Between Now and Forever

by Margaret Duarte

  “Apologies to Morgan,” Linda said with a grin, “but I’m sharing this up front. Draw the line…I mean, thick and bold, no wimpy squiggles…when it comes to what you will and will not tolerate as far as interference in your life. I, for one, will try to respect your wishes, as I hope you’ll do for me.”

  I got up for coffee refills, an easy task, since we both drank ours black. I glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty, nearly lunch time. Carla would show up soon, as well as the men. Lunch at one o’clock wavered only during emergencies, which seemed to occur exclusively at night and on weekends and holidays, as if some impish force were at work as a reminder that complete control on a farm is an illusion. From what I’d learned during my short visits thus far, Morgan took farm crises in stride, his attitude one of optimism and humor. He believed that true happiness came from watching his crops grow, his family thrive, and giving more to the world than he took from it. I couldn’t wait to share with him—in private—the goings on at West Coast Middle School. Eight weeks and my stint there would be over. Eight weeks to prove that I had a talent worth sharing and the courage to share it. Eight weeks to help—and let go of—some of the smartest and most precious human beings I’d ever met.

  “Boundary one,” Linda said, as I handed her the last of the coffee. “Don’t think for a minute that because I love, absolutely love, life as a stay-at-home mom, wife, and slave to the farm, you need to feel the same. Actually, I’d prefer you don’t. We need a little balance here. Maybe you can bring something new to the table, something you and I can share over coffee between chores. I’ve heard how you helped Joshua speak again, something for which the van Dyke family will be forever grateful. I’ve also heard about the joy and pain you’ve experienced with the biological family you’ve only recently come to know. So, get this straight. I respect and admire you and want to get to know you better. Bring the outside world in for me, Marjorie. I could use a new friend, as well as a sister.”

  How much more of Linda’s heart-felt revelations could I internalize before breaking into tears? She was too good to be true, and I wanted to respond accordingly, but…

  “I know, this is a mouth full,” she continued, “but once I shut up and get back to work, I may never get another chance to share what’s on my mind. We could start on the wrong foot and build a wall of resentment and silence no less impenetrable because it’s invisible to the eye. I’ve seen it happen on countless family farms, leading to years of silent hostility and the eventual break-up of the business. Because no one took the time to bare their thoughts, feelings, and love from the get-go.”

  She blew out her breath. “Sorry, but this last part’s big, so bear with me. Morgan, that sweet brother-in-law of mine, is the type of person who loves because it’s in his nature to do so. Once he’s in, he’s all in, no safety net, no holding back. You’ve captured his heart, big time. And his love for you increases every day. I don’t know if I need to be telling you this, but he’s someone you can depend on. I mean, he’s rock-solid. Good thing I’m married to David, or I’d give you a run for your money.”

  After a long sigh signaling Linda’s heartfelt monologue was over, she scooted out of the kitchen booth and rounded the table to give me a hug. “I’m not good at showing my affection, but, for you, I’m making an exception.”

  I stood and embraced her. “Thank you. I needed to hear what you had to say. Morgan and Joshua are either blind or too kind to admit that I suck at relationships. I mean, really, really, suck. One of my greatest fears is that I’ll fail the van Dyke clan, let alone the two guys I love most in the world. I hope to learn from you how to give of myself without losing myself. From what I’ve seen, you’ve got that part down. Can we do this again soon? I want to share what’s in my heart as you’ve just done, but right now, I’m not able to put into words how I feel.”

  “You bet, girl. We need to stick together. It’ll be six to three in the van Dyke family, but though outnumbered, we’re a force to be reckoned with. We’re the fuel for the men’s engines, and they’re smart enough to know it. They can’t run on empty.”

  ***

  Before I left for Menlo Park, Morgan, Joshua, and I spent two uninterrupted days and nights in our nearly completed home. The only things missing were some of the finishing touches and furniture, which we planned to choose together soon. When Morgan and I were alone, I explained the situation at West Coast Middle School and promised no more repetitions of last week, where I’d left him in the dark as to my mental state of health. I’d keep him informed and part of my world, if only from a distance.

