Page 115 of No More Secrets
She pulled her hair back in a low messy knot on her way out the door.
Thanks to some ill-timed, poorly placed construction, Summer had to jump out of the taxi a few blocks early and race through the misty rain before scurrying up the office stairs with a minute to spare.
“Good morning, Summer,” the receptionist greeted her warmly. “We’ve been talking about you non-stop all morning!”
Summer signed in. “Really? Why?”
“There she is!” Summer’s oncologist, Dr. Armenta swept into reception. Tall and slim, she moved like a ballet dancer. “I’m dying to know, have you heard from Carter?” Her eyes sparkled behind her wire-rimmed glasses.
“How do you —”
“Your blog!” The receptionist chirped. “We all read it yesterday. It’s all everyone is talking about. We’re so excited for you!”
“Well, come on back and we can talk,” Dr. Armenta said, taking Summer’s arm.
She led her back through the suite to her office. “I love your boots. Can I get you a drink?”
Summer sank down in the first visitor’s chair facing the desk. She’d sat in this exact seat for her six-month results, so might as well continue the tradition.
“Before we begin, I have to tell you how proud I am of you,” she said, folding her hands on her desk. Her unruly red curls were escaping the braid that lay over the shoulder of her white coat. “You know that I didn’t agree with your desire to handle your diagnosis and treatment alone.”
Summer winced and nodded. Dr. Armenta had made it clear on several occasions that she thought Summer was making a mistake.
“Support plays a very important role in healing. And I was concerned by your choice to cut yourself off from that support,” the doctor continued. “So you can imagine my delight when I read your blog. The entire staff was texting back and forth last night. You went from having virtually no support network to thousands of supporters.”
“I have?” Summer frowned in confusion.
Dr. Armenta smiled. “Haven’t you been monitoring your blog?”
Summer shook her head and again thought of the Chardonnay that had gone down so smoothly last night.
“Well, then I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” Dr. Armenta said. “Let’s start with how you feel today.”
“I’m fine, thanks. I’m nervous.” She let the words tumble out of her mouth. Honesty. Vulnerability.
“There is nothing to be nervous about. We’re in this together,” Dr. Armenta said, turning her computer monitor to face Summer. “These are your white blood cells from a year ago when you were diagnosed.”
She moused over the screen showing the abnormal cells. She clicked to another image. “Now, these are your results from six months out. Clean.” She opened one more image. “And this is where you are currently.”
––––––––
Summer made it down the steps of the stately brownstone and onto the sidewalk before the tears came. They warmed her cheeks just like the September sunshine that had broken through the clouds. She was crying in public and she didn’t care.
Overwhelmed, she didn’t even care that a watery blur of a man was standing there watching her from one building down. She was overdue for this and wasn’t going to rush herself through a good cry.
“Summer?”
“Carter?” she swiped tears from her eyes. There he was in the flesh. Wearing his trademark jeans and a t-shirt, he had a bouquet of wildflowers clutched in his hand. “Carter!”
She didn’t even realize she was running until she heard her boots on the concrete. He caught her in mid-leap, boosting her up and holding her close.
Summer brought her hands to his face.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi.”
“How did you find me?”
