For the Rest of My Life

by Harry Kraus

  When she straightened again to blow her nose, she saw Della, her eyes red and her hand held to her lips. “Is John . . . ?”

  Tony stepped up and greeted Della with a hug. “He’s fine. He’s had his bell rung pretty good.”

  “Then why . . . ?” Della’s eyes fell upon Claire.

  Tony smiled. “It’s been a rough couple days. But God will see us all through,” he said, looking at Claire. He lifted Christine by the hand. “Why don’t you and Della take Claire back to our place and put her to bed for a few hours? I will stay here with John and join you around dinnertime. Then Claire can come back and visit with John again tonight.”

  It was a good plan. Claire needed rest. The Cerellis were a godsend.

  Claire took a week off from the clinic after her appendectomy, a week she spent in Brighton attending to John. She encouraged him through his physical therapy sessions, washed his hair, reminded him of old times they spent together in Brighton, and in general saw more and more of the old John shining through. After two days, he didn’t remember the urinal incident and seemed embarrassed when Claire recounted the event. After a week, other than subtleties, Claire was convinced John was on the right path. The horrible fright that John would be a social misfit for life was finally receding.

  For Claire, Christine, and Tony, the first week following John’s accident was a roller-coaster ride of rising dread, sudden fear, and exhilaration at the realization of recovery. She knew the neurosurgery carnival ride to be unpredictable. She had ridden it only once before, when she and her family kept a vigil at the bedside of her twin. But she had observed the process dozens of times while caring for brain-injured patients during her surgical internship in Boston. For days, families agonize over little or no recovery in their loved ones. Fears and expectations build as imaginations take over and worst-case-scenario outcomes are anticipated. Then, for some, the days of rising dread are dissipated in the realization of a sudden improvement. For others, the recovery comes in awkward lurches, without rhythm. For still others, the first week following brain injury is a steep slide ending in brain-death. For days, Claire felt she wore a blindfold, riding the roller coaster in complete darkness, the next rise, fall, or turn completely hidden from view.

  For Claire and John, it was a dual recovery, she from her appendectomy and rape attempt, and he from his accident. It was a time to vent and to heal. Day after day, without agenda or hurried schedule, their time became a marathon of memories about their past together. It seemed no subject from the past was off limits. Only a formal discussion of their future, and Claire’s gene status, did they deftly avoid. That was an iceberg looming large and threatening, yet silent and shielded by the fog. The other thing she refused to bring up was the diamond ring she’d seen on Lena. That was one subject she wanted John to bring up on his own.

  Two weeks after she returned to work, Claire sat at the kitchen table with a medicine text open in front of her. She pushed the heavy book away when Della entered.

  “I’ve been talking to Ginny at the genetics clinic.”

  Della nodded and waited for more. “And?”

  “I want to get my test results.” Claire paused. “I’ve made an appointment.”

  Della sat across from Claire. “What makes you think you’re ready this time?”

  Claire took a deep breath. “I want to know so I can prepare for the future.”

  “John finally convinced you, huh?”

  “He hasn’t said anything about it. I think he’s trying a new tactic of silence.”

  “Silence?”

  Claire shrugged. “I know how he feels. I guess he doesn’t think it will help to keep bugging me.”

  “Do you really think you know his heart? Do you know what John wants for the future?”

  “When John first moved to Stoney Creek, I was convinced he knew we were a match.” Claire closed the textbook. “But now I think he was just doing what seemed natural to him. He was giving it a trial to see if it would work. I think he wanted to be close to Wally, to see if he could handle a life like you’ve had.”

  “He’s great with Wally.”

  “I know. I see that. He’s patient, so patient with him, but it’s different if you’re married. You can’t walk away like he does now.”

  “So you think he’s decided he can’t handle it if you test positive?”

  “He’s had ample opportunity to ask me to marry. It’s obvious he’s holding back for a reason.”

  “So what’s changed? Why do you want to be tested now?”

  “Always before, I was looking for a commitment from John first, worried that if I was positive, I’d lose him.”

  “What’s changed?”

  “When John was ill, lying in the hospital on a ventilator, recovering from his accident, my focus changed. Suddenly I seemed to understand what you and Abby have been talking about. Marriage isn’t about what I can get from John, it’s about dying to myself and giving myself away. For the first time, I wanted to know if I was going to be able to take care of John. I was suddenly looking at a situation where I didn’t know if he might need some form of continuous care . . . and I wondered whether I would be able to provide it.”

  “So, how does getting your test results play into this?”

  “If I test negative, I know I can give myself to John.” She smiled. “If he’ll have me, of course.

  “If I test positive for the Huntington’s gene, I won’t ask John to make the choice to leave. I think I’ll encourage John to move on. He needs to find a life beyond me. I think he knows he couldn’t handle a life like that. I don’t want to saddle him with caring for me.” She gave her mother’s hand a squeeze. “I see what Wally put you through. I can’t do that to John.”

  Della nodded. “Life with Wally has not been all bad.”

  “But it’s not a life you’d have chosen.”

  “If I’d been given a chance to choose, which we’re not. God reveals some things to us in his timing for our good. We would never choose hardship, but it is the trials that bring the sweetest character.”

