by Emily Bold
‘No,’ she wailed. ‘No, Tim. I wasn’t! I want to live! I don’t want to die . . . but I feel nothing. Ever since Ahrens said it . . . I can’t feel a thing! Nothing! I can’t think, I can’t cry, I can’t even be angry. Tim, I feel as if I’m already dead. I just . . . I just wanted to know what it was like to feel something!’
Tim pressed her against him and kissed her cold lips. His mouth felt soft and hot against her wet skin, and she pushed up against him.
‘Wanna know what I feel?’ he muttered close to her ear, and his tears were running over her cheek. ‘I feel scared. I’ve never been so scared before in my life, Lauren.’
‘I’m scared, too. I’m so scared that I can barely breathe. And I’m cold. So cold.’
Tim lifted her up and carried her up to the Latham’s house, but before they even reached the steps leading up to the front door, Celeste came running toward them, screeching.
‘My gosh! Tim? Lauren? What . . . what happened?
Look at you! I saw you down by the shore, and . . .’
‘Let us in, quick – I need to get Lauren out of these wet clothes,’ Tim commanded, squeezing past his mother-in-law and into the living room. Without paying any more attention to Celeste and the horrified look in her eyes, he lay Lauren down and started undressing her. Water was dripping from both their pants and seeping into the expensive rug.
‘Go get some towels and dry clothes – and blankets,’ he instructed Celeste, still shaking from the cold.
She ran upstairs. The strange mood that had followed them into the house sent shivers down her spine. Something was wrong.
A short while later, Celeste was sitting in the dining room, wringing her hands. She was trembling and found herself unable to think straight. The long dining table seemed like a shield to hide behind – but it failed to protect her from the rest of the world. Peter had just returned home after a long day at the firm, and she could hear him talking quietly to Tim in the living room. After Tim had told her what had happened, and why, she had needed to get away, not wanting to show Lauren that the news shook her to the core. She did not want her child to see her cursing God.
Which was what she was doing: cursing God, the Universe, and everyone lucky enough to be spared such a fate.
Nervously, she braced herself for Peter’s reaction, half expecting him to yell or shout or start hitting something. But none of that happened. All she heard was her own heart beating much too fast in her chest, and she could feel herself breaking out in a sweat.
Then the set of double doors opened, and her husband entered. He was moving slowly, dragging his feet, as if he had aged twenty years, and his skin looked gray. His lips were pasty, and he gasped for air. Distraught, he pulled Celeste up from her chair and pressed her against him.
He trembled, almost breaking every bone in her body by holding on to her so tightly. As if trying to stop himself from drowning.
‘Our child!’ he managed, convulsing with sobs. ‘Our baby!’
* * *
Over the flames Lauren looked into her dad’s stoic face. He was taking this evening with level-headedness, using all his strength to offer his wife and grandchildren a strong and comforting presence.
‘That was one of the hardest day of our lives. Almost as hard as today,’ he confessed, putting his arm around Celeste’s trembling shoulders.
Ben rose and walked over to his parents.
‘Mom, are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Do . . . do you want me to take you home? It’s getting late,’ he offered, but Celeste shook her head.
‘No. I’m staying. I want to stay,’ she said resolutely. ‘I’m fine. I . . . I’m going to stop crying now.’
No More Tears
‘They made a mistake!’ Ben stated with absolute conviction – his anger was palpable.
Lauren watched him as he paced up and down in their parents’ living room. His steps were so heavy that they were like hammers on the hardwood floors. ‘Lauren, say something . . .’
‘What do you want me to day? You’re the one shouting and hoping for a miracle!’
Celeste blew her nose and looked at her children with red-rimmed eyes. Once more, Peter and Tim had returned to the clinic, but Lauren had refused to go with them. She did not want to hear Professor Ahrens discussing therapies that were really just ways to try and avoid the unavoidable, and describing the medications that would merely manage her symptoms. There was no cure, according to Professor Ahrens – and this was all that mattered to Lauren. That, and her children.
