“No. I don’t have canc—I mean, I’m not here for anything medical. I just need to talk to him for a couple of minutes.”
She studies me over the top of her glasses. “What is this in reference to?”
“That’s private.”
“Well, I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you in to see the doctor without a reason. He’s very busy.” She leans back in her chair and crosses her arms as if she’s a bouncer at a club.
I run my hand through my hair. “Fine. It’s about Meg Reynolds. Can you tell him that, please? He’ll know who she is.” I nod to the phone. The sooner she calls the doctor, the sooner I’ll leave her the hell alone.
Her face gets softer. “Meg Reynolds? My goodness, I never thought I’d hear that name again. We miss her so much around here. Were you a friend of hers?”
She looks at me so kindly, one side of her mouth turned up in a half smile brought on by some memory, and I suddenly don’t want to tell her who I am. Clearly this woman liked Meg—loved her even. I can’t tell her I’m the guy who singlehandedly brought on her demise.
“Yeah, we were friends,” I say. “I’m…uh…Alan.” I clear my throat. “Can I speak with the doctor for a minute or two? I promise it won’t take long.”
She nods. “Of course, dear. Have a seat. I’ll call you in as soon as he’s finished with his current patient.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m following the receptionist down a small corridor and into an office. Meg’s doctor—I assume he was Meg’s doctor; I’ve never actually met him before—is sitting at his desk, typing away. He’s an older guy, but really well put together, with slicked-to-the-side white hair, a close shave, and a perfectly knotted tie.
“Dr. Maldonado, this is Alan,” the receptionist says and then leaves us.
Dr. Maldonado looks up. “Have a seat, young man. I hear you were a friend of Megan Reynolds.”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Such a bright young woman, she was.”
“Yes.”
“What can I do for you, son?”
Son? I’ve never been called that by anyone before. Not even my mom. It’s weird as fuck. “I…um…well, I know this is kind of strange, but I was wondering…did Meg ever leave a journal here? It would have been a regular, one-subject notebook.”
Dr. Maldonado thinks for a minute. “I do recall her carrying around a notebook or two. But I don’t think she ever left anything here.” He picks up his phone and pushes a button. “Ann, did Megan Reynolds ever leave a notebook here that you know of?” There are a few seconds of silence and then he says, “Thanks,” and hangs up. “I’m sorry, Alan, there’s nothing here.”
I nod and stand. It was a long shot. I knew that going in. “Thank you, sir.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it. “And thank you for…taking care of her.”
“Of course, son. That’s my job.”
I’m halfway out the door when a thought hits me. I turn back. “Um, Dr. Maldonado?”
“Yes?”
“Would Meg have lived? You know, if she hadn’t gotten pregnant and didn’t have to stop her chemotherapy? Would she have gotten better?”
The doctor’s lips press into a thin line. It’s the first sign I’ve seen that this guy is ever anything but cool, calm, and in control. “I’m afraid I’m unable to discuss specifics of my patients’ cases.”
Oh, come on.
“But I’m her…best friend. And she’s gone. What difference does it make now?”
“I’m sorry. Even after death, I’m still bound by a confidentiality clause.” His fingers are steepled under his nose, and he looks at me with apology in his eyes.
I nod and move to leave. My shoulders feel like they’re weighted with all the boxes in Meg’s storage unit.
“Alan.”
I turn.
He sighs and lowers his voice. There’s no way anyone outside the office would be able to hear him. I can barely hear him. “Her cancer was very advanced.”
That’s not really an answer to my question, but it seems like he’s okay with breaking the rules now, so I ask another one. “But you wanted to keep doing the treatment? Before she got pregnant, I mean?”
“Yes.”
“So that means you thought there was a chance it could work, right? It wasn’t completely hopeless?”
He looks at me, his gaze clear. “There was a chance, yes. A small chance. But a chance.”
“That’s all I needed to know.”
Chapter 23
It feels good to finally be back on the soccer pitch, playing in an actual game.