The Year of Goodbyes and Hellos, page 27
“No. Call tomorrow morning. ASAP. You don’t want to wait around.”
“It’s not that bad—”
“Any new symptoms should be reported immediately.”
“Okay, okay.” She leaned back against the couch. Cleo rose, stretched, then slipped onto Sherri’s lap, where she curled up and closed her eyes. Cleopatra, Queen of Cats. What a life of leisure.
Focusing on the specific symptom allowed me to push away a feeling of impending doom. Like I was about to fail an exam or lose a race. She was right. The symptoms didn’t bode well. So this drug didn’t work. There were other trials. Other drugs. She had options. Standard of care. This was one of those times when being an oncologist and family of a patient was a double-edged sword. I knew too much to hop on the “you can beat this” bandwagon. I also knew enough to be comforted knowing new treatments were in the pipeline. Keeping patients—Sherri—alive until they were made available to them was crucial.
“That’s enough scrapbooking for tonight.” I told Alexa to stop the music. She complied without argument. “Which movie do you want to watch first?”
The stack of DVDs included Elf, The Santa Clause, Miracle on 34th Street, A Christmas Story, Home Alone, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, The Holiday, Jack Frost, It’s a Wonderful Life, and A Christmas Carol. The collection had grown each year as the girls grew and their tastes changed. Some of the old standbys were still around, such as A Charlie Brown Christmas and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, but I couldn’t bear to place them on the stack tonight. Not when I was decorating without them.
Sherri crawled up on the couch and tugged the crocheted blanket down from its back. “You pick.”
“The Holiday it is.”
“I knew you’d pick that one.”
“You did not.” Neither of us was a traditionalist when it came to Christmas movies. We tended toward the rom-coms in all things. “You thought I’d choose Jack Frost.”
“Uh-uh. You still have a crush on Jude Law.”
“He has aged well, don’t you think?”
“Better than we have.”
We giggled like adolescent preteens. I started the movie and climbed under the blanket with her. It was like climbing into a time machine and traveling to when we were kids. When Mom popped the popcorn and Sherri made cocoa from scratch. I was in charge of the movies we rented from Blockbuster.
“Let’s stay up all night watching movies like we did when we were in high school.”
“Works for me.” I tugged the blanket over my knees. “Stop hogging.”
Sherri pulled the popcorn closer. “Stop hogging the corn. We need Milk Duds and Sour Patch Kids and Skittles.”
“I have a stash of M&Ms in my office. I’ll get them and sodas in a while. Now hush, the movie’s starting.”
It was just like high school. Perfect in that moment when all the outside forces couldn’t penetrate the fort we’d built just for the two of us.
Just this one night.
Thirty-two
Daniel
The rap on the door sounded like a gunshot in the silence. I jumped and spilled my coffee on my shirt. It dripped on my keyboard. “Dang it.” I took two strides to reach the tiny kitchenette counter for napkins. Another rap. “Coming.” I sopped up the coffee, dropped the napkin in the trash can, and strode—again two strides—to the door. I peered through the peephole.
Pilar.
I backed away and quickly scanned the room. The hotel maid had come and gone earlier. She’d taken care of my empty take-out cartons and overflowing trash can. The room might be pitiful as a full-time residence, but there was nothing blatantly embarrassing in sight. I opened the door. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She tossed her keys from one hand to the other and craned her head to scan the room behind me. “I hope it’s all right I stopped by without calling first.”
“Sure. Come on in.” I stepped aside and caught a whiff of patchouli as she passed me. A lot nicer than the cleansers the maid used. “Have you recovered from the horseback riding lesson?”
She wrinkled her nose and rubbed her backside. “I’m still sore, but I thought I did pretty well for a city girl.”
She had. Even though she’d professed to being absolutely petrified for the first half hour. Gradually, she’d relaxed enough to try a canter. “Are you here to sign up for another lesson?”
“Maybe next year.” Her tone said or maybe not. She glanced around the room. Two chairs, one full of books. A third chair at a small desk. A bed. Not a lot of choices for sitting. She remained standing. “Actually, I decided since you introduced me to something you did growing up that I should return the favor.”
Something in her impish grin told me this was about getting even. I slid the books to the floor and offered her a seat. She shook her head. “No time to waste. Come on, don’t you want to know what I have planned for us today?”
“Today?”
“I know I should’ve called, but that would’ve given you the chance to think of an excuse.”
So she was planning something she knew I wouldn’t jump at. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s on today’s agenda?”
“Ice skating. I love ice skating. We used to go to different city parks in Chicago to skate all the time growing up. They were mostly free if you owned your own skates, which we did.”
“Which I’m sure was fun, but there’s no place to ice skate in San Antonio.” Thankfully. “It’s sixty-two degrees out today, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, but there is a place.” She grinned like a kid about to lick an ice cream cone. “Don’t you read the newspaper or watch the news? The Rotary Club got a bunch of sponsors and created an ice rink at Travis Park for the holidays.”
“I see.” I did. I saw myself falling on my behind in front of this graceful woman—repeatedly. I’d never even been good at rollerblading as a kid. “I don’t know. I brought home a lot of work. Besides, I don’t have skates.”
Home. Talk about a slip of the lip. Like this tiny beige room with beige curtains and mass-produced abstract art on the walls, with its minifridge and microwave passing as a kitchenette, was home.
“Nobody owns ice skates here.” She waved away my objection with one hand. “So they rent them. Convenient, huh?”
“Like I said, I brought home a lot of work—”
“Excuses, excuses. You’re a big chicken.”
“What are you, twelve? I’m immune to the double-dog-dare peer-pressure tactics.”
“Come on. It’ll be fun. I’ll teach you. Just like you taught me to ride a horse.” She flapped her arms like wings and bawked like a chicken. “Bawk, bawk, bawk.”
So maybe I wasn’t immune to peer pressure. Thirty minutes later we were downtown, donning ice skates with at least a hundred other people—mostly excited kids wearing stocking caps and Christmas-themed T-shirts. I had to admit the Rotary Club had created something magical at this historic old park. People screamed with laughter. It was . . . Christmassy.
Caught up in the moment, I laced up my skates and headed onto the ice, leaving my qualms behind. Pilar tied her hair back in a red ribbon. She wore black skinny jeans and a red Rudolph sweatshirt. I had the prettiest partner on the ice.
She grinned at me. “I told you it would be fun.”
“It is.” I lost my balance and landed on my rear end before the two syllables were completed. The ice was hard and unforgiving. “Ouch.”
A bunch of kids whizzed by, laughing. At least they didn’t point and snicker.
Pilar didn’t laugh, but it was obvious she was stifling an explosive chuckle. She extended her hand and pulled me to my feet. “Bend at the knees and keep your arms out in front of you.” She demonstrated. “If you feel like you’re going to fall, put your hands on your knees. That’ll stop your momentum.”
I followed her lead. A few more tries and I had an awkward skate, skate, glide, flap-my-arms-to-keep-my-balance routine going. “Hey, I’m skating.”
“You are indeed.” Pilar skated around me and then did a fancy twist and twirl. “I knew you could.”
It was fun. As the day flowed into evening, hundreds of twinkly white lights lit up in the gathering dusk. Strains of “White Christmas” floated in the air courtesy of a jazz trio. A local restaurant sold hot chocolate, tea, and coffee, along with pan dulce and churros.
For the first time this year, the Christmas spirit caught up with me. Pilar tucked her arm in mine and we circled the rink together. We stopped near the edge. She snapped a few selfies of us.
“You’re a natural.” Her face glowing with the cool air and exertion, she tucked her phone away and repositioned her arm inside mine. “Admit it. You’re enjoying this more than horseback riding.”
“Sure, I like it, but nothing is better than horseback—”
“Mr. Tremaine! I thought that was you. Hi.”
I turned at the sound of a familiar voice. It took a minute to place it. Shay McCullough. Kristen’s medical assistant. She skated to a neat stop in front of us, along with her little boy. Brian? Billy? Bryson. That was it. Bryson. “Hi, Shay.”
“It’s been such a long time. Merry Christmas! You remember my son, Bryson?”
“I do. I do. He’s a foot taller. He favors you, doesn’t he?”
“He does. We’re here with Tasha. You know, Dr. Tremaine’s PA, and her kids.”
Shay glanced from me to Pilar, her expression expectant. Curious. My mind froze as hard as the ice under our feet. The pause grew awkward. Pilar stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Pilar Lozano. Daniel and I work together.”
“Nice to meet you.” Understanding flitted across Shay’s face. She shook Pilar’s hand. Her cheeks, already pink from skating, turned red. “Well, we better get moving. Our tickets expire in fifteen minutes, and Bryson is determined to do as many loop-de-loops as possible.”
“It was nice to meet you, Shay. And you, too, Bryson.” Pilar waved as they skated away. “Happy holidays.”
I heaved a breath. My legs were frozen under me. Move, move. Finally, I managed to skate toward the exit.
“Daniel. Daniel! Wait.” Pilar followed me off the ice to the first open bench. I plopped down on it and went to work unlacing my skates. She settled next to me. “Daniel, what’s going on?”
She touched my hands to still them. I studied her fingers. Long, slim, nails painted mauve. No rings. Classy like the rest of her. I couldn’t for the life of me speak.
“Okay, I’ll go first.” She removed her hand and sat back. “You’re embarrassed and worried that your wife’s coworker saw you on a date with me. She’ll tell Kristen and you’re worried how she’ll react. Or maybe you think it’s a good thing. Maybe you think she’ll finally wake up and realize you have other options and get her act together. Is that it?”
Shaken by her accusatory tone, I straightened. “No, no. I wouldn’t use you like that.”
“I should hope not.” She broke eye contact. Her gaze shifted to the rink, where skaters zoomed by, laughing, breathless, happy. “You can’t use me as a substitute for your wife and then run and hide when someone you know sees us together. I don’t deserve that.”
“No, you don’t. I’m not running or hiding.”
“Then what are you doing?”
I tugged the skates off and set them aside. Giving myself time to organize my thoughts. They milled about in total chaos. I pulled on my Nikes and tied them. Now that the sun had sunk behind the tall downtown buildings, the air was cold. I shivered. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I thought we could have something. I enjoy talking shop with you. I enjoy having interests in common. I thought having a partner who shared my interests would be so great. I could envision us visiting historical architectural sites in Europe and Greece. And designing and building beautiful edifices together.”
“As friends or as more?”
“I thought . . . I wanted it to be more.”
“But?”
“The fact is, you don’t get to pick who you fall in love with. Sometimes you don’t have much in common with a person except a love that simply refuses to relinquish its hold on you.”
“I know.” She patted my back. It was such a kindly gesture. Pilar was a kind woman. “I know. I wish I’d met you before you married her. I would’ve given her a run for the money.”
“And my life would’ve been very different. I just want you to know, I never meant to hurt you. You’ve been through so much with your divorce—”
“No worries. I think I’ve always known you were already spoken for. It’s just taken longer for you to figure it out.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Come on. I’ll drive you home.”
Home. Back to the dismal Econo Lodge room. Sitting on a park bench with a friend and colleague watching families skate seemed so much more appealing. “At least let me buy you a hot cocoa and a churro for all your trouble.”
“You’re not afraid we’ll run into someone else you know?” Pilar smiled wryly. “Apparently your wife’s PA is around here somewhere.”
“If we do, I promise to do better.”
“You mean you’ll actually introduce me instead of dying of embarrassment and turning into an ice sculpture before our very eyes?”
“I’m sorry.”
She took my hand in her warm one and squeezed. “Me too,” she whispered. “Me too.”
Thirty-three
Sherri
Joy to me. Joy to the world, true, but at that brilliant, shiny moment in time in my brother-in-law’s church, I selfishly took all the joy for me. I would share it with Jesus later. With Max on my hip, I raised the candle high in unison with a packed sanctuary of Christmas Eve worshippers. Ignoring an annoying shortness of breath, I sang the familiar words with gusto. Max jabbered his version of the hymn’s lyrics. Noelle put her arm around me. I glanced down the pew. Noelle, Gracie, Zach, Chance, Jason, Cody, Cais, Xander, Lucas, Daniel, Maddie, Brielle, Dad, and Kristen. Daniel’s family crowded the two rows in front of us.
For one night, all drama had been set aside. Or maybe it was for the one-hour service. I caught Kristen’s gaze. She lifted her candle higher. That she deigned to sit next to Dad—that she’d come to the service at all—spoke of her willingness to try. What better night to mend old wounds than the celebration of our Savior’s birth?
No drama would be allowed to taint my joy tonight. My children and grandchildren—minus Jason’s sweet Chloe, who was in Dallas with her mother—were here together with me. Celebrating Christmas with me. Thank You, Jesus. The joy was so exquisite, so intense, it almost hurt. I had to squint at the soaring stained glass window with its dove rising above the flames behind the pastor’s pulpit. Its brilliant, joyful colors blinded me.
The song ended. Candles were extinguished. The pastor’s benediction urged us to go forth and spread the joy of Jesus Christ in the world. Again selfish to the bone, I simply wanted to spread it in my own family for just this one season.
“You’re so beautiful. Your cheeks are rosy. You’ve put on some weight.” Her baby bump preceding her by a foot, Noelle took Gracie’s hand and followed me into the aisle. “You’re glowing. I’m so thankful the trial drug is working.”
Bong, bong, bong. That infernal grandfather clock started up again. Noelle didn’t need to know the rosy cheeks were the result of steroids. Or my suspicions that the drug wasn’t doing its job reinforced by the growing ache in my lower back that even hydrocodone didn’t entirely eliminate or the low-grade nausea that took away my appetite. The steroids were responsible for my face’s round, full look. “Thank you, honey. It’s the sheer happiness at having all three of my kids and most of my grandkids together for Christmas.”
“Open presents?” Max clapped in delight at his own idea. “Now.”
Noelle laughed. “Not until tomorrow—”
“After Santa comes.” Gracie tugged at Max’s tiny boat shoe bought for this dress-up occasion. “We have to go home and go to sleep so Santa can come.”
“Presents.”
“We’ll open one present.” I kissed his chubby cheek with a flourish. “We have to put out the cookies and milk for Santa.”
“Cookies. Want cookies.” Max was all about sweets. Noelle had caught him helping himself to the peppermint candy cane cookies she and Chance made the previous day. Along with gingerbread men, sugar cookies that we’d all decorated, and Chance’s special cinnamon-flavored peanut brittle. Max did his puppy dog eyes thing. “Granmol, baby eat cookies.”
“You’re not a baby.” Gracie rolled her blue eyes in her best big-sister style. “You’re three.”
“Tree.” Max held up the requisite number of fingers. “Tree. Me baby.”
Max likely would need speech therapy in the future. I hugged him close. His solid little boy body was warm. He smelled of cherry yogurt and Teddy Grahams he’d eaten during the service. “Definitely cookies. And hot chocolate. Right, Mommy?”
Noelle nodded, but she mock scowled at me. Grandmas were allowed to spoil kids while mommies had to wrestle them into bed despite sugar overloads. “Yes, but like Gracie said, you have to go to bed soon or Santa won’t be able to come.”
We joined a steady stream of worshippers out the double doors, through the narthex, and into the parking lot. Stopping every few feet to exchange pleasantries with members of Daniel’s church, who exclaimed over how cute the kids were and welcomed us to their service. South Texas hospitality at its best.
Mother Nature had given us the gift of a cold, clear, starry night with a brisk north wind. South Texas so often failed to provide us with the necessary winter weather. Balmy December nights could make it hard for some to get into the Christmas spirit. We’d grilled plenty of fajitas on Christmas Eve over the years. This year I was so full of Christmas spirit, my eyeballs were floating in it.
Back at the house, Noelle, Cais, Jason, Cody, and Zach insisted on taking over kitchen duties. In lieu of a big sit-down feast, we’d decided on a smorgasbord of goodies on which we could graze throughout the evening. Chips and queso, tamales, a fruit tray, jalapeño poppers, veggies and dip, beanie-weenies, charcuterie boards filled with crackers, cheeses, pickles, and deli meats. Spinach dip and crackers. Mexican five-layer dip and chips.
