Page 81 of Summer Reading

The chef on the television was overmixing the avocado. It wasn’t supposed to be a puree. Chunks should be able to be dug out of the guacamole with a chip. How did this guy not know this? I was completely annoyed, when I felt Em’s hand on my arm, drawing my attention to her.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“Yes, but Dr. Ernst is ready for me.” Em gestured to where a woman in scrubs stood by a partially open swinging door.

“Do you want me to come with you?” I asked.

“If you don’t mind,” she said.

“Not at all,” I said. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said. “You’re a good friend.”

We gathered our things and followed the woman in scrubs down the hallway to a patient room. Em sat on the exam table. The long paper strip that covered it crinkled as she shifted. I took one of the two hardplastic chairs. I felt like the mother of a child at the pediatrician’s office. Probably because Em looked so vulnerable sitting there waiting to hear.

What if it was bad news? What if it was the worst news? What could I possibly say?

The door opened and Dr. Ernst walked in. She was carrying a folder, which I suspected was Em’s chart.

“Hi, Emily, how are you?”

“Good,” Em said, then added, “unless you’re here to tell me otherwise.”

“Hi,” Dr. Ernst greeted me as she put the chart on the counter. “I assume you want to have your friend here while we discuss the results of your biopsy?”

“Yes,” Em said. “Please.”

I gave her an encouraging smile.

“All right.” Dr. Ernst leaned back and considered Em. I thought my heart might burst out of my chest from anxiety. This was not the face of a person bringing good news. “First, let me tell you that the results were negative. The lump was benign. You do not have cancer.”

“Woo-hoo!” I yelled and jumped to my feet. They both turned to look at me. Dr. Ernst in amusement, and Em as if she couldn’t comprehend such good news.

“Um, sorry.” I sank back onto my seat and tried to read the room. Darned if I could figure why we weren’t all jumping around in giddy circles.

“How accurate is the biopsy?” Em asked. “I read that core needle biopsies have false negatives.”

“That depends upon whether an adequate sample was taken,” Dr. Ernst said. “In your case, there was.”

“But how do you know?” Em persisted.

I glanced at her in surprise. She was looking very determined but why? She’d gotten great results—the best results—why was she questioning the outcome?

“Emily, do you remember the conversation we had when you first discovered the lump, the appointment before the biopsy?” Dr. Ernst asked.

“Yes.” Em’s gaze slid away from the doctor with a look that I could only identify as embarrassment.

“And do you remember what I said to you?”

Em glanced at me as if she didn’t want to say it in front of me. I tried to look encouraging. No matter what I was in her corner.

“You said there was no indication of cancer, that you didn’t think a biopsy was necessary, and that you were only doing it so that I would stop obsessing about tumors and dying,” Em said.

I felt my eyebrows lift in surprise. I tried to hide it but doubted I was successful. This sounded an awful lot like Em was a hypochondriac. I didn’t know what to say or where to look. I wondered if Em regretted having me in the room. Probably.

“The biopsy has proven my initial diagnosis to be accurate,” Dr. Ernst said.

“But—”

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