“I don’t think you were supposed to tell me that.” I laughed and pressed a kiss to her scalp, still shiny and smooth. Overhauling her diet had been a challenge, that was for sure. “You know why it has to be sugar-free, right?”
“You said sugar feeds the monster inside me. And even though the big part of the monster is out, the rest of him is in my blood. So we can’t feed the monster.”
“Right. I’m so sorry, Maisie.”
She looked up at me with eyes that felt decades older. “It’s okay, the monster doesn’t like this kind.”
I kissed her again before I left, grabbing her binder on the way out the door after letting Ada know I was headed out.
Stopping at the entryway mirror for a moment, I tried to smooth back the frizz that had developed in the braid I’d put into my hair this morning.
“Stop. No matter what you do, you’re still gorgeous,” Hailey remarked as she came up behind me.
“Ha. I can’t even remember the last time I went to the gym or put on some makeup. I’m batting for doesn’t-look-psycho. Gorgeous is way out of my league.”
She propped her head on my shoulder, and our eyes met in the mirror. “You have the kind of gorgeous that shines through no matter what.”
“Looking for a raise?” I teased.
“Nope. Just telling the truth. Now get out of here before you miss that meeting. Ada and I have Maisie. Don’t you worry.”
“Worrying has become my default emotion.”
She searched my face for a second before her eyes lit up, which meant she was about to suggest something ludicrous. “I know just the thing.”
“Hailey…” I groaned. We were friends, but her idea of fun didn’t exactly fit with my life.
“Let’s double date. I’ll grab Luke, and you bring Beckett. We can go out to a movie, or dinner, or try out that new karaoke bar in the Mountain Village.”
“A bar?” I let my tone tell her exactly what I thought about that one. That was the life of carefree people who didn’t have responsibilities like kids. Or cancer. Or a kid with cancer. You know, normal twenty-five-year-olds.
“Yes. A bar. Because if anyone could use a drink, it’s you, Ella. And I know Beckett would be up for taking you out.”
My spine stiffened. “We’re not…it’s not like that.” Just the thought of Beckett had a blush rising to my cheeks.
“That man has his eyes on you whenever you’re in the same room. Come on, how many times did he drive back to Denver after Maisie’s surgery?”
I turned away from the mirror to face Hailey. “Three times.”
“In two weeks.”
And every time he’d shown up, my heart had done this stupid, crazy leaping move. Something had changed the day of Maisie’s surgery. Not just because he’d been there, but because I’d wanted him to be. It had been the first time during Maisie’s treatment that I’d allowed myself to not just lean on someone, but let them hold me up.
The morning he’d shown up with Colt as a surprise—about three days after the surgery—I’d just about melted into a puddle of goo. He seemed to know exactly what I needed—what Maisie needed—and provided it before I could even ask for it.
“Yes, in two weeks, but it’s not romantic.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s not! He’s here because Ryan asked him to be. That’s it. Nothing more.” At least that’s what I told myself whenever I found those green eyes watching me or me watching him.
“And you don’t find him attractive or anything, right?”
“I…” Dark green eyes the color of pine, thick hair and thicker arms, washboard abs that trailed down to—get a grip. “Of course I do. I’ve seen the man.” And felt him.
I’d felt the protective way he’d held me—tight, but not oppressive, as if he’d simply known that I needed to be held together in that moment. Felt the gentleness of his hands when he’d wiped away my tears after sobbing out everything I’d held in. Felt the joy he was capable of when Colt had climbed into bed next to Maisie and held his sister. Felt the overwhelming capacity for love that he had even if he didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Yeah, I felt entirely too much when it came to Beckett.
“Well, yeah. You’d have to be dead not to notice. Because he’s hot, Ella. And not in a passingly nice kind of way. He’s hot in a take-me-on-the-kitchen-counter-and-let-me-bear-your-children kind of way. Plus, he’s starting to speak in more than one-word answers, which shows definite potential in the moving-past-broody department.”
A flash of something hot and ugly hit my stomach and was gone as quickly as it came. Jealousy. There was no reason to be jealous of Hailey. Sure, she was beautiful, and available, and didn’t have so much baggage attached to her that there was a giant Samsonite tag on her forehead, but the minute we’d come home from Denver, she’d completely stopped seeking out Beckett. And it wasn’t because she wouldn’t be interested. I’d heard the gossip getting coffee yesterday—half of Telluride was interested in the newest Search and Rescue member.
It was because Hailey thought maybe I was interested.
“He has always spoken in more than one-word answers, and I already have children, remember? Besides, speaking of children, if I don’t walk out right now, I’m going to be late for this meeting.”
“Okay. Go. Run. But that man lives next door, and from what I’ve seen, you’re going to have to deal with all that”—she motioned to my red face—“pent-up frustration somehow.”
A guest walked in, the bell ringing with the light tinkling sound that had taken me hours to decide on.
“Saved by the bell,” Hailey whispered before turning to our new guest. “Welcome to Solitude! You must be Mr. Henderson. Your cabin is all ready for you and your wife.” Her smile was wide and mirrored by the hipster-looking twentysomething.
Summer hiking season was almost upon us.
