Kitabı oku: «Abide With Me», sayfa 2

Chapter Two

A ndrea sat in her parked car outside of the urologist’s office under the shade of a swamp maple tree large enough to cast a shadow that covered her entire station wagon. Her purse was at her side on the passenger seat. Her bottle of iced tea was in the cup holder. Her mind was focused on prayer.

Head bowed, she took small, measured breaths and kept her hands loosely steepled as they lay on her lap. Just the word cancer had the power to send shivers down her spine and arouse all the memories of her loved ones and their suffering she had stored in her mind, casting images of pain and suffering that made her heart beat so fast she grew dizzy.

Keeping this ten o’clock appointment to hear the particulars about her cancer recurrence would have kept her paralyzed in her seat if not for the power of prayer and the presence of the angels who had been sent to protect her from her own fears.

“According to Thy will, with the blessing of Your grace,” she murmured. She believed in God, and in His protection. She believed in the power of prayer. She believed. And with that belief came a gentle peace that washed over her, calmed her racing heartbeat and gave her the strength to make it from her car and into the doctor’s office with more dignity that she thought she might be able to muster today.

She entered the office and immediately cast aside the memory of her last visit when she had had a checkup at the other office Dr. Newton shared with several partners closer to the hospital. During the cystoscopic examination that day, more commonly referred to as a cysto, the doctor had discovered and removed several small growths in Andrea’s bladder and sent them for biopsy. The visit itself had become a blur, but the clinical setting Andrea remembered in the examining room did little to assuage her unease today, despite the fact that she would be keeping all of her appointments here, in the doctor’s office, which was closer to Welleswood.

The second blessing of the day came when the receptionist quickly ushered Andrea directly into the doctor’s office. No forms to sign. No referrals to submit. No waiting. Just a gracious welcome and immediate escort to a private office with a comfortable upholstered visitor’s chair facing a window that provided a spectacular view of an outdoor garden.

The doctor’s desk itself looked like no desk that Andrea had ever seen in a medical office. It didn’t hold files or a telephone or a computer screen. Instead, this small antique lady’s desk cradled treasured family pictures and trinkets and a vase of wildflowers. A door next to the desk led outside to the garden, which, Andrea guessed, was the source of the flowers in the doctor’s office.

With assurances that the doctor would be in momentarily, the receptionist left, closing the door. Through the window, Andrea could see the private garden was protected on all sides by a tall fence, bordered by lush hedges and flowerbeds bursting with riotous color. Elegant wrought-iron benches faced the open center of the garden, where Andrea glimpsed some sort of tiled patio. She noticed a number of low garden lamps and imagined how beautiful the garden must look at night. No matter the hour, the doctor would always have a private haven at her fingertips.

Andrea was half tempted to step outside, to enjoy the sweet fragrances of the flowers, when Dr. Newton suddenly appeared in the garden door, cradling an oversize calico cat in her arms. “Why don’t we talk outside? I’m afraid to bring Muffin inside the office. Too many patients are allergic, though I didn’t note that on your records.”

Startled, Andrea followed Dr. Newton outside. They sat together on one of the benches. Dr. Newton settled the cat on her lap and stroked the calico’s head, and another cat, a small, dark tiger cat, wove in and out of Andrea’s legs. The doctor chuckled. “I hope you like cats.”

Andrea leaned down and picked up the tiger cat. Already purring, the cat curled up on Andrea’s lap. “As a matter of fact, I have a few of my own. Three actually,” she murmured, grateful for this added blessing to the day.

“I thought you might be a cat person.”

“Only recently,” Andrea admitted. “I wanted a little companionship. With my schedule, having a dog was out of the question. But cats are easier to manage, especially when you get several from the same litter. My brother-in-law is a sales rep for a pet-food company so I get most of what I need for the cats from him. Cats are more independent, too.”

“Independent? Like you?” the doctor remarked with an raised brow. “Most of my patients prefer to spend the night in the hospital after surgery.”

Thinking of last year’s surgery, Andrea’s blushed. “You said it could be same-day surgery.”

“I also said you might want to consider spending the night,” the doctor reminded her. “The tumor was a little more expansive than I originally thought.”

