He released a heavy breath and reached out, pretending not to notice that his hands were shaking and that he was suddenly desperate for a drink.
He pulled out the films and took them into the kitchen, where full sunlight streamed through the window above the sink.
He studied the first one, then went through the rest of them. Adrenaline made his heart speed up.
He knew why everyone had diagnosed this tumor as inoperable. The amount of skill needed to perform the surgery was almost unheard-of. It would require a neurosurgeon with godlike hands and an ego to match. One who wasn’t afraid to fail.
But with a careful resection … there might be a chance. It was possible—just possible—that this one thin shadow wasn’t tumor, that it was tissue responding to the tumor.
There was no doubt about what he had to do next.
He took a long, hot shower, then dressed in the blue shirt he’d recently bought and the new jeans, wishing he had better clothes, accepting that he didn’t. Then he retrieved the film, put it back in the envelope, and walked over to Smitty’s house. Helga was in the kitchen, making lunch. Smitty was in the living room, watching Judge Judy. At Joe’s knock, he looked up. “Hey, Joe.”
“I know this is irregular, but could I borrow the truck? I need to drive to Seattle. I may have to stay overnight.”
Smitty dug in his pocket for the keys, then tossed them.
“Thanks.” Joe went to the rusty old ’73 Ford pickup and got inside. The door clanged shut behind him.
He stared at the dashboard. It had been years since he’d been in the driver’s seat. He started the engine and hit the gas.
Two hours later, he parked in the underground lot on Madison and Broadway and walked into the lobby of his old life.
The painting of Elmer Nordstrom was still there, presiding over the sleek black high-rise that bore his family name.
Joe kept his head down as he walked toward the elevators. There, making eye contact with no one, his heart hammering, he pushed the up button.
When the doors pinged open, he stepped inside. Two white-coated people crowded beside him. They were talking about lab results. They got off on the third floor—the floor that led to the sky bridge that connected this office building to Swedish Hospital.
He couldn’t help remembering when he’d walked through this building with his head held high; a man certain of his place in the world.
On the fourteenth floor, the doors opened.
He stood there a half second too long, staring at the gilt-edged black letters on the glass doors across the hall.
Seattle Nuclear Specialists. The business he’d started on his own. There were seven or eight doctors listed below. Joe’s name wasn’t there.
Of course it wasn’t.
At the last second, as the doors were closing, he stepped out of the elevators and crossed the hall. In the office, there were several patients in the waiting room—none of which he knew, thank God—and two women working the reception desk. Both of them were new.
He considered walking straight down to Li’s office, but he didn’t have the guts. Instead, he went to the desk.
The woman—Imogene, according to her name tag—looked up at him. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to see Dr. Li Chinn.”
“And your name?”
“Tell him an out-of-town doctor is here for an emergency consult. I’ve come a long way to see him.”
Imogene studied Joe, no doubt noticing his cheap clothes and small-town haircut. Frowning, she buzzed Li’s office, gave him the message. A moment later, she hung up. “He can see you in fifteen minutes. Take a seat.”
Joe went to one of the chairs in the waiting room, remembering that Diana had picked the fabric and colors for the office. There had been a time when their home had been wall-to-wall samples.
I want it just right, she’d said when he made fun of her. Your job is the only thing you love more than me.
He wished he could smile at the memory; it was a good one.
“Doctor? Doctor?”
He looked up, startled. That was a word he hadn’t heard directed at him for a long time. “Yes?” He stood.
“Dr. Chinn will see you now. Go down the hall and turn right—”
“I know where his office is.” He went to the door, stood there, trying to breathe evenly. He was sweating and his palms were damp. His fingerprints would be all over the envelope.
“Doctor? Are you okay?”
He released a heavy sigh and opened the door.
The interior hallways and offices were filled with familiar faces. Nurses, physician’s assistants, radiology techs.
He forced his chin up.