The year of goodbyes and.., p.12
The Year of Goodbyes and Hellos, page 12
“That’s nice of her.” Chance had gone to church only when his three kids were confirmed in the sixth grade. He never stood in the way of me going or taking the kids. But he drew the line at getting up early on Sunday morning to go himself. He halted in front of his pickup. He dug his keys from his pocket. “I better get back to work.” He turned and faced me. “If you need anything—”
“I know.”
He edged closer until his body provided shade for me. “Would your sister or your church friend be scandalized if I hugged you?”
“Nothing shocks Kristen. And Mona loves everyone—even skeptics like you. Especially skeptics like you.”
“Kristen doesn’t like me.”
“She thinks you’re responsible for our divorce.”
Both of us knew better. Chance had never pushed me to tell her what the final straw had been. He wasn’t that mean. Now he snorted. “She didn’t like me before. No one was good enough for her big sister, but a guy without a college education who worked with his hands? She thinks I married up or you married down.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I laid my head on his broad, sturdy chest and closed my eyes for a second. Peace settled over me. He smelled the same as he always did, like Nautica aftershave and Ivory soap. Clean. Masculine. Solid. “Thanks for coming.”
I hadn’t known I needed him until he showed up. He was famous for that.
His arms tightened around me. “How about I barbecue some steaks at my place next week? Get you out from under Kristen’s thumb for a few hours. Give her and Daniel some alone time.”
Steak was his food group, not mine. “Make it a turkey burger at my place and we’ll talk.”
“I’ll call you.” Chance jogged around the truck and got in. The windows came down. He flashed that wicked grin and winked. “I love it when you talk healthy foods. It makes you so hot.”
Hot, as in desirable. It was hard to feel desirable knowing what was coming for my female body parts, but it was nice to feel wanted, even if our marriage had ended in disaster. I winked back, but he’d wheeled away from the curb, tires squealing.
What just happened? Cancer wasn’t a good reason to reunite with my ex-husband. Kristen would be the first to tell me that. We weren’t getting back together. Maybe we were finally jettisoning old baggage and starting fresh. I felt lighter somehow.
Until cancer spoke up. Nineteen percent of women with stage 4 ovarian cancer survived more than five years.
Bong, bong, bong. The grandfather clock was back.
Twelve
Kristen
I’d underestimated Sherri’s support system. I clutched the beautiful flower arrangement of sunflowers, daisies, purple asters, yellow roses, and white daffodils while ushering my sister’s church friend into the house amid Scout and Dash’s vociferous welcome.
“Hush, you two, hush, back up. This is Mona, Sherri’s friend. Let her get through the door.” I waded past the unrepentant canines, angling for the hallway. “They don’t bite. They love everyone.” Kind of like Sherri’s friend, who took her brotherly and sisterly love very seriously. “Sherri’s taking a walk, but she should be back any minute. Why don’t we go to the kitchen so you can put the food on the island.”
Sherri knew I could handle Mona, whom I’d met a few times, in small doses. Her God’s-got-this philosophy tended to get under my oncologist skin. I’d watched too many patients who prayed their socks off, only to wither and die because the available drugs couldn’t eradicate their disease. Why did God save some patients and not others? Why not save Mom? Answer me that, Mona, and maybe I’ll consider returning to church.
Smiling that beatific smile of the blessedly saved, Mona nodded. She was a pretty, plump woman with chubby cheeks and dimples that probably resulted in her getting her face pinched by well-meaning adults when she was a kid. “I love puppies. I have three of my own. And two cats.”
Mona rose several notches in my estimation. I hustled into the kitchen without tripping over the dogs, who insisted on escorting us. Her huarache sandals clacking on the floor, Mona followed close behind, despite lugging a small cooler, a foil-covered casserole dish on top of the cooler, a canvas bag, and an oversized leather purse with a manila envelope sticking out from the top.
