“No kidding.”
“Ryan, your grandmother needs you right now.”
“Me? Why me?”
“She’s lost a lot in the last month or so. She needs to feel connected, you know?” Ryan nodded. ”I want you to make sure you spend some time with her today, just you and her.”
“After this, I’d go move in with her!”
* * *
As his mother began clearing dishes from the table, Ryan watched his grandmother until she made eye contact with him. “Can I take you for a drive?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” She smiled and followed him outside. He made sure to hold the door for her, and to close the passenger door once she settled in the seat. He wiped his palms on his shorts before adjusting the rearview mirror, then he pulled away from the curb.
“Sweetheart, relax. Driving instructors don’t drive this carefully.”
“I don’t want my car taken away on the very first day.”
“I don’t think you have to worry.”
He wound his way through residential neighborhoods, avoiding the busier streets.
“Have you learned to parallel park yet?”
“I’ve tried it a couple of times.”
“Let’s head over to the library. The parking lot should be empty, and it’s a good place to practice. That’s where your dad learned.” When he turned into the lot, she pointed to the curb. “Let me out and I’ll be the corner of the parked car.”
He put the car in park, then twisted around to face her. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Always.”
“Why’d you do this?”
“What?”
Ryan shook his head at her pretend innocence. “The car.”
She reached over and squeezed his hand. “Because I love you, because you’re very special, and I’m not sure you understand that.”
“I know you love me.”
“But not the rest of it.”
She had him, but without the standard “you shouldn’t feel like that” undertone. Maybe he could risk saying a little more. “Well, my mom and dad . . . They aren’t . . .” How could he get it across? “I just don’t feel like I fit in, you know.”
“No, I don’t. Explain it to me.”
He blew out a long, slow breath and debated going with his first instinct, saying “forget it” and changing the subject. His dad said she needed to feel connected, though, and shutting down a conversation was probably not the way to do that.
“All you guys, well, Dad and Jack and Uncle Brad . . . They were all big-time jocks and straight-A students. . . . You have this wonderful, perfect family, except for me.”
“Ryan, you are my wonderful, perfect family. We aren’t some ridiculous, false standard you have to measure up to. Sweetheart, this family is a gift that God gave you, and you are a beautiful addition. Don’t ever think you don’t fit in or you’re not as good as anybody else.”
“That’s hard,” Ryan said. “It’s pretty ingrained.”
“Then ingrain this one. Jesus Christ was the son of a teenage mother, and everybody knew He wasn’t His father’s natural son. That didn’t matter to Him or His dad, right?”
“Maybe not.”
“You’re your father’s son, and you’re my grandson, regardless of what your birth certificate says.” She dug her billfold from her purse and opened it to his school picture. “Look at this one.”
“I’d rather not,” he mumbled.
“Let me make my point.” She shoved him gently and flipped back to a family photo. “Now look at this picture.”
“So?”
“Who looks more like me? You or Jack?”
He took the billfold from her and flipped the pictures back and forth, comparing them. “Um, I do, I guess.”
“You guess? We have the same eyes! I couldn’t have mail-ordered a more perfect grandson.”
Ryan handed the billfold back to her. “Since you’re my grandmother, then it’s about time I came up with a name for you.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she said with a smile. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me anything.”
Ryan felt his face flush. She’d caught him. “It has to be cool, special, but still kind of grandmother-ish. . . . What about Nan?”
“Nan?”
“Much hipper than Nana, plus I’m way too old for that.”
“And I’m not old enough,” she said. “I love it.”
“What do you think about Pop?”
“For Chuck? It’s perfect.” She opened her door and swung her feet around to the pavement. “Thank you. That was a very special gift.”
“What?”
“The drive, the conversation and the names.”
“Thank you,” Ryan said. “You blew me away.”
“Pop had a little to do with it. He signed the check.”
“You have lifetime guaranteed grass mowing.” He raised his right hand to back up his promise.
“If Jack ever moves out, I’ll be sure and call you. Now let’s see you park this baby.”
* * *
Joel paced on the front porch waiting for Ryan to return with his mother. He had no worries about the teenager or his driving, but catching his mother alone had been his one goal for the day, and he was running out of opportunities. Brad always teased him for being a mama’s boy, but he knew he wouldn’t get a decent night’s sleep until they cleared the air over that snarky comment from Friday’s phone conversation.
His dad clung to the belief that she wasn’t depressed, at least not clinically, and she seemed good today. She was quiet at lunch, a little tired maybe, but those gentle smiles for Ryan had to be genuine. Unless it was all a show. Unless she saved every ounce of energy she had to fake her way through the afternoon. Surely not . . .
Joel watched as Ryan pulled up to the house again. As soon as he parked the car, the teenager got out and trotted around to open his grandmother’s door. “Her hair didn’t turn white,” Joel called. “That’s a good sign.”
“Dad.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go tell Pop thanks.” He kissed his grandmother’s cheek and high-fived Joel on his way in the house.
