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malignant.”
    Joan’s long, delicate hands flew up to her mouth as she tried to keep the sob back. She paled, growing whiter than her sheet. He knew one could be braced for the worst, but never fully be prepared for it. Losing Alma had proven that to him.
    â€œOh God,” Joan cried. “Oh God, oh God.”
    â€œBut,” he continued gently, taking her hand and holding it tightly, as if to anchor her to the world, “there is every indication that once we remove it, everything’ll be fine.”
    â€œIt?” Her voice was hollow, numb, as she repeated the single word. Her hand went to her right breast, covering it protectively. Joan was terrified. “You mean my breast?”
    He empathized even if he could not relate. “No, just the tumor.”
    It would have been prudent to add “For now” and cover his bases, but Christian refused to do that to the woman. Refused to hedge at her expense. They’d cross each bridge when they came to it. And they might not have to make that final journey. For now, that was all he was going to focus on.
    â€œIt’s very, very tiny,” he assured her. “I’ve already spoken to the surgeon. You can be scheduled for surgery as early as this afternoon.” He saw fear rise in her eyes. She had to be feeling that things were careering beyond her control. In her place, he knew he would. Christian did what he could to make her feel that it wasn’t all out of her reach. “The final decision, of course, is yours.”
    Joan nervously passed her tongue over her lips as she raised her eyes to his. “What’s your opinion?”
    He gave her the benefit of his experience—and all the extensive reading he’d done on the subject. Christian didn’t believe in entering into a situation unprepared. “I think an aggressive course of action is the most effective way to go. Have the operation and recover. Your life’ll be on track again soon.”
    Joan swallowed hard. The lump in her throat was almost choking her. That’s all she needed, another lump, she thought cynically. Her fingers dug into his hand as her eyes searched his face. “Do you promise?”
    His profession had long since gotten away from making promises. The day of the promise had gone the way of exchanging medical services for a chicken and three potatoes. These days, people were far too eager to sue over the smallest of things, and this was by no means a small thing. But he couldn’t divorce himselffrom his patients, couldn’t think of them as merely names on a file, statistics in a computer, the way so many of his colleagues did.
    That wasn’t his way. His way was to care. Usually too much.
    Christian closed his hand around hers and looked into her eyes. “I promise.”
    Joan let out a shaky breath. Nervously, she ran her hand through her pale reddish hair and wondered if she was going to lose it in the treatment. She’d always been so proud of her hair. So vain. “I should discuss this with my husband.”
    He moved over to the telephone on the nightstand beside her bed, picked up the receiver and handed it to her.
    â€œCall him.” And then he nodded toward the door. “I’ll be back in a little while. I have a few other patients to see to.”
    Joan nodded mechanically. She looked like a woman whose whole world had been turned upside down, and who could blame her? he thought. It had. And he of all people could identify with the helpless feeling that had to be coursing through her veins.
    With any luck, though, all this would be temporary and they would have her back on her feet soon. In his case, the helpless feeling was permanent. Nothing was ever going to change that.
    He heard Joan begin to press the numbers that would connect her to her husband’s telephone at work. He moved out of the room to give her privacy.
    Preoccupied, Christian walked right into a woman standing directly