I settled the arrangement on the breakfast nook table, stifled the urge to peek at the envelope to see who’d sent it, and turned to help her with her burden. “It was so nice of you to bring a meal all the way from Kerrville. It really wasn’t necessary. My husband loves to cook and I—”
“No worries, seriously. We always do meals for our members who are in treatment, have surgery, or are experiencing other kinds of medical challenges. It’s what we do.” Mona settled the cooler on the island, along with the canvas bag and her purse. She pulled the manila envelope out and set it aside. “I’ll just put the lasagna in the refrigerator.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she kept going, giving me instructions for heating the lasagna while she unloaded from the cooler a salad, dressing packets, and a cherry cheesecake. A loaf of French bread came from the canvas bag. “Sherri can give me a call when you finish the lasagna. I’ll pick up the casserole dish. No rush.”
A sixty-mile trip each way from San Antonio to Kerrville and back. “That’s incredibly kind of you. I’m sure Sherri will want to deliver it the next time she comes up to Kerrville for something she needs.”
“We’re family. Sherri’s church family. That’s what we do.” Mona grabbed a napkin and dabbed at a tomato sauce stain on her pink Got Jesus? T-shirt. “I’m sure your church family does the same.”
That last sentence wasn’t entirely declarative. It held a question. I had a church family, didn’t I? The last time I’d been to church was for Brielle’s confirmation in the church Daniel attended with his family. He’d made sure both girls attended growing up. My attendance had been sporadic at best. “I’ll see what’s holding up Sherri.”
Pausing only long enough to shoo the dogs out the back patio door, I double-timed it back to the front door. Sherri stood on the sidewalk, watching Chance drive away. She had a curious look of longing on her face. “Sherri, you have company.”
“Coming.”
After one last look at Chance’s Ram disappearing down the street, she turned and trotted up to the door. “Where’s Mona?”
“In the kitchen. Planning how to best save me.”
“All the more reason you should’ve stayed with her.”
“Hardy-har-har.”
Sherri ducked past me. I followed her. In the kitchen she folded Mona into a hug that involved much back patting and lasted an eternity. Finally, they broke apart. Mona outlined the meal she’d brought. Sherri expressed her appreciation much better than I did.
I turned to leave them alone.
“Don’t go, Kristen. The class sent something else for Sherri, but in a very big way, it’s intended for you too.”
I paused. I could use all the help I could get. So could Sherri. These were kind, well-intentioned folks with an established pipeline to the Big Guy. Prayer might not always help, but it certainly never hurt. I slipped into a chair and waited.
Mona pulled a blanket covered with red and pink hearts from the canvas bag. She held it out to Sherri. “This is a gift from the class. We’ve heard it’s often cold in the treatment facilities.”
Did her class think Sherri and I would share the blanket? The image of us in a tug-of-war over it in the infusion room flitted across my mind.
Sherri folded the gift against her chest. She lifted it to her face and rubbed her cheek. “It’s so soft. Thank you so much. I’ll be back to class soon, but tell them I said thank you, please.”
“I will. On Sunday we passed it around the class and prayed over it. We prayed for miraculous healing, if that’s God’s will. We prayed for your doctors and nurses and staff at the clinic, for a treatment plan that works, for peace, comfort, and God’s presence throughout your treatment.” Her tone earnest, expression solemn, Mona’s gaze traveled to me and back to Sherri. “We prayed for your family because we know that they received your cancer diagnosis too. All of them, but especially you, Kristen, are going through it with Sherri.”
“Thank you so much. I so appreciate those prayers.” Sherri’s voice quivered. More hugging ensued. “Y’all are the best. I don’t know how anybody gets through these trials without faith.”
People had all sorts of ways for dealing with it. Some positive. Some not. Mindfulness was a big deal these days. With yoga. Support groups. Therapy. Special diets and heavy-duty exercise. Acupuncture and herbal medicines.
“We prayed, Kristen, for your endurance, strength, and perseverance, for peace and comfort.” Mona eased away from the hug. Sherri turned to face me, but she kept one hand on Mona’s arm. “With what you two went through with your mother, we know it’s even harder than it might be for others.”
