“Look, if you’re wrong, we’ll praise God for a miracle, but I need to know what I’m . . . I mean, we’re, what we’re up against.”
Dr. Karsten looked at Bobbi, then fixed his eyes on Chuck. “All right then, candidly speaking, I will be very surprised if it’s not cancer.”
* * *
Bobbi took his hand again before they left the doctor’s office, before he had a chance to wipe it on his slacks. “You want me to drive home?” she asked.
“No. It’s just, he was right. Something changes once you hear a doctor say the word ‘cancer.’” He opened her car door, then closed it for her once she was inside. Everything changes. He rounded the car almost afraid to take his eyes off her. “I’m taking off tomorrow.”
“For the biopsy? You don’t have to.”
“Bobbi, honestly, it’s not just for your sake.”
She laid her hand, warm, soft, reassuring, on his. “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“You’ve never been threatened with death before.”
“You’ll handle this, too. I promise.”
“So can we tell the kids and Rita?”
“I’d rather not.”
“I can’t keep this a secret. We have to tell them.”
Bobbi sighed and turned away from him, gazing across the parking lot. “I don’t want everyone to make a big fuss. Can you at least tell them that much?”
“Not fuss . . . ? Honey, your family loves you, and they’re going to want to be there for you.”
“This is not going to make any sense to you, but right now, a lot of hovering will make things worse for me.” She squeezed his hand. “I need some space to sort all this out.”
Space he understood, but she was asking him for isolation.
* * *
Bobbi brewed a cup of Indonesian coffee and retreated to the solitude of the study. Chuck allowed that solitude only because she promised to call Rita. She closed her eyes and savored the warmth of the coffee as it diffused through her body. The biopsy tomorrow was a formality. She knew it was cancer. She could feel it. The risk, the fear had always been in the back of her mind, but after she passed fifty, she thought she had escaped.
So she hadn’t escaped, but coming on top of everything else, the diagnosis was robbed of its impact. Last year, it would have devastated them. But coming now—cancer? Of course. What else could it be?
Taking another drink to steel her nerves, she reached for the phone and dialed her sister’s number.
Rita answered on the second ring. “Hey, baby, how are you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
There was no easy way. “I have a biopsy tomorrow. It will likely confirm that I have breast cancer.”
Not a sound.
“Rita? Are you still there?”
“I need to sit down,” she said weakly. “Give me a minute.”
“Sure.”
“Canc . . . How? I don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“Do you need me? I can be there in a couple of minutes.”
“I should ask you the same question.”
“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t be much help. You’re sure about this? That it’s cancer?”
“I’m sure.”
“A lot has changed since Mama had it.”
“I know.”
“Have you told Joel and Jack?”
“Chuck’s calling Joel, and we’ll tell Jack tonight when he gets home.”
“Shannon. When word of this gets to Shannon . . . she’ll come home.”
Shannon wasn’t coming home. Bobbi didn’t have the energy for that kind of hope. “Listen, I want to keep this kind of quiet for now.”
“I can’t tell anybody?”
“Just family for now. Please?”
“Afraid somebody’s going to pray for you? Is that it?” Rita asked bluntly.
“What?”
“You don’t want anybody to help you through this?”
“You sound like Chuck.”
“Baby, you’ve been through hard times before, and you know that cutting yourself off from everybody, especially your family, is not the answer. That’s what Daddy did, and that’s what brought you to a crisis point after Chuck’s affair.”
“Rita—”
“This is why you have a family. Is Chuck going with you tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“When will you get the results back?”
“I don’t know. A few days I guess.”
“I’m making your dinner tomorrow. You can let me know if you want to eat at home or here with us.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is,” Rita said. “You don’t realize how much help you need right now.”
“This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
“Then I’m on the right track.”
* * *
Chuck collapsed on the sofa in the family room and rubbed his temples, trying in vain to make the pounding stop. Cancer. And she took the news like it was nothing more than having to wait for a table at Antonio’s. No big deal. Expected.
She sat two rooms away, processing the diagnosis on her own, leaving him with empty fear. He needed her strength, her calm. He needed her to explain where that resolve came from, and to describe how she was going to fight and win. He needed to feel that bond, that connection . . . but she needed space.
He reached for the phone and called Joel’s cell.
“Dad, can you believe I am actually in my car, on my way home at four thirty? That’s almost like normal people hours.”
“You’re driving right now? I want you to pull over for a minute.”
“Dad, what’s wrong? Is it Shannon?”
“No . . . just . . . please.”
“All right, I’m in a parking lot. What is going on?”
“Your mom’s having a biopsy tomorrow. The doctor’s fairly certain it’s breast cancer.”
“Wha . . . ? Cancer? Mom?”
“We just came from the doctor’s office.”
“How is she?” Hardly anyone else would have caught the waver in Joel’s voice, but Chuck was fighting that same battle to maintain control.
