What's Not Said

by Valerie Taylor

  “Make it fast.”

  “You got it. Don’t start without me.” Kassie ended the call reinvigorated somewhat.

  She tried to sip her tea. Still too hot. With her elbows on the table and her hands interlaced, not good form according to her mother, she chewed the lavender polish off her left thumbnail. Really bad form. Before she headed back to Mike, she needed to find out about chronic kidney disease.

  Google, of course. Forty million posts. Are you shitting me? She opted for the short form description provided by Yale and others. She’d search for Boston Clinic’s description later.

  In the meantime, she learned chronic kidney disease, a.k.a. CKD, is a common disease with over two hundred thousand cases diagnosed in the United States each year.

  All right, it’s common. Probably means Mike could lick this thing. Kassie read on:

  Treatment can help, but this condition can’t be cured.

  Requires a medical diagnosis.

  Lab tests or imaging always required.

  Chronic: can last for years or be lifelong.

  The kidneys filter waste and excess fluid from the blood. As kidneys fail, waste builds up.

  Symptoms develop slowly and aren’t specific to the disease. Some people have no symptoms at all and are diagnosed by a lab test.

  Medications help manage symptoms. In later stages, filtering the blood with a machine (dialysis) or a transplant may be needed.

  Besides needing to adopt the jargon, four things jumped out at her—CKD can’t be cured, can last for years or be lifelong, and in later stages . . . dialysis or a transplant may be needed. Kassie interpreted that to mean Mike had this CKD-thing and hid it from her for quite a while. When was he diagnosed? It is chronic. He’ll have it forever, however long his forever may be. May not be immediately life-threatening. Good thing. It has stages. Stages? What stage was Mike in? At some point, dialysis or a transplant may be needed. Oh crap.

  Kassie leaned back, her knees jittering. The tea was finally drinkable. She knew nothing about dialysis. What kind of care would dialysis require? Where in God’s name would Mike get a donor for a transplant if he needed one? No kids, one elderly sister. Would he get on a list? How long would he have to wait?

  Bad Kassie kidnapped her thoughts, jumping to conclusions before she had any facts at all. Down girl, let’s not get out over our skis.

  Time to get answers and get Mike home. On the way back, she swung by the same restroom she’d visited earlier. She navigated around the squat, bright yellow caution sign in the doorway. It was being cleaned . . . again. If nothing else, the hospital sparkled. She leaned over the sink and stared into the mirror. She looked like hell.

  Kassie found Mike sitting upright with his eyes shut when she clickety-clacked into his exam room.

  “That was more than ten minutes. I figured you went home without me.”

  Kassie recognized that tone and decided not to engage on Mike’s level. Instead, standing at the foot of the bed, she asked about Dr. Singleton’s whereabouts.

  “You missed him. If you’d been here, you would’ve heard it for yourself. Looks like I’ll be spending Easter right here in the goddamn hospital.”

  “What? You’re being admitted?”

  Mike told her the tests were inconclusive, and more were being ordered. It was possible last night’s dinner was too rich for him and had caused a flare up. Dr. Singleton wanted to keep an eye on him for a few days, and since it was a long weekend, the easiest way to do that would be to keep him in the hospital. That way they could control his meals, monitor his blood pressure, and track his urine output.

  “I know you don’t like the idea, neither do I. But you didn’t have any big plans for us for the weekend, right?”

  Kassie swallowed hard and felt her throat dry as she processed this major turn of events. She babbled about having to call her boss and her friend to cancel their plans to go to the Red Sox game, and she’d have to figure out what to do about her trip to Georgetown.

  “So, what are you going to do now?” Mike asked.

  “About what?” Kassie stammered taken a little off guard.

  “I think you should go home, get some rest. You look a little flushed.”

  “It’s been a long night. I’m worried.”

  “Don’t get all weird over something you know nothing about and have no control over. Now, go make yourself useful. You’re good at that. Bring me back my robe and pajamas. Hate this hospital gown. And check my slippers. If they’re too worn out, you’ll need to buy me new ones. And something to read. There’s a book on the round table in the family room. Bring me that.”

  Kassie turned away and gave him the finger.

  “You gonna write that down?”

  Kassie fished for her notepad. “Anything else?” She gritted her teeth. Relieved Mike was focused on himself and not her, she was still pissed at his tone, his lies, and how he’d screwed up her plans. Royally.

  “I’m not sure what time I’ll be back. You’re right, I’m exhausted.” She needed to buy herself time.

  “I’m tired, too. Wish things were different.”

  As she turned to go, Kassie stopped and looked him in the eye. “What stage, Mike?”

  He bowed his head, twisted his wedding ring, and said, “Three.”

