bam, your wife’s dead, and you weren’t expecting it at all, so here’s the dress she ordered last week—and here’s her favourite food in the fridge, chocolate pudding, because you picked some up to surprise her yesterday—and here’s an email about the holiday you booked for next year, and…
Hit after hit after hit.
If he was prepared for his mum’s death, even a little bit, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Because Nate couldn’t fucking cope with that again. The threat of loss hovered on the surface of his mind, slick like oil over clear water, and he was stuck in that greasy pool trying not to drown.
You thought that she would live forever and now she has cancer and you’re waiting for a last-minute appointment in a healthcare system that doesn’t do last-minute appointments, and Jesus fucking Christ, maybe you were right—maybe she’s going to die.
Beside him, Shirley huffed out a little laugh at something she’d read. The tail of her silk headscarf lay over her gaunt shoulder. He stared at the paisley pattern for a second or an infinity, and then it occurred to him that his mind was turning dangerously blank and heavy, and he should think of something else. He glanced up at the clock on the wall and realised it was almost four. Hannah would’ve picked up the kids by now.
Hannah, who’d turned grey as the dust she loved to vanquish when he’d told her where he was going, and why. For a moment, she’d looked almost as terrified as he’d felt. But then she’d cleared her throat and stiffened her spine and told him in that cool, calm voice that he mustn’t worry, and that everything would be fine, and that he was to go right now and do whatever was needed and not think about the kids for even a second.
Nate wondered what he’d done in a previous life that had led him to meet so many wonderful women.
And then, finally, a nurse appeared and called his mother’s name.
They entered a clinical little room occupied by no less than four strangers. His heart plummeted like a ten-ton weight, tearing through every inch of flesh and bone in its way.
A woman with enormous brown eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses stepped forward to shake his mother’s hand, then his. Which was not usual doctor behaviour, in Nate’s experience. So what the fuck was going on?
She wore a smile that could only be described as politely grim. The other inhabitants were men, two scruffy-haired and tired-eyed, one razor-sharp in a well-cut suit. That suit alarmed Nate more than anything else about the situation. It was an indisputable truth that once corporate fuckers got involved, shit was heading rapidly downhill.
“Ms. Davis,” the woman murmured. She must be a consultant. The consultants in this department all spoke like that—as if their patients were inches from death, so loudness wouldn’t be appropriate. “I’m Doctor Yaszia Irshad. With me are my colleagues Dr. Brown, Dr. Law, and Mr. Young, who is a member of the hospital’s board. Please, take a seat.”
Shirley actually smiled at the murder of crows before them, then toddled off to her chair as if they were all taking tea together. But not before shooting Nate a look that quite clearly said, Don’t you dare make a fuss.
So Nate didn’t make a fuss. He kept his mouth locked tight, so his fear and his fury and his rising nausea couldn’t escape. He sat beside his mother and clutched the arms of the chair until his knuckles ached. He absolutely did not make a fuss.
For now.
“We called you here urgently because there has been a re-examination of your scans and symptoms. Dr. Brown is a specialist consultant in respiratory diseases, and Dr. Law specialises in a condition called sarcoidosis. They are of the opinion that you have been misdiagnosed, Ms. Davis. That, rather than suffering from lung cancer, you are suffering from sarcoidosis.”
Somehow, despite the fact that he was suffocating, Nate managed to croak out, “Pardon?”
“We made a mistake,” said Dr. Irshad.
Shirley stared. Nate stared. The consultant offered a smile that looked more like a wince.
Finally, Nate said through lips that felt frozen stiff, “You made… a mistake?”
The doctor cleared her throat. “Unfortunately, yes.”
And then the suit slimed into the conversation with a sharklike smile and a soothing tone. “This sort of thing is unbelievably rare, and highly unfortunate. Human error, you understand. Of course, you have our utmost apologies—”
“I don’t give a shit about apologies. What, exactly, was the