“Good. I mean, we’re trying to, uh, grasp it all. Mom . . . she wanted to keep this kind of quiet for now, just family.”
“Why doesn’t she want anybody to know?”
“She said it would make things harder for her, that she needed ‘space’ to deal with it.”
“Space? She needs space? I don’t know if I’d give it to her. Listen to her closely over the next few weeks or so.”
“Did anybody ever tell you that you were paranoid?”
“All the time, but it’s not paranoia if you’re right.”
* * *
“You want a cup of coffee?” Bobbi asked Jack, as she filled the pot with water. After enduring Chuck’s glances at her throughout dinner, she wanted to explain to Jack about the doctor’s appointment here in the kitchen, where it was safe and private. Chuck protested when she asked to do it alone, but she wanted to keep things low-key and not worry Jack. Chuck finally gave in.
“Sure.” Jack slid into a kitchen chair. “Is it American?”
“It’s Turkish, I think.” Bobbi turned the bag around to check. “Yep.”
“Just about a half cup, then.”
“Wimp,” Bobbi teased.
“I know, I know. I’ve always been a mama’s boy.”
“Those are the best kind.” Bobbi pushed the button on the coffeemaker and leaned against the counter. “Joel was a mama’s boy, too.”
“Not Brad?”
“No, Brad was Daddy’s boy from day one. We weren’t close until after the ServMed summer. When he was little, he would have gladly traded me for a puppy and not batted an eye.”
Jack leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest, arching his eyebrow in mock disbelief. “Mom . . .”
“Listen, your dad was not the same man with you and Shan
non as he was with Brad and Joel. With the boys, he was totally disengaged. I think it was his way of punishing me for staying home. Since I wanted to raise them, then I could have it. I had to be the enforcer.”
“He never disciplined Brad and Joel?”
“I didn’t say that. He’d lose his temper and lay down the rules, then I had to be the one to make sure the boys followed them. They never realized how hard I was working, trying to keep them out of trouble with him. I was the bad guy all the time.”
“Moms get a bum rap that way.”
“Yes, don’t do that to your wife.”
“I won’t.” Jack put his left hand on his heart and raised his right hand. “Promise.”
The coffeemaker hissed as it finished, so Bobbi poured a cup for herself, and a half cup for Jack, then took a seat across the table from him. She stared at the reflection of the overhead light on the shiny black surface of the coffee.
“You might as well tell me,” Jack said quietly.
She managed the slightest smile before she raised her eyes to his. “I had a doctor’s appointment today.”
“This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. My doctor thinks I may have breast cancer, and he’s sending me for a biopsy.”
“It’s bad,” Jack said softly.
For just a split second, Bobbi pictured the six-year-old Jack saying those words, with his knees drawn tightly to his body. “So what’s going to happen?”
“I’ll have the test. It will confirm the diagnosis, then they’ll probably want me to see an oncologist.”
“Are you going to have to have chemotherapy and all that?”
“I don’t know yet.” She took a long sip. So far he was taking the news better than any of them.
“This is survivable, isn’t it?”
“It can be, yes.”
“So this is just something else we have to go through?”
“Apparently.”
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Jack said.
“Fair” left a long time ago . . .
* * *
Jack lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. Cancer. His mom had cancer. He lost his brother, his sister left and now his mother had cancer. Or could have. It wasn’t absolutely certain. His mom was extraordinarily calm, so he wouldn’t worry either. Brad wouldn’t worry. He was cool, with rock solid faith, just like his mother.
She had to come through this. Brad would say it meant God was gonna do something miraculous, giving them all some amazing story to tell about how He worked on their behalf. That had to be it. He couldn’t let his mind even drift toward the alternative. He couldn’t lose his mother again.
He shook his head and sat up. Don’t fall into that hole. Get the brain going somewhere else. “What do you think, Brad?” He reached over to his desk for one of Brad’s notebooks, and opened to the spot where he’d left off reading.
A prayer. An outline for a lesson or something on Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. A gut-wrenching confession over snapping at a guy he worked with. “Good grief, ease up on yourself, man.” On the next page, Jack saw his own name and smiled.
The little guy’s here for something bigger, more than just connecting with Dad.
But what? Then as Brad started law school, the entries lost their spark. He complained about not sleeping, about God not answering him, about empty study times.
I don’t understand. Everything feels wrong, like I’m in a foreign country, where nothing makes sense. Everyone else is zipping along, but my wheels fell off. How do I get back on track?
Is this even the right track?
Exactly. Brad nailed the way he felt. And . . . he was going to explain how he got out of it. Jack grinned and flipped the page. He scanned the page, promising to go back and read it all later, until the word ‘seminary’ jumped out at him. This was it.
