The Last Pilot: A Novel (16 page)

She’s such a sweet girl, Clara said. She hasn’t complained, at all.

Lapitus came in a little later. He introduced himself to Harrison, and explained the treatment plan to them.

We’ll be using radiation therapy, Lapitus said, as you know surgery isn’t an option. We’ll keep her here for a week, then we’ll see her as an outpatient for an additional six.

And that will get rid of the tumor? Grace said.

It’s hard to say at this stage, Lapitus said. You will see a big improvement in her symptoms during the treatment, though.

She’ll be able to walk? Grace said.

Most likely. I understand Clara found you a motel?

Yes, Grace said, just around the corner, thank you.

Our pleasure, Lapitus said. Now, Captain Harrison—

You can call me Jim.

Jim. Let’s take a walk.

Harrison looked at his wife who nodded and he left the room with Lapitus.

The smell of the hospital gave him comfort. Lapitus led him down murmuring hallways with vanishing points that seemed to move, across wide atriums and through crowded lobbies. Harrison quizzed Lapitus about Florence’s condition, the treatment, the tumor as they walked.

Brain tumors in children are rare, Lapitus said. There’s only about fifteen hundred diagnosed a year, but what Florence has accounts for just one in ten of those. They are, as any pediatric oncologist will tell you after a few drinks, dreaded.

They moved through a busy elevator lobby.

Jim, Lapitus said, I haven’t told Grace this yet; I wanted to wait until you were here. I’m afraid the prognosis for Florence is not good.

The elevator doors opened.

The radiation is likely to improve her symptoms dramatically during and after her treatment but, unfortunately, we tend to find that, six, seven, eight months down the line, the problems usually recur—and progress rapidly when they do.

Bodies spilled into the lobby.

Most children die within a year of diagnosis, Lapitus said. It’s extremely unlikely she’ll survive past Christmas.

The men walked through the crowd and emerged in an empty hallway. Harrison stopped him, turned to him.

What else you got? Besides the radiation. Don’t hold out on me.

Lapitus considered him for a moment, looked at the floor, then said, it’s a measure of last resort.

Harrison held his eye. Sounds like that’s where we’re gonna be, he said.

Cobalt, Lapitus said.

Tell me about it, Harrison said.

It’s new, Lapitus said.

How new?

Few years. With X-ray treatment, the X-rays struggle to penetrate tumors that have developed deep inside the body. The cobalt machine uses a gamma-ray beam that’s produced when radioactive cobalt sixty breaks down. It goes deeper. Much deeper. But there’s a cost. The cobalt doesn’t discriminate. It’s very good at what it does—very, very good—it kills cancer cells, yes; but it also destroys healthy ones too. For a child so young, it could be worse than the cancer itself.

A janitor pushed past with a mop and bucket. Harrison watched him lope along the hallway; his slow gait, the steel bucket, the wooden mop.

Appreciate you tellin me, doc, Harrison said.

It’s not something I’d recommend until we’ve absolutely reached the end of the line, and even then, it would warrant extremely careful consideration. To be honest, it probably isn’t even worth mentioning to Grace yet.

Harrison nodded. The janitor disappeared, lost in the long lines of intersecting hallways. Lapitus started to walk again. Harrison followed, in silence. After a few minutes, he said, where we headed? Lapitus took a sharp left, pushed through a set of heavy double doors and said, where we started. They stopped in front of a single door and Harrison looked at it.

I find it better to talk about things on the move, Lapitus said. You’re both welcome to see her as much as you like this week. Come and go as you please.

Thank you, Harrison said.

Lapitus put his hand on the door handle and looked at him. Harrison nodded. Lapitus opened the door.

Florence was asleep. They stood around her bed.

So, Lapitus said, we’ll start her on two thousand three hundred roentgens—that’s the maximum, the highest amount.

Is it painful? Grace said. I mean, will it—hurt her?

No, not at all, Lapitus said. She’ll just have to keep still.

Okay, Grace said.

Each session will last between fifteen and thirty minutes, Lapitus said. They’ll get shorter as we progress. And most of that time will be us making sure we aim correctly. We have to be precise, to avoid delivering radiation to the surrounding healthy brain tissue.

Grace looked at Harrison.

I’d wake her soon, so we can start, Lapitus said.

Do you have any water? Grace said.

I’ll get Clara to bring you some, Lapitus said.

Thank you.

You’re very welcome. I’ll leave you alone for a bit now.

Lapitus smiled and left. They watched their child sleep.

In the motel that night they pushed their clothes into shallow drawers in silence. Grace went into the bathroom. Harrison sat on the edge of the bed, took out his cigarettes, lit one. He tossed the pack onto the bed and sat forward and rubbed his face. He stood and walked to the window. He walked back to the bed and sat down and stared at the wall for a long time. The motel was quiet. He wondered about the time. Then he heard a noise from the bathroom, halfway between a laugh and a shout. At the door, he said, hon? She didn’t reply. He pushed at the door. Grace sat on the toilet seat, half undressed, fingers clutching her face, crying. He pulled her head to his body and held her.

In bed, Grace said, what are you not telling me? He lay on his back, heart held taut behind his ribs. Nothing, he said.

Did Lapitus say something to you? she said.

