“Yeah. Sorry about that—we didn’t know you were there.” She took a deep breath. “So … I have breast cancer. Bilateral. Two different tumor types. I did the whole nine yards of treatment three years ago—mastectomies, chemo, hormones. The outlook wasn’t too bad. But now …” Her voice cracked, and she stumbled to a halt, astonished that she had confessed so much to someone she’d just met.
Malcolm didn’t flinch. He held her gaze and nodded. “It sounds like you have some tough choices to make. Your daughter sounded upset about your decision.”
Kat swallowed and resurrected her voice. “I haven’t made a final choice. Sara has this blind faith that if you follow directions, everything will be fine. I know better.”
“That’s the voice of experience.”
The way he said it, Kat knew his own experiences had taught him the same.
“I remember having that sort of faith at her age,” he continued. “After a while, you figure out that life gives you no guarantees. There are always risks.” He looked toward Lily and Nirav, sprawled now on the grass with the dogs beside them. “The hardest choices to make are the ones that have big risks regardless of what you do.”
Big risks regardless. That defined it exactly—the risk of dying sooner without treatment balanced against the risk of struggling through the treatment itself only to end up prolonging the horror. “When you don’t want either option, how do you decide?” This was a question with no answer, but she asked it anyway.
Malcolm shook his head. “I’m the last person you should come to for advice. I’ve made plenty of bad choices.”
“So, you think deciding against treatment would be a bad choice?”
“Not at all. I think it’s your choice to make. Listen to yourself. If you reach a decision and feel settled with it, fair enough. But if you find yourself questioning, that’s when you want to step back and reconsider.”
Nirav called to his father, eager to show him how high Juni could jump to catch the ball. Kat and Malcolm joined the children, and their conversation turned away from serious topics. When dinnertime approached, Malcolm gathered Nirav up to head back to their cottage.
“Thanks again for bringing me the bowl,” Kat said to Nirav. “And Malcolm, thanks for helping with the bandage.”
“No problem at all.” He waved and headed down the road with Nirav beside him.
Kat wished she could find the words to thank him for what he’d really given her. Not help with the puppy, but the sense that someone out there understood.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WEDNESDAY, 7:00 AM
Kat took the dogs out before breakfast the next morning, and the brittle grass crunched louder than usual underfoot. If these mountains didn’t get rain soon, even more trees would die. She sat in the rocker and sipped her coffee as the sunlight brightened the colors of distant trees. A red-tailed hawk soared effortlessly in the warming updrafts, its shadow rising and falling as it sped over the rolling contours of the land.
Calm. Peace. That’s what this view provided, but the serenity offered only a fragile defense against the sadness that swamped her every time Kat thought of her cancer, its tendrils silently invading her otherwise healthy body. She had no belief in an afterlife, and death itself didn’t frighten. It was the absence of life that saddened her.
She had always planned for someday. Someday, she and Jim would travel the world. Someday, she would know with certainty that her teaching had made a difference. Someday, she would reach the point where she didn’t second-guess herself. But now the days she had left flew past, torn from the calendar and tossed casually aside, with no way to know how many remained. She could picture her future narrowing, tapering ahead of her until it shrank into nothingness.
Not what she wanted. Not what she’d planned.
Kat shook herself back to the present. Stop it. She had a beautiful day in front of her. She carried out the first of her scrapbook boxes and began filtering through its contents, the dogs dozing at her feet. By chance, this one contained a mixed-up jumble of items from the last thirty years. The tassel from her college graduation, faded and frayed. The offer letter for her first teaching job, the salary ridiculously low. The fuzzy snapshot of a pregnancy ultrasound, the technology of the time making Sara appear as only an indistinct blob in one corner of the image. She sat for a long time holding a preschool plaster cast of Sara’s handprints. So tiny. Her hand used to disappear in Kat’s when they crossed the street.
A thick sheaf of stapled pages caught Kat’s eye, and she pulled it out. Leaf rubbings. Brightly colored crayoned pages from an ill-fated weekend. Sara must have been eight or nine, assigned to collect as many kinds of leaves as possible. Jim had seized the opportunity for a family camping trip, and against her better judgment, Kat had agreed to go along.
