the kids before he scoots his chair closer to mine. His hand grabs mine, lacing our fingers together. “Molly, go to lunch with her. Enjoy yourself. Have girl talk. Maybe go have a pedicure. What you shouldn’t do, is let this keep you from enjoying life.”
Lincoln doesn’t get it. It’s not that I don’t want to go out with Melanie Fischer because I don’t think I can enjoy life anymore. It’s that I don’t want to spend any time away from him and the kids. Every precious second I have left on this earth, I want to spend it with them.
“We’ll see.” I evade giving him a definitive answer.
Just then, my phone rings. Seeing Dr. Becker’s name flash on the screen sends fear racing through me. I glance up at Lincoln just as his eyes leave the phone to meet mine. I snatch the phone up, swipe across the screen, and press it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Molly Bradshaw?” a female voice asks.
“Speaking.”
“This is Kelly from Dr. Becker’s office. He wanted me to inform you he got the genetic tests back from the lab and wanted to know if you could come in tomorrow at two to go over the results?”
My gut tightens, and I keep my eyes locked on Lincoln as I talk. “I don’t understand. The results weren’t due back for another week.”
“Dr. Becker was able to have the results rushed. Are you able to come in tomorrow at two?”
“Yes,” I nearly shout.
“Okay. That’s great. We’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Thank—” I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
I hang up, my hands fumbling with the phone, and it drops to the table.
“Tomorrow at two.”
I don’t need to elaborate for Lincoln to know what I’m referring to. His jaw tightens, and he nods.
Tomorrow.
I don’t know which emotion is stronger. Relief or fear.
Tomorrow at two, we’ll know the fate of our kids.
We finish lunch, but spend another hour outside. Gemma helps me plant the flowers we bought the other day while Lincoln shows Gray how to use the Weed Eater. Every so often, I stop and simply look at my family. How much longer will I be able to spend time with them like this? How long before I’m stuck in the house too weak to move?
According to Dr. Becker, my body will slowly shut down, effectively trapping me in a useless body. The muscles that control my breathing will become impaired, which could cause pneumonia. There’s a chance I could lose my hearing, and I’ll lose muscle coordination. I’ll eventually become bedridden, won’t be able to eat without assistance, and I’ll be unable to communicate. The two most common causes of death are pneumonia or death after a coma.
I sat in that chair in Dr. Becker’s office, terrified as he explained what would happen to me. The physical symptoms were hard to hear, knowing my family would have to watch me slowly die. But it was the mental symptoms I’d suffer that scared me the most. Dementia is very common in GSS. Will I eventually forget my kids and Lincoln? Will I look at them like they are strangers? I can’t imagine that ever happening. How can I forget the three most important people in my life; the three people who give my life meaning?
Tears prick my eyes thinking about that possibility.
And what’s worse is the pain I know they’ll go through watching me. It’s hard enough knowing I may forget them, but knowing the pain they’ll suffer, sends a sharp and unforgiving ache through my chest.
I shake my head and force my thoughts to a better place, determined to live in the moment and not the uncertain future.
Leaning over, I kiss the top of Gemma’s head, and when she looks up at me with her beautiful grin, I smile back.
Chapter Thirteen
LINCOLN
“Please, take a seat,” Dr. Becker says, gesturing to the two chairs we sat in a week ago.
My nerves are shot to hell. From the pallor on Molly’s face and the death grip she has on my hand, I know she’s not faring any better.
Dr. Becker takes his seat and steeples his fingers together in front of him. Relief hits instantly when he smiles.
“We have good news. Neither Gray nor Gemma carry the gene.”
Molly’s hand jerks in mine. “Are you sure?” she croaks.
Dr. Becker nods, his smile growing. “We are one-hundred percent certain. There were no traces of the gene.”
“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, sagging against the back of her chair. When she looks at me, tears appear in her eyes, but