ONE MONTH EARLIER
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This can’t be right. “Are you serious?” I ask.
Dr. Wang nods. He is a middle-aged Asian man with white threading through his black hair, wearing a royal blue tie. I just met him today. No, actually, I’ve met him many times before. He’s my neuro-oncologist—a doctor who deals with brain cancer. But considering I woke up this morning unable to remember much of the last several years, it feels like I just met him today.
“I’m very serious, Mrs. Thurman.” He folds his arms in front of him. “The MRI of your brain not only showed no growth of the tumor, but the tumor burden was significantly reduced following the chemotherapy. We thought you weren’t responding, but apparently, we were wrong.”
Graham told me my diagnosis this morning. It was hard to hear. He said he only told me because we had to go to this appointment together, but after today, I wouldn’t have to remember ever again.
And then we hear this.
I look over at Graham, who is sitting in this chair beside me. His jaw looks like it’s about to become unhinged. “How can that be?” he asks. “You said this was terminal. You told me when we got the diagnosis that she had a year to live.”
Dr. Wang spreads his hands apart. “We were wrong.
She’s had a remarkable response to the chemotherapy.”
My head is buzzing. I reach out to touch the scar on the right side of my scalp. My souvenir. “So what does this mean?” I ask.
“It means,” Dr. Wang says, “your cancer is currently in remission.”
Everything he says after that is a blur. He’s going to have the pathologist review the slides to see if they over- called my diagnosis. Maybe I was never stage four after all. If that’s true, I could have a major lawsuit on my hands. But I don’t care about any of that. I only care about one thing.
I’m not dying. I’m okay.
I can finally get my life back.
We had already given Camila the evening off, so I cook dinner tonight. Nothing too fancy—just some spaghetti with tomato sauce. But while I’ve got it on the stove, Graham comes down to the kitchen and frets over me. He looks down at the burner and frowns.
“Are you sure it’s safe for you to do that?” he asks.
I stick out my tongue at him. “I can handle boiling some pasta, Graham.”
But he still looks worried. “I better stick around.”
I keep the spaghetti in the boiling water for ten minutes. As I stir it with a spoon, I hum softly to myself. I can’t believe what Dr. Wang told me today. I’m not dying. It’s like I’ve been given a gift.
Maybe I should take a cooking class. I’ve always wanted to become a better cook. There would have been no point if I only had six months left to live, but now…
The options are mind-blowing. I could do anything.
Except for some reason, all I can think about is Harry Finch. Even though he’s long gone from my life. It somehow doesn’t feel that way. Now that I’ve got a new lease on life, he’s the one I want to spend it with. But that’s crazy. I haven’t seen Harry in years. He’s almost certainly moved on.
After ten minutes, I remove a single strand of spaghetti from the water. I throw it against the wall to see if it sticks.
That’s a trick my mother taught me before she got sick. I’m going to use her spaghetti trick, but I’m not going to end up like her after all. Thank God.
“Two plates of spaghetti, coming right up!” I announce.
Graham smiles at me. “It looks delicious. I’ll get us drinks.”
I douse the spaghetti in a healthy amount of red sauce with big clumps of tomato. Okay, I’m not exactly Julia Child. But there’s time to learn. There’s time for everything now.
I bring the two plates of food out to the dining table. Graham follows a minute later with two glasses of water. After the doctor’s appointment, he changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and I can’t help but think that my husband is pretty attractive. I can see why I might have fallen in love with him, even though I can’t technically remember it.
And now we get to spend the rest of our lives together like a real couple. I can make up for all the time he had to spend taking care of me and dealing with my business.
“How about candles?” I suggest.
Graham laughs. “Wow, you are in a really good mood.”
But he indulges me by getting out a pair of candlesticks from one of the drawers. We light them and then dim the overhead chandelier in the dining area. I love the atmosphere and the way Graham’s handsome face looks flickering in the candlelight.
“So what do you think of the spaghetti?” I ask him.
He twirls a few strands around on his fork and pops them in his mouth. “Delicious. Like in a restaurant.”
I giggle. It’s a sound I haven’t made in a long time. “I was thinking maybe I could take some cooking lessons.”
“Sounds good. I approve.”
I take a gulp of my water, then stuff more spaghetti in my mouth. I don’t know what it is, but this is the best meal I’ve had in years. Graham looks across the table at me, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Maybe we should do some traveling now?” I say.
