I don’t know what comes over me, but inside, the feeling of something unpleasant hovers on the horizon. My stomach becomes crampy, almost pained. The weight inside my chest becomes heavy and uncomfortable.
“Hey, love you, too, big bro. See you soon, okay?”
Once she hangs up the phone, the panic sets it. He told me he was well, his exact words were that he had a clean bill of health, but something tells me I was naïve to believe it.
I open my browser and find the invoice for the clinic where he was treated in Australia. I haven’t paid attention to the amount when it hit my statement months ago, but now I notice it’s oddly low. I dial the number on the invoice and get through to the receptionist. She’s reluctant to put me through to the treating specialist, but several threats later, I am put through.
I’m straight to the point and ask him what the hell is going on.
“Mr. Edwards, I really can’t discuss this matter with you,” the specialist informs me.
“I don’t need to remind you who I am. I paid for this, and I demand answers.”
“Again, Mr. Edwards, this is confidential.”
Fucking hell. I know these fuckers need funding. Great, use that to bribe him.
“I know for a fact you are trying to receive funding for your new center in Sydney. I will be more than happy to assist if you give me what I’m looking for.”
There is dead silence.
“What exactly do you want to know, Mr. Edwards?”
“Why is this bill for Elijah Evans’s treatment so low? I know the chemo treatment is pricey.”
More silence.
“Mr. Evans refused the treatment.”
What did he just say?
“I-I don’t understand. Why on earth would he do that?”
He lets out a sigh. “Mr. Evans refused the treatment because the cancer is quite aggressive.”
“Wh… What do you mean?” I stammer.
“It’s stage four. He has maybe a year to live. He wants to enjoy what time he has left.”
The phone slips out of my hands, the voice echoing as it calls out through the speaker, “Mr. Edwards, are you there?”
“I’m here…”
Those are the last words I speak to him before hanging up the phone like I am on auto-pilot.
I no longer feel in control of what the fuck the universe is trying to do to our lives. There is no plan. How can there be a plan when Elijah no longer fights to live? I want to reach out to Charlotte, but I don’t want her to carry the burden with her. For hours, I sit staring at my screen, trying to figure out what the hell it is I need to do until the answer that was there all along presents itself.
I call my dad.
With heavy crackling on the line, he answers. I demand he come home straight away. It’s a family crisis, and when times like this occur, we all need to be together to get through it.
Family, it’s all we have at this moment.
***
We sit in my parents’ living room waiting for Adriana and Elijah to show up. Eric’s taking care of Amelia for the night. I thought it was best that she isn’t here. She may be too young to have any clue as to what’s going on, but I don’t want any negative energy around her. I told Charlotte what I had discovered, and as I predicted, she’s upset and has been crying for days along with my mother. She rambles on about something her mother read in her tarot cards, but I’m quick to shut her down, angry with her for seeking help from a woman who, in my eyes, is full of shit.
My father tries his best to remain strong, but I can see it has aged him. For the past few days, we spend hours locked in his den, trying to find any treatment that will cure Elijah, but deep inside, we know it’s a lost cause. Only a miracle can save him and the power of prayer to God almighty.
The important thing, he keeps reminding us is that we have to remain strong for Adriana. Elijah still hasn’t breathed a word to her, and she is gullible enough to believe it’s a nasty virus consuming him.
Elijah knows why we called this intervention, and the moment he walks into the room, I know we don’t have long. He looks gaunt, especially standing next to Adriana, who’s in her third trimester. The healthy glow is missing