Downfall Read Free Page B

invitations, mostly to charity events. People wanted Mom involved. She was connected; she got things done.
    And what “thing” is she doing for the next two weeks? Because it’s not yoga.
    The cordless phone rang. Diana reached for it, then stopped. Let the machine pick up. Her open hand, reaching for the cordless nestled in its cradle, clenched into a fist.
    Three rings, and the machine clicked on.
    “Ms. Keene? This is Inez with the San Francisco Bay Cancer Center. You had canceled your meetings with Dr. Devendra to discuss your treatment options, and we wanted to see if we could reschedule. You can call me at 555-9896. Thank you.” The message ended.
    Diana sat still as stone. She replayed the message.
    “No,” she said while Inez repeated the words of doom. “No.”
    Cancer. Treatment options.
    Maybe she’d gone some place for treatment. But why lie about it?
    She dialed the phone, trying to stifle the shaking in her hands.
    “San Francisco Bay Cancer Center.”
    “Inez in Dr. Devendra’s office, please.”
    She waited and the chirpy voice came on the line.
    “This is Janice Keene.” Diana closed her eyes, tried to make her voice a shade lower, like Mom’s. “Returning your call.”
    “Okay, Ms. Keene, thanks, your appointment…”
    “Uh, yes, I was going to be in and out of town over the next two weeks…”
    “I think he very much wanted to see you before then, Ms. Keene. I have some cancellations next Monday.”
    Diana felt she might shove her fist into her mouth to stifle the scream.
    “I have 2:00 p.m. available.”
    “Okay.” Get tricky , Diana thought. “Listen, can I bring my daughter with me? I want her to understand what I’m facing.”
    “Of course.”
    “And…” Diana decided to press her luck. “Dr. Devendra told me the technical name of my cancer, but I was forgetful, I didn’t write it down…Can you tell me?”
    “I’m sorry, I can’t. I only make the appointments. E-mail Dr. Devendra if you like.”
    “Yes, of course. Thank you.” Diana clicked off the phone, and then she dropped it to the floor, where it clattered and the battery cover sprung loose and skittered under the table. The grief was sudden, an earthquake to her core. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.
    If her mother was so sick, where had she gone? So sick the doctor didn’t want to wait two weeks to see her. Good Lord, Diana thought, maybe Mom was chewing on apricot seeds in Mexico or had gone to a holistic healer or something else way too alternative when she needed a doctor…
    She started to dial the number for Keene Global, the giant public relations firm her mother had built from nothing. She paused. What was she going to say? I know my mother—I mean, your CEO—has cancer; tell me where she is? She was halfway through keying in the number when she thought, What if Mom hadn’t told the senior management at Keene Global? In trying to help, she might do more damage to Mom’s business relationships.
    She clicked the phone off. The tears came—tears of shuddering grief for the mom she loved beyond all reason. She cried herself out. It took a long while.
    Then she sat up, dried her face. Her mother kept a home office; she hurried down the hallway to it. An old, elegant desk, bookshelves behind. Under the shelves were drawers that disguised file cabinets.
    Diana tried the cabinets. Locked. She couldn’t find a key in the desk. She found a small toolbox beneath the kitchen sink, fished out a screwdriver and a hammer. Every blow of the blunt end into the lock scored and splintered the clean cherrywood.
    The doctor doesn’t want to wait two weeks.
    The lock broke with a satisfying clunk . Diana yanked out the tray, heavy with a neat, tidy rainbow of hanging files.
    She found the papers in a manila file marked MEDICAL . She read the records of the initial visits and the amassed tests. Breast cancer, aggressive. Spreading into lymph nodes, lungs.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked the