The Gift of Angels

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  I made Dean go back to work after he drove me home. If he didn’t sell houses, we wouldn’t have an income, and we needed one more than ever now. We both felt fortunate to have adequate health insurance.

  I couldn’t eat a thing for lunch and instead went upstairs and climbed into bed, surprised that I didn’t feel as tired as I’d expected. My turmoil was more emotional than physical, and I had the overpowering urge to feel sorry for myself. Giving in to the emotion, I lay there staring at the ceiling, utterly alone and depressed. I willed myself to sleep.

  Sometime later, the doorbell rang and I started violently, my eyes snapping open. Focusing on the bedside clock, I saw an hour had passed—still too early for the children to come home from school. Besides, they used the door in the garage; they knew the code and I always left the door to the family room open for them in the afternoon.

  I waited and heard the bell again. Then nothing. I wasn’t going to answer. I didn’t care who it was.

  After a time of silence, I heard a door open somewhere in the house. I sat up, suddenly frightened. Had one of the kids come home from school early? I hadn’t heard the telltale groan of the garage door. Sweat broke out over my body, and my nausea rushed back.

  “Hello?” called a voice. “Angela? Angela, are you here? Angela!”

  I sighed with relief and wiped my clammy hands on the new jogging outfit I’d worn to the clinic. They’d told me to wear something comfortable.

  “I’m up here, Shirley,” I called, going out to the upstairs hallway that was open to the family room below. I leaned over the railing and saw her head poking in from the door leading to the garage. “Come on in.”

  At my invitation, she came the rest of the way inside—all six feet of her. Shirley Jefferson was a blonde woman my age who wore size eleven shoes and sewed many of her own clothes from homemade patterns. She’d been my visiting teacher for seven years, and one of my closest friends in the ward for four. She was also one of the most beautiful women I knew. Today she had her shoulder-length hair in pigtails and was wearing an animal print pantsuit that made her look exotic.

  “Sorry I didn’t answer the door,” I said. “I was taking a nap.”

  “Well, I’m sorry I barged in.” She stared up at me with her large hazel eyes. “I got a little worried when no one answered, seeing that your garage door is open and your car’s inside.”

  For a moment I stiffened, thinking Dean had told her about the treatment and asked her to check up on me, but I shrugged off the impression immediately. As much as he wanted to form a support group for me, Dean would never break my confidence. Or if he had, he would have given me warning. No, Shirley simply knew I didn’t leave the garage open.

  “Did you forget I was coming?” Shirley asked into the awkward silence. That’s when I noticed the copy of the Ensign rolled under her arm.

  She came to visit teach, I thought. “Oh, that’s right. It’s the first Tuesday of the month, isn’t it? I guess it did kind of slip my mind. I’ll be right down.”

  “You sure? I could come back a little later.”

  I felt a strange panic that she might leave me alone to stare up at the ceiling again. “No it’s fine. That would be too much work. I’ll just be a minute.”

  I took a peek in the bathroom on my way down to make sure smeared makeup wouldn’t give me away.

  When I got to the family room, Shirley was sitting on my couch searching through her Ensign. “I didn’t have a chance to read the lesson,” she said apologetically. “Jan was supposed to give it.”

  “Where is Jan?” I asked, settling into my rocker with my feet tucked under my body in my favorite sitting position.

  “She had a call from the school at the last minute. Her son’s in the principal’s office.”

  “Again?”

  Shirley nodded. “That boy’s a . . . well, active. Anyway, I told her not to worry about it, that I’d come alone instead of changing our regular schedule. Then I got to thinking that we might go out to grab a shake or a drink since it’s just us.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not on a diet or anything, are you? You look like you’ve lost weight.”

  I didn’t want to react, and if Jan had been there, I wouldn’t have, but the next minute I was crying.

  Shirley scooted to the end of the couch closer to my easy chair, her arms looped over the armrest. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. You look great! Angela, what’s wrong? Come on, tell me. What is it? Does this have something to do with the reason you canceled our appointment last month?”

  I shook my head, then nodded. “It’s nothing. I’m just not feeling well. I need to take a nap, that’s all.”

  Shirley shook her head. “Is it Dean? One of the children? Your grandsons?”

  That really made me lose it. I had five grandsons, all of whom lived out of state. I didn’t get to be with them often, but I wanted to see them grow to be men. I wanted to write to them on their missions and attend their weddings.

  My tears fell so fast I couldn’t see Shirley anymore. I could feel her, though, kneeling by my chair, one arm around me and her other hand gripping mine. “It’s okay,” she murmured, as though to a small child. “It’s going to be okay. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll help.”

  “I think I need to be alone,” I hiccupped, wiping my eyes impatiently. Why, oh, why did I let her stay?

  “I’m not leaving.” Shirley could be as stubborn as I was. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, if you don’t want to, but I’m not leaving you here alone. So there.” She lifted her chin a little, and I could see tears in her eyes.

  If Jan had been there, it would have never gone this far. Jan was a nice woman, but young and new as my visiting teacher. We hadn’t yet developed the kind of friendship that Shirley and I shared.