John twenty-one, toward the end after all the “Peter, do you love me” stuff. Jesus says, “Peter, I know you blew it, but I still want you. I still have a job for you. Now, I’m not gonna sugarcoat this. You take this job and it’s going to cost you your life. But I promise you, it’ll be worth it.” So then Peter looks at John and asks Jesus, “What about this guy? What’s he gonna do?” Jesus answers him, “Don’t you worry about anybody else, and what they’re doing . . . you follow Me.” That’s it!! I can’t look around at what my dad did, or what my grandpa did. I have to follow what He’s calling me to do. He’s calling me to seminary, to ministry, to minister to the people in this neighborhood.
Now if I can just tell my dad.
“Oh Brad,” Jack said, “that’s perfect. That’s exactly it. I wanted to follow you, but Jesus wants me to follow Him.” He reread the entry. “‘You take this job and it’s going to cost you your life.’ Brad, did you know? You couldn’t have . . . But it did cost you . . . your life.”
He lay back on the bed with the notebook across his chest. “God, You did it. You answered my question. It’s not the mission, and doing what Brad did. If I really want to follow Brad’s lead, I’ve got to break out of what I think my ‘duty’ is. Brad couldn’t stay in law school because that wasn’t where You wanted him. I can’t work at the mission all my life because that’s not where You want me. Next questions. Where do You want me to go, and what’s it gonna cost? Is Mom part of that, or Shannon?”
Chapter 13
Impartation
Friday, July 25
Chuck watched himself in the mirror as he tied his necktie. Bobbi balked when he mentioned taking the day off. Maybe it would help her if she believed he was going on into work after all. He couldn’t focus on anything but the coming battle, though.
He lay awake most of the night, listening to her breathe, wondering where she would find the strength for this fight. Where would he? His life had become a runaway mine car, careening out of control, deeper into darkness, and he couldn’t seem to find any way to bolster his wavering faith.
He took his cell phone from the dresser and called Christine.
“Mr. Molinsky, this is a bad sign,” she said.
“Bobbi’s got a biopsy this morning.”
“So soon?”
“The doctor is almost certain it’s cancer. The biopsy will confirm that and give us a clearer picture of exactly what she’s dealing with.” Before Christine could ask him any more questions, he said, “I need you to clear my calendar.”
“Mr. Molinsky,” she said, the gentleness in her voice calming him like a mother’s hug. “I don’t want to sound like I’m minimizing things, but I know God is doing something. I keep praying He’ll show you what that is real soon.”
“That’s all I’m holding onto right now.” He snapped his phone shut and dropped it in the front pocket of his slacks. If God didn’t have a purpose in all this, there was no room left for hope.
As soon as he stepped out of his bedroom, he smelled bacon. Who was making bacon? It wasn’t Jack, his door was still closed. Surely Bobbi wasn’t . . . But she was. He found her standing over a skillet frying eggs.
She smiled at him. “Pick your jaw up so you can eat.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, but I felt like making us breakfast.”
“I’m not going to argue with that.” Chuck kissed her cheek. He hadn’t had bacon or anything fried since his trip to the emergency room. She engineered this to lift his spirits, to encourage him. That settled it. He had to get his act together now. She needed to focus on her own issues. “Did you sleep?”
“Fairly well. You?”
Chuck shook his head. “I had a lot on my mind.”
She set two plates of eggs and bacon on the table. “Coffee or milk?”
“Milk today,” Chuck said, taking a seat at the table. Bobbi poured him a glass of milk, then set the margarine and a jar of peach preserves on the table. She brought her coffee over and took the seat next to him. He held out his hand, and she slipped hers inside. “Lord, thank You for today, for this meal and for the litt
le reassurances You give.”
* * *
Bobbi closed the front door behind her, leaning against it for just a moment, gathering the strength to move. The breakfast, the low-key biopsy and a quick lunch accomplished exactly what she needed them to. Chuck, renewed and reassured, went on in to work.
Following her routine, she checked the phone on the console table for messages from Shannon, and like every day for the past month, there were none. No missed calls even. Tomorrow, she’d start calling down the list of Shannon’s friends again. Tomorrow.
Tonight, Rita and Gavin were coming, and she needed some time alone, time to find something inside to draw from to get her through the evening. She brewed a cup of coffee, the Turkish blend again, and headed for her favorite spot, the love seat in the study. She slid off her shoes and settled in her corner. Chuck always sat on the left, and she always sat on the right. Always. That much was still predictable.
She felt a twinge of pain when she leaned against the armrest. The anesthesia was wearing off. Great. She shifted around and lay against the armrest, then she took a long drink from her coffee. Breast cancer would be predictable. That was oddly comforting. No more shocks or surprises, just a straightforward course of action. That should make it easier on everyone.
“Mom?” Jack called from the entry hall.
Bobbi hadn’t even heard the door open. “In here.”
“I smelled coffee. I knew you had to be here somewhere. How did things go?” He pulled the desk chair around and straddled it.
“Okay, I guess. We’ll find out in a week or so.”
“Find out what?”
“Exactly what type of cancer it is, and what happens next.”
Precedent: Book Three: Covenant of Trust Series Page 14