"I know; I just promised Sybil that I'd look in on you and make sure you got settled in okay," Caroline said.
"How about you?" Julia said, "Looks like you're due any time. How long you got left?" Julia asked.
"Two weeks, but I've been having so many Braxton-Hicks contractions that it has poor Max nervous as a cat."
"Yes, I had a few false-labor pains too with my Emily," Julia said, a feeling of loss filled her as she thought of the joy she experienced during her pregnancy.
Caroline saw the pained look wash over Julia's face.
"I'm sorry Honey; I didn't mean to make you sad," Caroline sympathized.
"It's okay Caroline; I'm fine," Julia assured her. "Hey, you better get going, or you're going to miss your own shower."
Julia hated to admit it, even to herself, that the thought that Caroline's motherhood was just beginning, while hers, had come to a tragic end, did bother her. It made her feel uncomfortable around Caroline, yet envious of her at the same time. Enjoy this time, she thought, for it can be snatched away in a heartbeat.
"Oh lord, you're right, better run. You call me if you need anything," Caroline shouted, as she waddled out the door.
Julia was now alone in the gallery. They didn't officially open for another hour, so she took the opportunity to walk around and get the lay of the land again. There were many memories here, not the least of which, her first meeting with Paul. She stood in the exact spot where she had planted that first kiss on him all those years before, smiling as she remembered how her heart had raced with the excitement of his touch, and then laughing as she recalled the frozen dumb look on his face after she kissed him.
Julia considered herself lucky at that moment. Though she had lost him, they had shared what only the fortunate few get to experience in life, a love beyond measure, a love for the ages. To have her first one-woman show and meet her soul mate all in the same night... was the stuff of dreams.
Julia re-locked the front doors after Caroline had left. She appraised her outfit in a mirrored wall by the door. She wore a smart navy blue pantsuit that hugged her ample curves; her neck had a white silk scarf tied around it, and she wore her long blond hair up in a halo of spun gold. She couldn't help thinking that Paul would approve, not that he hadn't found her equally enticing in her sweatshirt and holey jeans.
Out of the corner of her eye, Julia noticed a young girl, fourteen or fifteen; she guessed, with her nose pressed against the far window of the gallery, her hands shading her eyes to peer inside. Julia went to the door, unlocked it and stepped outside.
"We're not open for another hour, but I could use the company if you'd like to come in and look around now," she called to the girl.
Kit walked to the doors of the gallery and looked up into Julia's face.
"Yes, thank you," Kit replied, "that would be nice."
"Wow, aren't we polite," Julia said, surprised at her guest's formality.
Kit walked through the door, paused and looked back at the woman.
"You're very pretty," Kit said, still struck with her initial impression of the woman.
"Thank you, you're not so bad yourself," Julia said, slightly taken back by the young strangers complement.
"Hey, you're in luck," Julia smiled and said, "Since you're the first one here, you get the ten cent tour for free."
Kit was nervous at first as she peered around the gallery. It was nothing like the shops and stores from the neighborhood. There were no floor sweepings swept hastily into a corner, no grimy footprints. She couldn't even imagine a rat scurrying along the perfect walls. Everywhere she looked; the floors shined of perfectly polished marble, or freshly vacuumed plush carpet, that didn't show a single foot track. She couldn’t get over how clean and neat everything was.
The paintings on the walls and the sculptures on their displays were perfectly illuminated. It was, as if, a light from heaven shone down upon them. She had never seen so many beautiful things together in one place, in all her short life.
As Kit walked along side her, Julia would point out paintings and sculptures. She made a point of lingering longer when she saw Kit intently studying any piece and asked her opinion.
"I like the use of color in that one," Kit would say, or "The artist makes great use of perspective in that one."
"Hmm, you have a good eye young lady," Julia said, wondering just who this budding art devotee was.
"Just who taught you about art?" Julia inquired.
"My art teacher, Mrs. Shay," Kit replied. "She really knows a lot about art. She thinks I could be an artist someday."
