Page 116 of Whiskey Wednesdays

I’d told him about Abby’s condition when I’d found a private moment to call him yesterday.

“The drive sucked, Abby looked scared when I left, and Titus was glaring like he wanted to kill someone. So worse than I hoped, but about what I expected.”

It was so nice to be home. I watched my dad and Elodie set the table and Connor pull food out of the oven. An overwhelming sense of contentment and gratitude washed through me. Thiswas my tribe; these were the people I loved most. I suddenly felt so lucky and blessed.

On Wednesday afternoon, I slipped into Molly’s hospital room. Her mother slept on the reclining chair next to the bed, and Molly looked up from her book, giving me a weak smile.

She was on book twelve in theWings of Fireseries. I’d broken down and bought her the last four books when the library couldn’t get them in for a few months. I didn’t know if Molly had that long to wait.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” I whispered. She sat up a little and set her book down.

“I’m still sucking air, and the chemo’s done. So not bad. Thanks for the books.”

Molly had a disconcerting bluntness to her that I liked, especially for an eight-year-old. She probably knew her chances of reaching adulthood were marginal. Or maybe she would have been like that even if she’d been born healthy.

“You’re welcome. I won’t stay long so you can get back to your book.”

She nodded. “I’m at an exciting part. Do you have anything to eat? Lunch was chicken and broccoli again.”

I pulled out a container of orange glazed cookies my dad had given me this morning, grabbed a paper towel from her bathroom, and set a few on her tray.

“Save one for your mom, okay? She looks worn out.”

Molly nodded. She was using a blue origami whale I’d given her a couple of months ago as a bookmark. It looked worn outand frayed, so I pulled out a green jumping frog and set it on her book.

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Okay,” she said around a mouth full of cookie.

On Thursday afternoon after I got done at the pediatric clinic, Connor, Elodie, and I flew to Vancouver B.C. together. We headed to the private jet terminal at the Palm Springs airport. Connor didn’t own an airplane, but he used a private charter jet service whenever he flew. I shuddered when I thought about the cost.

“Why can’t we just fly coach?” I asked again. My anxiety ratcheted up as we boarded the jet.

“Because I don’t do coach, and first class isn’t that much less than a charter flight. Besides, I can get the club to pay for it.”

“Uh-huh. You’re kind of spoiled. You know that, right?”

“Come on, it’ll be fine.” He wrapped his arm around me while the co-pilot gathered our luggage and stowed it away.

Elodie didn’t seem to care how we got there, she was just excited to see her Mémé. As soon as we took off, the attendant brought us drinks and food as Elodie chattered excitedly.

The flight was just under three hours, and we landed in Vancouver in the evening. The damp, rainy weather seeped into my bones, and I was grateful for my wool sweater and black puffer jacket left over from my time in Seattle.

We took a taxi to Connor’s house, and as we drove through the upscale area to his exclusive neighborhood, it reminded me again of the gaping disparities in our lives and income brackets.

Connor’s home sat on a bluff in the high-end West Vancouver area. The taxi pulled up to a gated, sprawling Pacific Northwest home. The professional landscaping and outdoor lighting showcased the house well, and I knew the home was worth millions.

I’d gotten used to his large house in Palm Desert, and even secretly thought of it as my own home occasionally. But here was yet another large estate he owned. I pulled my jacket closer as I shivered in the damp, foggy weather.

We grabbed our bags, and Connor punched in the code to the front gate. As we walked up the drive, I paused and looked up at the house again, wondering what I was doing here.

Connor turned. “Come on. Sherrill said she had my housekeeper stock the fridge and get the house ready for us. It should be warm.”

When we walked inside, I noticed the gleaming wood floors and expensive, tasteful furnishings. He also had art gallery paintings on his walls.

I cleared my throat. “It’s spectacular. You must have missed it over the past few months.”

He looked around with a small smile. “Yeah, I did.”

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