Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
VISITING PATRICIA’S DOCTOR
Max
The one thing that would truly make Celeste happy would be fixing her mother's situation.
I'd considered a spontaneous Paris getaway last weekend—still on my to-do list—but instead, we stayed local.
Watching her catch her first wave after a morning of tumbles made me want her joining our Saturday surf crew permanently.
Later we wandered the Farmer's Market stalls, then she transformed winter vegetables into this incredible pasta primavera—zucchini, broccoli, and kohlrabi swimming in cream sauce.
Having a wife who cooks is something I never knew I needed.
Francois might have his Cordon Bleu credentials and Food Network fame, but there's something about Celeste's cooking that feels like home.
Paris can wait. What Celeste needs most is her mother's health. I tracked down Patricia's oncologist—a Dr. West at UCLA—and made an appointment. When I arrive at his office, the receptionist reminds me about patient confidentiality laws. I nod politely, then lean in.
"I understand HIPAA," I say, sliding my business card across the counter. "But perhaps you could mention to Dr. West that Joe Kensington's grandson would like five minutes of his time. The same Joe Kensington whose name is on the oncology wing."
Twenty minutes later, Dr. West ushers me into his office with a knowing smile.
"Mr. Kensington," he says, gesturing to a chair. "How can I help you?"
I hate leveraging my family name, but for Patricia—for Celeste—I make an exception. What matters is getting Patricia the treatment she needs, anonymously. No strings, no gratitude required.
I clear my throat. "Patricia Jenkins is under your care. My wife—her daughter—mentioned an immunotherapy treatment that could help her. But the insurance company..." I let my voice trail off, my fingers drumming once against the polished desk. "They've denied coverage."
He nods and summons his medical assistant to bring him Patricia’s file.
She does and is back with the file in a matter of minutes.
“Thanks,” he says, looking over the file.
“And yes, Mr. Kensington…” He studies me.
“I’m struggling with how much to tell you.
HIPAA laws dictate that I can’t tell you anything without a waiver, but… ”
I raise an eyebrow and sit back in my chair.
Dr. West leans back in his chair. "Your grandfather has been quite generous to our research department.
" He taps a folder on his desk. "There's a promising immunotherapy, Keytruda. It helps the immune system recognize and attack cancer cells. It’s specifically used for Patricia’s type of cancer ” His eyes brighten as he explains further how it works.
He slides several journal articles across his desk.
I scan the abstracts, pulse quickening. "And Patricia's been on the standard protocol until now? Chemo, radiation, surgery?"
"Yes," he confirms with a tight nod.
"Without significant improvement."
His pen taps against the desk three times before stopping. "I've already said more than I should." The unspoken hangs between us. His eyes dart to the family photo on his desk, then back to me—the universal language of physicians who've exhausted conventional options.
I swallow hard. "What's the price tag?"
"Each treatment runs about $24,000, administered every six weeks. Annually, we're looking at $200,000 plus.”
My finger lands on one of the studies. "Cut to the chase—could this save Patricia’s life?"
"The studies and real-world results are encouraging." He removes his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I've been battling with her insurance provider, but they keep denying coverage." A weary sigh escapes him. "These companies see patients as numbers on a spreadsheet. It's maddening."
I take a deep breath. "Let's do it. If this treatment is our best shot, I want her to have it.
" My fingers tremble slightly as I pull the Black Amex Centurion from my wallet.
"This should cover everything. And doctor?
I'd appreciate if you'd keep my involvement between us.
Tell Patricia it came from an anonymous donor. She doesn't need to know."
“That’s very generous,” he says, nodding. “I’ll call her today and we can begin the treatment.”
I thank him, drumming my fingers against the polished mahogany.
When Dr. West tells Patricia she's been approved for treatment, she and Celeste will immediately think of me.
But I've got plausible deniability on my side.
Since our wedding, the tabloids have been obsessed with Celeste, digging into every corner of her life.
Patricia's cancer battle is public knowledge now.
I can always claim some anonymous philanthropist stumbled across her story online and decided to help.
That's what I'll tell Celeste when she inevitably confronts me about it.