The Year of Goodbyes and Hellos, page 24
The rest of the story. Knowing what others were suffering through helped put my puny symptoms in perspective. “Poor guy.”
Jana accessed my port, we went through the usual drill of name and date of birth, and then the tick-tick of the infusion pump started.
“We’re doing the steroids first, then the anti-nausea meds. That’ll take about thirty minutes.” Jana studied something on the infusion pump, smoothed the tubing, and stepped back. “Then the study drug. That will take about ninety minutes, so it’ll be about two hours, then the EKG, blood draw, and vitals. Two hours and fifteen minutes, give or take. Is someone picking you up?”
“My sister will be here in a little bit. She wants to hang out.”
“If you need anything, just wave me down.”
She had three other patients, one with a container of at least eight or nine blood draw tubes waiting to be filled. Clinical trials were labor-intensive for the nurses. I didn’t envy the physical and emotional investment they made in each patient. So similar to Kristen’s.
Speaking of which. Kristen trotted down the hallway past the water and coffee station toward the infusion room. She was loaded down with Chick-fil-A bags and two drinks. Her face was flushed, but she was smiling. Not something she did much these days.
I cleared one of the small flat “tables” attached to the arm of my recliner. “Why so chipper?”
“Your grilled chicken sandwich, waffle fries, and tea, madame.” Her grin widened. She pulled up a chair and took the other “table” for her usual—a breaded chicken sandwich with pickles, fries, and a Diet Dr Pepper.
She smelled of cigarette smoke.
“So much for quitting.”
“Quitting?” She gave me her best quizzical look. “I’ll never give up DP.”
“You smell like cigarettes.”
“Sorry. It was a crazy morning. Exciting, but crazy.”
Not crazy like mine. There’s crazy, and then there’s crazy. “Exciting? What happened? Did the practice manager decide to move on?”
“No. The board finally made a decision. That position I told you about is mine. I’m the clinic’s liaison between our research arm and this clinical trial clinic. Texas Cancer Care Clinic is beefing up its research budget, and I’m going to be a part of that.”
She spit all that out so fast she was breathless.
“Wow. That does sound exciting.” I unwrapped my sandwich. The scent of grilled chicken permeated the air. I opened a ketchup packet for my fries, using the time to measure my words. “Will you cut back on your patient load then?”
“Oh no. We’re revamping my schedule so I can be here at this clinic for meetings every Friday morning. I’ll do more televisits. I can do those late afternoon, early evening.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
She doctored her fries with ketchup. “What?”
“What happened to marriage counseling and making your relationship with Daniel a priority?”
“Don’t you get it? It’s my chance to not just treat patients like you with existing regimens that eventually stop working. It’s a chance to help develop drugs with fewer side effects and greater efficacy. To save lives.”
“I understand—”
“There you are, Kristen.” Dr. Capstone trotted across the room. He never strolled. He always did double-time as if there weren’t enough minutes in an hour. In his business there weren’t. He’d started this clinic and then added ones in Austin and Dallas. Now his dark-brown eyes beamed. “I heard you were in the house. I just got off the phone with the powers that be. It sounds like we’re in business.”
Kristen wiped her hands on a napkin and stood. “I’ll be right back, sis. I just want to confirm a few details with Richard.”
“Sure. No problem.”
This was my sister’s life. Trying to balance the drive to change something that couldn’t be changed—our mother’s death—no matter the cost to herself or those around her. This was her choice. I couldn’t stand in her way any more than Daniel could.
“Your sister’s an oncologist?”
The snorer next to me was awake.
“She is.”
“Lucky you.”
Lucky me. Not so lucky for Daniel.
Twenty-nine
Kristen
My turn to set the table with wedding dishes, silverware, and silver candleholders. This time the taper candles were orange, the tablecloth golden brown. No, it wasn’t a romantic dinner for two, but it might be just as important. I surveyed the place settings: a design of fall leaves and apples on the place mats; burnt orange and earthy brown cloth napkins in wicker ring holders; and a woven cornucopia basket filled with gourds, squash, and small pumpkins as the centerpiece.
