Free Pieces of Hate by Ray Garton Page A

behind as they headed for the elevator and the cafeteria . . .
     
    14
     
    “I’m not quite sure what to tell you about your sister,” Dr. Plummer said as they seated themselves at a table in the cafeteria. Each of them had a steaming cup of coffee.
    “What do you mean? I thought you just said her MRI was very encouraging.”
    “Well, that’s what I told her.”
    Margaret felt an instant surge of anger burn its way up from her stomach to the back of her throat. “You mean that you told her it was encouraging when it wasn’t?” Her hands, flanking the cup of coffee on the table, clenched into fists as she spoke with quiet rage, leaning sharply toward the doctor. “What the hell kind of doctor are you, anyway? To tell a cancer patient something like that when you know damned well — ”
    Dr. Plummer held up a hand, palm out, and said, “That’s not what I did at all. I just didn’t know what to tell her about the test results when . . . I didn’t understand them myself.”
    Margaret’s anger dissolved slowly into annoyance, as did her expression, and her hands relaxed on the table. “You know, when I first saw you last night, I thought you were young. But I assumed you’d at least finished medical school.”
    He lowered his head and shook it slowly, smiling. “Look, Mrs., Um — ”
    “Margaret’s fine. And I’m not a missus.”
    “Okay, look, Margaret. Your sister’s cancer is, uh . . . well, it’s gone. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s just not there anymore.”
    Margaret relaxed even more, placing a palm over her mouth to hide her quivering, uncontrollable grin. She swallowed several times and willed her tears back.
    “Did you say . . . it’s gone? The cancer? Really?” She spoke softly and haltingly into her hand.
    Dr. Plummer sighed and sipped his coffee. “When I walked into that room yesterday and saw her, I couldn’t . . . well, I thought maybe I’d missed too much sleep, or walked into the wrong room. The way she moved and sat up and . . . well, the fact that she moved at all . . . How long have you been here, Margaret? I mean, do you live around here, or did you travel? I didn’t even know Lynda had a sister.”
    Margaret took a few deep breaths, trying to pull herself together quickly. She had that giddy feeling again. There was a fluttering in her chest that made her want to burst into giggles, to stand up, throw herself across the table and hug the doctor. But she fought it.
    “I came from Los Angeles,” she said, lowering her hand. “I got here day before yesterday. Lynda probably didn’t mention me because . . . well, we haven’t spoken for a while. Like about twenty years.”
    “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. What brought you to Arizona after all that time?”
    “The fact that she was dying. My aunt told me. Our parents are both gone and we have no family.”
    “What about your aunt?”
    “My aunt may be related to us, but she’s this hulking, three-hundred pound creature with a telephone receiver growing out of the side of her head who’s always been too busy gossiping to ever behave like family. Lynda’s the only real family I’ve got. And vice versa. That’s why I came. I figured it was more important than . . . hurt feelings and past disputes.”
    “Well, if you just got here day before yesterday, then you really haven’t seen Lynda at her worst. She’s been in the final stages. In fact, I was considering sending her home because I’d done all I could. She hasn’t eaten in some time. She could hardly move, couldn’t do anything for herself because she was so weak. And she’s been bald, too. Now her hair is growing back, and like I said last night, hair simply does not grow back while chemo is still being administered. This . . . recovery, or whatever it is, has happened suddenly. Almost overnight. For all I know, maybe your arrival helped, but . . .” He shrugged. “I just don’t understand it.”
    “Is she in remission?”
    “No, no, it’s