  I let myself sob for a while on Shirley’s shoulder. Truthfully, it felt good to let the emotions out with someone besides my husband. My tears hurt Dean more than either of us could bear.

  Finally, I composed myself enough to say, “Last month I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and today I had my first chemo treatment.”

  “Oh, no!” Shirley gasped and held on tighter.

  We both cried for a long time. As our tears slowly diminished and we regained calm, I pulled away from her and added, “You probably don’t know, but pancreatic cancer is fast-growing. Very aggressive.”

  “Can they cut it out?” She wiped her hand over her face, blotting off the tears.

  I nodded. “That’s the only thing that might work.”

  “When are you going to have the surgery?”

  This was the part I was most angry about, and for a moment my tears were held at bay by my fury. “The mass is too close to a major artery,” I said tightly, “and they’re afraid they’ll cut it. That’s why I’m having the chemo and radiation before instead of just after. I’m having chemo once every two weeks for four doses. Then I’ll have radiation and more chemo for six more weeks. We won’t know if any of it worked until July.”

  “Oh, Angela, I’m so sorry.”

  I could tell she really was, and for a moment my burden slightly lifted. My anger left as quickly as it had come, leaving me dizzy and weak and tearful.

  “Do they know what caused it? Why it happened?”

  I shook my head. “They have no idea. Most non-hereditary cases happen after age fifty, and I’m only forty-eight.” My whine grated on my own ears, but Shirley didn’t seem to notice.

  She looked at me solemnly. “Well, we’ll get you through it, that’s all. A lot of people have cancer and survive. Take my dad for instance.”

  I knew then that she really didn’t understand. “Shirley, it’s the fourth leading cause of cancer death in the United States,” I spoke slowly, almost feeling removed from my body. Numb, as I’d been in the beginning. “Thirty thousand people die of it every year. Surgery is the only cure, but only five to twenty percent of people can even get the surgery. Ninety percent of people diagnosed die within the first t
welve months. Fewer than five percent of patients survive five years.” I’d memorized the grisly details, had taken them into my heart, and that made me glad for the numbness now. That way it didn’t hurt so much.

  Shirley blinked, her eyes wide and her face flushed. “Angela, you—you—I don’t know what . . . you can’t just—”

  I cut through her stuttering, wanting no misunderstandings. Maybe even wanting to shake her with my words. “The median life expectancy after diagnosis is three months if untreated, six months with treatment.”

  My words had the opposite effect. She recovered her composure. “Oh, medians,” she said, waving her hand to shoo the word away. “They don’t mean anything.”

  “What?” I looked at her blankly. I’d just told her I likely had fewer than six months to live, and she acted like I’d mentioned the weather.

  “Median means that half the people will die in that time. So you just make up your mind to be in the other half.” She spoke as though it was an easy thing to do. “Medians don’t ever mention the people who are on the far tail of the graph. Like my dad. The median for his cancer was eight months, and he didn’t die for thirty years—and even then he didn’t die from cancer.”

  I shook my head, unwilling to believe.

  “Really, it’s true. And they caught yours early, right?”

  I nodded, though I’d learned that with the pancreas, early didn’t mean curable.

  “See? You’re young and healthy. You’ve always looked after yourself, never drank or smoked. You have support, a lot to live for. All of that will be on your side.”

  I didn’t want to listen to her. Hope was painful at this point. “That’s what the specialist told me—right before he added that I might make it a whole year.”

  “A pox on him!” Shirley hugged me again. “I’ll come with you next time and give him a piece of my mind.”

  She would, too—if I let her. I laughed.

  Laughed. I don’t know where it came from. How could anyone in my position laugh?

  “That’s good,” Shirley said. “They say that each hour of laughing adds a day of life.”

  “Then I’ll have to laugh an hour every day.” The thought made me weary and my smile vanished. “I just want it to go away,” I said, sounding a lot like Marie when she was begging to go to the mall with her friends. “I want my life to be like it was before. I don’t want to go into the future.”

  What I really wanted was the Lord to cure me. I wanted to know that I would see both my younger children married in the temple. But I couldn’t say these last thoughts aloud, not even to Shirley.

  Tears shimmered in Shirley’s eyes. “Oh, Angela,” she said in an oddly disappointed tone, “I know it’s hard—really hard—but don’t wish your life gone. Don’t look behind you. You have to trust in the Lord and hear what He’s trying to tell you. What He’s trying to teach you.”

  Her words struck me hard, though I didn’t know why. I wanted to cry out that she didn’t understand anything. I wanted her to shut up and leave.

  Don’t look behind you. Where had I heard that before? I wished I could remember because suddenly it felt important—almost as though my entire future depended on knowing.

  Chapter Five

  Voices in the garage broke through my anger and confusion. “Looks like my kids are home.” I told Shirley, wiping futilely at my cheeks. “They don’t know yet.”

  She blinked and her mouth gaped. “They don’t?”

  “I haven’t . . . I can’t . . .”

  “Go, then. I’ll stall them here for a bit.”

  I leapt to my feet and hurried to the bathroom, still amazed that physically I wasn’t feeling any different than before the chemo. I was a little light-headed, but that was from lack of food. I needed to eat.