Sara loved every minute of it—pitching the tent, starting the campfire, eating frying-pan toast off the Coleman stove for breakfast. She led the way on every hike and collected leaves with the fervor of a young Linnaeus. She and Jim consulted field guides, searched for animal tracks, and waxed poetic over every butterfly and turtle.
Kat hated it. Too hot. Too muggy. Too many mosquitos. The strange night-noises and rocky ground made sleep impossible. When she stumbled into the bathhouse the next morning, she was horrified to see that the entire floor undulated with newly hatched black caterpillars, squirming in all directions. They were so close together, it was impossible to even walk to the sink without squishing them.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Jim asked when she returned to the campsite.
“There are … bugs … in there. Everywhere. Some sort of caterpillar. I couldn’t even brush my teeth.” Kat could hardly force the words through her dismay.
Jim gave her a sympathetic pat on the arm. And Sara? Sara leaped to her feet, said, “Wow, sounds cool,” and ran to go see. She even brought one of the tiny caterpillars back to show her father, the fuzzy black squiggle crawling up the length of her arm. Even at that age, any sort of creature drew Sara in like iron to a magnet.
Kat turned the pages of the leaf book, each rubbing labeled in childish block-print. White oak. Tulip poplar. Red maple. Back then, leaves and bugs. Now, a life filled with animals. Such a far cry from Kat’s bookish world.
Every item, every photograph she touched brought memories. Stories she had almost forgotten. Stories she had never told Sara. Bringing all this here had been the right impulse. If she got it all neatened up and organized, she and Sara could go through it together.
Her spirits lifted as she worked, and the morning flew past.
Lily had asked to come visit again, but Kat was a bit surprised when she arrived after lunch in Scott’s car instead of on foot. She was even more surprised when Scott got out and walked toward her, looking—could this be right?—sheepish.
Lily hung back and called out a subdued, “Hi, Kat.”
Today she wore khaki shorts and a simple green T-shirt, and she’d abandoned her experiments with makeup. A single charm bracelet hung on her wrist. She walked over to greet the dogs but stayed close enough to Kat and her father to listen.
Scott nodded a good morning. “I have a huge favor to ask.”
Kat suppressed a sigh. “Ask away.”
Scott glanced at his daughter, and his face softened. “I’ve been working toward a deadline on my current project and was all set to make it. But the bastar—sorry—my boss called last night to say he wants something different.”
He launched into a long description of technical details, but the only thing that snagged in Kat’s brain were catchphrases—strategic … critical … twenty-four hours … deadline. How could anyone generate this level of urgency about a computer program? She swallowed her irritation.
Scott rambled on. “I’ve told them for weeks we were on the wrong path, but they wouldn’t listen. Now I’m going to have to work the rest of the day and pull an all-nighter to make the changes.” His tight frown thrust his jaw forward, reminding her of a petulant five-ye
ar-old forced to clean his room.
Kat made no attempt to stifle her sigh this time, but other than that, she stayed silent and waited for him to get around to it.
“Is there any way Lily could stay with you tonight? I’ve brought her things. And two quick-bake pizzas. She’s promised she won’t be any trouble, and she’ll do the dishes and anything else you ask. This is it. Honest. After this project is done, I’m on vacation and we’ll be off hiking. You won’t see us again.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kat could see Lily studying the ground, looking tense and likely feeling more than a little embarrassed to find herself handed off by her father like an unwanted parcel. Kat wasn’t wild about a houseguest. She barely knew these people, and the implication that a woman alone must exist only for childcare annoyed her. But if she said no, it would catch Lily in the middle. She was a nice enough girl, there was plenty of room, and it was only one night.
“All right. She’s welcome to stay.”
Scott did not appear to notice the lack of enthusiasm in Kat’s voice. Lily straightened, and her hunched shoulders relaxed. She raced off to play with the dogs, puppy-energy in human form.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.” Scott paused and glanced down the empty road. “Oh, by the way, we passed Malcolm and his kid walking this way when we drove up.”
