Free Return to Sender by Fern Michaels Page B

involved.” The doctor paused before leaving him in the hands of his staff. “Is there someone you’d like to call? Maybe I can make a call for you?”
    Nick was touched by the doctor’s kindness, and it surprised him. Normally, he was not a sentimental man, yet it wasn’t every day he was told he had a serious, possibly fatal illness. “I’ll call my office. They can take care of rescheduling.”
    “Good. Then let’s get this paperwork started. I don’t know what the world is coming to when it takes longer to fill out the forms than it does to do the actual procedure itself,” Dr. Reeves commented with a trace of ridicule for the system of which he was an integral part.
    “If you’ll have a seat,” said a young woman, motioning, “we’ll get through this as quickly as possible.”
    Nick nodded, gave the young woman his insurance card and driver’s license before taking a seat opposite her. Nick took his cell phone from his jacket pocket. He dialed Rosa’s direct number. She answered immediately.
    “Rosa, I want you to cancel all my meetings and appointments for the next…” He paused, unsure of how long. He wasn’t even sure how long he would live at this point. “Cancel everything for the next two weeks. Something’s come up, and I cannot work around it. Have Gerald take some of my appointments. Cancel the trip to China. It can wait. Call Chelsea. Ask her to meet me at Presbyterian Hospital. Tell her to pack an overnight bag and bring it with her. And, Rosa, if I hear of one single word of this conversation floating around the office, I’ll fire the entire staff. Is that understood?”
    “Yes, Mr. Pemberton. Sir, I…uh, hope you’ll be fine.”
    “Trust me, I will. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. And remember, not a word to anyone.” He flipped his cell phone off, not giving Rosa a chance to say anything else. Nick didn’t want her concern or her pity. He would be fine. He would accept nothing less. Pemberton men lived long, illustrious lives. His father had been eighty-nine when he died. Nick expected to beat the old bastard by at least a year. No way was his old man going to greet him at the gates of hell anytime in the near future.
    It took over an hour to fill out the paperwork, or rather it took the young woman behind the computer that long to type it into the computer system. Nick would never tolerate such inadequacy.
    “You’ll need to sign these papers now. It’ll save you from doing it when you’re uncomfortable right before the marrow extraction.” The young lady slid a stack of papers across the desk.
    “What is that supposed to mean? Dr. Reeves didn’t explain anything about being uncomfortable.” He sounded like a whiny child, not the chief executive officer of a multibillion-dollar corporation.
    “I’m sorry. I thought he did. I’ll be right back,” the woman said vaguely.
    Ten minutes later Dr. Reeves sat across from Nick in the same seat his secretary, or whatever the hell she was, had just vacated. “I apologize. I was hoping to get back to you before we got this far. The procedure is quite simple actually. First, we’ll numb a small area of skin. Then we use a Jamshidi needle. It’s a long, hollow needle that’s inserted into your hip bone. We’ll withdraw samples of blood, bone, and, of course, your bone marrow. From there I’ll send them to the pathologist, who will examine them under a microscope. After I get the results, you and I will discuss a treatment plan.”
    “If this is so simple, why bother admitting me? Can’t this be done as an outpatient?” Nick said.
    “Sure, it can. However, if the results are positive, and you’re already in the hospital, we can begin treatment right away.”
    “I suppose that makes sense,” Nick agreed.
    “I’ll have more answers as soon as we complete the test.”
    Nick nodded. “I’ll see you at the hospital, then.”
    Dr. Reeves placed a comforting arm on Nick’s shoulder. “You’re gonna have