“My sister Jenny is a nurse. She was able to help,” Andrea countered, hoping the doctor would also remember how well Andrea’s post-op checkup had gone and how well she had continued to be in the months afterward. “She will again. Provided I need help.” She took a deep breath, but she did not stop petting the cat on her lap. “How much help…that is, I’m not quite sure what to expect from the treatments,” she murmured.

Then she corrected herself. “No, that’s not true. I’ve lost four family members to cancer, and I know what to expect from the chemotherapy. The nausea. The fatigue. The loss of appetite, as well as my hair…” She stopped before her voice broke.

“What type of cancer?” the doctor asked gently.

“Breast. Bone. Stomach. Liver. Brain. Take your pick,” Andrea said quietly. “We’re an equal-opportunity host family. Unfortunately, we’re not an equal-opportunity surviving kind of family.”

Dr. Newton shook her head. “Not all cancers are alike. And not all chemotherapy treatment is the same, either, Andrea. In fact, your chemotherapy will be very different from what you’ve experienced with your family before. Based on the biopsy results and the early stage of your cancer, despite the fact that this is a recurrence, the standard chemotherapy treatment involves coming to my office here to have the drugs injected directly into your bladder via a catheter—with minimal preparation on your part, I should add. After two or three hours at home, you simply void the drugs out of your bladder. You won’t get nauseous and you won’t lose much of your appetite, if any. You probably will experience some fatigue as the treatments progress, but you will definitely not lose your hair, although you might be tempted to continue to keep it very short. Many of the patients complain that their hair gets very coarse and somewhat unmanageable. Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to start to color your hair, though.”

Andrea knew that her skepticism was etched in every feature of her face, but she couldn’t help it, any more than she could stop herself from reaching up and touching her salt and pepper hair. “That’s it?”

Dr. Newton chuckled. “Well, let’s not pretend this isn’t serious or life threatening. It can be, Andrea. But in your case, yes, that’s it. Chemotherapy will be once a week for six weeks, then once a month for nine additional months. We’ll monitor your progress very carefully to make sure the chemotherapy is effective and doing its job.”

Andrea blinked several times, anxious to hold on to this good news just a little longer before this blessing disappeared almost as quickly as it had been given. “There’s bad news, too, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Dr. Newton said. “You’ll have to be monitored for the rest of your life. Eventually, that means I’ll only see you once a year. Eventually. But the bad news is that you’re going to be my patient, or someone’s patient, for life. As long as you come for your checkups, the odds are that there’s no reason to believe you’ll have a recurrence or at least one we can’t handle, just like this one.”

Effective chemotherapy. Recurrence. Odds.

Andrea had heard those words before—from Daddy, Kathleen, Mother and then Sandra. All of them had lost their battles. Eventually, each had failed to beat the odds. Each had had chemotherapy that ultimately proved ineffective.

Would Andrea follow this dreadful family tradition, or would she begin a new one called survivor?

If she should survive and beat cancer, why? Why her? Why not Daddy or Kathleen or Mother or Sandra? Why?

She shivered and blinked back tears as she whispered silent prayers for courage. She could beat cancer. She could be a survivor. With His grace. According to His will.

“When…when will we start the chemotherapy?”

“That depends,” the doctor murmured. “Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”

Andrea stiffened. “Today? Just some iced tea earlier. About seven.”

“Then let’s start today. While Nancy gets the chemotherapy ready, I can explain precisely how it’s done. I can also give you a key to the garden. There’s an outer door you can use when you want to come to visit. That’s why the garden is here. For my patients. Feel free to use it anytime.” She checked her watch. “It’s ten-thirty now. By eleven, you can be home. By one-thirty or two o’clock, you can be back at work. Unless you have an appointment between now and then?”

“No. I cleared my schedule until four. I—I wasn’t sure how long I would be here. Today? Are you sure we have to start today?” she gushed as panic sent her heartbeat into double time. The prospect of being able to start chemotherapy today did appeal to her, but she hadn’t talked to her children or her sisters yet, to tell them about her treatments, nor had she prepared herself for beginning her journey toward recovery today. “What about…the referral for the insurance company? I didn’t bring one today. Maybe—”

“We’ll take care of that.”