She felt nauseous, just thinking about what this diagnosis meant for Mia and Alyssa. That was the worst part. Not the fact that she was dying – or that she was dying much sooner than expected. No, it was the thought of dying and no longer being part of her children’s lives. Mia needed a mother, especially now that she was hitting puberty. And Alyssa was still a baby, really. How would they live without her? How could they ever be happy again? She wanted nothing more than a happy life for her kids.
She remembered one winter morning several years ago. Mia had been three years old at the time, and they’d just woken up. Sixteen inches of snow had fallen over night, and the sun transformed the snow-covered landscape outside into a sparkling, diamond-encrusted winter wonderland. They’d got dressed right after breakfast, bundling up in their warmest winter clothes, before heading out with their sled and spending the entire morning in a magically transformed world. Mia could barely keep still on her sled. Again and again she would throw herself into a snowdrift, almost disappearing inside of it. Her cheeks were red like the shiny skin of a fresh apple, her eyes were sparkling brighter than the snow around them, and her laughter rang out over the silent, snow-covered fields. And even though Tim was at court and missed this wonderful day, it would be one of the most beautiful days in Lauren’s life. Mia’s laughter, her joy and happiness, and the spectacle that was this magical winter wonderland had turned a normal day into a perfect one. Lauren could not remember the world ever sparkling so brightly again after that, ever witnessing Mia discover something with such euphoria than when she sank up to her shoulders into a glittering snowbank.
Lauren clasped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle a sob. She wanted to experience many more such moments! Wanted to feel the happiness of that icy winter morning one more time. No, hundreds more times. There was so much left to do . . . But Doctor Eckhard had only given her a year and a half. The time she had left seemed no more than a heartbeat. And so she held her breath, fearful and tense. A year and a half . . . that was barely five-hundred and fifty days . . . It was nothing!
‘I’m sure there are treatment options, maybe not here in Vermont . . . but perhaps somewhere else in the world,’ Ben said. ‘And we’ll travel there, Lauren, if need be! I made enough money playing baseball – I’ll pay for every flight and every therapy. Maybe we need to go to Europe . . . Professor Ahrens is from Germany. They might have made advances in research, in medicine, or something?’ Ben’s face had turned bright red. He was repeating all the possibilities Lauren and Tim had already considered the night before. Lauren wanted to believe that Ben was right. She wanted to believe that they’d given her the wrong diagnosis, that there was a cure – or, simply, that she was going to live. She wanted to believe, but she couldn’t. As difficult as it was. She couldn’t. I’m going to die, she thought, and she could feel the panic rise inside of her, as it did every time she allowed this thought to enter her mind. Her pulse quickened, she broke out in a sweat and her throat was tight.
She couldn’t tell Ben that she didn’t want to give in to false hope. It had been the same with Tim. But Professor Ahrens’ well-meaning advice weighed more heavily on her than any hope for a miracle. Of course she was holding this hope deep inside her heart. This wishful thinking that everything was a mistake – or that there was a cure for her out there. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she had left chasing after a miracle, only to ultimately find out
that there was no miracle waiting at the other end. No, if a miracle did in fact exist, then it would come to her. It would find her.
‘Your cancer is terminal, Mrs Parker,’ Ahrens had said. He had leaned over and touched her shoulder. ‘No therapy is going to change the inevitable. Radiation will of course buy you some time, chemotherapy maybe even more, but keep in mind what all that entails. More side effects, more bills, more time spent at the hospital – and it’s not going to change the outcome.’
Lauren shook her head. She had looked at him and asked him what he meant. What he recommended she do. But he’d said everything there was to say. Nevertheless, Lauren had understood what he was trying to get at. Live – that’s what it was. Live for as long as you can before this illness kills you, and don’t waste your time on therapies that take away from your quality of life and that are not going to save you in the end anyway. She had been surprised at his honesty. And despite it leaving her with almost no hope, she was glad. He was showing her a way – a way of spending the few remaining days of her life. Could she make such a decision? Decide to refuse any sort of treatment, effectively give up? She didn’t know.
