Hope, Levy, Marc [good summer reads TXT] 📗

all, if this is what she wants . . . I’m talking about the cryotherapy, here. As for the rest, I have no idea what you boys get up to in your lab, and I’d rather keep it that way. So what exactly could I say no to?”

“So we’re agreed?” Josh’s eyes shone bright. “We can do it?”

“Let me give you a word of advice. Don’t waste time asking questions you already know the answer to.”

Flinch turned to Luke, as if he had suddenly become more interesting than Josh.

“As for the question of the tumor potentially being impacted by the electric waves, I’ve never heard of this happening with EEGs. I’ll find a way of asking a very good neurologist friend of mine tomorrow. I’d prefer to keep this quiet from Dr. Berger. Now,” Flinch continued, “I must ask you not to make a habit of these roadside meetings. Not that I don’t enjoy spending time with you; it’s just that if we continue like this, I’ll start smoking again—I can feel it.”

He tossed his cigarette down on the road and ushered them toward the car.

The daily sessions began.

As soon as the last person left the Center, Josh took Luke’s car and drove to pick Hope up from the loft.

At the lab, she would sit in a pull-back chair taken from the break room. Luke would adjust the headset, and the recordings would run all night long. Often, Hope fell asleep, and Luke would record her dreams. The thought crept into Luke’s mind that, once Hope was gone, it would be Josh back in the chair, and he desperately hoped that moment would come as late as possible.

At the end of the month, Hope refused to attend her checkup scan despite Josh’s nagging. The electricity was doing her good, she said. She even thought her migraines might be lessening. Luke watched on as her tumor grew, its form spreading week by week, as parts of Hope’s brain fell dark on the screen, like city lights being turned off, neighborhood by neighborhood, night after night. But instead of telling Josh, he kept this terrible secret to himself.

Sometimes, Hope was so weak, she couldn’t move. Other nights, she lost her balance. On those evenings, it seemed to her that the entire loft was like a ship, swaying on the sea. She would latch on to the nearest piece of furniture; she would kneel to the ground and wait for the storm to pass, hoping for a lifeboat.

She got the gift of two glorious weeks’ respite that coincided with unseasonably warm weather. Her interest in both tidying and eating returned. She had lost a lot of weight recently, and when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she decided something needed to be done.

She bought three cookbooks from the Sunday flea market. As far as she could remember, her mother had never cooked. It was never too late to correct a genetic flaw.

The first dinners she served were a disaster. The next few were a little more edible, and then finally one night, Josh asked for seconds.

Hope said no. After everything she had heard about his flair in the kitchen, she intended to keep the last serving for Luke.

The next weekend the weather was lovely, and so she invited Luke and Kasuko to a picnic and spent the morning cooking. An olive loaf, a vegetable terrine, a succulent quiche, a colorful salad, with a quince tart for dessert.

To help her along, she treated herself to a Nigella Lawson cookbook, which was just perfect for the season. Her concoctions hit the spot and far exceeded her hopes.

In the sleepy hour that followed lunch, Luke dropped a question that made them all sit upright.

“Hope, after your cryotherapy, do you want some kind of religious rite?”

Kasuko sent him a swift kick to the shin, while Josh glared at him. If looks could kill, Luke would have been dead meat. Hope glanced around at her friends and burst out laughing.

“Subtlety is definitely not your middle name, Luke. But you know what? It’s a good question. I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Call me insensitive, but I know Josh won’t be able to make that kind of decision. So it would be up to your dad.”

“You’re right.” Hope nodded. “And there’s no way I want that happening. Especially since Amelia might talk him into something. I think we should all go together to a funeral, before my therapy. Ever since my mom’s funeral, I’ve avoided churches. I don’t even know what a church funeral feels like anymore, except in the movies.”

“I think that sounds sick,” Josh protested.

“Death is sick. Okay, how about a baptism?” Hope brightened.

“No. And anyway, you can’t just rock up to a stranger’s baptism.”

“I’m not sure about that. We could explain it all to the priest. I could tell him about my spiritual doubts, and who knows, he could get a new client on his books. It would be a win-win situation!”

“I don’t think priests are as cynical as you are.”

“Then let’s go to a mass! You don’t need an invitation. And I promise, we won’t say a word to the priest. That’d be better, actually. The priest will be thrilled to have some people in his congregation. Oh, come on,” Hope laughed. “Don’t look like that. Where’s your sense of humor? So, are we all agreed, then? A good old mass, next Sunday? And then we can go for pizza.”

Josh agreed and shot Luke a look. His friend just shrugged. He hadn’t done anything wrong, after all.

That night, Hope felt sick, and she couldn’t go anywhere near the kitchen. The ceiling had seemed to be swaying since they got home, and the sea storm wasn’t subsiding.

She went to sit in the armchair near the window, opening it a crack and forcing herself to breathe slowly, determined not to give in to the panic that