Page 1 of Stolen Moments

Chapter One

Stage four. Recurrent. Cancer.Terminal.

Luka thumbed the file in front of him repeatedly, sighing. He looked up and studied the woman in front of him. She was clean, neat. Mid-to-late thirties, experienced. Maybetooexperienced.

“My last patient recently passed away. It was hard. You get so attached to them, you know?” Her words had the clinical tone of one who perhaps had once believed what she was saying, but had seen too much death to care any longer.

“Well”—he looked at the file— “Ms. Judd, is it?”

The woman nodded.

“I will call you and let you know.” The woman stood and left his office.

Luka sighed and looked at his watch. Three down, one more to go. Fifteen minutes to gather his thoughts before the next interview. He leaned back and rubbed his temples.

Stage four, recurrent cancer. Terminal.

The words tumbled around his mind like laundry in a spin cycle. No matter how often he repeated the string of words they never seemed any cleaner, any more benign. Like a stress-inducing mantra, he clung to those words from the instant he woke up, to the instant — after much tossing and turning — he went to sleep.

Stage four, recurrent cancer. Terminal.

The oncologist had told Luka that Susan’s breast cancer had aggressively metastasized. Like an army, the cancer cells had invaded the healthy areas of her body. There they had multiplied and conquered, and no amount of surgery or chemo was going to bring her back this time.It’s best to try and make her comfortable in the time she’s got left.Dr. Everingham had told him as Susan waited outside. She didn’t want the doctor to confirm what she already felt happening inside of her. At first, there had been rage; he had wanted to flip over the desks and tables in Dr. Everingham’s office, tear down the diplomas on the walls, the certificates. What did they really mean when he had failed to keep Susan healthy? Then the anger dissipated. The doctor had seen Luka and Susan through the first course of treatment; had rejoiced with them when she had gone into remission; had been sad to see her slide back again; had done everything to keep her healthy, to prolong her life.

It wasn’t the doctor’s fault; Susan’s own cells were betraying her.

“A home aide would help alleviate some of the burden of Susan’s care,” Dr. Everingham had said just before they’d left his office. “You can’t — and shouldn’t — try to do this on your own, Luka. It’s too much.”

At home, Luka had crumpled into Susan’s arms and cried. He rarely allowed himself those moments of defeat, of weakness, but for over a year he had been her rock, and now, very soon, he was going to have to put her in the ground.

It wasn’t fair.

There was a light knock at the door. Luka sat up, unclenched his fists, and put his hands under the table.

“Come in.” Luka quickly looked at the file. Melia Carmosino. She came in quietly. He stood up and shook her hand before asking her to take a seat.

“My name is Luka Rossiter.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Rossiter. I’m Melia.”

“Thank you for coming in today.”

Her dark, wavy hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore no jewelry, and barely any makeup. She looked him in the eye, her warm, deep brown eyes catching renegade rays of sunshine that filtered in through the window behind him.

“Oh!” He jumped up and lowered the shades. “That’s better, I’m sorry.”

* * *

She noticed his uneasiness almost immediately. He seemed rattled by her presence. His tousled hair framed his face and skimmed the tops of his gray-blue eyes lined with thick, long eyelashes. Dark stubble covered his pale face, and when he spoke, his perfect white teeth seemed to sparkle from behind full lips. Too bad he wasn’t the patient. She arched an eyebrow; givinghima sponge bath would definitely be an upgrade. She cleared her throat. She needed to rein in her thoughts before her smart mouth cost her another job opportunity.

“Tell me about your last job,” he asked. “Why did it end?”

Melia wondered if the slight crease between his eyebrows was a permanent fixture, or if he ever smiled. “My last patient moved away. She was dying of lymphoma and wanted to see Japan. Her family thought it would be nice for her to see it before…she moved on.”

“It must be hard. This line of work, I mean.”

“It can be. Sometimes you have to prepare yourself for that reality, that these jobs are somewhat transient in nature.” She couldn’t get a read on him or what he wanted. Did he want the emotive nurse that would cry when her patient died, or the nurse that had nerves of steel? Was this the ad for the man whose wife was dying of breast cancer or the man with a brother dying of lung cancer?

Melia internally berated herself for being so disorganized.

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