  9

  Box Scored

  Kassie bypassed the elevator and mounted the garage stairs two at a time. She climbed in her car and let it all out. A primal scream. “Stage Three?” She pounded the steering wheel, just missing the horn.

  While she wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, it did mean Mike had gotten to that point without telling her, without sharing something as intimate as his health. “I’m his wife for God’s sake,” she shouted not caring if anybody heard her.

  She dried her tears with the back of her hands and headed home. Ugh. Morning rush. When had Good Friday ceased being a holiday? Luckily, she was headed in the opposite direction of the heaviest traffic, though it would thicken up near Newton and the I-95 interchange. With a deep breath, she tried to focus on her driving as much as she could.

  But something gnawed at her. Before she left his bedside, Mike asked her what she was going to do now? Where had she heard that before? Surely he meant what was she going to do next, this morning. Right? He couldn’t possibly have meant what was she going to do now, about the divorce, about Chris? She scratched her head. Paranoia or intuition?

  The traffic halted before the interchange just as she predicted. The car in front of her was a light blue VW beetle, or bug, which they were called when she owned one in college.

  That was it! College . . . where she met Mike, the tall, dark, and handsome Italian professor with sparkling blue eyes. In class he’d made her feel self-conscious, but in a giddy way, for her slight Boston accent, which by the way she successfully suppressed as a professional adult. It was natural for her to gravitate toward him then as he too was a Massachusetts native, without an accent for some reason. They had something in common. Few folks from New England went to the University of Missouri, and those that did often hung out together.

  Kassie struggled with foreign languages, barely passing three years of French in high school. She’d dreamt of visiting Italy someday, so taking Italian was a step in that direction. It didn’t go well, at least at first. Professor Ricci had suggested it might help if he tutored her privately. And so began their teacher-student relationship.

  Things didn’t get serious until the fall of her sophomore year. After not seeing each other over the summer, they were like young puppies in heat when classes resumed. When Mike invited her to his apartment under the pretext of studying, she figured he didn’t mean Italian.

  He wasn’t her first, but Kassie was still very much a novice in the sex department. Mike tutored her on how to turn him on and take care of his desires, and she was the willing student. In turn, he took her to places she’d only read about.

  They spent all their spare time together, yet they tried not to be
seen as a couple in public. If they attended the same events, including football games, they refrained from public displays of affection. They found it hard to hide a flirtatious glance or horny smile. They were in love, she believed.

  That spring, the department head summoned Mike to his office. Despite how careful they were, rumors had spread about their relationship. Was it a dalliance or something more serious? Mike would have to decide. Either way, he’d violated the university policy prohibiting professors from fraternizing with the coeds. He was given a warning. If he didn’t handle it, he’d be asked to leave.

  Mike dropped the news and responsibility in Kassie’s lap.

  “What are we going to do now?” Kassie asked.

  “We? If it were up to me, I’d tell them to go shove it. But I need my job, Kass. You know I’m close to getting tenure and my MBA here. I can’t leave. I think it’s up to you.” And then he’d said, “What will you do now?”

  Kassie was devastated. How was it all up to her? They argued. She cried. For two weeks she skipped his class and didn’t answer his calls. Finally, she offered Mike a solution. She’d leave the university at the end of the term and transfer to a school back home. Maybe UMASS or Simmons. Her grades were good, especially Italian. Transferring shouldn’t be a problem.

  Mike appeared relieved. He assured her that if she enrolled at another school, they could be together openly. So that’s what she did. She saved his career and their relationship.

  Now, as Kassie pulled into the driveway, she shook her head realizing Mike’s dominance over her had started before they married. And throughout their lifetime together, she’d put his needs ahead of hers. The time had come for her to turn the tables. She prayed her lawyer was wrong, and it wasn’t too late.

  In her haste to get Mike to the hospital, Kassie had forgotten to lock the kitchen door or turn on the security system. Didn’t matter. Topher was there to attack any would-be burglars. Not really. He was a pussycat. Really.

  Topher, who had been curled up on his blanket in the kitchen waiting for her arrival, greeted her with loud meows and leg brushes. He flopped over on his side demanding a tummy rub.

  “You men are all the same.” Kassie stroked and teased him.

  She spent a few minutes taking care of all of Topher’s needs without checking the list. She made a cup of strong black tea and tried to relax at the kitchen table staring out the bay window, the sun shining, promising a lovely spring day. If only they could’ve gone to Fenway.

  Though her original plans had gone up in smoke, she was hopeful. With Mike in custody for the weekend, she was free to come and go, except when she’d have to make a showing at the hospital.

