Life and Other Near-Death Experiences(68)

Tom smiled. “That’s wonderful. That’s exactly what your mother would have wanted for you.”

“Yeah. It is,” I said quietly. Then I stood. “Would you mind getting the bill? It’s time for me to go.”

“Of course,” he said. “Libby?”

“Yes?”

“I’d like it if we could stay in touch.”

I smiled wistfully, even as my eyes filled with tears. “I wish we could, but to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure I can handle that.”

Tom was right in front of me, so close I could touch him. But it now seemed we were on opposite sides of a rapidly expanding pond. It would not be long before that pond was a lake, and the lake, an ocean, and we would never again see each other from our respective shores. I would miss him.

He nodded. “I understand. Good-bye, Libby. I love you.”

I looked at him, one last time. “Good-bye, Tom.”





THIRTY-FOUR


The wind rattled the windows and howled through the cracks in the back door. I had an hour or two to kill before I was required to legally vacate the apartment, but even with a winter storm brewing, there was no point hanging around a place that was no longer my home. Besides, there was something I needed to do. I packed my suitcase, made sure the counters and floors weren’t too filthy, and dropped my keys on the counter. Then I walked to Damen, where I hailed a cab.

As the driver began speeding east, I pulled my phone out of my bag and typed in a number.

“Can you hear me?” I said into the phone.

“Yes,” said Shiloh.

“Good. Thank you for doing this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Thank you.”

“Let’s not dog pile the gratitude, okay?”

“Aye, aye, captain. You nervous?”

I wiped the foggy window with the edge of my palm. Through the clear spot in the glass, cars whizzed past, their drivers seemingly unfazed by the fast-falling snow. “I feel not unlike my plane is about to nosedive into the ocean.”

Shiloh laughed. “Deep breaths, Libby. Deep breaths. You can do this.”

I breathed in deeply, which kind of hurt. Then out. And in again.

“Good,” he said, like he was coaching me through Lamaze. “You’re doing great. Remember, get it over with so you can move forward.”

“Forward,” I said.

“Forward,” he repeated. “Now, did I tell you about my first day back to work?”

Shiloh jabbered on for the next ten minutes, until the cab pulled up to a covered service drive. “Well, I’m here,” I told him.

“Sure you don’t want me to stay on the phone a little longer?”

“No, but I promise I’ll call you if I freak out. And I’ll let you know as soon as I’m done, okay?”

“Cutie, I’m proud of you. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”



I walked through the double doors, took yet another deep breath, and marched up to the reception window. “I’m here to see Dr. Sanders,” I announced.

The receptionist looked confused. “He’s in clinic on the other side of the building.”

“Do you expect him back at some point?”

“Yes, though I have no idea when. Do you have an appointment with him?”

“No, but I can wait.” I leaned through the window toward her. “I’m Libby Miller. The patient who wasn’t going to get treatment. I missed my appointment with Dr. Sanders last week.”

Her mouth morphed into a soft O. “I see. Let me page him. Please have a seat.”

A long, stale hour passed. People came in and out of the waiting room, presumably to see other doctors in Dr. Sanders’s practice. I tried not to look at them too closely, knowing I would inevitably attempt to tea-leaf my own health based on their appearances, even though it was statistically improbable that a single one of them had the same type of cancer I did, if they even had cancer at all. I struggled to stay awake as another hour went by. But I was determined to wait it out, mostly because there was no guarantee I’d be able to convince myself to return.

I was nodding off when I felt someone sit beside me on the sofa where I’d been stationed. I looked over sleepily, and there was Dr. Sanders, dressed in pale blue scrubs. I sat up quickly and he smiled, then clasped my hands in his own. I resisted the urge to yank them back.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you here,” he said, leaning in so close that I could see the broken capillaries swimming up and down the side of his nose.

“Try me,” I said.

He laughed. “Will you come with me?”

I agreed, though my bravado had been replaced by the sensation that I had showed up to my own surprise party after it was over. When we reached his office, he motioned for me to sit in the same chair where he’d barely managed to deliver bad news the first time around. This time he didn’t go behind his desk. Instead he pulled another armchair across from me, just below a section of wall decorated with scripted diplomas, and sat down. Crossing one long leg over another, he regarded me for a moment. “Well, Libby, you’re the first patient who has ever disappeared on me, but my colleagues say it’s not unheard-of.”

I stared at him.