Page 66 of A Change of Location
“Day after tomorrow, most likely. I doubt she’ll want to travel immediately after her procedure. I’ll let you know. Thanks, Mum.”
***
Two days later, Hannah’s Subaru station wagon joined the mass migration from Cambridge to Boston. She threaded her way to Back Bay and Copley Place, and eased the car into an open space close to the front entrance of one of the city’s most historic and luxurious hotels. She hopped out to tell the doorman which guest she was meeting, and he signaled to a uniformed porter in the lobby.
Watching the wheeled cart roll along the red carpet, she saw a single hard-sided suitcase and three pieces of soft luggage.
A lot for just one person, Hannah realized, with a frisson of alarm.
“The lady and gentleman are on their way,” the porter informed her.
Gentleman...
Isobel exited first, her pace slow and deliberate. Martin followed.
Hannah dropped her keys and leaned down to pick them up.
“You changed your hair,” Isobel said. “It’s very becoming.”
“Shorter for summer,” Hannah responded. “And job interviews,” she added, glancing at Martin.
“He won’t be coming with me,” his mother said.
“I most certainly am,” he stated.
“Darling, we agreed—”
“There was no agreement. You’re not haring off to the wilds of Maine by yourself after the ordeal you’ve just been through.”
“I’ll be with Hannah. And her parents.”
“And I’ll stay at a hotel.”
“No, you won’t,” Hannah heard herself say. “Our house has only four bedrooms, not twenty like Stanwell does, but that’s exactly enough. I’ll phone Mum now so she can prepare one for you. She’ll be delighted.”
While he helped his mother into the front seat, she stepped into the shade of the awning to make her call. What a strange homecoming it would be. Having Isobel for a houseguest could’ve helped her cope better with the usual stressful situation. Martin’s presence imposed a completely different kind of stress.
Waiting at an intersection for a red light to change, she asked her silent passengers, “Did everything turn out all right yesterday?”
“We won’t know,” Martin said, “until the doctor reviews the lab reports.”
“Is there a reason the tests weren’t done in London?”
Isobel replied, “My specialist there advised me to consult the hematologist in charge of my prior treatment. Has Martin told you about my disorder?”
“I did not.”
Hannah’s gaze wavered from the stoplight to her rearview mirror. He’d put on a pair of sunglasses and faced the window. She saw only a portion of his brown head.
“I had a blood cancer with a silly name: hairy cell leukemia. It was in remission for many years, but HCL has a high rate of recurrence. When the blood draw ordered by my La Rochelle physician indicated a spike in my white cell count, he sent me to my London doctor. She got an identical result and submitted her report to the Boston specialist who treated me a decade ago. Back then I was prescribed a course of chemotherapy. I’ll either have another, or doses of interferon. Or a bone marrow transplant.”
“I’m really sorry you’re going through this again.”
“Since my initial diagnosis, I’ve led quite a productive life. With advancements in treatment, I expect to continue it.”
Hannah waited until after merging onto the interstate highway to ask Martin whether Poppy had found a home for Jewel.
“Detaching her from Stanwell was impossible. Popster is taking her to agility class while I’m away.”
