Raiders of the Lost Heart(61)

He showered. Made a quick call to the investor. Ate dinner. And followed the group to relax by the fire. Corrie was extra chill that evening. So chill that Ford wondered whether she even remembered the plan. That was, until she sat next to him by the fire and leaned over toward his ear, whispering, “I hope that package arrived, because I’ve got plans for you tonight, Dr. Matthews.”

The hair on the back of his neck stood up straight. Something about the way she called him Dr. Matthews got him every time. He loved it. Loved the way she said his name. Loved that sexy, purring voice she used when they were alone. Even now that they weren’t fighting every day like they used to, she still got his goat. But now, in a good way.

“In my tent, Dr. Mejía,” he responded.

“Good,” she said, leaning back and setting herself at ease. “Let’s hope everyone remembers it’s a Monday night and wants to go to bed early.”

Ethan plunked down next to them, not giving them much hope for an early bedtime.

“This is still weird to me,” he said, taking a drink.

“What’s weird?” Ford asked.

“The two of you getting along. It’s like I don’t know who you are anymore.”

“We’re not getting along,” Corrie responded. “We’re tolerating each other to achieve a mutual goal. Huge difference.”

“Yeah, besides . . . it’s too exhausting fighting with her. She always wins,” Ford said.

She smirked. “That’s right, Dr. Matthews. I always win.”

Oh, not this time, honey. He was winning this one.

“Dr. Matthews,” Sunny said, walking over to them. “You have a call. From some hospital.”

She reached out her arm holding the satellite phone and Ford’s stomach sank. Oh God, no. No . . . please don’t tell me . . .

He stopped himself from thinking the worst, but everything else around him faded to the back of his mind. Winning. The dig. Corrie. Nothing else mattered but his mom. He jumped up from the ground, snagged the phone, and took off for some privacy.

“Hello?” he asked once he’d reached the safety of his tent.

“This is Dr. Lee at Lakeview. Sorry for calling at such a late hour—”

“That’s okay. Is everything all right? Is . . . is my mom okay?” He held his breath, waiting for Dr. Lee’s response.

“Yes, she’s . . . stable . . .” Stable? That didn’t sound like a good thing. “But the transfer from the hospital to Lakeview didn’t go as smoothly as we would have liked. I’d like to start her on the new treatment right away, tomorrow if possible.”

“Okay . . .”

Where was the catch?

“But I wanted to talk to you about some . . . maybe . . . less expensive options we could try first.”

The catch.

“Oh.”

“Your mother explained that insurance has been covering most of her treatments thus far, and she was concerned about the cost of the treatment I’m recommending because it’s . . . well, the out-of-pocket expense will be significantly greater than what you’ve been covering, so she asked that I call you. There are several additional options for treatment, though they’re not as aggressive as the one I originally recommended. But as her doctor, I would be comfortable with any of them at this point. She just wanted to make sure you are okay with the selection.”

His mother wanted to make sure he was okay? As if his checking account mattered more than her health. It was official—he was a terrible son.

Although, in some respects, it didn’t matter if he couldn’t actually pay for the treatment.

“Tell me . . . if the other treatments don’t work, does that mean you’ll eventually recommend the more expensive treatment anyway?” he asked.

“Most likely.”

“And if that happens, then it would end up costing even more money in the end?”

“Sure. It’s a definite possibility.”

“Then do whatever is most likely to make her better.” Making sure she was better, or even simply comfortable, was the only thing he cared about.

“She knew you were going to say that.”

“Well, she could have called me herself, and I would have told her that. I’m sorry to make you call to deliver the same answer she already knew.”

“She said she’d tried to call but hadn’t been able to get ahold of you . . .” A sickening gut punch hit Ford deep in the stomach.

“Can I talk to her now?” To assuage some of his guilt.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Matthews, but that won’t be possible. Your mother is very weak, and the treatments take a lot out of her. I’m surprised she was even awake when she tried calling last Friday, but she said it’s the highlight of her week. The only thing she has to look forward to.”

The phone dropped a half inch from his ear as he clutched it to keep from crying. The only thing she had to look forward to and he’d gone and forgotten after deciding instead to stay late at the dig site. He wasn’t a terrible son. He was a shitty son.

“Well, can you tell her I love her?” he managed to choke out. Barely.

“Of course, Dr. Matthews. And she asked me to tell you the same. I’ll follow up later this week with any updates. Take care, now.”