All the Single Ladies: A Novel Read Free

future.”
    “I am so sorry. I got the word from Margaret and Judy. The poor thing.”
    “Yes. God, I hate cancer.”
    “I do too. I don’t understand why some ­people who are nothing but a pain in the neck live to a hundred and die in their sleep, never having needed anything more than an aspirin. And other ­people like Kathy Harper have to suffer and die so young.”
    “I know. It’s terrible. Anyway, our job here is to make the end bearable not only for the patient but for the family and friends.”
    “Really? Dr. Black, I didn’t know that. I just got out of nursing school yesterday. Do you want me to tell them?”
    “Yes, but do you have to be so sarcastic?” he said.
    “Do you have to be so condescending?” I said, and stood up. “Jeez. They’re here, so I’ll go talk to them now.”
    I stopped at the door, turned back, and rolled my eyes at him.
    “Okay, okay. I know. I’m a jerk,” he said. “But you know what?”
    “What?”
    “I’m gonna miss all those donuts,” he said, and added in a mumble, “And the delicious legs on that little brunette.”
    “You’re terrible,” I said, and left thinking maybe gallows humor rescued us on some days. In any case, it clearly rescued Dr. Black. Not getting emotionally involved was obviously easier for him than for me.
    I walked down the hall and turned to the right, making my way to Kathy Harper’s room. It wasn’t the first trip I’d made from Dr. Black’s office with a message of this weight to deliver. Technically, it was his job to convey bad news but he hated doing it. And he knew I was very close with Kathy’s friends, and truly, I wasn’t going to tell them something they didn’t already know. But I was going to tell them something they didn’t want to hear. My heart was heavy.
    I took a deep breath and slowly swung the door open. There was Kathy, peacefully sleeping in her bed, or so it seemed, with Suzanne seated on one side and Carrie on the other. Suzanne was checking her email on her smartphone and Carrie was flipping through a magazine. They looked up at me and smiled.
    “Hey,” I said quietly. “How are y’all doing?”
    “Hey, how are you, Lisa?” Suzanne said in a voice just above a whisper. “How was your weekend?”
    What Suzanne and Carrie did not yet know was that Kathy was not really asleep but drugged and floating somewhere in what I hoped was a pain-­free zone in between sleep and consciousness. I knew she could hear our every word.
    “Well, I took Pickle over to Sullivans Island and we had a long walk. Then I drove down to Hilton Head to check on my parents. My dad cooked fish on the grill. We had a nice visit. How about y’all?”
    “I had three weddings and a graduation party!” Suzanne said. “Crazy!”
    “I helped,” Carrie said. “You know that Suzanne was desperate if she let me in the workshop.”
    “Oh, hush! I would never have been able to get it all done without you and you know it!”
    Suzanne owned a very popular boutique-­sized floral design business. June was her busiest time of the year, followed by December, when she decorated the mantelpieces, swagged doors and staircases, and hung the wreaths of Charleston’s wealthiest citizens. Suzanne was a rare talent.
    “Well, I was hoping to have a word with y’all. Should we step outside for a moment?”
    “Sure,” Suzanne said.
    They stood and followed me to a small unassigned office that served as a private place for conversations not meant to be heard by the patients. It held only an unremarkable desk, three folding chairs, and a box of tissues.
    Before I could sit Carrie spoke.
    “This is really bad news, isn’t it?” she said.
    Carrie Collins had recently buried her husband in Asheville, North Carolina, and was enjoying an extended visit with Suzanne while her late husband’s greedy, hateful children contested his will. And she had become great friends with Kathy while working at Suzanne’s design studio. She’d told me that she