Kat gave him a sharp look, which Scott didn’t notice. It sounded like he hadn’t even offered them a lift.
“That Malcolm guy.” Scott said the three words with an air of imparting critical information. “You have to be careful when you’re dealing with someone you know nothing about.”
Kat glared. There was no way she could let a crack like that slide. “I know he’s taking care of his son. That’s plenty to start with. After all, you don’t know anything about me, either, and that doesn’t stop you from leaving your daughter here overnight.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.” Scott paused for a moment, apparently considering the merits of saying nothing more, but unfortunately, he plunged on. “I grew up in Norfolk around military guys like him. Always bossing people around. Acting like they know everything. Dragging that poor kid back to this country where he doesn’t belong … I mean, their cottage smells like one of those weird foreign restaurants with menus nobody can understand. Walk by at lunchtime and you’ll see what I mean.”
Scott acted like he’d presented an irrefutable argument, but Kat could only stare at him, appalled and speechless. Poor Lily, having to put up with this.
After an awkward moment, he appeared to tune in to the idea that he hadn’t made any headway. He gave a dismissive snort. “I’ll get Lily’s stuff out of the car.”
He fetched Lily’s day pack and the food, and Malcolm and Nirav arrived on cue. Nirav and Lily immediately went into a huddle involving numerous hand gestures. Scott and Malcolm gave each other stiff and formal hellos, but before Kat said much more than good-morning to Malcolm, Nirav raced up to his father and tugged on his pants leg for attention.
A long conversation ensued, with Nirav speaking long paragraphs in Hindi as he pointed to Lily and the dogs, and Malcolm repeatedly shaking his head no. Malcolm finally held up his hands and let them fall in defeat. He turned to Kat.
“Nirav and Lily have some idea they’re staying here tonight?”
Kat hesitated, fully prepared to say no this time—this was ridiculous, she wasn’t a B and B—but Scott, who was standing slightly behind Malcolm, shook his head vigorously and mouthed the words no, don’t do it. Kat’s neck and back stiffened along with her resolve.
“Lily is staying. Nirav is surely welcome if he’d like to stay as well.”
Malcolm looked startled, and Scott looked furious, both of which gave Kat immense satisfaction.
Malcolm recovered first. “Thanks. He seems excited about the idea. Says Lily and the dogs are his first three friends here.”
He turned for a long conversation with Nirav, which Kat suspected consisted of mind-your-manners instructions, and then the boy ran off happily to play with Lily.
“I’m a little hesitant about this, but Nirav says he’ll be fine overnight. I’m glad he feels this adventurous. I’ll bring his things up, and I can bring some food. This is very kind of you.” He smiled somewhat ruefully. “I admit it’s also nice not to be the only source of entertainment for a while.”
“No problem at all. Lily is great with Nirav. She makes everything a game. If pizza is okay, Scott brought plenty.”
Scott stood sternly silent. He walked over to say good-bye to Lily, pulled the car around in a three-point turn, and headed downhill in a rattle of gravel.
* * *
The afternoon passed quickly. Two children plus two dogs equaled perpetual motion, impervious to the heat, and Kat sorted through more of her scrapbook items while keeping an eye on them all. Lily gave up trying to train Tye to understand sit or stay, but she had success in teaching Juni to switch between her and Nirav when they played ball. Lily’s stern voice saying, “Take it to Nirav” alternated with Nirav’s softly accented, “Take it to Lily,” while Juni ran happily between them.
Both children helped with Tye’s bandage change. The wound didn’t look quite so raw this time, and Kat’s stomach didn’t lurch quite so much, but she had to admit her version of a new bandage used twice as much vet wrap as Malcolm’s and had way too many lumps.
For dinner, she picked off all the pepperoni from Scott’s greasy-looking pizzas, not wanting Nirav to feel different, and fortunately, Lily declared a love for cheese-only pizza. Nirav peered at it with suspicion, but after a few careful bites, he dove in. The little patterned bowl—Kat thought of it now as Nirav’s bowl—sat in the center of the table with several apples in it, and twice Nirav reached out to touch it with a tentative finger.
