leaves me baffled. “You’d be surprised.” I’m expecting him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.
The mystery continues.
“Her tumor has been completely removed because she took the drugs you refuse to take—the ones that will save your life.”
I tie my laces a little too tightly when thinking of Roman’s tactics earlier today. I understand what he was hoping to achieve but talk about an ambush. Regardless of what he thinks, I’m not Erin. I’m also not his lab rat. It may have worked for her, but it won’t work for me. Endless doctors have told me that, so the odds are not in his favor.
But it appears he believes that if I were to undergo the new trials, I’d be too stubborn and headstrong not to see it through. I would give it my all, and chances are, if what Roman says is true, I would survive.
Unable to think about this without wanting to throw up, I step out into the hallway, ready to spend the rest of the afternoon with the kids. But when I round the corner, I bump into June. She’s holding a cup of coffee, which I thankfully don’t spill all over her cream blouse.
“Oh, my god! I am so sorry!” I wipe away the imaginary coffee drops on her arm.
She chuckles, holding her cup out to the side. “That’s quite okay, Lola. I’m actually glad I bumped into you. Do you have a moment?”
“Sure.” Once I’m satisfied she’s blemish-free, I remove my hand.
She glances down the long hallway. Although empty, she hints she’d like to talk in private. “Would you like to chat in my office?”
“Of course.” I can’t help but wonder why the secrecy, but I follow as she strolls down the hall. Her black high heels sound elegantly against the plush carpet. My heavy, uneven footsteps distinguish our differences.
She steps inside the small but homey office, taking a seat in the high-back leather chair. I close the door behind me, standing with my hands locked behind my back as I look out the large window. A stunning rose garden just beyond the pines boasts a picturesque burst of colors. From this distance, I couldn’t even begin to speculate just how many rose bushes sit perfectly erect. Their formation rivals the most scrupulous marching band.
This view is beyond words, and if June spins her chair, she can gaze out into all that she owns and witness the impact she has had on so many.
“Please, take a seat.” She points at the leather chair in front of her, disrupting my thoughts.
I do.
As I shift to get comfortable, I notice a decorative frame resting on the heavy oak desk. The photograph is of a young, mousy-haired girl who looks to be no older than ten. The picture captures her standing near the very lake I can see if I peer out the window, holding a huge fish dangling from a fishing pole. She looks happy and carefree.
“That’s my daughter,” she reveals with a faraway tenor.
“She’s adorable.”
“She was.”
Her use of past tense has my eyebrows shooting up into my hairline. The reality has an ache eating away at my heart. I gently rub over it, pained for June.
“She passed when she was thirteen.” She confirms my worst fears. “From a congenital heart defect. A hole in the heart,” she clarifies. How ironic, as I’m sure that’s what June feels daily.
“I am so”—my voice grows quieter, tears stinging my eyes—“so sorry.” The reason for June’s harrowing cries has been uncovered.
“Thank you.” She dabs at the corner of her wet eye with her index finger. “It was a long time ago.”
“But I bet it still feels like yesterday?” I offer as I know this kind of loss is eternal.
“Yes.” Running her finger over the glass, she reveals, “That’s why Strawberry Fields exists—in honor of my daughter. She was always a sick child, and the frequent hospital visits made her worse. I could see she hated being treated like a sick person, but sadly, back in those days, there were no real options on where she could go. The hospital was the only place she could receive around-the-clock care. It didn’t make a difference in the end.”
The layers of grief to her voice have me chewing the inside of my cheek to stop me from breaking down.
“So that’s why I created this place.” She sweeps her arm outward. “I wanted young people, who were just like my daughter, to be able to find comfort in a place that wasn’t a sterile hospital