Page 113 - In Five Years

Her father, Frederick, called me Saturday afternoon, from Paris. I told him
what we knew: Bella had thought she was pregnant, she went in for an
ultrasound to confirm, they did some tests, and she left with an ovarian cancer
diagnosis.

I was met with stunned silence. And then a call to arms.
“I’ll call Dr. Finky,” he said. “I’ll tell him we need an appointment first thing

Monday. Stand by.”
“Thank you,” I said, which felt natural but shouldn’t have.
“Will you call her mother?” he asked me.
“Yes,” I said.

Bella’s mother started sobbing instantly on the phone, I knew she would. Jill
has always had a flair for the dramatic.

“I’m getting on the next flight,” she said, even though, presumably, she was
in Philadelphia and could drive here in just under double the time it would take
to get to the airport.

“We’re getting an appointment for Monday morning,” I said. “Would you like
me to send you the details?”
“I’m calling Bella,” she said, and hung up.

Last I heard Jill had a boyfriend our age. She was married once more, after
Bella’s father, to a Greek shipping heir who cheated on her rampantly and
publicly. She’s never made good choices. If I’m honest, she’s modeled Bella’s

romantic history—but hopefully not anymore, not with Aaron.
Monday morning, sitting in the office filling out papers, I don’t ask about Jill
because I don’t have to. I know what happened. She lost the paper with the time,

or she had a massage she couldn’t cancel, or she forgot to buy a train ticket and
figured she’d come tomorrow. It’s always a million different reasons that all say
the same thing.

Bella makes her way through the paperwork, and Aaron and I sit stonily,
flanking her. I see him pop his foot over his leg, jiggling it nervously. He rubs a
hand over his forehead.

Bella is wearing jeans and an orange sweater even though it’s too hot outside
for either of those things. Summer will not quit, even though we’re now nearing
the end of September.

“Ms. Gold?”