Hidden Blessings

by Kim Cash Tate

“Hey, cool,” Trey said. “I was hoping dinner would be ready.” He tossed his keys on the table and looked closer. “Oh, y’all are eating that? I don’t like soup. That’s why it was still in there.”

  “And hello to you, too, Trey.” Kendra sat back, looking at him. “How are you? How was your day? Nice to see you.”

  “What’s that about?”

  “It’s called trying to have a conversation to see how you’re doing, since I haven’t seen my brother in months, and the one I saw last night I didn’t recognize.”

  “Oh, so you decide to come home when it suits you—because heaven forbid you should come home and help your mother when she’s sick—and you expect everything to be like you remember.”

  “You’re going to stand there and accuse me of not helping Mom?” Soup had refueled Kendra. “For your information, I offered to come home and stay for a while, but she said not to, that she had plenty of help.”

  “Which was mostly me, since Dad was caught up in damage control on campus.”

  “And you’re throwing it up in my face?”

  “I’m just saying you hardly came home at all. Always so busy. Kendra, the high-powered DC attorney.” Trey got a bottled water. “You’re only here now to lay low because you’re embarrassed about the wedding. I heard you got dumped.”

  Kendra looked undone. “Who told you that?”

  “Your maid of honor called to see how you were because you wouldn’t answer your phone. She thought I knew.” Trey paused. “And do you know why she thought I knew, Kendra? Because in normal families, they share things. In normal families, people don’t keep secrets for years. But we all know this family is far from normal, don’t we?”

  Trey snatched up his keys, and he and Molly were gone again.

  Kendra took the soup bowls to the sink and rinsed them, then got a trash bag and walked to the living room. Lance followed and picked up empty bottles and cans while she picked up cups and other trash. While he took his collection to the bigger recycling bin outside, Kendra got out the vacuum and plugged it in.

  “I can get that,” he said.

  “I’m not helpless.”

  “I know.”

  She vacuumed the downstairs rooms as he cleaned the kitchen counters, washed a pile of dishes, and spot-mopped the floor. He joined her back in the living room as she walked around the room dusting and looking at photographs.

  He sat on the piano bench. “So what kind of cancer?”

  She didn’t turn from the shelf. “It’s called inflammatory breast cancer.”

  “What stage?”

  “Four.”

  Lance felt a pang inside. “When does chemo start?”

  “Thursday morning.” She put a picture of her mom back on the shelf. “But I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She turned. “You know what? This is weird . . . Lance Alexander living in my house. I used to be afraid of you.”

  “Ah, much nicer topic,” he said.

  Kendra smiled for the first time, a little.

  “Why were you afraid of me?”

  “You’re a nice-size guy,” she said. “Probably what, six two?”

  He shrugged. “Between six two and six three.”

  “And muscular,” Kendra said. “And you walked around looking so mean and hard . . . and that fight. When I saw all that blood . . .”

  “You saw it?”

  “I was on my way to chem lab. I was there when you threw the punch that broke Mr. Magnetti’s nose.”

  The punch that got him expelled. “I’m sorry you had to see that. The whole thing still grieves me.”

  She seemed a little surprised. “Where did you go after you left Clayton?”

  “To my neighborhood school, for a little while. Ended up dropping out.”

  Kendra’s brow furrowed. “Then what?”

  “A lot of stuff that’s not pretty.”

  She stared at him, and he stared downward.

  “What are you doing now?” she asked.

  “I’m a photographer. Also on staff part-time at Living Word.”

  “So that’s the connection,” Kendra said. “You knew my parents from there?”

  “Mainly Trey, from youth group,” Lance said. “But I got to know your parents somewhat too.” He paused. “I was at your mom’s funeral.”

  Kendra fell quiet. “So you know about my dad?”

  “I knew enough to pray for your family.”

  Kendra grabbed another picture and resumed dusting. “And you just got an earful as to how dysfunctional we are.”

  “Whose family isn’t?”

  Kendra stared into the picture, one of herself as a toddler with her mom and dad. “You know what I want to do more than anything right now?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Watch a silly, animated movie and forget everything else happening in life.” She pointed at him. “The problem is, the big-screen television is in your part of the house. That’s no fair.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Lance said. “I sell movie tickets.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ON THURSDAY MORNING KENDRA TIPTOED QUIETLY THROUGH the kitchen, hoping to slip out unnoticed. She drank some water and packed another bottle, some baggies of snacks, a book and some magazines she’d bought—Oh! She scurried back upstairs and got her iPod from the nightstand, passing Trey’s closed door. They’d barely spoken since Monday. She’d barely seen him, and when she did, Molly was joined to his hip. They needed to talk, though, just the two of them. Everything about their interactions this week bothered her.

  She scurried back down and found Lance in the kitchen.

  “You’re about to go?”

  She nodded.

  “Can I help you with anything? What do you need?”

  “I’m good,” she said, picking up her satchel.

  “What did you eat for breakfast?”

  Kendra gave him a look. She’d learned in three short days that he was something of a health nut. “Granola bar.” She lifted it from the satchel.

  He didn’t look impressed.