"I'd like to see some of your work sometime." Julia said.
"I have some of my stuff in my backpack," Kit replied, "would you like to see it?"
"Of course, please!" Julia replied.
Kit sat down on a bench and unzipped her backpack. She pulled a dog-eared blue folder from it and laid out several sketches on the bench beside her. Julia studied each drawing intently, nodding her approval.
"Oh my, these are wonderful, excellent really!" Julia remarked. "I think Mrs. Shay is right; you are very talented."
"You really think so?" Kit asked.
"Absolutely!" Julia said.
They spent nearly an hour discussing art before Julia had to open the gallery. They talked about the Impressionists, Cubism, Surrealism and technique. They talked about Renoir, Da Vinci, Dali, Degas, Michelangelo, Monet, Raphael and Rodan. Kit could even carry on an intelligent conversation about the Paleolithic cave art discovered at the Chauvet, Lascauxin and Niaux caves in France.
"Surely Mrs. Shay didn't teach you everything you know about art," Julia said, "There simply aren't enough hours in the day, even if every class you had at school, was about art." Julia said.
"Oh I do a lot of reading on my own, you know, also the library and the Internet," Kit said.
"Who are you?" Julia asked, amazed by her young visitor.
"Oh, sorry, Katherine Collins, but my friends call me Kit," she replied, extending her hand to shake.
"I'm Julia, Julia Davis," Julia replied and shook Kit's hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you Kit."
It was the first time that Julia had ever introduced herself as simply, Julia Davis. Throughout her marriage to Paul, she clung to the hyphenated form, Spencer-Davis, preserving her maiden name. It always bothered Paul a bit, but he accepted it over time. The irony that she should now take Paul's last name, and only it, did not escape her. She had stubbornly held on to the last vestige of independent identity she had, and only after Paul's death had she now surrendered it willingly, even happily.
Julia was a little sad and annoyed by the arrival of a couple at the front door. It meant that her conversation with Kit would be interrupted.
"Looks like you have to take care of business," Kit said, noticing the couple waiting.
"Yes, I'd better let them in," Julia said.
"Would it be alright if I stayed a while longer and made some sketches?" Kit asked.
"As long as you don't leave without showing them to me," Julia said. "Deal?"
"Deal!" Kit replied smiling.
Julia met the couple at the door and let them in. It seemed they had been in earlier in the week and knew just what they wanted. Julia wrapped the painting, collected their payment and saw them to the door.
"Well, that didn't take long, did it?" Julia said, rejoining Kit.
Kit was sketching a nude sculpture of a well-muscled man throwing a spear. Julia gazed appreciatively over her shoulder complimenting her efforts.
"Try holding the pencil this way," she offered, "it will give you more control."
"Hey, that is easier," Kit agreed.
"I'm drawing the sculpture from the back angle. I still get a little creeped-out drawing their things, you know, their penis." Kit confessed.
"You get used to it. You should have seen me the first time I drew sketches with a live male nude model. I turned six shades of red."
"You did that?" Kit asked.
&
nbsp; "Sure, lots of times. Did you think that only boys drew boys, and girls drew girls?" Julia laughed.
"I never really thought about it much. It just seemed as though most all the famous artists were men." Kit remarked.
"Well, it's true historically we're outnumbered, and we women are usually the subjects of paintings, rather than the artists, but don't forget about Rosalba Carriera, Mary Cassatt, or Artemisia Gentileschi. They were all amazing women artists. The trouble is, men have a tendency to treat female artists like we were some mistake of nature. Which is all the more reason to support young girls like yourself who want to be artists," Julia said.
"Hey, I'm getting hungry. How do you feel about me ordering a pizza?" Julia asked.
"Just happens to be my favorite food in the world," Kit replied, licking her lips, “I could go for that!”
"Wow, it's weird how much alike you, and I are," Julia said.
"Julia, do you know anybody that doesn't like pizza?" Kit asked.
