Chapter 10

The large metal gates opened, allowing the black town car entrance into the large estate. The driver pulled in and slowly drove to the entrance of the house. He put the car in park and jumped out, then walked around the back of the car to open the door.

Sylvia sat impatiently in the back seat, waiting for the driver to open her door. When the door opened, she scowled at him.

"If you knew how to read English, we'd have been here at least 30 minutes ago! I swear you people come to this country, most of you illegally, then expect us to understand you." Sylvia stared at the driver as she got out of the car. She frowned and rolled her eyes, made a hmpf, noise and walked into the house.

Once inside, she was greeted by Shannon, her maid. "Welcome home, Mrs. Blass."

Sylvia handed Shannon her purse. "Find out who hired that driver!" she said. "I want him gone."

Shannon nodded her head. Sylvia looked at her. "Did you speak to the cook like I asked you?"

Shannon nodded. ���English is not her first language, Mrs. Blass, but she said she understood.

She's a wonderful cook."

"I'm going upstairs to pack for my trip. I only hired her because of your recommendation, Shannon. If she can't understand English, then honestly, I have no use for her. You speak perfect English," Sylvia said, pursing her lips together and waiting for a response.

Shannon nodded and said, "Yes, Mrs. Blass," then walked out of the room.

The master bedroom was located on the upper level of the large mansion-like home. The room was bright, as the sunlight bounced off the yellow/tan walls. The oversized king bed was draped in white satin lace. A white bed bench was at the end of the bed. The eggshell white curtains were open, allowing for the sun to shine through the large bay windows. On the bed lay several pieces of clothing, a suitcase, her passport, and an itinerary for Naladu Private Island - Maldives.

She walked over to the large walk-in closet and began to go through her clothes. She was happy to be leaving for a few weeks. She needed a break from the magazine and her annoying staff. Plus, Sharon was becoming more difficult.

Shannon entered the room. "Mrs. Blass, Dr. Wilson is downstairs to see you."

Sylvia walked out of the closet. "Here? Now? What the devil does he want?" she said, sounding annoyed. "Have him wait in the study. I'll be down in a moment."

The maid nodded and left the room. Sylvia walked into the bathroom and checked her hair. She thought she looked as young as sixty. She smiled at her reflection and walked out of the bathroom.

She stopped at the study door, cleared her throat, and walked in. "Dr. Wilson. What a surprise. I didn't know you made house calls."

Dr. Wilson stood up. He was a tall man, about 6 feet. His short black hair was graying. "Sylvia," he said, reaching his arms out to her. She took his hand and sat down on the large black overstuffed sofa. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I know you weren't expecting me," said Dr. Wilson.

"I was just packing for the Maldives. The Roberts. You know the Roberts, right? Jackson and Claudia Roberts. Anyway, it's their 40th anniversary in the Maldives. I'm so excited. I really need a vacation."

Dr. Wilson smiled and gently took Sylvia's hand. "Sylvia, I've been your physician for a long time. I looked after you and your mother. So, I wanted to bring this information to you in person." He caressed her hand a little harder.

"Is there something wrong? For Christ's sake, Peter, what is it?" she said, sounding worried.

"I received all the results back from your physical. I ran all the tests twice." He paused for a moment. "You have pancreatic cancer."

Sylvia didn't move. She couldn't move. She felt nauseous. She slowly pulled her hand away from him and sat motionless.

Dr. Wilson's voice was soft but reassuring. "Sylvia, there are treatments we can do, but we need to begin immediately. We need to consult with an oncologist and ��"

Sylvia interrupted him. "What do you mean, treatments? Chemotherapy? So I can lose all my fucking hair?!" She glared at him. "I feel fine, Pete. Your tests must be wrong!"

He took her hand again and gave it a tight squeeze. He then looked at her and said, "Sylvia, the tests aren't wrong. We can beat this, but we need to start treatment immediately. Now, I've made you an appointment with the best oncologist in the state. I called in some favors, and he can see you tomorrow morning."