“Oh. Then…you’re sure? You’re sure we should start today?”

“Why not? Let’s make today your first day toward full and complete recovery.” The doctor stood up and set the calico cat down on the ground. Within a heartbeat, the tiger cat leaped off of Andrea’s lap and scooted away.

The doctor held out her hand. “Shall we?”

By noon, Andrea had been home for half an hour. Her cell phone had been turned off, the machine was answering her home telephone was on, and she’d set the alarm clock, in case she fell asleep. She was lying on her tummy in her bed, watching the clock on her nightstand. “Time to roll, girls,” she murmured to her three cats, who were all in bed with her. Each treatment required that she spend half an hour in four different positions, to ensure the inside of her bladder was coated and treated with the chemo drugs.

It wasn’t a terrible way to spend a few hours, although resting was not something Andrea often made time to do for herself.

Unfortunately, none of the three sister cats made any attempt to move, and Andrea rolled onto her left side as gently as she could. Two of the cats rearranged themselves along the back of her legs, while Redd, the smallest, curled up next to Andrea’s cheek. Normally loving cats, yet independent, the “girls,” as Andrea called them, seemed to have an intuitive sense that something was different. From the moment she’d returned home from her first treatment, the cats had stayed close, as if they knew that she needed them next to her. It was yet another blessing in a very odd day.

Andrea looked around the bedroom, glancing up at the white border covered with ivy that she’d stenciled near the ceiling, after she’d painted the walls a very dark green. Every time she was in the room, she felt as though she had stepped deep into a forest where she felt safe and protected from the outside world. She smiled when her gaze rested on the pictures of her two children. Rachel, her first-born after several miscarriages, was now thirty, and looked so much like her father, she kept his image alive. Unfortunately, she had her mother’s stubborn streak and drive. A successful engineer, Rachel lived in Boston with her husband and their two daughters. Andrea’s son, David, was going to be twenty-eight in a few weeks, but although he was close in age to his older sister, he was completely opposite in temperament. Easygoing and spontaneous, David lived in the woods, in a small cabin in the New Hampshire, eking out a living as a cooper, making wooden barrels with seventeenth-century techniques and loving every minute of his austere lifestyle.

Andrea loved them both with a depth of feeling that never ceased to amaze her.

She was frightened that Dr. Newton might be wrong about effectiveness of the chemotherapy, but she was more afraid of letting her children sense her fear or think that she might not be there for them much longer. Blinking back tears, she snuggled against Redd.

Right now, Andrea needed time to get used to the idea that she was facing a year of chemotherapy. She needed time to get used to the idea she might, indeed, be her family’s first cancer survivor. She needed time to think of all the things she should do, just in case she wasn’t. If she had put one of her notebooks on her nightstand, she might have actually started one of her infamous “to do” lists. She needed time to…

“To pray,” she murmured aloud. Prayer was going to be the only way she would survive the next year. She checked the clock, rolled onto her stomach, waited for the cats to get settled again and spent the next half hour praying for strength and wisdom and gratitude for the blessings of this day. She also prayed that the chemo drugs inside her body would work well and keep in remission the cancer that threatened her life. And she prayed for the courage to face the plan He had designed for her life, even if that meant being called Home sooner than she had thought.

As she prayed, a seed of hope began to grow inside her. If Dr. Newton was right—if the chemotherapy went well, with no noticeable side effects—then Andrea might be able to get the weekly treatments finished before she had to tell her children or her sisters anything at all. She could sidestep their questions about the biopsy. Yesterday, with Sandra’s birthday occupying their thoughts, Jenny and Madge hadn’t even asked about the biopsy results. To be fair, Andrea had already told them that the results weren’t expected for a few more weeks.

If she could finish the six weeks of treatments before she told her family, she would stand a better chance of convincing them that her chemotherapy treatment was different from the treatments Sandra had endured—or Daddy or Kathleen or Mother, for that matter. Andrea would be able to convince them that she was going to be a survivor, because they’d be able to see it for themselves.

