CHAPTER 53
Summer
I’m frozen in terror during the ride back to the hospital.
There’s no other way to describe it.
Frozen.
Every scenario plays out in my head. Every hope and every fear are duking it out in my imagination as the car winds its way through the crowded city streets.
“I want to know the results, but at the same time, I’m good not knowing.” I don’t recognize my voice when I say this. I sound like a little kid who got lost at the Travis Ranch Summer Fair. Scared. Powerless. “I want to stay in this moment forever. Texas barbecue. Adventures with you.”
“Me, too, Summer. But we have to get through the rough to get to the easy.”
I take off my seat belt and slide over on the car seat to be closer to him. Declan wraps an arm around me, and I rest my head against his chest. “But what if this is the easy, and we’re about to walk through those doors and find ourselves in the rough?”
He doesn’t answer me. I let it go.
When we arrive, Declan opens the door for me and helps me out. I lean on him the entire way to Dr. Goldberg’s office. Nurse Wendy is waiting for us there, and she knocks twice on the office door before she opens it.
Inside, Dr. Goldberg is waiting for us. I’m surprised at how young he is. Not much older than Declan, really. He’s wearing a lab coat, and his tie features a colorful selection of chocolate bars. I appreciate his attempt at cheerfulness in what must be a real downer of a job.
And he’s smiling.
“It’s exactly the results I was hoping for,” he says immediately. “Not to worry. You’ll be fine.”
“What?” Declan squeezes my hand. My mouth falls open.
“Please take a seat,” the doctor says, and we do. “Would you like to see the MRI images? I’m happy to share but some patients prefer not to see them.”
“I’m one of those patients,” I say. “I don’t want to know what’s inside me. But can we go back to the part about me being fine? What do you mean?”
His smile expands. “Ms. Stevens, you have a very rare condition that looks a lot like ovarian cancer on CT scans, but it’s not cancer.”
“Not… it’s not cancer?” I’m barely able to say the words.
“She doesn’t have cancer?” Declan shouts.
“She does not have cancer.”
I jump to a stand and burst into tears. Declan leaps up and wraps his arms tight around me, lifting me off my feet. He’s crying too.
“Mr. MacLaine. Ms. Stevens.”
We separate at the doctor’s serious tone.
“It’s very good news, I agree, but we should have a conversation about what is going on. So if you wouldn’t mind?” He gestures for us to sit down.
Declan returns to his chair, wiping his eyes. He’s squeezing my hand so tightly that he’s cutting off my circulation.
“Ms. Stevens—”
“Please call me Summer.” I’m trying to be polite and formal but I’m about ready to jump out of my skin and run through the halls screaming, “holy fuckballs!”
Dr. Goldberg smiles again. I guess the guy is glad to have some good news for a change.
“Summer, on your left ovary you have something called a Brenner tumor. It’s completely harmless in ninety-eight percent of cases.
What I’m going to recommend is that we go ahead and take that puppy out first thing tomorrow morning, and after that you can go on with your life. ”
“What?” Declan says again.
“Ninety-eight percent of the cases?” I ask, thinking about the two percent who aren’t lucky. Am I lucky? Maybe I am, but what if my luck has run out?
“In all my years of practice, I’ve only had five cases of Brenner tumors, Summer, and all of them were benign,” he tells me. “So, let’s get you admitted, and I’ll see you again at six tomorrow morning.”
“Wait a second,” Declan says. “That’s it? If it’s benign, why do you have to operate?”
“We’re going to snip out that ovary so we don’t have to worry about any malignancies down the line. But don’t worry. You have another one, so you won’t go into menopause. All righty?”
He looks from me to Declan and back again. I can’t think of anything to say or ask, but I know that somewhere in my blank slate of a brain, there’s something I should be asking.
“Is the surgery dangerous?” Declan asks.
“It’s a robotic surgical procedure that is safe and effective, and for someone young and robustly healthy as Summer, the risks are quite low,” Dr. Goldberg explains. “Your wife will be up and around tomorrow afternoon, but she’ll have to take it easy for a little while.”
We leave the office with Wendy. She gets me admitted and takes us to the fourth floor, where they’ve set up a private double room for Declan and me. I’m walking along, going where I’m supposed to be and doing what I’m supposed to do, while I feel goofy-happy and nervous all at the same time.
But Declan’s got my hand in his, and we’re together.
Wendy asks us if we need anything. Declan and I shake our heads, still in shock.
“Unfortunately,” she says, “since your surgery is so early tomorrow morning, you can’t have anything to eat or drink after eight o’clock. So. Nothing by mouth. If you’d like some ginger ale or tea, now’s the time.”
“Thank you,” I tell Wendy.
“We appreciate all your help today,” Declan adds.
Once we’re alone in the room, I’m not sure what to do. I’m no longer frozen with fear and staring death in the face. I’m relieved. But something feels off to me. Decisions are being made fast all around me, but I’m walking in sludge.
I wander over to the window overlooking the city. If I thought I was out of place in Las Vegas, I feel like I’m on an alien planet here.
Am I really having surgery in the morning?
Because I have a tumor that’s not a cancerous tumor but has to be taken out because one day it could morph into one?
Declan comes up behind me and wraps me in his arms. I lean against him, and he leaves a trail of soft kisses down my cheek and along my neck. He nibbles on my shoulder.
“Don’t get any ideas, Declan. Wendy said nothing by mouth.”
He chuckles into my ear, then spins me around in his arms. He dips me so far back that I have to lift a leg for balance, laying a kiss on me that’s grand enough for a Hollywood movie.
Declan makes my head spin. And now I know he’ll be able to make my head spin for years to come. He sets me upright and cups my face in his hands.
“You see?” he says. “We had to get through the rough to get to the easy.”
I squint at him in confusion. “And the easy is when I’m on the operating table letting a robot take out my left ovary?”
“Maybe after that. But once that’s done, it’s going to go down as smooth and easy as a yacht-rock music streaming channel.”
“You’re the oldest young guy I know, Declan.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
I get my ginger ale and Declan and I put on our pajama pants and T-shirts and snuggle up in one of the hospital beds. We talk for hours. We ramble on about everything except for tumors that aren’t cancer and robotic surgeries.
And the future. For some reason, we both avoid bringing up the future.
We mostly talk about the past. Declan tells me a few stories about the history of Yosemite Ranch that I’ve never heard before, which hardly seems possible since I’ve been present for well over a decade’s worth of Jamie’s tall tales.
He tells me more about how they all left the Navy at the same time at Cal’s suggestion so that they could concentrate on StellaR Tech. He tells me a bit more about his time as a SEAL.
Declan even goes into a bit more detail about his cybersecurity work, but I don't ask many questions. I know it’s all secret-squirrel kind of shit that they can only talk about in their double-secret, eyeball-scanning conference room in Cal’s place.
But it’s comforting to simply breathe him in, hear the cadence of Declan’s familiar, deep voice, and feel the rise and fall of his breathing as he holds me close.
Eventually, we start to yawn. Declan turns off the only light we’d left on, and we close our eyes, wrapped up in one another, as the city lights twinkle and sirens wail.
I can’t wait to get the rough behind me and get back home.
In just a few hours, I will get prepped for my operation. I only hope I’m prepared for whatever comes after that.