  A light honk sounded outside.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. Don’t follow, don’t follow . . . She walked to the door, and he followed and looked out the window.

  “I thought you said you had a ride.”

  “I do have a ride.”

  “Kendra, you know what I meant. I could’ve taken you.”

  She opened the door. “I appreciate that,” she said. “But I decided I’m actually worse off when I begin to need anybody for anything.”

  She made her way to the taxi and, after a short ride, arrived again at the cancer center. She’d been here every day this week for one thing or another, including blood work and a tour of the chemo room. But this morning there were more patients in the chairs, along the right side of the unit especially, presumably because it was near the window. She was clearly the new kid on the block, with all her hair. She’d grown it to well below her shoulders so she could wear a pretty updo for the wedding. Now she wondered how quickly it would all fall out.

  “Kendra, let’s get you settled and started on some paperwork,” said the nurse, who’d introduced herself as Lori. “Is anyone with you today?”

  “No,” Kendra said, attempting a smile. “No one’s with me.”

  “Well, you’ve got all of us,” Lori said. “So if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. That’s what we’re here for.”

  Kendra chose a spot and glanced around again. An older woman was there, accompanied by a younger woman, maybe her daughter. Kendra’s heart was moved by a boy, maybe twelve, with a bald head, there with his dad. A woman about her own age held her husband’s hand as she prepared to start her chemo. Kendra moved her gaze around the width of the room, finding only one other patient who was there alone—but several minutes later, another woman arrived to join her.

  Kendra soon finished the paperwork and waited a good while with her magazines, a wait that convinced her how afraid she was. Of how
it would feel, and how she would feel afterward, particularly how sick she’d get. The last thing she wanted was to be rendered incapacitated and needy.

  “Miss Woods, how are you?” A new nurse appeared. “I get to spend the morning with you. Are you ready to get started with the first IV?”

  Kendra remembered something close to this feeling only once, when she was a teen and her family visited Vancouver. She’d wanted to go whale watching, but seasickness forced her belowdecks to lie down, the nausea touching every inch of her being. She felt like that now as she lay in the taxi—as though if she moved one inch, she would vomit for days.

  The taxi’s sequence of turns let her know she was near home. She dug her money out, tip included, and shouldered her satchel so she’d be ready as soon as the driver stopped. She stepped out quickly, her aim to get to her bed. Or the bathroom. At this moment nothing on earth was more pressing.

  Thankfully, the front door was unlocked, saving her a step. She took the stairs as fast as she could, which wasn’t fast at all. But the fact that she could keep moving was a win. Down the hall and alll . . . mossst . . . there. She kicked her door closed behind her and collapsed, tucking herself into a ball on her bed. At some point she’d have strength to get up and take some meds for this splitting headache, but no way was it happening right now.

  Why is the light so bright?

  Kendra buried herself beneath her arms, blocking sunlight from her window. Things had to be better on the other side of sleep.

  But her head hurt too much to doze off.

  A knock on the door sounded. If she opened her mouth to answer, she’d vomit.

  “Kendra?” It was Lance. “I heard you come in.” He poked his head in. “Are you okay? What do you need?”

  Water and headache medicine. Part of her wanted to say it, part of her didn’t. She’d get it herself eventually.

  “Kendra?”

  She shook her head and turned farther from him, but the movement must’ve been too much. Everything inside of her was out in a matter of seconds. On the floor.

  She’d never been more mortified.

  And worse, she only had strength to lie back down, flat on her back this time, forehead beading with sweat.

  She only realized Lance had left when he returned with who-knows-what kind of cleaning supplies. She couldn’t look, and if she could, she’d be too embarrassed to do so.

  He took two or three trips to the bathroom across the hall, then left. But minutes later he was back with a tray, setting it on her nightstand.

  “I brought you some water,” he said. “You probably don’t feel like eating, but here’s some apple slices just in case, and grapes. You need protein, so I put peanut butter on here, too, and some crackers. Oh, and there’s ibuprofen.” He placed a cool washcloth on her forehead. “And tonight I’m making grilled chicken, brown rice, and steamed broccoli. You might not want to eat, but if you do, it’ll be good for you.” He lifted a piece of paper from the tray. “Here’s my number if you need anything. I’m right downstairs.”

  And he was gone.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LANCE SETTLED AT HIS COMPUTER TO UPLOAD PHOTOS FROM AN early-morning shoot. He’d met a couple from church, with their newborn in tow, at Forest Park. They’d wanted to take as many shots as they could while the baby and the weather cooperated, since rain was forecast. He felt they’d gotten some good ones, but seeing them in thumbnails on the screen now got him excited.

  He loved this, capturing precious memories, and capturing them in creative ways. That’s what he’d become known for—innovative shots. He much preferred the creativity of camera angles and natural lighting to the creativity of Photoshop.

  Once every photo was uploaded into Lightroom, he scanned them for the perfect shot. There could be dozens of pictures his clients loved, but he had to find the one or two that stood head and shoulders above the rest. And he always knew when he’d found it.

  He smiled at the various shots, all of them adorable. But this one . . . He sat forward in his chair and magnified it. Father holding son tenderly in his arms, kissing his forehead, with a beautiful backdrop of trees and a slight burst of sunlight through the branches. Bingo. He five-starred it.