  Chapter Forty-four

  THE STUDENTS AND I entered the classroom Monday afternoon eager to witness the results of Luke’s germination-intention experiment. Granny Max arrived, folder in hand, no doubt holding photos, diagrams, and charts. Although the results would be observable without her research records—bean seeds being large and their sprouts easily viewed—her work would be invaluable in detailing the procedure used and subsequent findings.

  After we’d taken our seats, Granny Max stepped into the U formation of tables. She explained that, after school on the previous Thursday, she’d planted and watered all the seeds in the same manner under standardized conditions—same soil temperature of sixty-eight degrees to a depth of one-inch; same containers on the kitchen counter below the east-facing wall of windows—which gave the seeds nearly four days to sprout though not fully emerge. Today at noon, she’d harvested and photographed the seeds she’d planted, then measured their length in centimeters and recorded the results. She did the same with the seeds Luke had planted as a second-tier control. “Thanks to my mathematical and statistical expertise,” she said with a grin that implied she was putting us on, “and my basic understanding of the organization and conveyance of scientific thought, I was able to whip up some graphs and charts to display the factors for germination.”

  Codi released a hurry-up-and-give-it-to-me-straight sigh. “Did the experiment work or not?”

  “Well, love, I can’t tell you that, since I don’t know which seeds were the target and which the controls.”

  Another sigh from Codi, which prompted Granny Max to add, “What I can tell you, however, is that one set of seeds outgrew the others by—”

  “Which ones?” Codi blurted.

  “Hold it.” Luke reached for Granny Max’s folder. “Let’s see what our lab technician recorded before we divulge which seeds were which.”

  “Control freak,” Codi said, though not unkindly.

  Luke studied the photos, charts, and graphs with a dead-pan Botox brow. You’d think he was channeling his inner Spock the way he showed no reaction or feeling.

  Okay, Luke, quit messing with us.

  He glanced up at Granny Max and his frozen expression thawed into a smile. “Impressive work.”

  The depth of Granny Max’s sigh equaled Codi’s only minutes before, though it conveyed a different meaning. “Well! It’s about time I receive a little recognition for my mathematical abilities, which are totally unappreciated teaching a bunch of” —she glanced at me— “students with empty mental gas tanks, who aren’t amicable to the fun and excitement of math.”

  Before Granny Max could start a math exposé worthy of a TED Talk, Jason interjected. “Well, said, Granny Max. The results, please.”

  Luke held up what appeared to be a bar chart. “The plant embryo of the target bean seeds marked ‘A’ grew five point six centimeters compared to four point eight centimeters for the non-targeted seeds. Which means, not only did our target seeds outgrow our intention of three centimeters by two point six centimeters, but they also grew about a third of an inch taller than the controls. The seeds I planted as a second-tier control grew four point eight centimeters and less. Which means” —Luke hesitated, an obvious tactic to build suspense— “our intention had a big effect on the results.”

  A silence descended over the room.

  “Well?” Luke said, while I tried to think
of something insightful to say.

  “We did it,” Tessa whispered as though witnessing a miracle.

  “Soooo…” Codi’s cheek rested on her palm; her expression boringly blank. “Now that we’ve proved what we already knew, where do we go from here?”

  “We move on to another experiment,” Luke offered.

  Codi’s eyes orbited in their sockets. “What the hell for?”

  “We need to take it to the next level.”

  “Like what?” Ethan asked.

  “See if we can affect human health.”

  “You mean, like Tessa did with Angelina?” Codi asked, straightening in her chair.

  “We have no proof that Tessa affected Angelina’s health,” Luke said. “Angelina says so, which in my book is evidence enough, but we have to back something like that up with facts and figures.”

  Another eye roll from Codi. “How? Angelina’s not here.”

