Goodbye, Miss February

by Sally O'Brien

  “You a friend of Andy’s?” I asked.

  “Rent some cropland from her.”

  “Cropland.” I shook my head. “It’s hard for me to think of Andy as a farmer. But then, she’s only been there a year.” I hesitated and then asked, “How is she?”

  “Fine.”

  I’d just finished dinner the previous evening when Andy called with her news.

  “Guess what, I have cancer,” she’d said with a tight laugh that gave away her nervousness.

  I collapsed into the nearest chair and struggled for a response. “Well goodness, you could have let me sit down before hitting me with something like that.”

  “Sorry. Jane, are you sitting down? Because I have cancer.”

  The word cancer began to sink in. “Oh God, are you sure?”

  “That’s what the doctor said. I went for my annual checkup and he found three nodules on my thyroid.”

  Only I thought she said nachos and said I didn’t know they caused cancer. Andy sounded quite irritated as she explained that nodules were little bumps. The doctor had said not to worry, ninety-five percent of the time they were nothing, but she’d better have them checked. The results of the thyroid scan and the ultrasound weren’t good so they performed a needle biopsy. The doctor had just called and said it looked like cancer. He wanted her to have surgery and she asked me to come, right away.

  She needed me! In all my life no one had ever needed me. Well, Chris when she was a baby but certainly not my big sister. Without hesitation, I promised to be on the first flight I could get—and then realized I’d agreed to cross the Rockies in a piece of metal held up by God and science, in that order.

  Bob dialed in a different station. His radio appeared to carry only country music.

  My teeth chattered. “Boy, it sure is cold.”

  Bob almost smiled. “Yep. First trip to Iowa?”

  “No, I was born here but left right out of high school. Haven’t been back for almost forty years, since our parents died. Car crash,” I added before he could ask. I stared out the window and watched mile markers slide by. “Really, it’s kind of funny when you think about it. I loved living in a little town, knowing everyone. My biggest ambition was to marry the boy next door and move to a house down the block—like in the movies, you know?” I chuckled a little so Bob would realize I was kidding. He didn’t need to know I wasn’t. “But Andy, well, she seemed to have been born packed and ready to leave Iowa. Her idea of close to home was Chicago.” My next laugh was more believable. “Then I ended up moving away while she stayed here.” I turned toward Bob. “Well, kind of. Technically, Iowa’s her home but I guess you know she travels a lot, does exciting things. Once she jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. Paid them two hundred fifty dollars. I wouldn’t have done that if they’d paid me two hundred fifty dollars.”

  Bob laughed—more of a bray really. No wonder the Marlboro Man was the silent type.

  I realized I’d told him more about Andy in thirty minutes than he’d learned from her in the entire time they’d known each other and hoped I’d be back in California before she found out. Andy valued her privacy. “Goodness,” I said, “I sound like one of those people who sit next to you in the airport and won’t shut up.”

  Bob said nothing, apparently out of words. It was up to me to fill the silence. “You live near Andy?” I asked.

  “Couple miles down the road.”

  “Been there long?”

  “While.”

  “You’re not from around here originally then?”

  “Southern Iowa.”

  “Why’d you move?”

  “Better land up here.

  “Really? I thought an Iowa farm was an Iowa farm.”

  “Glacier stopped halfway through the state, ’bout at Des Moines.”

  “I didn’t know that. Run into traffic on the interstate, did it?”

  Bob gave me another funny look, as though he was wondering whether craziness ran in Andy’s family or it was a California trait. “Rain’s better up here too,” he said.

  “More?”

  “Not exactly. Just more likely to come when you need it.”

  “Um,” I said, which pretty much covered my interest in rain in any part of the state. We drove in silence for several miles before I tried conversation again. “You have children?”

  “Two.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. What are their names?”

  “Elizabeth and Winston.”

  Did I hear right? The Marlboro Man had a son named Winston?

  “How old?”

