The Speed of Light: A Novel(14)
And maybe it’s also because this moment—with the warm light from the tree and the nearness of this handsome stranger—feels a little bit like magic, and I’m not ready to break the spell. I turn to him now with a guarded smile.
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Connor says. “So, when will you know for sure? When will you see the specialist, I mean?”
“My appointment is the day after Christmas.” The answer is automatic—my focus is on his eyes, locked so intently on mine.
“Well, good luck.” He smiles, and my attention can’t help but shift to his lips.
I smile back, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Thank you,” I whisper.
We’re silent then, cocooned by the glow of the Christmas tree, and suddenly I’m nervous. He is so handsome. I fiddle with the collar of my dress.
Connor leans forward. “Ella was right about your dress. I like it, too.”
I shrug awkwardly, and a lock of hair falls across my eyes. Slowly, he reaches toward me, his warm hand brushing my hair back, and his touch draws me toward him like a gravitational force. We’re so close now—his lips are so near to mine that his breath warms my face. I close my eyes.
The basement stairs creak—a two-second warning that the door is about to open. Connor quickly pulls away from me and drapes his arm lazily along the back of the couch, and I sit stock straight, vibrating with discomfort. Emmett steps out of the basement, his eyes flitting from me to Connor and back again, and snorts. “Don’t mind me. Just looking for some cookies.”
I glare at my brother and point to the kitchen. When he’s gone, I take a deep breath, not sure what to say. But when I turn to face Connor, he drops his gaze. “I, uh . . . I should let you get some sleep.”
Ah, of course. I force a smile as I stand, wish him good night, then continue down my path. I don’t know where it’s leading, but it’s sure to be long, uncertain.
It’s sure to lead me away from him.
CHAPTER SIX
There’s a certain melancholy in the days after Christmas, all the anticipation and promise leading up to the holiday now gone. It’s a time of loss—like yesterday, when I awoke Christmas morning to find Santa had left me new books and comfy socks but had taken away the handsome stranger I’d nearly kissed the night before. Mean old bastard.
Of course, it wasn’t Santa’s sleigh, but the tow truck driver, who had arrived super early and whisked Connor away.
Either way he’s gone forever, and I’m sitting here now staring out at the bleak gray Minneapolis skyline, dread lodged in my stomach. Around me, the stark gray exam room feels heavy, with its muted walls and posters of celebrities, their jarring smiles out of place as they endorse the newest medication for their disease.
Our disease.
No one has said the words yet—so far I’ve told my story to the nurse who ushered us in and the medical resident who examined me. But I feel it, like another being in the room with us, heavy and dormant, lying in wait for me to accept it at last.
This is my path.
Mom reaches across from her chair, squeezes my knee, and I manage a thin smile. Dad keeps his eyes out the window, working his jaw. I want to say something—I should thank them for being here, for always showing up, whether it was a school play or a piano recital, moving me to college or to my first job in Sioux Falls. I should thank them for the gift of knowing I will never be alone. But when I open my mouth, no words come.
The door clicks open, and the resident is back, leading an older man into the room, like a court jester announcing the king. “Good afternoon.” His large hand shakes each of ours; then he settles into his chair and crosses his arms. “I’m Dr. Montgomery. How was your drive here?”
My dad is quick to respond; this is his territory. “Not bad. Highway 12 was nice and clear. Couple of rough spots, but nothin’ too bad.”
Dr. Montgomery nods politely but soon shifts his gaze to zero in on me. Small talk is over. “Simone, I’ve had the chance to review your files, and I concur with the suspected diagnosis of multiple sclerosis.”
I blink in surprise—it’s so quick, after all these months of doubt and uncertainty—then lean slowly back in my chair. My eyes stay focused on the doctor as he continues to speak, but I don’t hear his words, like I’ve turned down the volume on the TV because I know how the story ends.
It’s done. I have my answer.
I wait for tears but none come, like my body has reached its limit—my mind, too, and suddenly I’m so tired.
“Monie?” Mom asks, and I force myself to focus on her. “Do you have any questions?”
My mind is blank, and I shrug in helpless frustration. “I don’t even know where to begin.”
Dr. Montgomery clears his throat. “Have you given any thought to treatment?”
I shake my head, drop my eyes like I’m back in middle school, busted for not getting my homework done. But I couldn’t bring myself to linger on the website my doctor in Sioux Falls provided, the medicines with names like Greek goddesses that I couldn’t pronounce.
Dr. Montgomery nods. “That’s understandable. There’s a lot to think about, including not starting treatment at all, considering your past medical history.”
I narrow my eyes in confusion as he clicks at his computer keyboard, but I’m sinking into utter exhaustion now. Luckily, my mom speaks up. “Ah, after college.” She turns to me. “Your eyes. The headaches.”