Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas by James Patterson Page B

Beantown, anyway.
While I was in Boston, I would get my own physical. It was also a chance to catch up with friends, maybe do a little window shopping on Newbury Street, eat at Harvard Gardens, and, best of all, show you off, Nicky Mouse.
We took the ferry over to Woods Hole and hit Route 3 by nine in the morning. This was our first adventure off the island. Nicholas's Trip to the Big City!
Your appointment was first. The children's office looked exactly as it always had. Highlights,crayons, and blocks lay everywhere. A black clock cat moved its tail and eyes back and forth to the time. You were fixated on it.
Other babies were crying and fidgety, but you sat there as quiet as a little mouse, checking out these new surroundings.
“Nicholas Harrison,” the receptionist finally called.
It was funny to hear your name announced so officially by a complete stranger. I almost expected you to answer, “Present.”
It was good to see my old buddy Dan Anderson, and he couldn't believe how big you were already. He said he saw a lot of me in you, and of course that thrilled me. But in fairness I had to show him pictures of Daddy, too.
“You seem so happy, Suzanne,” Dan said as he measured, tapped, and tuned you up, Nicky.
“I am, Dan. Never been happier. It's great.”
“Leaving the big city did you a world of good. And just look at this future quarterback you've got here.”
I beamed. “He is the best little boy on this earth. Like you've never heard that before. Right?”
“Not from you, Suzanne.” He handed you back over to me. “It's wonderful seeing you again, Mother Bedford. And as far as this one goes, he's the poster child for good health.”
Of course, I already knew that.
Now it was my turn.
I sat at the edge of the examining-room table, already dressed, waiting for my doctor, Dr. “Philadelphia” Phil Berman, to come back in. Phil had been my doctor in Boston and had kept in touch with the specialist on Martha's Vineyard. They complemented each other nicely.
The physical had taken a little longer than usual. One of the nurses outside was watching over you, but I was anxious for a hug and also to hit the road back to the Vineyard. That's when Phil came in and asked me to step into his office.
We were old friends, so we exchanged small talk for a minute or two. Then Phil got down to business.
“Your stress test doesn't look too good to me, Suzanne. I noticed a few irregularities on your EKG. I took the liberty of calling downstairs to Dr. Davis. I know Gail was your cardiologist when you were here as a patient. She has your records from the island. She's going to squeeze you in today.”
“Wait a minute, Phil,” I said. I was stunned. This had to be wrong. I was feeling fine--great, actually. I was in the best shape of my life. “That can't be right. Are you sure?”
“I know your history, and I would be remiss in not insisting that Gail Davis take a look. Hey, Suzanne, you're here already. Martha's Vineyard is a long way off. Just do it. It won't take long. We'll keep Nicholas here until you're done. Our pleasure.”
And then Phil continued, his tone changing ever so slightly, “Suzanne, you and I have known each other for a long time. I just want you to take care of whatever this might be. It could be absolutely nothing, but I want a second opinion. You'd give the same advice to any of your own patients.”
It felt like déjà vu, walking through the halls, heading to Gail Davis's office. Dear God, please don't let this happen again. Not now. Oh please, God. Everything in my life is so good.
I entered the waiting room as if I were walking in a misty fog in a bad dream. I couldn't focus or think.
The ominous mantra that kept repeating loudly in my brain was Tell me this isn't happening.
A nurse walked right up to me. Actually, I knew her from the hospital visits after my heart attack. “Suzanne, you can come with me now.”
I followed her like a prisoner about to be executed.
Tell me this isn't