  “Elizabeth’s eighteen, Win’s fifteen.”

  “Teenagers. That’s a fun age. Will your daughter graduate from high school this year?”

  He frowned and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Hope so.” The words barely made it past his clamped lips.

  I gave up dragging words out of Bob and turned my head to stare out the window at snowy fields and fence posts half-buried in drifts. With a little jolt of pride, I realized that I was actually here in Iowa on my way to be with Andy. I’d done it! I’d flown all the way from the west coast. Andy would be all right, I told myself, but whatever happened we’d get through it together. No task was too great for Andy and Wonder Sister.

  I was mentally deflecting cancer with my indestructible magic bracelets when the truck slowed. Bob was right about the distance. We’d been driving exactly an hour when he pulled off onto a gravel road. Three miles later we turned up a driveway, which Bob called a lane.

  “Dusty Laine,” I said.

  “Not hardly. Too much ice.”

  “No, Dusty Laine was someone I used to know. Neighbor growing up.”

  Snow crunched under the tires as Bob rolled to a stop and pointed to his right. “There’s the house.” He’d said a complete sentence. Maybe he liked me.

  Five

  The sun had set and the moon, round, red, and beautiful, was rising in the east. Andy, a powder-blue parka draped over her shoulders, waved from the wide front porch, the white house looming behind her like an iceberg with lights. Willie Nelson couldn’t wait to get on the road again as I slid out of the pickup and ran up the front steps. Reaching for a hug, I felt her cold skin and sharp bones. Had she lost weight? Her pale face had more lines than I remembered.

  “No sense freezing out here,” Andy said. “Come on in.” We barely noticed when Bob set my luggage inside the door and drove away.

  “Lawsy, Miss Scarlet,” I said, looking around, “it’s a good thing the Yankees spared Tara here.”

  “Don’t be silly. This house wasn’t built until 1898.” The brusque words didn’t match the look on her face. As she pushed the front door shut, she pointed out with obvious pride that it was the original plank door. “See, it has a brass porthole at eye level so you can tell who’s out there.”

  “Wow.” I stood on tiptoe to look through the porthole and then glanced around the inside of the house. From the entryway I could see two large rooms, and Andy pointed out the sculptured ceilings, refinished hardwood floors, and original lighting sconces on the wall. Overhead a crystal chandelier added sparkle, and near the door Mother’s milk glass fruit compote sat on a oval marble-topped table. So that’s where they went. “Beautiful,” I said. “No wonder you wanted this place.” I took off my coat and realized I hadn’t brought enough warm clothing. “How much does it cost to heat?”

  “Are you cold? We’ll sit by the fire but first, come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

  “Oh, Andy, could we wait until later? Maybe in the daylight. I’m really beat, and I just want to change into something comfortable and relax.”

  Andy’s smile faded and she eyed the black Armani suit and matching pumps that had seemed appropriate at home. “I can see why. What are you so dressed up for? Bet you were the only one on the plane not wearing jeans.�
�� Her eyes zeroed in on my lapel. “Did you know you have a spot on your jacket?”

  Darn. Of course she noticed it. I stared down at the snubbed suit, wishing I could erase the stain, wishing I could tell Andy the woman in front of me had worn a dress (I could leave out that she was a nun in a habit). I sighed. Here ten minutes and Wonder Sister had turned back into Plain Jane. I hoped Andy wasn’t going to warn me about nylons melting my legs.

  “Never mind. Let’s go upstairs and I’ll show you your room.” Andy reached for one of the bags and made an exaggerated show of not being able to lift it. “My lord, what have you got in here?”

  I was getting tired of that question. “Just clothes. I didn’t know what the weather would be like so I brought everything.

  Andy looked exasperated. “For heaven’s sake, Jane, this is Iowa and it’s February. That should have been some sort of hint that you could leave the shorts behind.”

  My face burned as I started to explain that I didn’t wear shorts but she was already headed up the steps. I followed, bumping the big suitcase behind me. “This house is huge,” I said. “Is it equipped with little people who clean?”