The aroma of turkey roasting floated into the dining room. The kids didn’t know how lucky they were that Sherri knew how to cook a turkey. And make cornbread dressing—Daniel’s favorite—gravy, and homemade cranberry sauce. Guilt pinched my arm hard. With the steroids and low blood cell counts came insomnia and fatigue. I’d fought against putting her to work in the kitchen, but she insisted. I did all the chopping and mashing and basting. We agreed to cut a few corners—pumpkin and pecan pies from Bill Miller and brown-and-serve rolls. Sherri liked to bake but didn’t have the stamina for it anymore. I sucked at it.
Everything had to be perfect. Not only were the girls coming, they were bringing their boyfriends. Following tradition, I’d convinced them to come over in time to watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. We would eat around one o’clock, in plenty of time to cheer on the Cowboys in a game against their divisional rivals the New York Giants later in the afternoon.
The agenda was set.
“You’ll need one more place setting.”
I turned to face Sherri, who stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. The trial drug didn’t cause alopecia. It might only be cosmetic, but the hair curling around her ears was good for her morale. Her CA-125 was down, still not in the normal range but down. The last CT scan indicated no progression. The lymph nodes hadn’t shrunk either. But we still called it a win and celebrated with Whataburgers.
Her face was pasty white and puffy against her maroon blouse and black slacks. She’d gained several pounds—not a bad thing. Despite food tasting like cardboard and never-ending nausea, she had a raging appetite brought on by the steroids.
I whirled and counted again. “Daniel, you, me, Maddie, Brielle, their boyfriends. That’s seven.”
“And Dad. You forgot Dad.”
I advanced on her. “I can’t forget something I didn’t know. Since when is Dad coming?”
“Since I arranged for VIA Trans to pick him up, bring him, and return him later this evening.”
“You knew I wouldn’t do it, and Daniel won’t do it without my blessing.”
“I would’ve popped over there myself, but I knew you were stressing about the cooking.”
“You should’ve asked me.”
“I can’t have my kids and grandkids here. Chance is visiting his parents in Fort Myers. Dad’s all the family we have left. Humor me.”
She didn’t blatantly play the cancer card, but she came close. Her kids would come. They’d want to spend as much time with her as possible, if they truly knew how dire her situation was. But she refused to tell them. Her woebegone expression, complete with lower lip extended, said all that and more. I went to the hutch and collected the items to set another place.
“Thank you, sister of mine.”
“You’re welcome.” I managed not to sound like a sore loser. “He sits by you.”
“No problemo.”
With any luck the girls would arrive first. They seemed enchanted with their newfound grandfather. So where were they? I already had the TV on. The preparade gabfest had started. NBC’s Savannah Guthrie and Hoda Kotb bantered like crazy. They would run out of small talk before the first marching band hit the parade route.
The doorbell rang. Dash and Scout dashed toward the hallway, while Cleo slunk toward the bedroom.
“Here we go.” I put my hand close to my mouth, blew, and sniffed. Did I smell like cigarettes? No, the Shalimar—Daniel’s favorite—I’d spritzed on my wrist after a long shower and careful application of my makeup was still just right. I smoothed my damp palms over my black slacks and checked to make sure I hadn’t dripped grease on my blue blouse. I’d changed my clothes four times. We normally wore sweats and football jerseys, but today I needed to knock some socks off. It felt like they were company coming for a visit. The boyfriends were company. I’d never met either one.
“Are you going to get that?”
“I think I’m having a moment.” I bent over and put my hands on my thighs. “I may hyperventilate.”
“Do what Dr. Capstone tells me to do. Think happy thoughts.” Did Sherri see Mom’s face in the mirror? She had that same ethereal skin as Mom did. “Remember how blessed you are to have your girls and your husband here, even under these circumstances. I’ll check on the turkey. Go let our guests in.”