"Come to think of it, no!" Julia said, as they both laughed. “Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.
It came time for Kit to leave, and Julia saw her to the door.
"I hope you drop by again sometime. I enjoyed our visit very much," Julia said.
"Really? It would be okay"? Kit replied.
"Anytime," Julia assured her.
Julia walked the few blocks from the subway to her apartment building. There was a spring in her step and lightness in her heart that she hadn't experienced since the accident. It felt good! In the span of a few hours, her life had gone from deep despair, to a feeling of new hope. And she owed it all to the girl who had been a complete stranger only a few hours earlier. One girl, who, without knowing it, had reawakened her spirit and given her a reason to believe, that life, could be good again.
Chapter 9 - Bad News
Celeste Collins sat on the examination table, the paper gown covering her body, chafing at her neck.
"You can get dressed now Celeste," Dr. Taubman said. "We'll talk in my office."
Celeste slowly removed the paper gown, dressed and took a seat in the waiting room.
"Dr. Taubman can see you now Mrs. Collins," the nurse said.
Celeste rose from her chair and nervously followed Dr. Taubman's nurse to his office. He was writing something in a folder as she entered. He glanced up and asked her to sit down. The nurse closed the door as she left. He continued writing. Unnerved, she broke the silence.
"Okay Doc, what's the verdict!" Celeste asked.
Dr. Taubman set his pen on the desk and shifted in his seat. His discomfort was palpable.
"It's not good, Mrs. Collins. You have what is called Metastatic Breast Cancer, and I'm afraid that it is in an advanced stage. The median survival rate is around two years, and that's with chemo and radiation therapies.
"Celeste, I have to ask you why you've waited so long to see me. You had to have noticed the tumor some time ago," he said.
"About eight years ago I had what proved to be a benign cyst in my right breast. When I first felt the new lump, I thought it might be another one, and I didn't have health insurance until recently. I didn't go to the doctor thinking it was another cyst, and it could probably wait until my job added medical to my benefits package. I guess I hoped that if I acted as if it didn't exist, that it might go away on its own," she replied, slowly.
"I'm afraid that we're left with very few options," he said, rubbing his chin.
"We can try chemo and radiation, but," he paused, "the cancer has spread to your lymph nodes and to your lungs. That would explain your shortness of breath and your cough. We might give you more time, but I'm sure you've heard that the treatment can be as bad as the disease, and given the advanced nature of your particular case..." he paused again, "I'd have to advise you to start putting your affairs in order. I've given my nurse some names of other oncologists if you'd like to seek a second opinion. I would certainly advise you to do so," he said, in a rehearsed manner that betrayed the fact that he had given this same speech before.
How many other women had sat in this same chair before her, receiving this same death sentence, Celeste wondered to herself.
She sat stiffly in the chair and stared out the window, taking in his words. She didn't look at him; she had already seen it in his eyes. She knew there was nothing he could do for her. Her only thoughts now were of Kit. What would happen to her Kit? Why had this happened now? Just as all her hard work began to pay off, just as their lives began to turn around.
"So, how long, in my particular case, do I have?" Celeste asked, cutting him off before he could offer the usual platitudes.
"That's difficult to say," he answered, pulling at his collar.
"How long?" Celeste repeated, insistent for an answer.
"A year, two if we're lucky," he replied, somewhat matter-of-factly.
Celeste sat for a moment, her eyes filling with tears; she sniffed and quickly wiped them from her eyes with her fingers. Dr. Taubman deftly pulled a tissue from a box on his desk and stretched to offer it to her. She took the tissue and daubed what remained.
"You know; your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired," she paused, "no, actually it sucks!" she said.
"I'm sorry, truly; this is never easy for me," he tried to assure her.
"You should try it from this side of the desk," she said, with a bitter smile.
