Читать книгу Fallout - Mark Ethridge - Страница 15

Josh parked in the driveway of his neat, two-story brick house, its window boxes now lacking flowers for a third summer. He realized he had no recollection of the drive from the coffee shop. He felt weak, outside himself, physically ill, as if a cold stone were lodged in his gut.

Once again, he was trapped in the cruel limbo between knowing and not knowing but having to imagine the worst. The next seventy-two hours would be a torture awaiting test results and consultations with specialists.

He slammed the steering wheel in frustration. What was he going to tell Katie? What could he tell her? He needed to say something but he wasn’t going to make her worry. Cancer certainly would not be mentioned, especially since there was a good chance that this whole mess was the result of a problem with an x-ray machine, not with Katie’s leg.

He took a deep breath and went inside. Katie was on the computer.

“Hi, Dad,” she said without looking up from a women’s soccer website. Josh gave his daughter a kiss on the top of the head and began the routine of making dinner. It wasn’t easy. Every thought he had evaporated before he could finish thinking it. He had to read the instructions on the blue and yellow box of pasta three times before he managed to put four quarts of water on to boil.

Josh broke the news while Katie was clearing the table and he was at the sink doing dishes. “We need to go to Columbus Monday.”

Katie shoveled a final bite of macaroni into her mouth and handed him the plate. “What for?”

“Dr. Wright wants a doctor there to take a look at your leg. She’s not really a leg expert and we want to make sure you’re in good shape for soccer camp.”

“Do I have to miss school? It’s almost the last day and Monday’s a field trip to the plant.”

Josh turned off the water and dried his hands. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Well, I already went to the plant with the Girl Scouts. Can I go to Emily’s tonight?”

“Are her parents home?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Watch a video.”

“Promise?”

“Daddy!”

“Be home by ten-thirty.”

“It’s Friday night!”

“Okay. Eleven.”

He struggled with his fear for the rest of the weekend. He went to the office Saturday intending to review the payables and receivables but ended up scouring the Internet for information on osteogenic sarcoma. Later, having convinced himself that there was a good chance he was worrying for nothing, he buried himself in making a list of what Katie would need for camp.

Only once did he slip. He looked in on her Saturday night before he went to bed. She was so engrossed in the computer she didn’t notice. He stayed to listen to the gentle sound of her breathing, marveling at how much she was growing to look like Sharon and disbelieving that something so perfect and pure could harbor something so offensive and deadly. The same thought he had had about Sharon’s breast.

After a while, she became aware of his presence. “Hi, Dad. Are you okay?” she asked.

A lump formed in his throat. So like Katie to worry about others. For a moment he was speechless. “I was just . . . I wanted to say good night.”