Between Sisters - Kristin Hannah [134]
“Hello, Claire. Meghann,” Dr. Sussman said. “Bobby.”
“Well?” Meghann demanded.
“The tumor responded to radiation. It's about twelve percent smaller,” Dr. McGrail reported.
“That's great,” Meg said.
The doctors exchanged a look. Then Dr. Sussman went to the viewbox, switched it on, and there they were, the gray-and-white pictures of Claire's brain. And there was the stain. He finally turned to Claire. “The decrease has bought you some time. Unfortunately, the tumor is still inoperable. I'm sorry.”
Sorry.
Claire sat down in the leather chair. She didn't think her legs would hold her up.
“But it worked,” Meg said. “It worked, right? Maybe a little more radiation. Or a round of chemo. I read that some are crossing the blood-brain barrier now—”
“Enough,” Claire said. She'd meant to say it softly, but her voice was loud. She looked at the neurologist. “How long do I have?”
Dr. Sussman's voice was gentle. “The survival rates aren't good, I'm afraid, for a tumor of this size and placement. Some patients live as long as a year. Perhaps a bit longer.”
“And the rest?”
“Six to nine months.”
Claire stared down at her brand-new wedding ring, the one Grandma Myrtle had worn for six decades.
Meghann went to Claire then, dropped to her knees in front of her. “We won't believe it. The files—”
“Don't,” she said softly, shaking her head, thinking about Ali. She saw her baby's eyes, the sunburst smile that was missing the front teeth, heard her say, You can sleep with my wubbie, Mommy, and it ruined her. Tears ran down her cheeks. She felt Bobby beside her, felt the way his fingers were digging into her hard, and she knew he was crying, too. She wiped her eyes, looked up at the doctor. “What's next?”
Meghann jerked to her feet and began pacing the room, studying the pictures and diplomas on the walls. Claire knew her sister was scared and, thus, angry.
Dr. Sussman pulled a chair around and sat down opposite Claire. “We have some options. None too good, I'm afraid, but—”
“Who is this?” It was Meghann's voice but she sounded shrill and desperate. She was holding a framed photograph she'd taken off the wall.
Dr. Sussman frowned. “That's a group of us from medical school.” He turned back to Claire.
Meghann slammed the photograph on the desk so hard the glass cracked. She pointed at someone in the picture. “Who's that guy?”
Dr. Sussman leaned forward. “Joe Wyatt.”
“He's a doctor?”
Claire looked at her sister. “You know Joe?”
“You know Joe?” Meghann said sharply.
“He's a radiologist, actually.” It was Dr. McGrail who answered. “One of the best in the country. At least he was. He was a legend with MRIs. He saw things—possibilities—no one else did.”
Claire frowned. “Meghann, let go of it. We're long past the need for a radiologist. And believe me, Joe wouldn't be the one to ask for help. What I needed was a miracle.”
Meghann looked steadily at Dr. McGrail. She wasn't even listening to Claire. “What do you mean he was the best?”
“He quit. Disappeared, in fact.”
“Why?”
“He killed his wife.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE RIDE HOME SEEMED TO LAST FOREVER. NO ONE SPOKE. When they got back to the condo, Bobby held Claire so tightly she couldn't breathe, then stumbled back from her. “I need to take a shower,” he said in a broken voice.
She let him go, knowing what he needed. She'd cried a few tears of her own in Meghann's expensive glass-block shower.
She went to the sofa, collapsed on it. She was tired and dizzy. There was a ringing in her ears and a tingling in her right hand, but she couldn't admit any of that to Meghann, who had that bulldog don't-quit look in her eyes.
Meg sat down on the coffee table, angled toward her. “There are all kinds of clinical trials going on. There's that doctor in Houston—”
“The one the government tried to prosecute?”
“That doesn't mean he's a fraud. His patients—”
Claire held up a hand for silence. “Can we be real for just a minute?”
Meghann looked so stricken that Claire had to laugh.
“What?” Meg demanded.
“When I was little, I used to dream about getting some