  Andy laughed. “Esther comes once a week. That’s Bob’s wife.” She motioned me into a bedroom furnished in Colonial maple. Mother’s Wedding Ring quilt covered the four-poster bed.

  She flashed a quick smile and said, “I’ll be downstairs. Hurry up and change. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Left alone, worry overrode hurt feelings. How could I feel sorry for myself when Andy was sick? I concentrated on breathing while the words chased each other through my head. Cancer cancer cancer. My sister has cancer. No, I wouldn’t let myself think about that. With great determination I pressed the thought away. She seemed okay, a little thin maybe but still Andy. Surgery would take care of it. A few months and she’d be back to normal. She’d be fine. She had to be.

  I changed into a heather gray velour warm-up suit and discovered the upstairs had a choice of staircases—the wide, sweeping front one with a handcrafted banister or the steep, narrow one for servants. Which one to use? The rear steps were dark and most likely led to the kitchen. How would I find Andy? Better to go back the way I came.

  Downstairs in what Andy called the front parlor, she offered coffee or wine. “Hot coffee sounds wonderful,” I said and then noticed the wineglasses on the table. “Or wine. Yes, let’s have wine.”

  “Red or white?”

  “White.” I eyed the cream-colored damask sofa decorated with pink roses. Considering the odds against my hitting a flower with splashed wine, the safe choice was anything but red.

  We settled down next to each other in front of an ornate fireplace complete with beveled mirror. The square Waterford crystal vase I’d sent Andy as a house-warming gift occupied a prominent place on the mantel. I hadn’t been sure she liked it all that well and wondered if she put it there while I was driving up the lane. Motioning toward it, I said, “We still have to plan our trip to Ireland.” I took a careful sip of the wine. “Nice.”

  “Like it? It’s a Chardonnay from California. The winery sends me an assortment every month. Can you taste the oak?

  I thought it tasted more like new-mown grass than a tree but knew better than to say that.

  Andy didn’t seem to expect an answer. “How’s Chris?” she asked.

  “Oh, you know, busy.”

  Andy raised her eyebrows. “Did you tell her you were coming here? You didn’t, did you? Have you talked to her at all since Christmas?”

  I frowned. “She’s working on some big project and I hate to bother her. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  “Uh-huh. Well then, what have you and JoAnn been up to?”

  I told stories of Thelma and the bridge club and the library children and of course the trip from California including the impressive display of acrobatics used to locate my seatbelt. Andy talked about skiing and her current paintings. We circled the reason for my visit. Andy offered more wine and I held out my glass before saying, “Bet you’re excited about your show in Paris?”

  “It’ll be fine.” Andy waved her hand dismissively and changed the subject. “Hey, guess who I saw the other day. Mrs. Laine. Dusty’s mother.”

  “Really? Funny, I was just thinking about the Laines driving up here. How is she?”

  “Pretty good, considering. I don’t think she ever really recovered from Dusty’s death.”

  Grimacing, I agreed. “It would be hard to lose a child, especially under such tragic circumstances. Who’d expect someone to drown in the middle of an Iowa road after his senior prom?”

  “You were his date, weren’t you?” Andy asked, knowing I was.

  Six

  My mind went back to that night, and I smiled. “Best night of my life.” The smile slipped away. “Until it became the worst.” Andy’s eyes widened as she waited for me to continue. I’d never talked about that night, not even to her.

  I leaned forward, hands gripping the wine goblet. “You might have guessed I had a crush on Dusty from the time he was six and I was five.” Andy’s expression told me nothing but I’d never been able to hide anything from her. I went on with a rueful smile, “Naturally, he paid absolutely no attention to me—just the pesky little girl next door. But then, toward the end of his senior year, he started noticing me. He said my embarrassing mistakes were cute and my pygmy size made him feel strong.” I set my glass on the coffee table. “We spent hours learning how much we had in common—both liked Elvis Presley, western movies, the Chicago Cubs.” The memory brought a smile. “Actually, I faked the Cubs.”

