“What are we looking at here, Doctor?” Kit asked, sending a shiver down my spine. “Six weeks? Six months?” “More than six weeks,” she replied, solemnly. “Six months . . . ? Probably not.” “OK,” Kit said, as he hung his nodding head down. Davis wrapped up the call by telling us that someone from Halstead’s office would be in touch tomorrow morning about getting the brain radiation ball rolling. I clicked off the speakerphone and immediately embraced Kit on the couch. “I’m so sorry, Kit,” I cried. “It’s OK,” he said soberly. “We gave it our best shot.”
