wife had died almost ten years ago of a massive stroke. She’d been dead before she’d hit the ground.
Tessa wasn’t sure which was worse for those who were left behind. Watching your loved one wither away before your eyes or having them snatched in an instant.
“Do you want me to speak with your daughter?”
“She’ll probably want to talk to you herself, but I’d rather break the news to her.” Mr. Phillips reached out and gave Tessa’s hand a squeeze. “It’s okay, honey. I’ve been ready for a while now.”
She wrapped her fingers around his for a few seconds. “As soon as I know something more, I’ll let you know.”
“I know you will.” Rheumy eyes moistened. “I don’t mind telling you, I miss my wife. I’ll be glad to see her.”
Clay’s hand landed on her shoulder, whether in support of her or Mr. Phillips she had no idea. But she was glad he was there.
“Don’t make your reservations just yet, Mr. Phillips.” If she could will someone’s cancer to go up in a puff of smoke, this would be the person she did it for. But she couldn’t.
“Can I talk to you outside, Dr. Camara?” Clay’s low voice made her nod.
But before she got up… “Is there anything you need? How is your pain level?”
“I think it’s better than yours right now.” Her patient let go of her hand and gave her a smile. “Don’t be sad for me, honey. It’s going to be okay.”
She gave one more nod, unsure she could force another word from her mouth, then stood to her feet, following Clay out of the room.
Once there, he turned to face her. “You okay?”
What was it with male doctors asking her if she was all right? She was a professional, just as they were. Her head went up, along with her temper. “Fine. Why?”
He made a tsking sound with his tongue. “You wouldn’t be human if it didn’t get to you. Especially with some patients.”
“Brian seemed just fine.” Her face felt carved out of stone.
A frown appeared on his face. “You saw him?”
“Um, yes. He’s my attending. We just finished discussing this particular case.”
“That’s not what I meant. Did he mention them?”
“Them who? I don’t understand.” Sadness morphed into confusion.
“You don’t know about the jars.”
She blinked. “Jars?”
Taking her elbow, he led her a few feet away from Mr. Phillips’s door. “It seems some collection jars have been set up at some of the nurses’ stations.”
Okay, now she was getting irritated. “They always put up jars before the festival. The staff contributes to whatever charity the hospital has chosen this year.” It seemed a little weird for him to have pulled her out of a patient’s room to tell her that. Unless he was trying to spare her feelings.
“Yeah, I don’t think these are the kinds of jars they normally have out.”
Glancing across the space, she saw the nurses’ station was empty of personnel, but it did indeed have a jar. In fact, there were a pair of them. That was strange. Why would they need two?
She walked toward the containers and squinted at the writing on the first one. Someone’s name… Her thoughts fell off abruptly.
No, not someone’s name. Her name.
The second jar. Oh, Lord! Clay’s name.
“What’s going on?”