  In the downstairs bathroom, I washed my face and smeared it with lotion. Marie had left her base in the drawer, so I used a bit of that to hide the red blotches on my cheeks and around my eyes. The base made my wrinkles stand out more prominently, instead of hiding them, and I wondered how I’d gotten so many. Or did I notice them more because of the fifteen pounds I’d lost?

  Sighing, I pushed the thoughts aside. Really, with my diagnosis, what did a few wrinkles matter? At that I almost started crying again.

  “Dear Father,” I prayed, but I couldn’t get the rest out. Or maybe I simply didn’t know what else to say. He hadn’t exactly answered my prayers lately.

  Slowly, I turned from the woman in the mirror, feeling distinctly sorry for her.

  Brody was in the kitchen, peering into the refrigerator, and Marie was talking to Shirley in the family room. When Marie saw me, she walked over and dropped a certificate into my hands. “I’m student of the month,” she said, rotating her arms and twisting her neck slightly in a fluid I’m-so-good movement. “This is what they gave me.”

  “Cool,” I said.

  “There are coupons too.” She opened a white folder with blue writing on it. “See? For a free haircut, a free donut, a free meal.”

  “Did they give you those buy one get one free sheets?” Brody asked. “They gave those out when I was the student of the month in ninth grade.”

  Marie shook her head. “No.”

  “I never used mine anyway.” He walked over to where we stood, half in the kitchen and half in the family room, his mouth full. “I gotta study for my English test with Brent, okay? He has to work later, so it’s got to be now. I would have stayed after school longer if I didn’t have to pick up Marie.”

  I knew he was asking if he could do his chores later. “Go ahead,” I said. “But be home by six-thirty for dinner.”

  “I will.” Stuffing the rest of a sandwich in his mouth, he headed for the door. Before he got there, he turned. “Oh, and I can’t pick up Marie tomorrow if she has play practice. I have an after school AP study group with the teacher.”

  I looked at Marie. “I do have practice,” she said.

  “I’ll pick her up,” I told Brody. As he started to leave, I called after him, “Shut the garage!”

  “I always do.”

  He did? Maybe only Marie and Dean left it open. You’d think I’d be relieved, but knowing he always closed the garage made me wonder how much else my family didn’t need me for. Not exactly a comforting thought.

  Shirley edged toward the door. “Well, it was nice visiting you. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Let me know if you need anything.” She looked at me significantly, but I only nodded and avoided her gaze.

  Marie sat on the couch in the place Shirley had vacated, thumbing through her coupons. “I guess it’s a good thing to get good grades.”

  This from the girl who only last week had told me she didn’t think it was fair for us to require good grades.

  “They wouldn’t have picked you for student of the month if you hadn’t been on the honor roll.” I slumped back into my easy chair.

  She shrugged, but her smile was content. “You should have seen everyone in drama today. It was hil-ar-i-ous” She dragged out the word. “I was having a sword fight with this new girl Alison, and then this kid Josh puts out his foot and Alison trips. He tries to stop her from falling, but she lands right on him! At that exact moment, I was making a lunge, and so I fall on top of them. We were in this sort of heap, and right then the teacher turns to look at us. The other kids were laughing like crazy. We could barely explain we were all laughing so hard. My teacher blinks a couple of times and then says, ‘If it was that funny, let’s add it to the scene.’ Can you believe that? That’s what I love about drama. You can add things and be yourself. It’s so fun!”

  This was the real Marie, or at least the bubbly, friendly girl she’d been before puberty set in. This was the Marie who’d giggled with me when I read aloud Cinderellis by Gail Carson Levine and had sobbed on my shoulder when we’d read Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia. She was the one who had always eagerly curled up next to me on the couch to watch the chick flick videos I brought home.


  Marie continued to talk—about her classes, her friends, what she had due the next day for homework. I knew I should get up and think about making dinner, but I was too emotionally drained to consider climbing out of my chair.

  “I’d better get to my math.” Marie finally arose, leaving her purse and a few stray papers on the couch. She was always leaving things behind her.

  “Marie,” I said.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” I didn’t want to destroy the moment. “Congratulations on being student of the month.”

  I must have fallen asleep in the chair, because when I awoke, the light outside the window had faded. The house was utterly quiet. Then I heard a page turn.

  “Mom? Are you awake?”

  I craned my neck and saw Marie at the kitchen table, studiously working on her advanced algebra assignment.

  “Do you need help?” My mouth was dry, and I wished for a drink of water.

  Marie came over and stood in front of me, her eyes wary.

  She’s going to ask if she can go somewhere even though Dean grounded her, somewhere she knows I won’t like, I thought. Oh, please, not now. A wave of nausea shuddered through me, and I wondered if I’d have time to make it to the bathroom. I clenched my stomach muscles, and the urge slowly receded.

  “Is something wrong?” Marie sat on the edge of the couch close to my chair. “Why are you sleeping?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a strangled snort. “No, I am definitely not pregnant.” What’s more, the chemo would make sure I never would be again. For some reason, that deeply saddened me. Though I never planned to have another child, losing part of what made me a woman wasn’t easy.