Celeste walked toward the subway and breathed in the heavy exhaust odor of a passing truck. The acrid fumes quickly sent her into a coughing spasm. She clutched at her purse, retrieved her handkerchief and held it tightly to her mouth. Her face turned red with exertion. A passing woman asked if she needed any help. Unusual for New York, she thought. She had seen people step over a bleeding man on the sidewalk in the past. She suppressed her next cough long enough to shake her head no and voice a gasped, "No, thank you," then resumed coughing. Finally, the spasm subsided; she caught her breath, and then noticed the patch of bloody mucous in her handkerchief.
The subway was crowded with the afternoon commuters. A little Chinese-American man offered her his seat, perhaps noticing the strained look on her face. She gratefully accepted.
Dr. Taubman's words still reverberated in her head. A year, maybe two, he said. She turned it repeatedly in her mind. How would she tell Kit? No, she thought; summer vacation would be starting soon. Let Kit at least have the carefree days of this summer. Nothing would be changed by burdening her with the knowledge at this point. It would be her secret. She knew she would conceal the truth, as long as she could. She would go on as if nothing had changed. She could at least protect her daughter a little while longer.
Chapter 10 - The Dinner Guest
"How's your cold?" Kit asked her Mom.
"Better I think. The doctor gave me some pills and some cough syrup for it," Celeste said.
"Are you sure? Kit replied, "You've been coughing pretty hard."
"Oh, sorry Kit, did I keep you awake?" Celeste answered, worried that she might have a hard time keeping Kit in the dark.
"No, you know me. Once I get to sleep, I can sleep through pretty much anything," she said.
"Where did you go today? With the school holiday, I thought you and Alicia would be out and about, doing something together, but she called just before you got home and asked for you," Celeste inquired.
"Oh Mom, I had the best day!" she said.
"Really, tell me about it. Where did you go?" Celeste brightened, at least someone had a good day; she thought.
Kit told her mother about her day at the gallery and told her all about her new friend. She showed her the drawings she made and told her how Julia and she had talked for hours about art.
"Julia is so beautiful Mom and so nice. I just wish...” her voice trailed off.
"What Kit, what do you wish," Celeste asked.
"Well, there's something sad about her, in her eyes. Like there's a pain inside her that she can't talk about. I wish I knew what it was," Kit said.
Celeste knew from experience how intuitive Kit was about people's feelings. If she thought that Julia was hiding some painful secret, Celeste had no doubts that she was. She hoped that she knew Kit well enough to keep her own secret from her.
"Julia sounds very nice. I'd love to meet her sometime," Celeste said.
"I was hoping that you would. Do you think I could invite her to dinner this weekend? She loves pizza as much as I do!" Kit said, excited.
"I find that hard to believe," Celeste said, laughing, "No one, likes pizza as much as you do. Besides, I think we can come up with something better than pizza if we're going to have a special friend over for dinner. You love my pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, how about, I make that?"
"That would be great," Kit answered.
Julia looked through the fridge and began removing the half-empty Chinese take-out boxes, the leftover slices of pizza in plastic wrap and the half-eaten cheeseburger. For the first time in weeks, she decided that she was going to cook.
She walked to the market, picked out a big thick steak, some vegetables and a bottle of chardonnay.
Returning to the apartment, she started the gas barbecue on the balcony, carefully seasoned her steak and laid it on the grill.
She placed a clean linen tablecloth on the balcony table and even lit a candle. When her steak was finished cooking she poured herself a glass of wine and sat down alone in her usual seat. She raised her glass in a toast to the empty chair where Paul once sat.
"Happy Birthday Darling," Julia said, then took a sip of her wine.
"Oh my day? Funny you should ask. It was good actually. I met a charming young lady. I think you would like her. Smart, funny, a lot like our Emily really,” she paused, momentarily tearing up at the thought of her daughter, “ I like to think that if they had met, they would have been good friends.”
Julia finished half of her steak, picked at her vegetables briefly, and pushed the plate away. She took another sip of wine and stared out at the lights of the city. She reflected on all the evenings spent looking out at the same view with Paul.
At that moment, the phone rang.
The Ghost Locket Page 5