And by then, she would have a better sense of just how taxing the next year was going to be.

Now that was a plan!

Whether inspired through prayer or her own sense of independence, Andrea liked it—a lot. Her mind raced ahead to the schedule of doctor’s appointments she had set up for the next five weeks. All were early-morning appointments, so she could continue to work, showing homes or attending settlements in the afternoons. Nothing unusual there. She always talked to her children at night, when they were finished with their work for the day. No problem there, either. Since Jenny worked nights and normally slept most of the day, and Madge was usually busy with her volunteer activities, Andrea was convinced she had hit on the perfect plan.

There were some adjustments she would have to make. Getting extra rest, instead of the usual five or six hours of sleep each night, was a given. She also wanted to make an appointment with a nutritionist. Dr. Newton had been quick to respond to Andrea’s question about diet with honesty. Other than suggesting a low-fat diet, she could only second Andrea’s suggestion to consult a nutritionist. Andrea could search the Web, too. Other cancer survivors often offered tips that doctors may have overlooked or dismissed. Tips of that kind had helped to make Sandra more comfortable, and Andrea made a mental note to spend some time searching the Web tonight. She also decided to hire an additional real-estate agent for the office and scale back on her hours. Her children and her sisters had been asking her to do that for a number of years now, so they wouldn’t be unduly suspicious if she hired someone to help her at the agency, with “help” being the operative word.

Andrea had no intention of letting the reins go slack when it came to her business, or any other part of her life, for that matter. She was in control now and she would be in control of her life for the next year—she was determined to keep her life so normal no one in town would suspect a thing.

Twenty minutes after she had made her final roll to her back, a knock at her front door made her freeze in place. The sound was followed almost immediately by the door opening, which set off the security alarm.

“Yoo-hoo! Andrea? It’s just me. I can’t believe I caught you at home. Wait till I show you what I found for your kitchen! Wait a second until I turn off your alarm. I can’t believe you set that alarm during the day!”

Andrea groaned and closed her eyes, but try as she might, she could not come up with a single plausible reason she could give Madge for not getting out of bed…except the truth.

So much for her plan.

Trouble was, she had less than sixty seconds to come up with another one.

Chapter Three

M adge tapped the code, 1919, into the pad to deactivate the house alarm. She turned and glanced around the living room that crossed the front of Andrea’s five-room bungalow and headed straight for the kitchen, clutching her “find.” Her heels tapped on the gleaming red oak floors. “I didn’t bother to wrap it. I was going to—”

She took two steps into the antiques-filled kitchen, paused and pursed her lips. No Andrea. If she was in her home office, she could have met Madge in the living room. Must be in the bathroom? Madge set her pocketbook down, unwrapped the newspaper from the pitcher she had found at the thrift store, and set it in the center of the black-and-white enamel table. “A perfect match,” she whispered, quickly tucking the newspaper into the old enamel slop pail Andrea used as a trash can. “Filled that right up, didn’t I?” Frowning, she made a mental note to find a decent-sized trash can for Andrea, one that would match the rest of the black-and-white enamelware that served a dual purpose in Andrea’s kitchen.

All of the pieces her sister had collected over the years, from the small antique stove to the washstand and the enamelware hanging on the walls, were both decorative and functional, unlike the appliances in the ultramodern kitchen that Madge claimed was her favorite room in her house. How Andrea could manage without a dishwasher or a refrigerator with an ice dispenser in the door was no mystery. She barely cooked for herself and rarely entertained. She was not home long enough, not with running that real-estate agency of hers.

Madge shrugged. To each her own. Tapping her foot, she checked her watch. She had half an hour before her meeting with the Welleswood Beautification Committee, to plan the fall plantings for the avenue. She had hoped to spend that time with her sister. She grabbed her pocketbook, turned, walked back into the living room and gazed toward the small hallway that led to the bathroom, two small bedrooms and the office. The bathroom door was open.

Maybe Andrea was on the phone. Madge had taken only a few steps toward the hallway on her way to the office when she finally got a response from her sister.

“I’m in here. In my bedroom. Come on in.”