I did exactly that. It took several minutes with the dogs barking and everyone talking at once, but eventually we sorted it all out. Maddie’s boyfriend was a premed student named Josh. Psychology and medicine would go well together.
Brielle’s boyfriend, Chad, was majoring in Middle Eastern studies. He spoke Farsi and Arabic. He wanted to be in the Foreign Service or a UN translator. An interesting choice for Brielle, who was studying early childhood education. She’d wanted to be an elementary school teacher for as long as I could remember.
Daniel mostly directed his salutations to the dogs, who nearly knocked him over in enthusiastic delight at his return. He knelt and embraced them both. His head was down, hiding his expression.
Hugs for both girls, handshakes with the boys. Nodding, Daniel sidestepped any direct contact with me.
Somehow I managed to herd them into the grand room—or maybe Dash and Scout did the herding. I’d set out cheese and cracker trays, chips and dip, and pickle rollups. “Don’t eat too much. Turkey and all the trimmings are served at one o’clock sharp.”
“I can’t wait.” Brielle wore a gorgeous cardigan set in a soft burgundy. No sweats for her either. “I skipped Grandpa’s chocolate chip waffles this morning so I’d have room for everything.”
“And I have a hollow leg.” Josh patted his flat belly. The boy—young man, really—could’ve walked out of a modeling catalogue. Tall, but not too tall. Blond. Paul Newman bedroom eyes, perfect teeth. And smart. Premed students had to be. “As a poor premed student, I stuff my face anytime home-cooked food is on the table.”
“It smells wonderful. I’ve been smelling that aroma in my dreams for the last week.” Maddie shook off a purple jacket, revealing a maroon dress belted at the waist with a full skirt. With her matching lip gloss and curves, she was a throwback to the movie stars of the fifties. A throwback to her grandmother. “Did you make the cranberry sauce from scratch, the way I like it?”
“Absolutely. Grandma Angela’s recipe all the way.” Including the two cups of sugar. Daniel could never know the truth about one of his favorite holiday dishes. “We also made your dad’s favorite cornbread dressing.”
Daniel picked up the remote. He turned up the sound. “The parade’s about to start, guys. They have some new balloons this year.”
I bit my lower lip to keep accusatory words from bursting forth. If he intended to ignore me all day, why come?
For the girls, of course.
“Where’s Aunt Sherri?” Her expression sympathetic, Maddie squeezed my arm as she brushed past me. “I want to give her a hug.”
I tugged her back. “Let’s stick to air hugs. Her counts are low. We’re practicing social distancing today.”
“Should we even be here?” Brielle scooped up her coat. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“I’m fine, girls. No need to freak out.” Sherri strode into the room exuding energy. She’d changed into cherry-red slacks and a crisp white blouse. She wore a cute flowered hairband that showed off her curls. She’d even done up her face with enough makeup to mask her pallor. “Ignore your mother. She’s a worrywart. Bring on the hugs. They’re the best medicine you can’t buy.”
More introductions. Hugs all around. Sherri even hugged Daniel. He hugged her back. My concerns duly noted and discarded. Sherri grilled the boys on their intentions with her nieces. Soon they were laughing over the anecdotes she pulled from a store of memories from our childhood that I mostly didn’t remember. Then she segued into stories about the girls when they were little. They always involved both Daniel and me as a team united against two wily little terrors.
Daniel’s gaze skittered away. He knew what she was doing. So did I. “I better put the rolls in the oven.”
“I’ll do it.” Sherri jumped up. “Take my seat.”
On the love seat. Next to Daniel. “You’ve been cooking all morning. Take a rest.”
“I feel great, sis. Sit, sit.” She dashed away like a track star on steroids.
This was what I wanted, right? Our family together on one of our favorite holidays. Food, family, and football. I sat. Daniel squirmed away. I placed my hand, fingers splayed, on the space between us. “I don’t have cooties, I promise.”
“It’s not cooties that worry me.”
Maddie and Brielle made a big production of pointing out their favorite balloons to the boys. I leaned closer. “Isn’t it nice to have us all here together under one roof?”
