Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty

Shit. "Monica! Call the doctor!"

...

"He'll be alright. His body is just having trouble fighting off the cold. He is far more susceptible to illness now that his platelets are down. You will need to be extremely careful about sanitation, and keeping his medications consistent."

"And the pain? He's in a lot of it."

"I've given him something stronger. With that and the medicine for the cold, he should be feeling better within the next few days. In his state though, I'd suggest he remain resting."

I nod, glancing over at Monica. "Alright, what can we do?"

The doctor smiles at me, apologetically. "Will you allow me to be frank?"

Oh, those words. We both nod, slowly.

"Mr. White doesn't have much time left to him, I'm sorry to say. This is progressing with violent speed."

"How much time?" Monica asks, thankfully, because I can't.

"There's no way to be sure, but I'd say, at best, a month."

A month. One fucking month.

I stare at him, physically unable to process that. He holds up his hands, apologetically.

"I will do everything I possibly can to make sure he feels as little as possible. I promise you. He will have the best care possible—"

Monica walks away as he speaks, pressing her hand to her forehead. We both watch her head towards the bedroom, silent. He finally turns to me, when she's gone.

"Mr. White needs to get his affairs in order with his company. Very soon, he will not be able to handle the exertion."

"I understand. I will tell him."

"I'm very sorry this is happening. Please, call me if you need anything. Day or night."

I nod, shaking his hand weakly as he grabs his bag and heads for the front door. I'd usually show him out but my feet won't budge. My eyes dart to the bedroom door, bathed in soft morning light where Norman is doped up on strong painkillers but waiting to hear the verdict.

I think he already knew what we'd hear.

I walk to the door and open it, knowing I cannot delay the inevitable.

...

"Becca, can you print out the portfolios I had sent out this morning? I can't find the copies anywhere," I call out from my office, on my feet, searching through the piles of paperwork on my desk. With Norman unable to come in, I've taken over the job of CEO and VP, which is proving to be far more than I could have ever bargained for.

Like the saint she is, Rebecca trudges in, original copies in hand. I take them from her gratefully and begin to flip through them. I groan at the place I had expected they'd made the mistake.

"Damn. Send out an email to design. Tell them they fucked up the prices. We need a new set sent out by the end of the day. I will call them to let them know to disregard the first copy."

She nods, already typing ferociously on her iPad.

I scan the pages for more, sniffling, trying to breathe through my running nose. I snatch a tissue and take my work with me toward the window for the natural light.

"What do you want me to pick up for lunch?"

"I can't eat a thing," I tell her, stuffily.

"This cold won't go away if you don't keep yourself strong. I'll pick up some soup and bread."