I took my opportunity, and the binder, and escaped out the front door.
It was 10:31 when I pulled in, but I parked in the elementary school’s designated spots like a good parent and took the extra minute hit to my already tardy arrival.
“Ella!” Jennifer smiled out at me through the glass. “They’re all set up for you.”
“Hey, Jennifer.” I signed in on the clipboard and opened the door when the buzzer sounded.
“How is Maisie feeling?” she asked as she walked me into the offices that sat just behind the reception desk.
“She’s good, thank you. Surgery went well, and she’s ready to return to school on Monday.”
“Really? Already? That’s amazing!”
“You’d be shocked to see how quickly kids bounce back, and as long as her levels are good, she’s safe here.”
“I just can’t believe she beat it that quickly!”
Oh, no. I saw that look in her eyes, and I hated to be the one to dash it. “No, Jen. She had the tumor removed, and they got it all, but she’s Stage Four. Her bone marrow is still overwhelmingly cancerous. She just made it through the first step.”
Her face fell. “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t understand.”
I offered her a smile. “Don’t worry. Not many people do, and I hope you never have to. She’s fighting.”
Her lips pressed together in a flat line before she nodded her head. “Of course.” She opened the door to the conference room, and I squeezed her hand as I passed, reassuring her that she hadn’t said anything worthy of embarrassment.
“Ah, Ms. MacKenzie, I’m so glad you could make it,” Principal Halsen said from the head of the table. His tie was as straight as his face.
Apparently we were all business today.
“Ms. May.” I smiled at Maisie and Colt’s teacher. She was in her late twenties, and Colt had only the best things to say about her. A pang of guilt smacked me square in the chest at how absent I’d been
from school activities this year.
Yeah, I definitely wasn’t winning PTA Mom of the Year over here. Not even Okayest Mom. I was pretty much the Nonexistent Mom.
“And this is Mr. Jonas, who is our district superintendent and will be joining us today.” Principal Halsen motioned toward the older gentleman at his left. The man nodded at me with pursed lips that morphed into a forced smile.
“Mr. Jonas.”
I took the seat at the end of the conference table, leaving two empty seats between me and what felt like the army that had gathered against me, or rather Maisie. The loud sound of the binder’s zipper opening was almost obscene in the silence.
“So, Ms. MacKenzie—”
“Ella,” I reminded him.
“Ella,” he agreed with a nod. “We needed to meet today because of Maisie’s attendance record. As you know, she needs to be present for a minimum of nine hundred hours to complete kindergarten. Right now, between her absences and times she’s needed to leave early, or come late, she’s at about seven hundred and ten.”
“Okay?” I flipped through the binder to her school section, where I kept record of her days, hours, and documentation.
“We feel at this point, we need to discuss her options,” Principal Halsen said, pushing his glasses up his nose and opening the manila folder in front of him.
“Options,” I repeated, trying to understand.
“She hasn’t met the legal requirement,” Mr. Jonas said, his voice soft, but his eyes telling me that the issue was cut and dried in his opinion.
“Right.” I flipped to the letter I’d kept in a page protector and took it out of the binder. “I absolutely agree that she hasn’t met the requirement, but the district assured us in this letter dated in November that you wouldn’t hold her to it. That rule is waivable in the regulations by the district due to catastrophic illness, and that’s what you agreed to.”
I slid the letter down the table. Ms. May caught it and passed it along, sending me a sympathetic smile.
“We did. And we’re not here to throw ultimatums at you, Ella,” Principal Halsen assured me. “We’re here to discuss what’s best for Maisie. We made this agreement without looking at her long-term future.”
Because they hadn’t thought she’d make it this long.
“What’s best for Maisie…” I repeated softly. “You mean, like not having Stage Four neuroblastoma? Because I definitely agree—that’s not in her best interest.”
Mr. Jonas cleared his throat and leaned forward, resting his wrinkled, folded hands on the table. “We absolutely sympathize, Ms. MacKenzie. What your daughter has been through is tragic.”
And there went my hackles, rising as my spine straightened. “It’s not tragic, Mr. Jonas. She’s not dead.”
“Of course not, my dear. We’re not saying that any of this is fair, but the truth is that Maisie might not be ready for first grade.”
My dear. Like I was a little girl in bloomers asking for a pretty new doll. To hell with that.
“We’ve done everything you’ve asked. Ms. May has been quite accommodating, and I assure you that she’s ready.”
“She is.” Ms. May nodded.
Principal Halsen sighed, taking off his glasses and cleaning an imaginary spot. “Let’s look at this from a different angle. Can you tell us where she’s at in her treatments? What we can expect in the coming months?”
I flipped back to the sheet where I kept the estimated treatment plan, realizing we’d gotten to a point where I wasn’t sure. We were at a crossroads.
“She just completed a major surgery two weeks ago. She’s healing wonderfully and is ready to come back to school on Monday. Then the week after, we’ll be in for another round of chemo, which as you know means she’s gone a solid school week. We’re hoping her levels will remain stable enough to come back for the end of school, but there’s no telling. Then we’re into summer. I’ll know more when we go in for chemo and I can meet with her oncologist.”