He could make out her face, pale in the gloom. He thought about the hundreds of variables that made it beautiful to him, as though it was a cipher, the sharp edge of a key. She switched on her bedside lamp.

Jim? she said.

Yeah, he said. Lapitus talked to me.

When?

Out in the hall. Took me for a walk.

Tell me what he said, she said.

She did real good today, he said.

Jim, please.

He sat up and looked at her.

Lapitus told me the radiation will make her better, but after a while, maybe a few months, she’ll likely get worse again, and quickly.

You mean we’ll have to do this over again? she said.

He shook his head.

What do you mean? Why not?

Not an option.

Why not?

Just isn’t.

There’s other things they can do, right? Other treatments?

There aren’t many options.

But there are options, right? Jim?

There’s one.

Just one?

He nodded.

Well what is it? she said.

Cobalt, he said.

What’s that?

It’s new, a real breakthrough, apparently.

Okay, that sounds good; that sounds promising.

Yeah.

What’s the matter? Can’t we use it?

He paused.

No, he said, we can use it.

What’s the problem then? she said.

He sighed.

Seems cobalt’s pretty effective at killin cancer cells; only trouble is, it kills the healthy ones too.

The healthy cells?

Yeah.

It could damage her? she said.

He nodded.

Badly?

He nodded again, then shut his eyes, and opened them again.

Lapitus isn’t sure her body could take it, he said.

Oh God, Jim.

Don’t, he said.

Don’t what?

Just—

He got out of bed.

What are you doing? she said, sitting up.

He went into the bathroom and locked the door. At the sink, he ran the tap cold, scooped his hands beneath the surface and put his face into the water. He pushed his fingers into his hair and turned and sat on the toilet. His elbows dug holes in his knees and he shut his eyes. He could hear her sobbing in the bedroom. He felt sick. He went out and held her. After a while, she said, she handled it all so well.

Yes, he said, she did.

Our girl.

Our girl.

She’s tough, Jim; she’s got so much spirit, so much fight in her.

It doesn’t matter, hon, he said, gently.

She’s not like other kids; of
course
it matters.

It doesn’t matter.

Stop saying that, would you? She’s a fighter, she can
beat
this.

No, he said. She can’t.

Grace stood up, her eyes silver in the low light.

Stop it! she said. Jesus Christ! Just shut up, would you? Just
shut up
!

Grace—

What the
fuck
is wrong with you? She will
beat this
.

No, honey, she won’t, he said. He looked at the floor. She’ll be dead by Christmas.

They slept fitfully. A glittering darkness pervaded their dreams. Harrison stood outside a house. Men were working on it. He recognized it as the house he’d lived in as a boy. He felt excitement. One of the men said, you want to look inside? He nodded. The door opened. Inside, in vivid detail, he saw things from the first years of his life. A clock. A vase. A chair. A painting. He didn’t realize, until then, that he’d remembered them. And he felt a terrible ache inside him. And he cried with nostalgia, and he cried with joy, and he woke, and there were no tears on his face, and his eyes were dry. Grace murmured next to him. He breathed hard into the silence. He held on to his sleep, and disappeared again.

At the end of the week the nurses brought Florence a cake and hung red balloons above her bed and everyone sang Happy Birthday and Florence blew out two tall candles and they all clapped.

Happy birthday, sweetheart, Grace said.

Thanks for doing this, Harrison said to Clara.

My pleasure, Clara said. She’s so sweet.

The other nurses smiled and Lapitus came in and said, what’d I miss?

My birthday! Florence said. I got two candles.

So you did, he said. And this is for you.

He handed her a wrapped package. Happy birthday, he said.

Mommy I got a present! she said.

Yes you did, Grace said. What do you say?

Thank you, Florence said.

To Doctor Lapitus.

Thank you, Florence said to Lapitus.

You’re very welcome, Lapitus said.

Are you going to open it? Grace said.

Inside was a cotton head scarf, patterned with yellow, pink and red flowers.

Thank you, Grace said to Lapitus.

He smiled and said, now, you’ll have to excuse me, I have rounds to do.

Thanks, doc, Harrison said.

Lapitus left. Grace helped her daughter with the head scarf. The X-rays had left Florence with a large bald spot beneath her crown.

Just what you need, Duck, Grace said.

Anyone want a drink? Harrison said.

You going down to the lounge? Grace said.

Yeah.

I could use a coffee.

Sure thing.

Ladies? he said to the nurses.

Thanks, but we’d better get on, Clara said.

The nurses wished Florence a happy birthday again and left.

Be back in a minute, Harrison said, and followed them out.

The lounge was on the first floor. He took the stairs. He could see the concrete floor of the basement, six stories below. He held on to the handrail and walked down. The lounge was full of people. They stood around a television set that had been wheeled in, black power cable curling through an open door nearby. Harrison frowned, walked over, stood at the back of the crowd next to an old man in a robe.

What’s goin on? Harrison said. The man turned and looked at him. Then he looked at his feet and walked away. Harrison frowned, turned to his left, where a surgeon in blue scrubs stood holding a coffee.

More riots? Harrison said.

The surgeon shook his head and said, no—Shepard.

Harrison shifted his feet and managed to see the screen.

This is incredible, the surgeon said. This is insane. I actually feel a little sick. He laughed.

How come?