“Who’s Pop?” Joel asked as his mother made her way up the sidewalk.
“Dad,” she said. “I’m Nan. We’re official now.” She stepped up on the porch. “Can I apologize to you?”
“No. There’s no need.” It wasn’t about the apology.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t believe you when you say you’re just fine.”
She sat down on the edge of the porch, and Joel took a seat beside her. “I’ll tell the truth if you will,” she offered.
“Fair enough,” Joel said. “It was a cheap shot, but it was totally out of character, so I didn’t put too much stock into it after the initial hurt.”
“I’m not sure what’s in character and what’s not, right now. I’ve been short with your dad. I raised my voice at Shannon the night before she left. I can’t think straight. . . .” She stared out across the street, energy draining by the moment. “I’m afraid this is what insanity feels like.”
“Mom—”
“No, this isn’t right. I know it isn’t, but I can’t fix it.”
“It’s not insanity.” Joel dropped his head and stole a glance at her. “It’s grief, Mom. You’ve got to let yourself grieve and stop stuffing it. The longer you keep it in, the more it’s going to build and leak out as anger or something else.” She turned her head away from him and gazed down the street. “Are you sleeping?”
“About one out of three nights.”
“That makes it worse. Can I talk you into seeing a doctor?”
She shook her head. “Give me some time.”
“How much?” Joel glanced at his watch with an exaggerated motion, and she gave him a half smile.
“I’ve never done this before. I’m not sure.”
* * *
Thursday, July 24
Chuck sipped hi
s coffee and tried to will Bobbi to talk to him. Instead, she sat an arm’s length away, staring into her coffee cup without ever engaging. The hall clock chimed nine o’clock. He could stay a few more minutes.
He finished off his coffee and stood to rinse the cup before putting it in the dishwasher. “You have plans for today?”
“Not really.” She never had plans, just a succession of empty days. She never went out, never picked up the phone, even when Rita called. When he challenged her about it, she claimed she was leaving the line open for Shannon.
“I should be home a little early.” No matter what was on his calendar, he was leaving at three.
“I think Jack is working ten to six.” As if she weren’t worth coming home to.
“You want to get some dinner somewhere?”
“We’ll see.” She took a sip of her coffee.
“I need you to help me out at the grocery store. Can you do that much?”
“This evening or tomorrow?” The first dodge.
“Whichever is better for you.”
“Let me think about it.” And the second dodge.
“You can let me know tonight. You need anything before I go?”
“I don’t think so. Thanks.” She wouldn’t let him do anything for her, and he’d run out of ideas. Next week would mark a month since Shannon left home. If Bobbi didn’t show some signs of life over the weekend, she was seeing a doctor, even if he had to drag her.
Chuck leaned down to kiss her, and at least she tilted her head toward him. “I love you,” he said, and she nodded.
“I wish that was enough,” Bobbi said barely above a whisper.
And he was supposed to pick up his briefcase and leave after that. “Bobbi, we have to—” The phone rang. In frustration, he yanked it from its cradle. “Molinskys.”
“Bobbi Molinsky, please.” It was a calm, measured man’s voice.
“It’s for you.” He held the receiver out, and she snatched it from him with an icy glare.
“This is Bobbi . . . I see . . . Today?” The ice melted. “We’ll be there.” She handed the phone back to him.
“Who was it?”
“It was Dr. Karsten. He wants to discuss my mammogram. He said I should bring you.”
Chapter 12
Diagnosis
“That’s bad, isn’t it?” Chuck pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down before his knees buckled under him.
“Maybe. Let’s keep it quiet until we know more.”
“Are you going to be all right? I can stay here with you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll meet you at the doctor’s office.”
“I’d feel better if I could drive you.”
Bobbi sighed and finished off her coffee. “Can you be home about two thirty, then?”
“Of course.”
“Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
Pale? He was trying to focus on her words to keep from passing out. “I’m a little worried.”
“How could it be any worse than what we’ve already been through?”
* * *
It was after ten o’clock by the time Chuck dragged himself to his office. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and swiveled his chair around, giving him as much privacy as he could get with glass walls. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. Breast cancer. What would this do to Bobbi and to his sons? And Shannon? How could he get the information to Shannon? Bobbi said to keep it quiet. Did that mean she didn’t want him to call anybody? He wasn’t sure he could make it the entire day without telling somebody.
“Chuck?”
He spun his chair around to see Christine at his door. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me Chuck before.”
“You didn’t hear me the first three times when I said ‘Mr. Molinsky.’ You need me to pray?”
“That obvious?”
“You didn’t speak to me when you came in.”
“I’m sorry,” Chuck said. “Bobbi . . . her doctor wants to see her about her mammogram, and he said I should be there.”
“I’m so sorry.” She blinked several times, then pointed at his briefcase. “You’re not going to get anything done today.”
