and everything about him screamed military.
Flynn introduced the man and the older woman as Ginger’s parents, Jacob and Kate. The other woman was their younger daughter, Cara, Ginger’s sister.
Ally moved closer to Ginger. “I understand you’ve decided to forgo further treatment for your condition?”
“Correct.” A confident nod accompanied her response.
“I’m sorry, but I need to ask if you understand what that means. Even though I know that your oncologist, and probably Dr. Ramsey, have already gone over this with you, I’d like to talk—”
“Yes, let’s talk about it,” Kate broke in. “That’s all we’re asking, honey.”
“Any hope is still hope,” Cara chimed in.
“Talking some sense into her is all we want,” Jacob growled.
Oh, dear, this poor family.
“Platitudes are my favorite,” Ginger whispered. Squeezing her eyes shut, she gave her head a shake before settling a determined gaze on Ally. “I’m totally fine talking about it. With treatment, my odds of beating this are less than two percent. Treatment would consist of more brutal chemo. The first rounds left me helpless and miserable and incapacitated and nearly killed me. But if I opt out of the treatment I could have three or four or as many as six or even eight months with relative quality of life. Way, way better than the chemo version of quality I’ve suffered through already.
“I could smoke weed—sorry.” She gave her dad a pointed look before addressing Ally again. “I could legally partake of medical marijuana until I can no longer stand the pain. Then I’ll hook up to a morphine drip and sleep peacefully until I die with as much dignity as dying allows.”
“Stop talking about dying!” Cara barked, her tone bordering on a shout. “You have to fight, Ginger. Why won’t you fight?”
Kate choked on a sob. “Ginger, honey, Cara’s right. Please think about Ella. She needs her mother.”
Jacob stood his ground, menacing and gruff, his blue eyes settled on the wall above Ginger’s head. Ally’s heart went out to him; she wasn’t fooled by the man of steel routine. Why was it that the harder the shell, the more devastating the heartbreak seemed?
A passionate, circular conversation ensued, and Ally understood why Ginger had requested some help. She glanced at Flynn, whose only response was a gentle upward nudge of one brow.
Ally had experienced an uncommon amount of death in her life. Palliative care was one of her grandfather’s strong suits and Ally had shown a knack for assisting him at a very early age. She knew when a patient was making a decision for the wrong reason and when they were making it for the right one. As far as she knew, her intuition and experience had never steered her wrong.
Beside her, Ginger’s eyes were shining and filled with anguish. The sight caused an ache deep in Ally’s chest. She reached across and placed her hand over Ginger’s, lightly squeezing her fingers.
Ignoring the others, Ally asked, “So, Ginger, now that you’ve decided, what are you planning to do with the rest of your life?”
The room grew silent while Ginger’s eyes welled with tears. “You’re the first person to ask me that...” Dipping her chin, she nodded for a few seconds before swiping at a tear on her cheek. “I’ve thought about this a lot.”
“I’m sure you have. I know I would.”
“It even has a title, this last chapter of my life. It’s called Photographs and Memories, like the Jim Croce song. Do you know it? I’m plagiarizing, but I’ll be dead by the time anyone figures it out so let ’em sue me.”
Ally smiled. “Know it and love it. He’s one of my grandfather’s favorite singers.”
“I want a few more months of taking photos and making memories. One last glorious Alaskan summer...” Ginger swallowed and nodded as if to blink back more tears. “I want to spend time with my daughter and take photos to leave for her. I want us to do things and make memories and document them together. Memories that don’t include me sick and vomiting and so weak that I can’t even hold her or read to her or sing Jim Croce songs...”
Ally squeezed her hand while she gathered her thoughts, awed by her strength and bravery and the beautiful poetry of her words.
“What I don’t want...” She cleared her throat. “What I don’t want is to lie in bed wishing out the window, you know what I mean? Lying there dying and thinking about all the things I wish I was doing? I want to do them, live while I can. So, Ally, that’s what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”
“Ginger, that sounds just lovely.” Ally lifted a shoulder. “I can’t imagine anything better.”
“Me, either.”
“You realize that it will be painful? That, in the end, it could possibly be more painful than if you chose chemotherapy? Physically, I mean, because the cancer will be allowed to grow. Chemotherapy kills your good cells, but it also kills the cancer cells and can prolong your life.”
“I do. Dr. Fulton, my oncologist in Glacier City, was brutally honest about that. I asked him to be because I want to be prepared. But I’ll have quality time, that’s the point.”
“Okay, good. You get it. Your daughter is lucky to have you. How old is she?”
“She’s eight.” Ginger reached toward the bedside table, picked up a frame and handed it to her. A photo collage, Ally realized, and in each and every image there was a petite girl with a heart-shaped face, wide smile and lively eyes that were nearly identical to her mother’s, right down to the glowing inquisitiveness in their startlingly blue depths. Some images featured the little girl alone, others included her with a happy and healthy Ginger, her grandparents, Aunt Cara and presumably other loved ones. In some, there was a fluffy gray cat.
“These photos are gorgeous. Dr. Ramsey is right about your talent. And your daughter is beautiful.”
“She is! And smart and kind and artistic and imaginative. All the things I dreamed my child would be.”
Ally stared into her eyes, pouring every bit of support she could manage into the look and the touch of her hand on Ginger’s. “I dream of those things for my daughter, too, if I’m ever lucky enough to have one.”
“Thank you for understanding,” Ginger whispered.
“You bet. Have you applied for your medical marijuana card yet? I know some doctors who specialize in this area. They can work with you and suggest strains that are symptom specific. It’s—”
“Wait! What? Aren’t you going to try and talk her out of this? Jacob, do something,” Kate demanded.
“Yeah!” Jacob erupted. “Hold on here for one minute! This is your solution? I thought doctors took an oath to save lives.”
Cara was looking at Flynn. “Dr. Ramsey, is it possible she doesn’t know what she’s saying? I’ve read about how chemo can affect the decision-making process. It can make people confused and—”
“Cara!”