He twirls more spaghetti around his fork. “It would be hard to get away. You know, My Home Spa is very busy right now.”
“Right… You’re probably overwhelmed…” I take another gulp of water. “I should probably think about coming back.”
Graham puts down his fork, which is packed with spaghetti. “What? Why would you do that?”
I snort. “Well, it’s my company.”
“Yeah, but…” The candles flicker. “You still have a lot of memory problems. I don’t think it’s a great idea for you to come back. You don’t want to screw up the business.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Excuse me, but it’s my business.” I clear my throat and take another sip of water. “Anyway, I’m not saying I’ll come back today or tomorrow. But maybe in a month or two…”
“Maybe…”
I peer at Graham over the rim of my water glass. I don’t know why he’s acting so weird about this. Why can’t I come back to work? I’m capable of it. Look what a great job I did on the spaghetti.
Okay, running a big business is a little different from cooking a plate of spaghetti. And to be fair, the spaghetti is a little more al dente than I would’ve liked. But still.
“Anyway,” I say, “we can talk about when I’m coming back some other time. Let’s just enjoy the meal.”
“Right. Sure.”
Except I notice Graham isn’t eating his spaghetti anymore. He’s just watching me across the table. It’s making me uneasy. But I keep eating. If he doesn’t want his food, that’s his loss. He can go to bed hungry if he wants.
By the time I finish my food, Graham has barely touched his. I glance pointedly at his plate. “Are you done?”
“Looks like it,” he mutters.
I get up out of my seat and start gathering up the plates to bring to the kitchen. But before I can do it, a wave of
dizziness washes over me. It’s so bad that I sink back down into my seat.
“Tess?” Graham raises his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”
I wait for the dizziness to pass. What was that? I haven’t felt like that all day. And it’s not like the tumor is getting worse. Dr. Wang just told me I was getting better. So why do I feel so awful?
I look down at the glass in front of me that held my water. At the bottom of the glass, there are little remnants of white powder.
“Graham,” I breathe. “What did you do?”
He shakes his head slowly. “Things were perfect the way they were. You’ve been the perfect wife since you’ve been sick. You stay home all day and you let me manage the business. I don’t know why you want to ruin all that.”
“Because I’m better.” My tongue feels heavy and my words are slurring. “I’m not sick anymore. I want things to go back to the way they were before my diagnosis.”
Graham grits his teeth. “You mean when you told me you were going to leave me? That you were cutting me out of the business?”
I flinch. “I… I don’t remember that.”
“Of course you don’t.” Graham’s eyes appear to glow in the light of the candle. “And you never will.”
The dizziness is being replaced by fatigue. I feel so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. But I have to. I can’t lose consciousness. Because if I go to sleep, that’s it. Graham will inject me with that medication the psychiatrist gave him, and I’ll forget everything that happened today. Yes, I won’t remember my cancer diagnosis. But I also won’t remember I’m in remission.
Only Graham will know the truth. And he’ll do anything to keep me from finding out.
I use every ounce of strength to get out of my chair. I want to run for the door, but then I remember it locks from the inside. I won’t be able to leave the house.
Ziggy is barking up a storm outside the back door. If only he could understand what was going on. Maybe he could help me. But I’m not sure anyone can help me at this point.
“Tess.” Graham’s voice is gentle. “Just relax. Look, this isn’t so bad. You’ve been happy until now.”
“Go to hell!” I spit at him.
I nearly trip over my feet as I stumble in the direction of the bathroom. There’s no lock on the door, but I close it behind me and lean all my weight against it. Of course, as soon as I pass out, Graham will easily be able to get inside.
“Tess…” His voice floats under the door. “Let me in, Tess. Come on. This will be so much easier if you cooperate.”
I search the room for a weapon. There’s got to be something in here… a razor, some scissors… even a goddamn tweezer would be great. But there’s nothing. The only thing I see is a tube of dark red lipstick. And what the hell am I supposed to do with lipstick?
And then it hits me.
Graham bangs on the door. “Come on, let me in. You can’t keep me out of there forever. In about five minutes, you’re going to be sound asleep, anyway.”
That means I have five minutes to do this.
I pull down my jeans and let them hang down around my knees. Then I grab the tube of lipstick. I pull off the cap, and with my shaking hand, I write the words on my thigh as legibly as I can possibly manage. There’s only one person I can think of who will move heaven and earth to help me. I hope to God that I see this message in the morning:
FIND HARRY.
THE END
