This was an obstacle she’d been expecting, and the last thing Rachel wanted to do was take another deep dive into the tumultuous, rotten core that seemed to be at the center of Life Fulfilled.
“Surely there are records somewhere, right?” Rachel asked. “Anything with general remarks about the client’s emotional stability or overall attitude?”
“There may be,” the woman said, “but I’d need to make a call or two if that’s the sort of thing you’re looking for.”
It wasn’t the answer Rachel was hoping for, but it was better than nothing. As long as she didn’t have to actually meet with any doctors or therapists, she’d be fine. If she absolutely had to, she supposed she could reach back out to Wes Dalton.
“That would be great for now,” Rachel asked.
“And you know, there’s a client here right now,” the receptionist said. “He just came in a few minutes before you did. His name is Nick Nelson and he’s sitting in the first room on the right. He’s a little early for his nine thirty appointment. But he does that sometimes…comes in early to see if he can help out around here.”
“Help?”
“Yes. He will sometimes help me file paperwork away—all things that don’t have patient information on them, of course. He’s swept, cleaned the windows, things like that.” She chuckled and said, “So, now that I think about it, he may be the best person for you to speak with.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said.
She left the desk and headed down the short hallway. The door to the first room on the right was partially opened, but she knocked anyway.
“Yes?” a man’s voice said from inside.
Rachel stepped in and found herself in a room that looked like the perfect mix of an office and a laidback lounge. All of the furniture was plump and colorful. The lighting was very low and almost sensual in a strange way. It was beyond relaxing, the sort of atmosphere that instantly put Rachel at ease.
And this was a good thing. The plan she had in place was to lie about her identity and maybe be a bit too honest about her current condition. So she’d be lying to a sick and potentially dying person while opening up a wound in herself that she was not yet comfortable with.
“Are you Nick Nelson?” she asked.
“I am,” he said with a smile. “And you are?”
Nick Nelson was a good-looking man, maybe a bit older than forty. He was dressed in a collared shirt and a pair of nice, dark jeans. His dark hair was well-combed and held in place with a bit of product.
“My name is Abby Granger. I was thinking of trying to get on the waiting list. But I had some questions. I was hoping to talk to some clients before I pulled that trigger, you know?”
The first lie had been simple. Of course, if Nick Nelson and the receptionist ever spoke, her ruse would be broken. But by the time that ever happened, she’d be out of the building so she really didn’t let it bother her.
“Oh, you poor thing,” Nick said. “Do you mind if I ask what’s wrong?”
“A tumor,” she said with a sigh. “And it’s in an area that makes it pretty much fatal to even try to remove it.”
She felt stunned for a moment. It seemed to be getting easier to tell people, but telling the news to a complete stranger felt odd. It made her feel strangely vulnerable.
“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is. I’m looking into an experimental treatment that I won’t be able to afford, hence my visit here. Can I ask why you’re here?”
“Colon cancer. From the way it’s been explained to me, I have a few good weeks left before I’ll start really falling apart. I’ve done some chemo had it’s helped but…damn, do I hate chemo.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Rachel said. “The lady up front said you sometimes come in early to help out around the place. Paperwork, janitorial stuff, things like that.”
“Yeah, I do. I mean, they’re a non-profit and they’re doing so much for me. Helped me with some bills a few months back, providing rides to the hospital when I can’t drive, that sort of thing. So I figure I should help them in any small way I can.”
“Do you mind if I ask how long you’ve been with them?”
“Well, I cleared the waiting list a little over three months ago. I was on the waiting list for about six weeks. From what I hear, it’s getting pretty long, so I guess I was lucky.”
“Have you enjoyed working with the doctors and therapists?”
He considered this question for a moment and eventually nodded. “Yeah, I guess. It’s weird because I feel bad for them…they’re working so hard to make things comfortable for people they know are very likely going to die. It makes me…I don’t know. It’s why I do my best to help. Not only the people and offices of Life Fulfilled, but the other clients and the ones that are waiting. I mean, I know what that stress of hanging out on the waiting list is like. So whatever I can do to help, even in an unofficial capacity, I’m happy to do it.”