  He went back to the beginning, whittling out the least favored ones, then paused when he heard footsteps coming downstairs. He waited for Trey to show with some sort of request. His dad kept him financed, but taking time to buy what he needed wasn’t Trey’s thing. Now that Lance was here, he’d taken to asking, “Hey, man, are you going by the store?”

  But it wasn’t Trey who appeared; it was Kendra, in yoga pants and a GW Law T-shirt, hair brushed into a neat ponytail, eyes telling the tale . . . She was drained.

  She walked closer. “Lance, I had to come tell you . . . You can’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Help me.”

  He turned toward her in his swivel chair. “Why not?”

  “Because . . .” Kendra lifted her hands as if it were obvious. “It’s ridiculous. You don’t even know me, not really, and you’re cleaning up my vomit and bringing food on a tray? No.”

  “Was it helpful?”

  “That’s not the point.” Her eyes narrowed. “And how’d you know to bring headache medicine anyway?”

  He shrugged. “I Googled to learn a little about chemo effects. It said headaches were common.”

  She stabbed the air. “Right there, that’s what I’m saying. Why would you do that? Why do you even want to help me?”

  Lance was incredulous. “I live here.”

  She spread her hands. “And?”

  “You think I could live here, watch you go through this, and do nothing? What kind of human would I be?” He crossed a leg over the other. “You know what I think? I think you’re stubborn. Why else would you refuse help when you know you need it?”

  “You can call it what you want,” Kendra said, “but I’ll do what I need to do myself. And when I can no longer do it—what’ll happen? I’ll die?” She threw up her hands. “I’m dying anyway. I mean seriously, who cares if I choose fried chicken over grilled or ice cream over apple slices? What does it really matter if my health fails in 1.8 years instead of 2.5? I’m dying, Lance.” A hand went to her face, covering the tears. “I’m dying.”

  Lance didn’t know what to do, so he did the only thing he could do. Tentatively, he got up and brought her head to his chest. And she sobbed, the pain of it bringing him nearly to tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, chest heaving. “This is not . . . what I wanted to . . .”

  “Stop.” He spoke gently. “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not . . . okay . . . to be crying on you like this . . .”

  “Yes, Kendra, actually it is.”

  She allowed herself a few seconds more, mostly because the pain seemed determined to express itself whether she liked it or not.

  “I need to sit down,” she said. She took the closest spot, his desk chair, wiping her tears into submission.

  “What can I get you?” he said.

  She gave him a look.

  “I can’t help it. Shoot me.”

  She glanced at the computer screen. “When did you take these?”

  “Earlier this morning.”

  “May I look?”

  “Sure.”

  She clicked thumbnail after thumbnail, gazing at the photos of mom, dad, and baby. “This is where I thought Derek and I would be in about a year, happy with a newborn.” She kept going. “You’re a good photographer,” she said, her voice barely present. “I bought a nice camera once and never learned how to use it. I like your style.”

  He watched, pained by her pain. “Thank you.”

  She got lost in the images again, clicking through more than a dozen. “I was supposed to be taking pictures today too. Our photographer was planning to capture photos at the rehearsal and dinner.”

  Lance winced inwardly. He hadn’t realized this was the big weekend.

  Kendra
stopped and swiveled in her chair. “Do you think God is punishing me?”

  He stared at her. “Why would you say that?”

  “I went to Living Word when I was younger, Sunday school and all that. But I haven’t really been to church since I left for college.” She paused. “And haven’t exactly abided by the things I learned.”

  Lance got a folding chair from the corner—Lord, You know I need wisdom for this one—and sat near her.

  “The short answer is no,” he said. “God is not punishing you. He loves you.”

  “He loves me.” She nodded. “And He shows His love by giving me cancer and taking my fiancé.” She continued, “Because God can do anything, right? He could’ve made it so I not get cancer, or so that Derek would stay with me regardless.”

  Lance took his time to respond. “I wish the answers were that easy, but nothing is easy with fallen people in the mix, and fallen bodies that suffer horrible diseases like yours.” He looked her in the eye. “But, Kendra, I do believe with all my heart that God is in control always and has a purpose in it all.”

  Her eyes cut away.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said. When she didn’t refuse, he continued. “Why did you say it wouldn’t matter if your health failed in 1.8 years instead of 2.5?”

  “Because it wouldn’t.”

  “I don’t understand that.”

  “What’s not to understand?” Kendra shrugged. “I have terminal cancer. The life I’ve known is gone, and the life I’ve dreamed of will never happen. If I’m only living from one treatment to the next and feeling like crap in between—who wants that?”

  “Okay, I get it,” he said. “I wouldn’t want that either.”

  She looked at him.

  “It’s a choice, Kendra.”

  “What’s a choice?”

  “Whether you’re going to live from one treatment to the next, or live.”

  Kendra frowned. “Now I’m the one who doesn’t understand.”

  “All I’m saying is, maybe it’s not the life you’ve known, and maybe you won’t have the life you dreamed of. But it’s life, and it can be a rich one if you let it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN