Please.”
He sat down. “Your heart valve has gotten worse, Sylvie.”
“How much worse?”
“We need to schedule surgery.”
I loved it and hid from it too.
I gripped my purse. “Can it wait?”
“Sylvie.”
“I’m asking because I have things to arrange, Dr. Evans. I know the risk, and I know my age, so I have to tie my affairs together.”
“I understand,” he said. “But we’re talking weeks here, not months.”
***
In the parking lot, I didn’t start the car. A woman my age walked past with her