  “We’ll send our intention to someone in this room. And before you ask ‘Who’? I want Codi to repeat what she told me yesterday after school.”

  “I told you that in confidence, Luke.”

  “Drastic times call for drastic measures.”

  “But—”

  Luke glanced at Granny Max. “I don’t think the person we were talking about will mind.”

  Granny Max’s face turned a paler shade than usual. Come to think of it, she’d been looking rather ashen lately. Her upbeat attitude, however, had erased any thoughts of a cause from my mind. As with one of Jason’s slight-of-hand tricks, she’d only allowed me to see and believe what she wanted me to see and believe. She grimaced, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Holy Toledo, nothing’s private around here.”

  Codi looked like she wanted to leap over the table and give her a hug. “Sorry.”

  “I’d like to ask your permission, Granny Max” —Luke took a deep breath and released it slowly as if the request he was about to make affected him more than he was letting on— “to send our intentions for your recovery and good health.”

  Recovery? Dear God, was Granny Max sick, too?

  It took a few moments for Granny Max to answer, which she prefaced with a what-the-heck shrug. “They’ll perform my breast cancer surgery in sixty days, followed by chemotherapy and/or radiation. The call from my doctor came as quite a shock, if you must know, but it is what it is. Breast cancer. Treatment in June. After school’s out, so not to abandon my students. And…well…my oncologist and care family need time to develop a personalized treatment plan and consider all my options. You know, lots of tests and procedures and workups and… Anyway, I trust my doctors completely. You bet I do.

  “That said, you have my permission to send your intentions for my speedy recovery on one condition, that you call it prayer to the great Lord above. I realize prayer doesn’t sound as scientific as intention, but since I’ll be serving as a human guinea pig…not only for you, but for the team of doctors who’ll be attempting to save my life…let an old fuddy-duddy call the shots on how you approach the Divine Universal Energy, or whatever you call It. And, allow me to add another two cents of wisdom that I’ve gained from being on this earth five times longer than you have. I’ve witnessed and therefore believe in the abilities the good Lord gave you. And I believe He gave them to you to use for the good of your fellow man. But you are not God. If it’s not His will for me to become well, nothing you do or say, no matter how focused your intentions, will change that. Your powers may be great, but God’s are greater.”

  Granny Max eyed us one by one. “I love you. I love what you’re trying to do. And that’s what matters here. Love. Do you understand? Love. If for some reason, your prayers and the best efforts of my doctors fail to cure my cancer, it’s God’s will and I’m okay with that. He gave me sixty-nine years of reasonably good health to pursue a career that brought me more joy than I ever believed I’d experience on this earth. A career so good, in fact, that it’s hard to believe Heaven can offer anything better. But I’m ready to find out if and when the time comes. If you guys are okay with that, go for it. I’ll help in any way I can. But no charts, graphs, and photos on your part until June when the doctors take over. I’ll keep a daily journal on how I feel until then, which I’ll share with you, and I’ll provide you with the results of all blood tests and x-rays the doctors have performed and will perform over the months to come, which should give you some good before-and-after visuals of my progress. But that’s all you’re going to get from me. Got it?”

  At our silent nods, she added. “And one last thing, probably the most important of all. You don’t need to prove anything to the world, only to yourselves. Because, my dears, I’ve seen other students like you pass through West Coast Middle School. You may be happy to know that they’ve done quite well in the medical field, as teachers, and in many other occupations, without broadcasting their gifts. Learning how to use your powers is just the beginning. Using them for the common good should be your goal. Now, I’ve got to go. I’m tired, though my heart feels young and healthy due to your kindness and love.

  “Toodeloo, my friends.”

  ***

  Granny Max sat behind her desk, three hours after the closing bell, sorting through a stack of papers and singing the lyrics to Celine Dion’s “That’s the Way It Is,” as though she didn’t have a care in the world. I can read your mind and I know your story… I stood amazed at how much time she spent at school after her classes ended for the day. Did she have a husband? Kids? Grandkids? I’d never thought to ask. For now, I just wanted to offer my help and support. She must have been going through hell since learning she had breast cancer, and she’d never let on.