They knew about Mom? An unreasonable anger reared its fierce head. “You know she died, right? Even though I prayed and prayed and prayed, she died.”
Even if Mom hadn’t made sure we went to church as often as she was able—when she wasn’t working on Sunday or the old clunker with a hundred thousand miles on it didn’t break down. Then Sherri started working in fast food with Sunday shifts. Still, I clung to the idea that prayer could save Mom like a kid clinging to a piece of driftwood in a tsunami.
Sherri stepped toward me, her back to Mona, and held out the blanket. “Feel this. It’s a comfy fleece. Isn’t it nice? Isn’t it wonderful that they’re praying for us?”
Her tone was sweet, but her scowl told me to hold my tongue. I swallowed the angry accusations, sharp as scalpels, and dutifully ran my hand over it. “Soft. Very nice. And I do appreciate the prayers.”
I wanted to believe they would make a difference for Sherri. That she would be one of the patients God deigned worthy of His healing power. He was the Great Physician. Why He saved some and not others remained the sticking point. Explain me that one, Sherri. Why did Mrs. Cranston in apartment 3B down the hall survive her pancreatic cancer, but Mom died from her breast cancer? We prayed just as hard as her daughters did.
As an oncologist, I knew all the scientific reasons why patients’ cancer responded differently to treatments. The problem was prayer was supposed to overcome all those obstacles, and God could fell cancer with His mighty right hand. Simple as that.
So why didn’t He do it for Mom? Would He do it for Sherri? I couldn’t count on it. No one could.
Not now, Sherri’s expression said. Not now.
“Don’t you want to see who sent you the flowers?” My bland tone was perfect despite the deep gouges inflected on my throat by those knives. “It’s a gorgeous arrangement.”
The two women swiveled to stare at the clear glass vase filled with a spring bouquet as if they were noticing it for the first time. Sherri wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and went to the island. A second later she opened the small, white envelope. “I knew it.” Grinning, she waved the card and sniffed the flowers. “Mmm. They’re from my teacher friends at school. They’re such a great bunch.”
Sherri rarely had a negative word to say about her school or her colleagues. Another reason I tended to think of her job as idyllic. Not a disgruntled teacher among them.
“That was nice of them. You’ll have to tell them the flower shop did a really nice job.” I stood. “I need to get back to my office. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
“Wait. You have to see what Shawna and Nikki sent with me.” Mona picked up the manila envelope and waved it around. “I stopped for them on my way out of town.”
These were two of the other kindergarten teachers at Sherri’s school. “Of course.”
Sherri opened the large manila envelope and turned it upside down. A landslide of homemade cards covered with childish crayon drawings cascaded on the island. “Oh my goodness.” Her eyes bright with tears, she dropped the envelope. “Aww, my students made these.”
“They certainly did.” Mona preened as if she personally had overseen this project. “Aren’t they precious?”
They certainly were. Crayoned wishes that Mrs. Reynolds feel better. Drawings of her smiling face on a stick body. Purple, pink, and red flowers on yellow construction paper. “I have an old bulletin board of Brielle’s. We can hang it in your room so you can display them.”
“They’ll cheer me up every time I read them.” A tear teetered, then trailed down Sherri’s cheek. “I already miss them. Every year I think I have the best, cutest kids ever, and every year the new bunch outdoes them.”
Even after thirty-plus years as a teacher, my sister still adored her job. She never considered moving up to principal or an administrative job. She loved her students too much. “They’re lucky to have a teacher who cares so much.”
Sherri sniffed and grabbed a paper napkin from the holder on the island. She wiped her nose. “Thanks for bringing these over, Mona. I so appreciate it.”
“Anything I can do to help.” Mona hugged Sherri once again. “Call me anytime, night or day. And don’t forget to log on to Zoom for class on Sunday morning. They’re still streaming the church service at eleven live, so you won’t miss a thing.”
