Chapter 5: The Port

He took the steps three at a time.

I saw his shoes land beside my face.

Then he was on his knees on the cold stone, in his good suit, with one hand under my head.

"Don't move. Coll, look at me. Don't move."

His voice had changed.

It wasn't the ballroom voice anymore.

It was quick and flat and certain.

"How long was she out?"

"A second," Louise said. "Maybe two. She's been coughing blood since Tuesday."

"Since Tuesday," he repeated.

He pressed two fingers to the inside of my wrist and looked at his watch.

His hand was warm.

I had forgotten his hands were always warm.

"I'm fine," I said.

It came out as a whisper.

"You're not fine."

He loosened Louise's scarf from my neck to help me breathe.

Then he went still.

His eyes were on my collarbone.

On the little raised bump under the skin on the right side, and the thin scar across it.

I knew what he was looking at.

He was a cancer surgeon.

He had put dozens of those ports into people.

He touched the edge of it with one finger, very lightly.

"Coll," he said. "What is this?"

I turned my face away.

The doorman was on the phone with 911.

People had come out of the hotel to watch.

Somebody had a camera flash going.

"Cliff!"

Sabrina came down the steps holding her green dress up off the stone.

"Cliff, the Dean's waiting for you. They're about to do the toast."

He didn't look up.

"Then they'll toast without me."

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