Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Ben
“This is good news,” I say.
My patient, Bianca, shakes her head as if she doesn’t want to believe it. Her husband squeezes her fingers, bouncing lightly in his seat. Moments ago, he’d launched himself into the air, punching the sky as her mouth had dropped open.
“No signs of active disease,” I repeat. “It’s contained. It’s time to start living again.”
This is the part of the job I love. The good news. When people’s faces light up with happiness and disbelief. When the odds were against them, but we somehow negotiated more time.
My cell rings, and it vibrates on my desk. Rose. Again.
I turn it face down.
That’s the fourth call this morning. She’s demanding an update on last night. On my date.
She can wait.
“I just can’t believe it,” Bianca whispers. “It’s gone.”
“There’s no active sign,” I confirm. “There’s always potential it can come back, but for now, you live.”
Tears wet her husband’s cheeks. Palm over his mouth, he crumples forward into his own lap. Whimpering becomes sobbing, and his wife rubs his back.
“He’s been so strong.” She smiles. “I’m so lucky to have him.”
There’s a flash of memory. Bex and I are sitting in the consultant’s office. Her clutching my hand. She was strong; I was the one in pieces. Our news wasn’t positive, but she still thanked me. For being there. For holding her hand.
I just wish I could have done more.
“No,” Bianca’s husband says between sniffles. I blink, reconnecting with where I am. “I’m blessed to have more time with you.”
After they leave, my phone vibrates on my desk once again. I cancel the call, wanting to enjoy the peace of delivering good news and silence for a bit longer.
The place still smells like a hospital. My nostrils fill with disinfectant and rubber. But it’s lighter. Death has receded, survival stepping forward for a while. Sometimes it feels like we’ll never win, but today isn’t that day. And I want to bask in it.
The third call in a row brings me to my senses.
I answer.
“About time,” Rose mutters. I can imagine her, nose screwed up, brow creased. “So, what happened last night?”
“Rose, I’m working.”
“You answered, so you can’t be with a patient,” she counters. “Spill. The. Beans.”
Just then, Ollie and Liam request to join the call together.
“I messaged them,” Rose says.
Of course she did. Now, I’m staring at three out of four of my children.
“Is Savannah joining this debrief too?” I ask, amused but ambushed.
“She’s in class,” Ollie tells me with a shrug. “I’ll update her later.”
Three sets of blue eyes like my own stare through the screen. “I had a nice night,” I say simply.
“That’s it?” Rose snorts, shaking her head, unimpressed. “Tell me you didn’t bore her with medical statistics.”
“Hell, that would be awkward,” Ollie says. “How bad was it on a scale of one through ten? How boring were you, Dad?”
“I wasn’t boring. We chatted about a lot of things.”
“But what things? We need details.” My daughter leans toward the screen, her eyes expanding. I’m glad I don’t date; this is a nightmare.
“Did you snog her?” Ollie chimes in.
I laugh out loud. “None of your business.”
“Oh, that’s a yes,” Rose screeches. Ollie sticks his fingers in his ears. “Dad and Antonia sitting in a tree…”
“Shhh…” I narrow my eyes, hoping to regain some order. “I’m at work. They’ll hear you in the staff lounge.”
“So you did kiss her?” Rose continues to press, unperturbed by my deflection.
I exhale, part of me in disbelief that this conversation is even happening.
My mind flits back to last night. Outside Antonia’s apartment.
The tilt of her head, her rising a little, leaning in to me.
The softness of her skin under my touch.
The warmth of her lips. I could have stood there and watched her all night.
She was captivating. All of her, so much strength beneath softness that she’d never shown until then.
Then, how she stood at the window and watched me drive off. How in my rear-view mirror she was still standing there as I turned out of her street. Watching. I felt seen.
“Dad.” Liam’s voice cuts through the fluff. He hasn’t spoken since the call started. “Are you seeing her again?”
They all wait. Silent. Which is unusual. Two look hopeful, one unsure. My heart aches for my youngest son. He’d been so supportive last night, understated but there. I’m so damn proud of him.
“I hope so,” I tell him honestly. “I had a really nice time.”
“I’m glad,” he says.
Rose and Ollie chatter on for a few minutes with next date ideas. Liam and I listen, both of us with half-smiles. Eventually, Rose excuses us all when her friends arrive behind her. No doubt off for a night out.
Last night had been a lot more than I expected. Not just the physical contact, but the time. It had passed unchecked. Once the hurdle of business was cleared, and she dropped her guard a little, conversation flowed naturally.
Then I discovered where we were. In the restaurant she escapes to every Friday. Within minutes of her home. That felt huge not only for me, but for her. Antonia keeps barriers up, keeping her personal life separate. I was honored for a glimpse into her world.
Now, I want to say thank you.
A website is still open that I was looking at earlier, before Bianca and her husband arrived, debating whether it was appropriate. My screen is filled with options, each presented in a white box and tied with a bow.
Pink.
The same pink as her wellies.
Wild but contained. A wave of petals and thorns. The perfect thank you.
Before I can second-guess myself, I hit order. The florist’s details page pops up and asks me to add a message. I stare at the screen. Picking which flowers was hard enough, but saying something meaningful—that’s worse.
Thank you for a lovely evening. I’m glad you stepped off the edge. Ben.
Simple and to the point, or just plain boring. I’m not sure, but also, I don’t know what else to say. As I begin to question whether I should add kisses to the end, I hit pay now. Almost fifty, and I’m like a teenager debating which corsage to buy for my prom date.
Once the order confirmation sits on the screen, my anxiety drops a fraction. It’s done. And I feel better letting her know where I stand.
Just then, an email pops into my inbox. Julian.
We have a problem. Another protest arranged for the next site inspection. You need to speak again. This isn’t calming.
I want to respond sarcastically. Point out that he is the reason things escalated before. He practically invited the protesters to the retreat. He opened the door and waved the damn people inside. Now it’s not receding as he wants, I have to speak.
I will.
Antonia doesn’t need the stress.
And I won’t contribute to her daily challenges more than I need to.
I’ll handle it.
If I say any more, I may say something I regret, so I agree and move on. At the end of the day, the retreat is coming to life. My life is moving forward. And every hurdle we face can be cleared as a team. Antonia and I.
The day is drawing to a close. It’s dark outside, as it is every time I leave work in winter. The florist confirmed the buds will be on Antonia’s desk at nine tomorrow morning. I wish I could be there to see her—hopefully—smile.
My phone buzzes again. If this is Rose with another dating tidbit, I may block her number. Daughter or not.
But it’s Antonia.
I pause, thumb hovering over the notification, air catching at the back of my throat.
Coffee tomorrow? On site. 10 a.m. Don’t be late.
Direct. Honest. Professional. Forever Antonia.
I smile. I can’t wait to see her.