Live!
She wanted to live, yes, but it was hard to follow such a simple command.
She reached for Ben’s hand as he passed her on his way back. Helplessly, he slumped down onto the sofa next to Lauren and kissed her on the temple. Red stubble and dark shadows under his eyes bore witness to his state of mind.
‘How can you stand this?’ he asked, shaking his head.
‘I can’t. I want to scream and shout, lash out and cry. I know it sounds stupid, but nothing inside this body feels familiar anymore. It’s as if I’ve been taken over by some alien power. They’re making me breathe in and out . . .’ She raised her hands. ‘. . . and they control each of my moves. The only reason I’m still walking and talking is because I’m on auto pilot. It feels like some sort of defense mechanism inside my brain. Like I’m blocking out the problem, even though I can’t think about anything else anymore.’
Ben pulled her against his chest and held on to her.
‘No, sweetie, it doesn’t sound stupid at all. Given the circumstance I would even say it sounds perfectly logical. But where do you go from here? What . . . What’s your next step? Which therapy are you going to choose – and when?’
Lauren shrugged her shoulders. Celeste had joined them, now holding both her children in her arms. Lauren looked both her mother and her brother in the eye. Green eyes, so similar to her own. Eyes that were full of tears and pain.
‘I don’t know. I have no idea what to fight for if there’s no hope.’
‘Don’t say that. There’s always hope!’ Celeste whispered, her voice breaking.
‘Mom,’ Lauren sobbed, kissing her mother’s tear-soaked cheek. ‘We need to stop crying. I mean it! I don’t want to be crying and feeling sorry for myself for the rest of my life. There’s not enough time!’
Just when they’d regained their composure and barely dried their tears, Peter and Tim returned from the hospital. Their faces were drawn, and the general hopelessness weighed heavily on their shoulders. Not much was left of Peter Latham’s normally straight posture as he sat down next to them, bowed low with grief.
Tim remained standing in the doorway, studying the family before him. They looked as if they were putting up a defensive wall around Lauren. As if Ben and Celeste were ready to pick a fight with anyone or anything that tried to take Lauren away from them.
‘So, did anything come of your meeting at the hospital?’ Ben asked. He was rubbing Lauren’s back and seemed to have switched back to fight mode. As before, he did not want to hear about terminal or incurable.
Tim nodded.
‘It’s difficult. As they mentioned yesterday, the tumor has infiltrated too much of the surrounding tissue. None of the suggested therapies can fully cure this thing. But if we do nothing . . .’
‘What if we do nothing?’ Lauren asked.
‘You’re going to do something!’ Peter interjected resolutely. Lauren freed herself from her family nest and stepped over to Tim, searching his eyes for the answer.
‘If we do nothing, the tumor is going to spread fast,’ Tim said. ‘As a result, you will experience pain, speech impairment, loss of motor function, unconsciousness. You are going to have epileptic seizures . . .’
Lauren nodded. She’d heard enough. Her doctors had predicted as much yesterday. And, at some point, she would lose control and would – well, she would die at the end of it all.
And that end was terrifyingly close.
* * *
Lauren got up and opened a fresh bottle of wine. She went around, refilling everyone’s glasses. Then she strolled over to the picnic table that Tim and Mason had built, and peered into the dessert bowls. There was still some tiramisu left, and she gave Rachel a grateful smile. She loved tiramisu.
‘Anybody up for something sweet?’ she asked, holding up her well-filled plate for everyone to see.
‘Oh, yes please!’ Chris came over and grabbed the whole bowl, but Rachel objected with a chuckle.
‘No way! You’re supposed to share!’
Careful to share fairly among everyone, Rachel portioned out the remaining dessert until only a small amount remained in the bowl – which she then handed to Chris.
‘Lorelei,’ he griped. ‘Your so-called best friend is not being nice to me!’
Lauren laughed and patted Chris’s cheek in a mock sympathetic gesture.
