A Wedding in Warragurra by Fiona Lowe

Author:Fiona Lowe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE hospital lift opened at the second floor and Kate stepped out, immediately turning left. The antiseptic smell mixing with the aromas of the evening meal met her at the ward door and instantly took her back four years to when she had worked here.

She walked to ward 7E and knocked as she pushed the door half-open. ‘Brenda, it’s Kate.’

A tired voice answered. ‘Come in, Kate.’

It had been two months since Brenda had gone to Sydney for surgery. Kate quietly closed the door behind her and sat down in the chair next to the bed. ‘I heard you were in for a visit so I thought I’d pop in and say hi.’

Brenda gave a weary smile. ‘That’s kind of you, Kate. Visiting sick people after a day of working with them isn’t exactly R & R for you.’

Kate gave Brenda’s hand a gentle squeeze and caught sight of a bright red turban hanging on one hook of the IV stand. The chemotherapy cocktail of drugs hung on the other. ‘How’s the chemo going?’

‘Fine. This is my third cycle and boy, those three weeks between treatments fly past.’ She gave a resigned sigh. ‘I’m halfway—three down and three to go. The first was the worst because I had no idea what to expect, but now I know about the nausea. As long as I take the antiemetics at the right time I can keep it under control.’

She ran her hand over her head. ‘And I haven’t got any hair left to lose so that’s one less thing to worry about. You have no idea how much time I save in the mornings now I don’t have to dry it.’ Her dry humour radiated through the words.

Kate tried to smile as sadness settled in her belly. Brenda’s no-nonsense approach to life extended to battling a really tough illness. Stage-two cancer was no walk in the park. ‘Are you eating enough? You’re looking pretty thin.’

Brenda nestled back onto a bank of pillows. ‘I eat when I feel like eating. The hospital food isn’t always what I want.’

‘Can I get you something or make you something you’d enjoy? I make a terrific rice soup and I could whip up a batch tonight for you.’ Cooking was the least she could do to help, and she wished she’d thought of it sooner.

‘That’s kind but—’

A knock sounded on the door. ‘Ta-dah! Your take-away order has arrived.’ Baden walked into the room, clutching two plastic food containers.

A flush of warmth spread through Kate at his thoughtful gesture. She finished Brenda’s sentence for her. ‘But Baden has already cooked for you, I see.’

He grinned as he put the food down. ‘I wish. But although my chicken soup is good, there’s nothing like Walter Wong’s chicken and sweetcorn wonton soup for feeding body and soul.’ He produced a wide, flat Chinese spoon. ‘Eat it while it’s hot, Brenda.’

Anticipated delight played across the sick woman’s face. ‘It smells so good. Thanks for thinking of me, Baden. Des usually brings it in but he had to go home and feed the stock.

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