Madge smiled with relief and hurried her steps. “Finally redecorating? I warned you that you’d get tired of that dark green paint.” She stopped just inside the doorway of Andrea’s bedroom. The light in the room itself was far too dim, with the shades pulled tight behind the white lace curtains. Andrea was not checking new paint colors or hanging new curtains or even changing the sheets on the bed. She was lying flat on her back in bed with her cats settled beside her.

All three cats looked up at Madge, stretched or yawned and settled back down with Andrea, who offered a weak smile and patted the bed next to her. “It’s just a headache. I was trying to nap. Here. Come sit and talk to me while I wait for the aspirin to kick in.”

Madge narrowed her eyes. Her heart began to race the moment she remembered that Andrea had been waiting for the results of her biopsy. “You don’t get headaches. You never sleep on your back. And you…you haven’t taken a nap since you were six months old.”

Andrea closed her eyes. “How would you know I stopped napping when I was six months old? You weren’t even born yet,” she teased.

“Mother told me. And don’t try to change the subject. What’s really wrong?”

Andrea let out a sigh. “I told you. I have a headache. Maybe it’s…it’s my first.”

Madge tiptoed to the bed, set her pocketbook down on the mattress and eased herself to sit beside her sister. Gently, she stroked the top of Andrea’s head, and she knew—she just knew—that the results of the biopsy were not good. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Emotion choked her throat. “You’re sick. You’re sick again, aren’t you?”

Andrea moistened her lips, opened her eyes and took hold of Madge’s hand. “I feel fine. I’ll be fine. The nodules they removed…well, I have to have a few treatments and then I’ll be good as new again. I had my first one this morning. That’s why I’m in bed. I have to lie in four different positions for half an hour each to coat the inside of my bladder. I set the alarm—”

The alarm in the bedside clock went off, interrupting Andrea but startling Madge. As Andrea sat up, all three cats scattered. One knocked Madge’s pocketbook to the floor and the contents spilled out. Her keys hit the floor with a clang and something, presumably her lipstick, rolled away, but all Madge could think about was the fear that wrapped around her heart.

Andrea had cancer.

Again.

“Why? Why does this have to happen again?” Madge cried, and dissolved into tears as Andrea’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Hush now. It’s not so bad. Really,” Andrea crooned.

When Madge’s tears were spent, she sat back, hiccuped and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a baby.”

“Yes, you are,” Andrea teased. “But you’re a lovable baby.”

Madge hiccuped again and swiped at her cheeks. “Jenny’s supposed to be the baby. She’s the youngest. I’m older. I should be…more in control.”

“You’re younger than I am.”

Madge chuckled. When it came to age, she had no desire to be a single day older than she really was.

“And you certainly look a lot younger than me,” Andrea said.

Madge ruffled her sister’s hair. “You could look younger, too,” she whispered, then realized Andrea had done it again. “You’re changing the subject. Just like you always do.”

“You’re not crying anymore, are you?” Andrea countered.

For some unknown reason, fresh tears welled and Madge tugged on her sister’s hand. “It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair. We just lost Sandra. We can’t lose you, too. We just can’t!”

“God has His plan for each of us, and with His grace, I’ll make a full recovery,” Andrea responded.

Madge listened attentively while Andrea explained what the course of the next year would be like. Doubt tugged at her spirit even as her heart grew hopeful. “Your doctor does sound more positive than Sandra’s did,” she ventured.

“She is. All cancers are not the same. I’m blessed to have a good one.”

Madge leaned back, pulled her hand away and stared at Andrea as a chill raced up and down her spine. “A good one? There’s no good cancer, Andrea. There’s awful cancer. Horrid cancer. Debilitating cancer. Disfiguring cancer…”

“And curable cancer. Mine’s curable. Or it should be. And it will be,” Andrea added. She took a deep breath and her expression grew serious. “I’ll…I’ll need a little help.”

Madge brightened, hiccuped again and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did I hear you right? Did you say ‘help’? You’ll need a little help?”

Andrea sighed. “Yes, I did. A little. Only a little help.”

“Caretaker duty is all mine,” Madge insisted.

Andrea rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to drive me back and forth to the doctor’s office for treatments. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. I told you. These treatments are different. I was thinking maybe—”

“Sandra let me take her for her treatments.”