Sylvia quickly pulled away her hand. "Tomorrow? No, I'm going to the Maldives. I told you. You'll just have to reschedule."

He looked at her in disbelief. "Sylvia, this is your life we're talking about."

She stood up. "Exactly. Peter, it's my life. So, I'm going to do what I want. I will see him the moment I get back. Thank you for coming. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to finish packing. You can show yourself out." She quickly walked to the door and left the room.

By the time Sylvia entered her bedroom, she was nauseous. She ran into the bathroom and leaned over the white porcelain toilet. Her breathing was rapid. She could feel her stomach twisting and grinding. Her stomach muscles contracted. She inhaled, and the contents of her stomach spewed into the toilet bowl. She groaned and leaned back away from the toilet. She slowly inhaled, then exhaled. Tears streamed down her face. Cancer? She thought to herself.

She reached her hands up and grabbed onto the sink, then slowly pulled herself up. She turned on the cold faucet and drank. She looked at herself in the mirror; her makeup was smeared. Her face was wet from the tears. She picked up a bottle of perfume and threw it at the large bathroom room mirror, shattering the glass. She then slowly sat back down on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass. She didn't care. She didn't care about anything at the moment. She was dying. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

The old Ford truck rattled as it pulled up next to the G5 Learjet. The brakes of the old truck squeaked until it came to a complete stop. Stanley Roberts leaned his weight against the door and forcibly pushed it open. He grabbed his bags, jumped out of the truck, slammed the truck door, and walked toward the jet entrance.

He was met by the pilot. "Mr. Roberts, welcome aboard," he said, shaking Stanley's hand. Stanley smiled at the captain. He was a tall man with a muscular build. His green eyes and olive complexion enhanced his chiseled facial features. His thick black hair blew lightly in the breeze. He was casually dressed, wearing a pair of jeans, Nike shoes, and black T-shirt. He swung the large black bag over his shoulder and walked onto the jet, then threw his bag down on an empty seat and sat down.

A flight attendant appeared with a bottled water and bowl of fresh fruit. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Roberts. Here's your water and fresh fruit."

She smiled and put the plate and bottle in front of him. He smiled at her and opened the water.

After a few large gulps, he felt his cell phone buzz. He pulled it out and answered.

"Hello. Chloe, so nice to hear from you," he said.

Chloe cleared her throat. "Mr. Roberts, sorry to bother you so early," she replied.

"It's never a bother," he replied. "I have a list of charities I'd like you to review. I've sent a file to your email. I think they're what you're looking for."

"Great. I'm on my way to my parents' anniversary party, but I'll be back in a few days. Get with my assistant and schedule a time for us to meet."

"Of course," Chloe replied.

Stanley clicked off the phone, pulled out his laptop, and went into his email.

The flight attendant returned with a pile of newspapers and magazines. "Would you care to do any reading, Mr. Roberts?" she said, holding the pile. "You can just set them down," he said.

As he pulled out his headphones and put them on, the flight attendant nodded and walked away. He opened a music app on his phone and selected jazz. The music flooded his ears. He turned his attention back to his email and opened the file Chloe sent him.

Sylvia Blass sat in the first-class section of the large Boeing 357. Her laptop was open, but she wasn't working. She was staring out the small plane window. She watched as they glided through clouds. She turned back to her computer and typed in the words pancreatic cancer treatment. She was overwhelmed with the search results. She scanned the search results and sighed out loud.

Let's not do this now, said the voice in her head. You're headed to the Maldives. You're due for a vacation, Sylvia, the voice continued.

Sylvia nodded her head and closed the laptop, then leaned back into her seat and closed her eyes.

She was awakened by the flight attendant. "Excuse me. Would you care for lunch?"

Sylvia opened eyes and shook her head no. She didn't feel like eating. She pushed the button on the seat to raise herself forward. She opened her laptop and keyed in the words pancreatic cancer treatments. She scanned the search results and saw words like "incurable", "alternative treatment", and "survival". She slowly closed and opened her eyes, then stared at the screen. After several moments, she clicked on "alternative treatments".

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