The administrators shared a look that made me feel like I wasn’t on the other side of the table but the other side of the battlefield. I felt that change come over me—the one that had appeared the moment they’d placed the twins in my arms—like pieces of armor clicking into place as I prepared to defend my child.
“Have you thought about having her repeat kindergarten? If she’s in a better situation to be fully present next school year, then it wouldn’t harm her. We wouldn’t force it, of course, but it’s worth a thought. In fact, a lot of our parents hold back their children at the kindergarten stage for various reasons. Certainly this procedure qualifies—”
I snapped.
“With all due respect, it wasn’t a procedure. It was a twelve-hour, life-threatening surgery in which they removed a tumor the size of a softball from my daughter’s adrenal gland. This isn’t an inconvenience; this is cancer. And no, next year won’t be better. She’s fighting for her life, so excuse me if I don’t share your worries that she may have missed the critical day of kindergarten when you covered the life cycle of the butterfly. Statistically she might not even…” My throat closed, my body rebelling against the words I hadn’t spoken since the day they’d given me her odds. “Next year will not be better.”
“And you don’t wish for her to repeat her kindergarten year.” Principal Halsen wrote down a note in the folder.
“It’s kindergarten. Do you seriously feel like she needs to?” A repeat wouldn’t just be hard for Maisie to swallow, but for Colt as well. They’d be a year apart in school, which would mean that even if—when—she beat the cancer, she’d have to look the consequences in the eye every day.
“She doesn’t,” Ms. May spoke up. “She’s quite bright, and she’ll do just fine in first grade,” she told the administrators.
The two men conferred quietly for a moment before turning back to me. “We’d like to offer you a solution. Transfer her to an at-home program. Kindergarten isn’t as academically challenging as first grade, and next year, she’ll need the flexibility.”
“Pull her out of school.”
“School her at home,” Mr. Jonas corrected. “We’re not against you, Ms. MacKenzie, or Maisie. We’re genuinely trying to figure out the best solution. She’s not in school for the required hours, and next year her workload will increase exponentially. Couple that with the liability of having her here with her weakened immune system, the worry placed on the staff, and the other children, and we all might be more comfortable—including Maisie. She could keep the best schedule for her health if she were schooled at home.”
Other cancer moms did that. I’d spoken with a few of them, but it always seemed like they pulled them out as a last resort…when they were dying. It wasn’t so much the physical act of removing her from the school as it was the emotional acknowledgment that she couldn’t go.
And that was equally devastating to us all—Maisie, Colt, and especially me.
But it would relieve stress on her, on her levels, on the days she couldn’t get out of bed. On the mornings she spent lurched over the toilet, crying, only to look at me and swear she could make it.
“What would it entail?”
“I could teach her,” Ms. May offered. “I’d come by in the afternoons whenever she felt well enough. She’d stay on track, she’d be exempt from district hour requirements, and we’d be able to personally tailor the program.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course,” Mr. Jonas said, passing back the letter from early in her diagnosis.
We adjourned the meeting, and Ms. May walked out with me. I felt numb, or maybe it was simply that I’d been hit so hard and so often in the last six months that I no longer registered pain.
“Colt is just heading to lunch if you’d like to see him,” she offered.
Colt. He was exactly what I needed right now.
“I�
�d very much like that,” I told her.
She reached for my hand and squeezed it lightly. “He’s a phenomenal kid. He is kind, and compassionate, and defensive of the smaller kids.”
My smile was instant. “I lucked out with that guy.”
“No. He’s phenomenal because he has an exceptional mother. Please don’t forget that in the midst of everything. You’re a great mom, Ella.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t a rebuttal of that statement, so I simply gave her hand a squeeze back.
Then I stood with a dozen other moms who were lined up outside the cafeteria, all waiting for their kids. Most were the normal PTA moms, the ones who had impeccable minivans, color-coded day planners, and stylish but sensible fashion. Some I knew, some I didn’t.
I looked down at my Vans, worn jeans, and long-sleeved tee, and felt…unkempt. I’d never really understood the phrase “let yourself go,” but this moment? Yeah, I got it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d cut my hair, or taken the time to actually put on more makeup than concealer for under my eyes and mascara. None of it mattered in the scheme of things—of saving Maisie—but right now, I felt the separation between me and these women as certainly as if they were in ball gowns.
“Oh, Ella! It’s so nice to see you!” Maggie Cooper said with a hand over her heart, flashing a diamond bigger than her knuckle. She was a year older than Ryan and had married one of the corporate guys from up in the ski village. I’d half expected their engagement announcement to read “local girl makes good.”
“You, too, Maggie. How is…” Crap. What was her kid’s name? The obnoxious one who’d colored on Maisie’s backpack with permanent marker and thought it was cute to force kisses on her? Doug? Deacon? “Drake?” Phew.
“He’s great! Really soaring at piano right now and looking forward to soccer. It starts next week in case Colt wants to play. Look, I meant to ask, have you thought about treating Maisie holistically? I mean, those medicines are really poisonous. I was reading this blog that talked about eating just cassava root or something? It was really intriguing. I can absolutely send it to you.”
The Last Letter Page 13