‘You’re a big boy – you’ll survive!’
Chris nodded and followed her with his eyes as she returned to her family.
Yes, he’d survive. Lauren, on the other hand . . .
She had managed to shake off the melancholy they had all been feeling over the past hour, and now cheerfully spooned the dessert into her mouth. The wine had breathed color into her cheeks, and she pushed her hair, shiny in the glow of the bonfire, behind her back. Then she sat down next to Mia, nudging her tenderly in the side.
‘Telling you all was the worst part. It hurt so much seeing your pain, because I felt so guilty,’ she turned to her friends. ‘But once you all knew, it got a lot easier. Only Mia was giving me a hard time.’ She winked at her daughter.
Mia’s Anger
Tim was staring at his brightly lit laptop screen without really seeing anything. He had been researching treatment options. There was hardly anything worth pursuing, and a sense of hopelessness slowly came over him. He was tired, but he felt too restless to go to bed – unlike Lauren who had already turned in. It was still early, but the days were getting shorter this time of year and the darkness outside was trying to convince him otherwise.
Mia hadn’t come home yet from visiting a girlfriend. Tim was glad she was keeping busy. The children still didn’t know about Lauren’s illness.
And he had no idea how he was going to tell them. He was a grown up, and he felt unable to handle it – so how much harder would it be on the kids?
While he could feel his throat getting tight and the tears welling up in his eyes, he wasn’t trying to fight it. Lauren was asleep – and so he didn’t need to pretend that he was strong. That he had the whole situation under control. That there was a way out. He was alone, and he allowed his pain to come. His sobs sounded foreign to his ears – he had not cried in years before Lauren’s diagnosis. And why would he have done? He’d been happy. He had cried when his children were born – tears of joy. But now, fear was driving him out of his mind. There couldn’t be a world without Lauren in it. Not for him, and not for her friends and family.
Tim rubbed his eyes, feeling the wet tears on his cheeks. He was a man weeping bitterly yet he did not feel the least bit embarrassed.
It was only when the front door opened that he flinched. He dried his tears on his sweater and inhaled deeply before turning around to Mia.
‘Hi, Dad,’ she muttered, popping a fresh piece of chewing gum into her mouth. ‘W
hat’s going on? Why are you sitting here in the dark?’
Casually, she strolled over to the kitchen, turned on the lights and poured herself a glass of juice. ‘Are you crying?’ she asked, perplexed, when she noticed her father’s puffy face.
Tim rubbed his eyes and shut down the computer. A hint of cigarette smoke caught his nose.
‘You smell of cigarettes,’ he noted matter-of-factly, but stayed in his seat. Mia ignored his remark.
‘Dad, what’s going on? Why are you sitting here in a pitch- black room, crying? Did you and Mom have a fight? Are you going to get a divorce? Seth’s parents are divorced, you know – he now lives with his dad.’
Coolly, she perched on the armrest of one of the chairs, shoulders slouched, and held her juice glass between her knees so she could loosen her braid. The smell of cigarette smoke intensified. Tim knew he needed to address this, but he had no patience for one of Mia’s temper tantrums right now – which would surely follow should he dig deeper. Besides, she was staring at him with her eyes wide, waiting for a reply.
He could feel the rising panic and took a deep breath.
‘No . . . we didn’t have a fight. I . . .’ He stopped. He had to stop lying to her, even if the truth would hurt. ‘It’s because of Mom. She’s sick. Very sick.’
Mia slipped from the armrest into the seat. She wrinkled her forehead and pushed out her lower lip, as she often did when she didn’t get her way.
‘Do you mean her migraines? Seth said his mom was getting migraines all the time, because she didn’t want to . . . you know what . . . with his dad.’
Tim rolled his eyes, wondering when Mia had started leaving childhood behind. There she was, chewing gum, dating boys and talking about sex. He briefly wondered what she already knew about you know what – and how. But this was unimportant compared to what he needed to tell her right now. To stall for time, he ran his hands through his hair. He had no idea how he was going to break the news gently.