Arcadia's Gift - By Jesi Lea Ryan Page 0,30

too, but now I'm not so sure that part wasn't my imagination."

"Hmmm..." he pondered. "Maybe the mass inside the dog isn't a tumor at all, but an object. It might be radiating something, or you might have felt a magnetic pull. Were you wearing any metallic jewelry on your hands?"

"No. I didn't have jewelry on at all. Not even earrings."

"And the vet is going to let you know what she finds?"

"Yeah. Dr. Kristy promised to call right after the surgery. I thought about going out there, but I have my appointment in the afternoon."

"Ah, the therapist... You sure you don't need a ride?"

"I'm sure," I said with a smile. "Bryan, you don't have to be so nice to me just because my sister died. I mean, I appreciate your help and concern. You're about the only person I can really talk to right now, but I don't want you to go out of your way because you think you have to take care of me."

"Do you really think I'm just being nice to you because your sister died?"

The way he said it made me feel badly for even bringing it up. "I guess not. But...well...why are you being so nice to me? There are a lot of other kids in the school that you could be friends with who would be much better company than I am right now."

"I don't want other company. I want your company."

My breath caught in my chest and my brain froze for a comeback.

"I'll have my cell with me all day tomorrow,” he continued. “If you want to get a hold of me during school, just text, alright? I'll talk to you soon. Sweet dreams."

I held the phone to my chest long after the line disconnected.

Chapter 12

By the time Dr. Kristy phoned at noon the next day, I’d caught my school work up in three subjects and was feeling pretty good. Hearing the doctor's voice —a mixture of intelligence and bedside kindness, which she used even when having the most mundane of conversations —brought back my concern for the little dog.

"How is she? How’s Lucy?" I asked, my voice cracking a bit.

"Lucy's going to be just fine. She's still groggy from the anesthesia, and she'll have to wear an e-collar on her neck for the next couple of weeks, but she should be up and running around in no time."

"What was it?"

"Well, there was a mass on her right lung. I was able to remove it completely. I'll have to wait for the pathology to be completed before we’ll know if it was malignant or benign, but I have high hopes. Lucy is only three years old, so even if it’s cancer and we have to do chemo, she has a very good chance at a normal life."

A bit of the weight resting on my shoulders lifted.

"Cady," Dr. Kristy's tone turned hesitant, "I still would like to know how you were able to feel the tumor. Mark and I are going to do some research on it. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. I'm curious too. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before."

"Good. I'll let you know what we come up with."

After hanging up the phone, I showered and got ready for my appointment. What did one wear to see a psychologist? Would the doctor form opinions about me based on my clothing choices? You know, some sort of fashion Rorschach test? I wished I knew what kind of clothes crazy people wore so I could avoid them. I decided to go as safe as possible —dark jeans, an olive-green sweater and my hair slicked back into a ponytail.

When I finished, I walked quietly down the hallway to my mother's bedroom. If she wanted to go with me to my appointment, she’d have to start getting ready. I rapped at the door softly.

"Mom?" I called. There was no answer. "Mom, are you coming to my appointment with me?"

"Wha...?" she said groggily.

I opened the door and stepped inside. "Mom, if you want to come with me to the grief therapist —" I couldn't finish my thought. Sadness dropped on me like an iron anvil falling on Wile E. Coyote in the old Looney Tunes cartoons. My palms went clammy and my pulse jumped. My heart broke in my chest all over again. I rubbed my eyes to keep the tears from spouting.

With great effort, my mother propped herself up on the edge of the bed. Her hair was a nest of tangles, greasy