  “I want you to go with me.”

  “What about John?”

  “Ginny wants me to have someone for support. I don’t want John there to find out right away. I want to find out first, then help him to move on if I’m positive before he finds out.”

  “You think he’ll be willing to move on after all you’ve been through?”

  Claire nodded resolutely. “I think John’s mature enough to know he couldn’t make it if I’m HD positive. I’ll make him go. I think I love him enough to make sure he doesn’t have to take care of me.”

  Della shrugged. “I’ll be with you if you want. When’s the new D day?”

  “Friday afternoon.”

  Della stood and smiled. “You’ve finally figured it out.”

  “What?”

  Her mother disappeared into the hallway, but called out her answer. “A successful marriage is about dying to your own wants.”

  Chapter Thirty

  For Claire, D day number two began with a short run, in which she refused to count trucks or cars. Today was not to be a day tainted by superstitious obsessions. Today, she decided, come good news or bad, would be a day of trust.

  After preparing to leave, she sat on the couch and opened her Bible to reread a passage she’d shared with her own patients so many times the book practically fell open to the exact page.

  “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? . . . I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

  “Talking to yourself?”

  Claire looked up at the sound of Della’s voice. “I’m hoping that reading it, speaking it, and hearing it all at the same time might help it sink in.”

  Della smiled. “Ready?”

  Claire gently closed the leather cover of her Bible. “Let’s roll.”
>
  Claire sat quietly beside Della across the desk from Ginny, who smiled broadly.

  “What do you think?” The genetics counselor made an exaggerated grin.

  “You got your braces off!” Claire leaned forward.

  “Tuesday. Now I just have to wear a retainer.”

  “You look great.”

  “I look older!” she said. “There’s nothing like braces to make you look young.” She laughed, lifting up her gray-streaked braid. “I really felt young sitting in my orthodontist’s waiting room.”

  Della smiled. “I’ll bet.”

  The trio fell silent, knowing the light conversation was just a compulsory warmup. Claire looked around the room. Everything was just as she remembered it. The African motif, the carved animals, the old oak desk without clutter . . . everything. It felt strangely as if she’d never left Ginny’s office, that the horrible events of the preceding weeks hadn’t occurred. The only difference was that now Della, instead of John, sat to her left, and there wasn’t a diamond ring about to be placed upon her finger.

  Ginny looked up. “How’s John?”

  “Better. He’s walking with a cane.”

  “Well,” she said, lifting a folder from the desk, “this is what we’re here for.” She made eye contact with Claire. “I don’t need to remind you that we’re available to work through any issues you encounter, whether your test is positive or negative.”

  Claire closed her eyes, feeling a rush of insecurity. Did she really want to know the future? Could she handle knowing?

  She opened her eyes and nodded at Ginny. She could do this, she told herself. Nothing can separate me from the love of God.

  Ginny handed her a piece of paper. Claire carefully unfolded it. She’d rehearsed this moment in her mind a thousand times, reacting to good news, reacting to bad.

  She made eye contact with her mom, who nodded her encouragement. Claire looked at the sheet, her eyes falling on the word written in the right-hand column across from the wording, “Huntington’s disease gene assay.”

  Positive.

  She handed the paper to her mom, who, unlike Claire, could not hold her tears. Claire would not let herself weep. She knew there would be enough tears in her future. After all the anticipation, she felt exactly numb. She knew if she was negative, she would cry from relief, for the ability to finally let go a fear that had tightened her gut for months. With the news that she was positive, she felt no surge of bad news, only the affirmation of the cloud that she’d walked under for so long.

  Claire stood and looked at Ginny. “We’ll talk.” Then, she reached out to Della, who sat sobbing softly. “It’ll be okay, Mom. Let’s go.”

  She didn’t want to fall into her mother’s arms. She hugged her lightly before separating and holding the door. Claire wanted only to be alone, perhaps to pray and consider what this news meant to her life.

  She would not give up. She’d decided that months ago. She would meet this challenge the way she’d met earlier ones. Headfirst, without hesitation. She would continue to work; after all, she was the same competent physician she was before she knew her gene status.

  But one thing would have to change, and that would be the most painful. She loved John Cerelli too much to behave differently. She had to make him go away.

  Claire drove home with Della curled into the seat beside her, silent except for an occasional gasp that comes when you’re finishing up a good cry. Claire mused about her career, glad to have some objective problem she needed to solve. Even if the decision of what to do with her life was totally wrapped up in her gene status, at least formulating a plan of action kept her from obsessing about withering away in a nursing home, dancing like Wally.

  She’d had months to think about it. Today was not to be a day of sudden decisions. Today was merely meeting a fork in the myriad of decision trees that hinged on her Huntington’s disease gene status: If positive, go left; if negative, go right. She’d decided weeks ago that a positive meant leaving her career in surgery. Her patients would be at risk; she’d be uninsurable by any knowing malpractice carrier; and the years of training were too long to give her a reasonable expectation of practice life before she faced a forced retirement. So, as she weaved up the snake of a road over North Mountain, she resolutely stated her first D day decision: “I’m not going back into surgery.”