“I know. Bobbi . . . she wanted . . . I don’t have anyplace else to go. Besides, if I’m going to draw a paycheck, I should at least show up once in a while.”
Christine looked back at her desk. She probably thought he wouldn’t see her wipe her eyes. “Maybe it’s not cancer.”
“Her mother died at forty-two from it. That’s what scares me.”
Christine nodded and pressed her lips together. “She sees the doctor today?”
“At three. She wants me to keep it quiet until we know more.”
“I’ll pray very quietly.” She smiled gently and eased his door closed.
Chuck leaned up to his desk and picked up the picture of Bobbi from their trip to Maui almost twenty years ago. He lightly traced her smile, the shy, self-conscious one, the one he’d give anything to see again. The picture blurred, and he quickly rubbed his eyes.
Even if it’s cancer, it’s treatable, right? Weren’t there women on television who had lived ten or twenty years after breast cancer?
He carefully placed the picture back in its spot at the corner of his desk blotter. This was just another test, a little more refining God needed to do with them, that’s all. They’d make it through this, just like Shannon was going to come home.
Chuck sighed and leaned back in his chair. God, help me believe that.
* * *
Chuck arrived home at two thirty as promised, and Bobbi stood in the foyer waiting for him. She was smartly dressed in slacks and a green patterned blouse that always looked good on her. Her makeup was done, and every hair lay perfectly. He coughed to hide his surprise, but seeing her gave him the lift he needed. Maybe the threat of cancer would bring her back. He took her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “You look terrific.”
“It’ll be easier for Dr. Karsten to tell me if he thinks I can take it.”
“Can you?”
“It’s just one more thing. Hardly noticeable.” A hopeless resignation soaked her words.
“It’s not necessarily cancer.”
She gave him a quick frown, enough for him to understand she wasn’t arguing, but he was wrong. “I was thinking . . . I had the high white count when I spent the night in the hospital. I’m sure it’s connected.”
“I forgot all about that.” Dizzy and nauseous once again, the only thing running through his mind was the memory of the day his dad was diagnosed with lymphoma. Jim Molinsky spent two years growing weaker and sicker before it finally killed him. He couldn’t watch Bobbi go through that.
Bobbi checked her hair in the hall mirror, then she picked up her purse. “I guess I’m ready.”
He wasn’t. How could he prepare himself to sit in a doctor’s office and hear him say the word “cancer”? As he drove, he held tightly to Bobbi’s hand, more for his own comfort than hers, letting go only long enough to back into a parking spot.
“Can we pray before we go in?” Bobbi nodded and closed her eyes. Chuck reached over to hold both her hands in his. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking. “Dear God, I’m begging You, please don’t make Bobbi go through this. Let it be something else besides cancer. If this is what You’re laying before us, though, You’re going to have to show me what to do. I don’t think I have the strength for this.”
Before he let go of her hands, she looked him in the eyes. “Chuck, I’m so sorry.”
“What on earth for?”
“This is going to be much harder on you than it is on me.”
* * *
Chuck hadn’t settled in the overstuffed waiting room chair before a nurse summoned them back to Dr. Karsten’s office. Bobbi walked a few steps ahead of him in the narrow hallway, her steps confident. The nurse opened a door for them. “He’ll be right in,” she said.
The offic
e was smaller than Chuck expected, with only a desk, a table, a bookcase and a couple of extra chairs. One for the patient, and one for the husband. He followed Bobbi in, then tripped on his way to the chair next to hers. He sat down hard and mumbled, “The guy couldn’t get a bigger office?”
“He’s probably never in it,” Bobbi said.
So it was like a movie set, a room just for delivering bad news. And he was going to sit here in this fake little room and hear this guy say the woman he loved had . . . cancer.
Chuck flinched when Dr. Karsten came in and Bobbi took his hand. Slightly built, the doctor hadn’t aged much since delivering Shannon, and still sported a trim mustache and goatee. He shook hands with Bobbi and Chuck and sat down, dropping a folder on his desk. He never smiled.
“Bobbi, you have a small mass on the right side.” He pulled a sheet from the folder and turned it so Bobbi could see it. Chuck leaned over to see and tried to follow as the doctor pointed to shadows on scans, then drew circles and arrows and scribbled meaningless numbers in the margins. “With your history, I think we need to get a biopsy.”
“It’s cancer.”
“I don’t know for sure. We won’t know without more testing—”
“I had some blood work about six weeks ago that showed an elevated white count. We attributed it to some other things and didn’t follow up on it. Is it related?”
He sat in silence for several minutes, staring at the folder in front of him, then he folded his hands. “I hate this part of my job,” he said quietly. “Can you go for a biopsy tomorrow?”
“If you say so,” Bobbi answered.
“Wait,” Chuck said. “Tomorrow? So you think it is cancer?”
“Mr. Molinsky, everything changes when you give someone that diagnosis. I don’t want to be premature.”
Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series Page 13