“How’d that hike with your father go?” Kat asked Lily.
“Okay, I guess.”
She didn’t roll her eyes, and she sounded sincere, so perhaps things had indeed gone a little better than she’d feared.
“We hiked a really steep trail to a pond—Dad said beavers used to live there, and we found some stumps where we could see their teeth marks. There was an overlook nearby where we could see all the way down to the lake.”
She used her hands while she talked. Nirav’s brow crinkled as he listened, but he hung on every word.
“I got to read the map myself—Dad showed me how to look at the elevation lines to know whether you’ll go up or down, and I could tell where we were and how much farther we had to go. Dad said I had a great sense of direction.”
After dinner, Lily showed Nirav how to build houses out of playing cards, and Nirav taught her to count to ten in Hindi, but once it started getting dark, they both began yawning. Kat suggested an early bedtime. She got them both settled in the back bedroom, then stepped outside with the dogs.
The sun had slipped over the horizon, and ominous dark clouds massed low overhead. The warm air rested thick and heavy against Kat’s skin, and it smelled densely wet, a seashore wetness without the salt. About time. A storm might cool things down a bit.
As if reading her thoughts, the wind picked up, swirling puffs of road dust toward the cottage. A flash of lightning lit the sky to the east, and Kat counted quietly to herself—one one-thousand, two one-thousand. She had reached only ten when the corresponding thunder arrived. Juni whined and shifted uneasily, trembling at each deep-throated rumble, and Kat pulled Tye onto her lap.
Jagged lightning leaped from one cloud to the next. The mountains loomed dark around her, heavy clouds masked the last few stars, and small twigs skittered along the gravel road. Tye snuggled against Kat’s belly, and Juni sat as close to the chair as she could get and rested her head on Kat’s knee.
Despite the din, no rain materialized. No help for the drought and nothing to cut the fire risk. A half hour of celestial fireworks provided entertainment, but then a particularly forceful gust of wind pelted Kat with dead leaves. “Okay. Time to go in.” Juni leap
ed to her feet and nudged the screen door.
Kat stepped inside and moved silently across the darkened living room to check on the children, Tye still content in her arms. Lily was sprawled on top of her covers, lost in the deep sleep only fast-growing children could achieve. Nirav’s bed was empty.
“Nirav.” Kat whispered the name. “Nirav, where are you?” He had to be here—he couldn’t have opened the front door without her noticing.
She fumbled for the living room light switch and blinked in the sudden glare of the overhead bulb. Something thumped gently against the wooden kitchen table, and she spotted Nirav, backed against the inner wall of the kitchen as if seeking its protection. He shifted from one foot to the other and didn’t meet Kat’s eyes. The bowl of apples sat off center on the table, directly in front of him. That bowl, placed quickly on the table, would have made just such a thump as Kat had heard.
She set Tye on the floor, went over, and knelt in front of the trembling boy. “Nirav, are you alright?” He nodded, but he kept staring at the floor. “When my daughter was little, she used to hate thunderstorms. She couldn’t stand to be by herself.”
At this, Nirav looked up, his body rigid. He nodded again. “Sky too loud.”
Kat opened her arms, and the boy launched himself from his retreat at the wall and pressed his thin body into Kat’s embrace. She held him tight and some of his tension ebbed, but the next thunderclap exploded close enough to rattle the windowpanes, and he shuddered.
Idiotic, sitting out to watch the storm without even thinking about the children. She was out of practice with motherhood. No wonder the thunder frightened the boy—a strange country, a new father, a sleepover, and now a full-fledged storm. Nirav shifted in her arms and pulled back slightly, calmer now.
“The storm won’t hurt us here.”
Nirav nodded against her, but he made no effort to leave the safety of her arms. Tye trotted over and flopped at his feet, and Kat simply hung on. Two long comforting hugs in the same week—this one and Sara’s. She hadn’t realized how starved she’d become for human touch. One small part of her brain kept counting down—how many hugs did she have left? How many thunderstorms?
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