  Andy gave my arm a reassuring pat. “I know,” she said.

  Taking a deep breath, I continued. “We shared our dreams. I planned to become a nurse and wait until I was old, at least twenty-four, before I got married. He thought he’d postpone marriage until late in life too and wanted to be a coach, preferably basketball but he’d settle for baseball. His father wanted Dusty to go to Harvard Law and join him in the family firm. Dusty’s biggest fear was not having the strength to go against his father’s wishes.”

  I picked up my wineglass and twirled it around, watching the light change the colors on the surface. “When he asked me to go to the prom with him, I didn’t think life could get any better. You had to offer dress and hairstyle advice by phone from college, remember? As it turned out, I put more thought into that outfit than the one I got married in.” I paused, ostensibly for a sip of wine, actually to prolong the reminiscence. “The dance was wonderful, and Dusty didn’t take me home until after midnight. He kissed me goodnight and murmured into my hair that we might have to rethink our plans for an old-age wedding.” I sat up straight, no longer enjoying the memory. “This should have been the romantic end of the story. It wasn’t. We talked about both of us going to the University of Iowa and getting married as soon as we graduated. He said he was going to tell his father the next day and promised to see me in the morning—probably the first promise he didn’t keep.” I dabbed at the tear sliding down my cheek. “After he left me, he drove out into the country. He must not have realized the heavy rains had pushed the South Skunk out of its banks and flooded the road. They never found his body, just the car and his jacket with one pearl teardrop earring in the pocket.” I shuddered. “Long time ago.”

  “I knew you and he . . . You never told me,” Andy said.

  “No point,” I said, watching the wine slosh against the sides of my glass, glad I’d chosen the white.

  “So Marvin was a rebound.”

  I looked at the ceiling, much higher than the one at home, maybe twelve feet. “No, Marvin was Marvin. He came to town and saved me from being the dead kid’s girlfriend. I loved Marvin and he loved me.”

  Andy didn’t say anything, and we sat quietly for a while. Finally I changed the subject. “It was nice of Bob to pick me up.”

  Andy smiled and followed
my lead. “Bob’s a sweetie. I’d never be able to live here without Esther and him. You got my message, didn‘t you? You must have still been in the air when I called but I left you a voicemail.”

  “Yeah, of course I got it.” Voicemail? “Bob told me he has two kids but he didn’t say much about them. He acted downright strange when I asked if the girl would graduate this year.”

  A flicker of concern crossed Andy’s face. “I suppose he did. She’s missing, just gone, disappeared about six weeks ago. Good kid, never in any trouble, then one day she didn’t come home from school.”

  “Her parents must be frantic. I know how I’d feel if it were Chris. Drugs?”

  “They say no, insist she’d never take them. They called Bart Welch right away—he’s the chief of police and Bob’s fishing buddy.”

  “Isn’t there a three-day wait before they can do anything?”

  “That’s only on TV. The police started looking right away, but I think they’ve given up.”

  “Did they put out an Amber alert?”

  Andy shook her head. “Elizabeth’s too old. You have to be under eighteen.”

  “How about milk cartons?”

  “Good grief, Jane. You’re really out of touch. They quit doing that in the ‘80s, claimed the pictures scared little kids when they were eating their cereal.”

  “Gee, I’d have sworn the last carton I bought had one.”

  “Better check the expiration date. Anyway, Bob and Esther don’t have any idea what’s happened to their daughter and it’s driving them crazy.”

  “Do you think she left on her own?”

  Andy shrugged. “Probably. Most teenagers reported missing have run away. Hard to tell. Naturally, Bob and Esther are certain someone must have taken her. But, well, let me tell you, that girl’s used to having things her own way.” Andy nodded for emphasis. “Don’t tell Bob I said that.”