  She hadn’t heard me enter, so I took a few minutes to look around. Where I’d expected a room as drab and uninspiring as the math classes of my youth—with posters of fractions, decimals, and equations on walls the color of hospital rooms that inspired more gut-sliding than flying—my gaze instead locked onto a mural of a ten-foot lightbulb splattered with kaleidoscopic colors. Blues, greens, yellows, purples, pinks, oranges, and whites struck it from all directions and ricocheted onto the surrounding surface like gun shots, displaying tints and hues of an imagination gone wild. The heart-stopping mural fortified my conviction that—though still small and wet due to the tight space of my metamorphosis—with a little more flapping and pumping, my wings would soon harden for flight.

  Posters of math wit and wisdom covered the remaining walls—The essence of mathematics lies in its freedom. ~Georg Cantor; Mathematics is the most beautiful and most powerful creation of the human spirit. ~Stefan Banach. Pentagons, hexagons, pyramids, and trapezoids hung from the ceiling like jeweled piñatas. I imagined taking this all in as a teen, and realized that, yes, in such an environment, math could be exciting and fun, the language of the soul.

  “What are you still doing here, Granny Max? I thought you were tired.”

  She looked up and her whole face smiled. Trickster sage, presenter of wild wisdom. “Do you have a beau, Marjorie?”

  Now, where did that come from? “Yes, I do.”

  “Then why aren’t you with him instead of here?”

  “He lives in Elk Grove, a three-hour drive away.”

  “So, I repeat. Why aren’t you with him instead of here?”

  She raised her eyebrows at my slow response.

  “I took on this job to find myself.” I felt silly saying it out loud. Still searching at twenty-nine years old? “And contribute to the world in a meaningful way. Until then marriage is out.”

  “Which, more or less, answers the question you asked me. Except I’m not trying to find out how I can contribute to the world. I’ve already discovered that, and I’ve been doing it for forty-six years.”

  At my silence, she shook her head. “Marjorie, dear, I plan on teaching as long as possible and go out kicking and screaming. Most instructors my age have been retired four to ten years, but I’m not budging. I gave up marria
ge and a family of my own for my career, and I don’t regret it for one minute. Teaching is my life. The students are my children.” She chuckled. “Actually, my grandchildren by now. Anyway, I don’t own a pet. I don’t have a garden. I have no hobbies, besides baking cookies when I see the need. I’m independent and free, just how I like it.” Another smile. “Yes, I know, freedom comes at a price, a price I was willing to pay to do what I love. So, my dear, don’t worry about me. There’s nothing like grading my students’ work and helping them improve to relieve any distress I might feel at the sliders life throws my way. If you get what I mean.”

  She’d given up marriage and a family of her own for the freedom to do what she loved to do. Was that the kind of freedom I sought? “Yes, I believe I do, my friend.”

  “And if you’re here to talk about the cancer…”

  “I think I’m getting the picture. You plan to live each day with a positive attitude and not dwell on what might or might not happen. But please let me offer my support, as you’ve done for me.”

  “Having no family to provide for means I’ve built up quite a nest egg,” she said, “which means I can afford to hire out most of what I need. Lawn service, house cleaning, grocery shopping. I’m a totally independent woman.”

  “How about emotional support?” I asked.

  “I have God for that.”

  I stepped up to her desk and hugged her. “Bet He can’t do this.” Then I kissed her cheek. “Or this.”

  Granny Max seemed to deflate in my arms, not due to loss of self-assurance or good cheer, but in recognition that no one is totally independent in this world. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, although to be quite honest, He has neglected that means of support until now. So, I do appreciate the hug and kiss, I really do.”

  “And there’s more where that came from,” I said, recalling her words to the rowdy kid she’d nicknamed Wyatt Earp during Spring Faire after spooking him with an embarrassing hug.