“On Saturday, Maddie and Brielle go back to Austin.” He leaned away from me. “I’m not living here by myself—or with just my sister-in-law—again.”
“I’ll be home more during the holidays. Especially since . . .” My voice cracked. I swallowed a sudden, hard knot of tears. This could be Sherri’s last Christmas. I almost said it aloud. This was not permitted. Negative thinking did no good whatsoever. “It’ll be fun to have everyone together for Christmas.”
His expression softened. “Do you think Sherri’s kids will come home?”
“I hope so.” The words sounded more fervent than I’d intended. “It would be nice.”
“It would.” He glanced toward the girls, then back at me. “You’ll be taking some time off then?”
Daniel had an uncanny ability to read my mind. I grabbed a toothpick and stabbed a hunk of honeydew melon. I nibbled. When I was sure my voice would cooperate, I shook my head. “I’ll be off the week of Christmas, of course, but until then it’s full steam ahead. You remember the research position I told you about? The board confirmed my appointment—”
“I should’ve known.” Shaking his head, Daniel snorted. “Not even your sister dying—”
How dare he? Couldn’t he see? This was a way of finding the new treatments women like Sherri needed in order to survive ovarian cancer. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare say that.”
The girls’ chatter with their boyfriends ceased. The banal give-and-take of the parade commentators droned on. Brielle and Maddie both shot us searing scowls. I forced a smile. “Sorry, we were just debating whether the Cowboys will make it to the playoffs this season.”
And if they believed that, I had some oceanfront property in Arizona I wanted to sell them.
“No one in their right mind would bet on the Cowboys this year.” Josh rolled his eyes and shrugged. “It’s a building year.”
A Cowboys fan. Maddie had done well.
The doorbell rang. Never had a diversion been more welcomed. “I’ll get that.”
Daniel’s frown could’ve fried an egg.
More deep-breathing exercises. I shooed the dogs back and opened the door. Dad bowed with a courtly air that matched his gray suit and tie. He’d gone all out. His effort had the desired effect. He was trying so hard. “Come in, Dad. Daniel and the girls are in the great room.”
“What a funny name for a living room. Fancy.” He pushed his walker, outfitted with green tennis balls on the front legs, past me. “Did you get it from one of those DIY shows they have on the Magnolia Network?”
“You watch home-renovation shows?”
“The old broads at the center are always talking about them while they play bridge and pinochle. Like they can do something fancy with their little apartments.”
“Daniel’s an architect, as you know. He designed this house. He decides what the rooms are called.”
“He seems like a nice guy. You did good.”
If I used Dad as a yardstick, any guy with a pulse who stuck around would be top-of-the-line. I swallowed the thought. Too bad I’d never acquired a taste for alcohol. This would be a good time for a shot of whiskey. “Everybody’s watching the parade. The girls will be excited to see you.”
“You always watch TV on holidays? I could’ve stayed home and done that.”
I ignored the question. His walker thumped against the floor. I slowed my steps to match his lift-and-set pattern. He wore cyclist’s gloves. A discordant accessory. “Why the gloves?”
“I lean too hard on the walker.” His tone was rueful. “My palms hurt. I’m getting calluses. My physical therapist recommended them.”
The sympathy that welled up in me couldn’t be denied. It had to be hard for a former athlete who prided himself on his physicality to adjust to being unable to hide his infirmity. So-called able-bodied people saw the walker before they saw the person. Walker equaled old age. Walker equaled disabled. And a society that worshipped at the feet of youth and perfection pitied people with disabilities. “Are you doing all your exercises?”
“Every day. I’d be walking with a cane now if my physical therapist wasn’t such a pessimist.”
He thumped faster as if to prove his point.
“You’ll get there.”
I showed him into the “fancy” room and fled to the kitchen. Her face flushed from the oven’s heat, Sherri lifted the turkey from the oven and set the pan on top of the stove. “It’s done. I’ll move it to the platter so we can get at the drippings and start the gravy. Can you cover it with foil?”