  Della nodded her head and sniffed. “Y–you love surgery.”

  “But I have also grown to love these people in Stoney Creek. I understand them. I can help them.”

  “I know you can.”

  Claire held her hand out at arm’s length, steering with her left hand on the wheel. She stared at her hand for a moment. There was no movement, no drift. Not a single tremor or twitch. She had complete control. “I’ll need some additional training in family medicine if I want to stay at the clinic.”

  “Keep your hands on the wheel.”

  Claire sighed and obeyed.

  “I want to apply for a family medicine residency. With credit for my internship training at Lafayette, I should be able to finish in two years.”

  “You shouldn’t make rash decisions today. How can you talk this way so soon after . . .” Her voice faded before continuing with a sob. “. . . finding out your results?”

  “This isn’t a rash decision. I’ve been thinking about this for months.”

  Della steadied her voice. “The folks in Stoney Creek can’t afford to be without a doctor if you leave.”

  “I want to set up a meeting between Dr. Jenkins and Dr. Marsh, the head of family medicine at Brighton University. The Stoney Creek clinic would be a perfect site for resident training. If the university would provide attending coverage, our clinic could be run by residents.” She nodded. “I could even keep working there on some rotations and then once I’ve completed my training, I could supervise the residents myself until . . .”

  “Jimmy isn’t likely to look kindly to a tight relationship with the university. He’s always had an attitude about ‘the Ivory Tower.’”

  “He’ll have to get over it if he wants to sell his practice. He’s been looking for a long time for someone to take over. No one is biting. Everyone wants to practice where the money is best.”

  “I suppose if anyone can make him think seriously about this plan of yours, it’s you. He adores you. Always has.”

  “I know.”

  Claire downshifted the Volkswagon as the grade steepened, forcing the engine to rev higher and work a little harder. She listened to the whine of the little powerplant until Della placed her hand over Claire’s as it rested on the gearshift. Her mother spoke in a winsome tone. “Unraveling the mystery of the Stoney Creek curse has been hard on Dr. Jenkins.”

  Claire waited for her mother to explain.

  “Until you forced everything into the open, I think Jimmy always believed you were his daughter.” She huffed. “At least he wanted to believe it.”

  “What makes—”

  “He came to all your high school games, Claire. He always cheered the loudest when you succeeded and he bragged the most when you went off to Brighton for medical school.” She patted Claire’s hand. “I think you burst his little fantasy that he had fathered the most beautiful woman in Stoney Creek.”

  Suddenly Claire found her own eyes tearing. “That’s silly.”

  “Not really.”

  They passed the summit and started the winding descent toward Fisher’s Retreat. “Today, I wish he would have been right.”

  Della shook her head. “It took Wally McCall’s genes to make you who you are. Every strength. Every weakness.”

  When they finally slowed to turn into the lane leading up to their home, a second car pulled in right behind them. “Mom, look. It’s Grandma Elizabeth.”

  “She’s in Martha’s Vineyard.”

  Claire shook her head. “Don’t tell her about my test. I’ll tell her when I’m ready.”

  “Of course.” The car stopped and the duo got out with gaping mout
hs.

  They watched as Elizabeth pulled in. Claire squealed. “Grandma, what are you doing here?”

  Elizabeth lowered her window and shook her head in apparent disgust. “Doesn’t anyone in my dysfunctional family talk to each other?”

  Claire and Della exchanged glances.

  Elizabeth snorted. “Your aunt Gracie called me last night. Your uncle Leon is dead.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Grandma Elizabeth tilted her head to the side as she sat at Della’s kitchen table. “Where’s Wally?” G

  “Pleasant View.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Good.”

  Claire poured her grandmother a glass of sweetened iced tea. “What happened to Uncle Leon?”

  “Gracie found him in his study, slumped over an account ledger for the business.”

  Claire winced. “Suicide?”

  “The medical examiner is looking into it. Gracie thought he’d been drinking, maybe taking some sleeping pills. There wasn’t an empty bottle lying around or anything, so it’s going to be a mystery until we get the lab results back from the medical examiner.”

  “I guess you know he sold the business.”

  Elizabeth shook her head. “Gracie told me the deal went sour at the last minute.”

  “It did? But Mr. Sugimoto said—” Claire put her hand to her mouth.

  Elizabeth’s eye’s narrowed. “You know Mr. Sugimoto? Did you know about this deal?”

  “I heard about the possible sale from Mr. Sugimoto, but when I first asked Mom if she knew anything about it, you’d already sold your stock to Uncle Leon.”

  Elizabeth sighed. “Leon had to know about this deal before he bought me out.” She shook her head. “Your grandfather would roll over in his grave if he knew.”

  “When did the deal fall through?”

  “Just a few days ago. Evidently the Japanese buyer got cold feet at the last minute.”

  Claire looked away and held her thoughts to herself. Mr. Sugimoto asked me so many questions about the family business. I told him that Uncle Leon had just bought out Grandma Elizabeth’s stock. I wonder if seeing the way Uncle Leon treated his family made Mr. Sugimoto nervous about doing business with him.