Memories. Bittersweet, but precious memories of the months she had spent with Sandra washed over Madge. “I can’t take the cancer away. If I could, I would give anything to make that happen. But I can be there with you. Keep you company when you have to wait at the doctor’s office. Take care of your referrals and insurance forms. I can take you home, tell you stories to help pass the ‘rolling time.’ Let me do something. Anything,” Madge pleaded.

She watched Andrea carefully. First, she saw her sister’s backbone stiffen as if her spine had been laced to a broomstick. Andrea’s dark brown eyes hardened. Her lips pursed. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and when they opened, she looked at Madge with soft and misty eyes.

“You win. I hereby appoint you Chief Caretaker, in charge of transportation, but you can never, ever be late. Ever.”

Madge frowned, even as her heart began to fill with hope.

“All right.” Andrea gave in further. “You can handle the doctor’s referrals and the insurance forms, too.”

Half a smile.

Andrea narrowed her gaze, but Madge knew her sister was very close to a line she would not cross. “And my gardens. You can tend to them. Such as they are. But that’s all. That’s my final offer.”

Madge grinned from ear to ear. “I’m a much better gardener than I am a storyteller anyway.” She got off the bed, scoured around the floor to retrieve her keys and the rest of the junk she kept in her pocketbook and straightened her outfit, a lovely purple dress and matching bolero sweater she had bought only last week. “Speaking of gardening, I’m late for a meeting. We’re planning the fall flowers for the avenue.”

When Andrea moved as if to get out of bed, Madge waved her back. “No. Don’t get up. I can see myself out. I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow at The Diner. Twelve o’clock. No. Better make that at one o’clock. I have a meeting at church at eleven. Eleanor Hadley has an idea for a new women’s ministry she heard about from her cousin in Connecticut. I’ll bring my calendar and we’ll set up our schedule,” she insisted, and got out of the room before Andrea could argue with her.

When Madge got to the front door, she turned and went back to the bedroom. Andrea was restoring the bedclothes back to order. “What about Jenny?”

Andrea glanced down at the bed. “I suppose I’ll have to stop by to see her tonight before she goes to work.”

“And Rachel and David?”

Andrea turned and faced Madge, wearing an expression that invited no discussion. “I’m going to wait a few weeks. That way I’ll have a better sense of just how good I’m going to feel…and I can reassure them….”

Madge nodded. “Okay. Then it’s just us. Just the sisters for now. You and me and Jenny.”

Andrea nodded. “Just us. And all the angels He can spare,” she whispered.

Madge swallowed hard. She managed to get outside to her convertible and drive halfway up the block before she pulled over and parked under the shade of one of the ancient oak trees that lined both sides of the street. She hit the switch and got the top up, turned the air-conditioning to full blast and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Her sobs came in heavy waves, and she gripped the wheel so hard the bones in each of her hands ached.

Not again.

She could not do this again.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

For eighteen long months, she had stayed by Sandra’s side and watched helplessly as cancer gnawed away and destroyed all the beauty with which Sandra had been blessed since birth. Short gray, unruly spikes of hair had replaced the golden waves that had been Sandra’s glory for all of her life, although she had helped Mother Nature along by lightening her hair, which had darkened with age. Pain had doused the sparkle in her dark blue eyes, and her full figure had grown gaunt, even skeletal, by the time death had offered sweet release and the Lord had come to take Sandra Home, silencing her infectious laughter forever, at least in this world.

Cancer.

Cancer had turned everything Sandra was into something…ugly and grotesque, even inhuman. A scrapbook of memories opened and images flashed through Madge’s mind. She caught her breath and held it for a moment to try to silence the sobs that tore through her throat.

When she finally regained control, when her body was limp with exhaustion, when the well of her tears had gone dry, only then was she able to hear the whisper that cried out only loud enough for her heart to hear. As insidious and evil and destructive as cancer had been for Sandra or Kathleen or Mother or Dad, nothing had been able to destroy the beauty of their spirits. Nothing.

And it was that thought that gave Madge the courage to help her sister Andrea now.