“Papa?”
“Oui,” she said. “I got bawled out for how that one worked out.” She finished her latte. “Let’s go back. This isn’t going to be easy,” she warned as she stood. “Especially since it’s all coming more or less as a surprise for you.”
“I’ll be all right,” I said.
She smiled softly. “Maybe you will be. You look more like him than I remember.”
I followed her out.
We hadn’t had any heavy snow yet, even though it was early February, but the air felt like snow, cold and wet. Gray clouds had been shifting about all day, as if they had been playing tag with any piece of blue sky. It was finally completely overcast. I hugged myself. I could have worn something warmer, I thought, but clothing wasn’t on my mind that morning.
She looked up. “It’s supposed to snow lightly late today. Mostly flurries.”
I didn’t say anything. The last thing I wanted to talk about was the weather.
“I was planning on getting away for five days. St. Thomas,” she continued. “On someone’s private jet.”
“Planning? What happened?” I asked.
She paused and tightened her lips. “You happened,” she said, and walked on. I hurried after her.
We sat and waited for nearly another two hours before one of the nurses walked over to inform us that Mama’s surgeon, Dr. Hoffman, wanted to see us. During the two hours we had spent together, Roxy hadn’t talked about herself very much, and I hadn’t felt like asking any questions. I was still feeling numb after she had told me what she had learned about Mama.
The nurse explained where we were to go. For the first time, I saw real fear in Roxy’s face. Just for a moment, she looked more like a little girl than I did. Then she either felt it or knew I felt it and tightened up again.
“Gird your loins,” she muttered.
“What’s that mean?”
“Prepare for the worst,” she said, and we turned down a hallway to an office. Dr. Hoffman was seated at a desk. He was still in his operating scrubs but bent over his desk writing. Roxy knocked on the opened door, and he looked up. I hadn’t met him before. Mama had kept everything quite secret and had never taken me with her to see a doctor of any kind.
Dr. Hoffman was stout, about fifty, with dark brown hair that looked as if it had begun what Papa would call a strategic retreat. I always looked at a stranger’s eyes to see if he or she was someone I could like. Dr. Hoffman’s hazel eyes w
ere soft and, I thought, full of compassion.
“Which one of you is Emmie?” he asked.
“I am. This is my sister, Roxy,” I quickly added.
“Oh. She told me only to expect you.”
I could feel Roxy bristle, but why should she be surprised or upset? Mama didn’t expect her. Neither had I.
“Please,” he added, gesturing at the chairs. We sat. “I don’t know how much you two were told.”
“Practically nothing,” Roxy said. “She told my sister she had a cyst.”
He nodded. “Well, we’ll wait for pathology, but regardless, she’ll have to undergo chemo, I’m afraid. She came through the operation fine.”
“Be grateful for the little things,” Roxy muttered loudly enough for him to hear.
“Yes.” He looked at me. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
He smiled. “I have a fourteen-year-old daughter,” he said.
I knew he was just trying to make me feel better, feel comfortable, but Roxy would have nothing of it. “With a healthy mother, I imagine,” she said.