One of the few pluses of the post-pandemic world. Churches had embraced online worship. Not that I had partaken.
“It’s not the same, but it’s better than nothing.” Sherri swiped at her nose and blotted her cheeks again. “You better get on the road. You’ll want to get home in time to have supper with your hubby.”
I slipped from the room while Mona raved over the Crock-Pot her husband had given her for her birthday. Supper would be ready and waiting when she arrived home.
Mona had done her duty as a middle school English teacher for twenty-plus years. No wonder she clung to her faith. It was the only way anyone survived those years—especially with twenty-five at a time in her classroom six times a day.
“Kristen.”
I paused once again in the doorway and glanced back.
Mona smiled at me. “Just know our prayers aren’t one and done. We’re still praying and we’ll keep praying. Count on it.”
“Thank you.”
I meant it. Now my voice quivered like that fourteen-year-old girl when she cried out to God to save her mother. I wanted to believe. Otherwise, Sherri’s recovery rested on an imperfect medical science that had only a slim chance of saving her. But I’d prayed before and it had made no difference whatsoever.
I fled.
Thirteen
Sherri
“I’m a grown woman. I pay my own way.”
Kristen scowled at me. I scowled back. The infusion room nurse who’d introduced herself as Melanie hunched her shoulders as if ready to duck and run for cover. This conversation had started as soon as we left the Texas Cancer Care Clinic financial counselor’s office and continued while we waited to be called in to the infusion room. We were sisters. We knew how to wring every drop of drama from an argument.
“I know that. I’m just saying Daniel and I would be happy to help out. As a loan, if you can’t see your way to accepting a gift.”
If the thought of my first chemo treatment didn’t make me nauseated, the payment plan I’d just signed had done the trick. The school district’s insurance was decent, but I hadn’t made a dent in my annual out-of-pocket deductible, even with all the scans. I was sure my mouth dropped open and stayed there when the counselor showed me my treatment plan’s cost. This didn’t include the surgery and hospital bills coming in three months. The counselor helped me apply for a rebate for the Avastin. That helped. The rest she broke into payments. I considered myself thrifty. I now needed to get even thriftier.
“I have savings. My car is paid for. My only debt is the house. You’ve got two kids in college. Can you say the same?”
Kristen dropped my enormous chemo care bag on the visitor chair next to the first open recliner in the infusion room. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Let’s move on.”
“Yes, let’s. Go to your office. See patients. I don’t need babysitting.”
“I’m not babysitting you. I’m keeping you company. Most patients bring a friend or family member. It’s not a sign of weakness.”
This argument would be harder to win. I sat. She didn’t get that I didn’t want an audience for this cancer “rite of passage.” The first treatment. The coffee I’d drank at breakfast sloshed in my stomach. I hadn’t even started the treatment and I already felt nauseous.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Kris dealt with this all the time. But not with her sister as the patient. She needed reassurance. I could at least do that for her in exchange for all she was doing for me. “I’m fine, sis. Sit down. Relax. Take a load off. It’s just chemo. We’ll pretend I’m getting a new hairdo, mani, and pedi.”
She groaned. “You had to go there. If I said that, you’d be all over me.”
The new hairdo was coming any day, thanks to the Taxol. I’d dutifully read the chemo education stuff as directed before signing the form acknowledging that I knew my care was palliative, not curative. That I knew the treatment would not cure my cancer, only prolong my life, if it worked. I’d read Dr. Pasternak’s patient treatment plan that described my condition as “guarded.”
Highly treatable, my foot.
I understood my long-term prognosis. Making me sign what essentially was a liability form to that effect was like driving a dozen eighteen-wheelers filled with salt into a wound the size of Texas.
My phone dinged. A text from Noelle.
Good luck today. Thinking positive thoughts. Max & Gracie send kisses. Followed by a long line of emojis.
She’d attached a video of the kids blowing kisses and shouting, “Love you, Gramma!”
Thanks. Love y’all too. Give them kisses and hugs for me.
