“Nan, we both know what I said and what I believed,” Monica said. “Come on, let’s not play twenty questions.”

“Doctor, you also told me that when you gave them the diagnosis, Michael’s father was so upset, he almost passed out, but that the mother told you that her son was not going to die. She was going to start a crusade of prayer to Sister Catherine, the nun who founded those hospitals for disabled children.”

“Nan, how many people refuse to accept that an illness is terminal? We see it every day at the hospital. They want a second and third opinion. They want more tests. They want to sign up for risky procedures. Sometimes the inevitable is prolonged, but in the end the result is the same.”

Nan’s expression softened as she looked at the slender young woman whose body posture was so clearly showing her fatigue. She knew Monica had been at the hospital during the night, when one of her little patients had a seizure. “Doctor, I know it isn’t my place to badger you, but there are going to be witnesses from the medical staff in Cincinnati to testify that Michael O’Keefe should not have survived. Today he’s absolutely cancer free. I think you have a sacred obligation to verify that you had that conversation with the mother the very minute you warned her that he could not recover, because that was the moment she turned to Sister Catherine for help.”

“Nan, I saw Carlos Garcia this morning. He’s cancer free as well.”

“It’s not the same and you know it. We have the treatment to beat childhood leukemia. We don’t have it for advanced and spreading brain cancer.”

Monica realized two facts. It was useless to argue with Nan, and in her heart she knew Nan was right. “I’ll go,” she said, “but it won’t do that would-be saint any good. Where am I supposed to testify about this?”