Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(4)

Maybe it was time for some Kegels?

For anything that made her feel stronger.

What was wrong with her? The news she had to deliver was good news, dammit!

Emma had to have seen something in Trisha’s face because the amusement in her dual-colored gaze fizzled. “The results for the scans came in, didn’t they?”

“Yes.” Trisha pulled up a chair and sat down next to Emma’s bed. For the first time in her life she envied her siblings their ability to tiptoe around feelings, to understand the darned things.

“Spit it out, Dr. Raje. I want to know.” Emma’s voice was adamant, her gaze steady.

Trisha did as she was told. “We knew there was a good chance that the tumor would be too close to the optic nerves. It isn’t just close, it’s wrapped around the nerves. Around both of them where they cross over.”

Emma looked away. Her eyes sought out Trisha’s hand, the one that was gripping her painting too tightly.

She said nothing.

Maybe Trisha should have waited for her to not be alone. Where the hell was this noble brother? “It’s still operable and the prognosis is encouraging. But there’s just no way to save the optic nerves.” She almost apologized, but it was ridiculous to say sorry for keeping Emma alive. “The surgery is our best chance to save your life.” All because Trisha had done nothing for years but work to make the impossible possible. “The robotic technology we’ll be using is spectacular. It can remove tumor tissue with minimal damage to brain tissue. It’s . . .” She trailed off when Emma bit down on her lip and squeezed her eyes shut.

A knock sounded on the half-open door, and the level of relief that flooded through Trisha bordered on pathetic. Her boss strode in, bringing with him his signature air of warmth and understanding.

“How are we this afternoon, Ms. Caine?” Dr. Entoff slid his hands under the sanitizer dispenser, then rubbed them together like one ready to fell demons on Emma’s behalf.

The poor man had tried hard over the years to teach Trisha some of that charming bedside manner. But if all her mother’s training had been wasted on her, there wasn’t much hope that anyone else might succeed. Trisha had never understood the big brouhaha over doctors’ bedside manners. She understood tumors. Those she knew exactly how to navigate, and destroy. Shouldn’t that be enough?

“Oh, I’m just peachy, ain’t I?” Emma snapped, her British accent sharpening to a bite. “Dr. Raje here just told me that I’m going to go blind.”

Dr. Entoff patted Emma’s hand, making the exact right amount of eye contact. “I’m truly sorry, Emma. We can’t control the location of the tumor, but we sure can remove it so it stops being a threat to your life.”

Trisha felt another rush of relief. She had spent all morning convincing her boss that the procedure was the right way to go. The new technique was still experimental, and convincing Entoff to use it on this case hadn’t been easy. A failed surgery would lead to bad press and bad press could kill the funding for further development of a technology that was going to save thousands of lives. But Trisha believed in this surgery enough to risk her career on it.

Emma’s only response was a belligerent thrust of the jaw.

Entoff made his way to the workstation and calmly started clicking through Emma’s records. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I would urge you to take some time to process this news. Discuss it with your family. We don’t need to make any decisions today. There are a few other experimental treatments that can slow down tumor growth and possibly impact life expectancy.”

Wait, what? Bedside manner was all well and dandy, but what fresh rubbish was this? Even if Entoff was only trying to keep the patient from going into full-blown panic, none of these experimental treatments were real options. Even if they did slow growth, without the surgery, the tumor would eventually get large enough to kill Emma, and the larger it grew, the smaller the chance of success with surgery would become. Giving her false hope just to make her feel like she had options made no sense to Trisha.

Before she could say anything, Emma turned a suddenly furious gaze on her. “Dr. Raje seems to think the surgery is my only option. Are you two not in agreement then?” Her tone had all the raw force of a bottle-cap-popping vagina.

Dr. Entoff channeled all the cool counterpressure of a beer bottle, and Trisha suddenly felt very much like a bent-up bottle cap. “We are in agreement that the surgery is the best option. But the technology is seminal—and if you feel like you want to explore other options, I want you to know that we will help you do that.” He threw Trisha a placating look and she forced herself to swallow her objection. “Having said that, I want to be clear that Dr. Raje has been working on the technology for years, and if she believes it’s ready, I would put my faith in her.”

The look Emma threw Trisha was a punch to the gut. “And you think losing my sight is my only option, Dr. Raje?”

Trisha met her gaze. “Yes. Removing the tumor is the only way to save your life. And we can’t remove the tumor and also salvage your optic nerves.”

Emma looked at her painting again, and Trisha tried to ignore the desperate pain in her eyes. Skirting the truth was not her job.

“I need to think about it,” Emma said finally.

Trisha stood, hugging the painting to her chest. But before she could get out the arguments that rushed up her throat Dr. Entoff cut her off.