  Kassie pulled out her laptop and booted it up. She googled Stage Three chronic kidney disease. Results: 549,000. She clicked the first one. Some symptoms listed matched Mike’s. Fluid retention, pain in the back, sleep and urinating problems. And he had high blood pressure. Of course, to complicate matters, there were two stages within Stage Three. Nothing’s ever simple.

  Another article explained Stage Three could last years, with proper diet and medication. It was up to the patient to work with the doctor and a dietitian. Mike already had Dr. Singleton. He might need to get a good dietitian and change his dreadful eating habits. Would he be able to do that? She might need to postpone her divorce plans once again, for a week or two until Mike stabilized and had a regimen in place.

  At the moment, she needed to get this show on the road. On her way upstairs to the shower, she walked past the family room. She picked up the Ernest Hemingway biography she’d given Mike last Christmas and left it at the foot of the stairs so she wouldn’t forget it.

  She shed the dirty and sweaty clothes she’d worn to the hospital. The shower’s warm water comforted and relaxed her. She bathed in vanilla bath gel, Chris’s favorite. Not hers. It reminded her of breakfast. She preferred citrus or floral scents, which supposedly made one seem younger. Or so they said, whoever they were.

  The shower’s hot steam shifted her mood and aroused her. Kassie massaged her body with a loofa and found the sweet spot between her legs. It felt good. No time like the present. She pressed her left hand against the shower wall to steady her silken body and let her right hand methodically take care of business. Soon it would be Chris who would do the honors.

  Yum. Kassie wore a Cheshire-cat grin as she stepped out of the shower. She had perfected her technique because of her long-distance affair with Chris, which required either regular phone sex or going it alone. It was never part of her repertoire with Mike, probably because she was young and naive when they first started screwing around, and it was all about his satisfaction, not hers.

  She wrapped her damp, sated body in a long, white terry-cloth robe and her hair in a matching towel like a turban. She looked at her face in the mirror, hoping she looked better than she did in the hospital. Luckily, she’d inherited her mother’s supple skin, continuing to look ten years younger as she aged. Moisturizer and a little makeup should help any lines or dark circles that had cropped up. Though Chris voiced no concern about their age difference, Kassie refused to let her looks be a factor, or a deal breaker.

  The white Red Sox jersey with Pedroia in red letters on the back she’d intended to wear to the game draped the back of the chaise lounge that Topher now occupied. She hung it up for another day. She retrieved the new, red, lace bra and thong out of hiding in her bureau and put them on in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom. She dried her thick just-below-the-chin-length blond hair, pulled it up in a knot, and then applied enough foundation, eyeliner, and mascara to make her look alive. No perfume required. The vanilla shower gel provided all the pheromones she’d need to entice her man. She found her skinny jeans and a black, scoop-neck, long-sleeved shirt and finished dressing. Her only jewelry was a pair of silver hoop earrings and her diamond engagement and wedding rings.

  Next, Kassie pulled two suitcases she’d pre-packed for her great escape out of her walk-in closet. One contained casual clothes, the other clothes for work. With the sudden change in plans, she wouldn’t need both. She repacked them with what she thought she’d need for about a week, putting one back in the closet, the other at the top of the staircase.

  She found an LL Bean medium-sized royal-blue duffel bag in Mike’s walk-in closet. What was it again he’d asked for? The list remained untouched in her bag in the kitchen. She relied on her memory. She got his robe out of the closet, folded it, and placed it in the bottom of the duffel. While in his closet, she grabbed his slippers and took a swift sniff. What wives do for their husbands! They smelled like worn slippers, but not too bad. They’d pass. She had no desire or time to go shopping. He also had the flip-flops he’d worn to the hospital if he turned his nose up at the state of his slippers. She placed them on top of the robe.

  Next . . . pajamas, underwear, and socks. Mike hadn’t asked for underwear or socks, but Kassie knew better. She stood paralyzed in front of his tall bureau. Previously off limits to her, she suddenly had permission to enter his domain. She had a premonition she was about to venture into dangerous territory.

  The night before she’d learned his t-shirts and boxers were in the second drawer. So, that was easy. She pulled out half a dozen of each and put them in the bag. Too many? You can never have too much underwear. She took a chance his socks would be in the top drawer. Right on. White or black? Probably white. For safe measure, she took three pairs of each. Should suffice until Monday.

  Pajamas. Probably in one of the two large bottom drawers. She opened the very bottom drawer. Sweaters and long-sleeved t-shirts. She opened the drawer above. Eureka. She lifted two pairs out of the drawer, one striped, one solid blue. Mike could mix and match them if he wished.

  As she removed the pajamas, a steel gray metal box caught her eye. What’s this? Kassie pulled it out gingerly as if its contents were explosive, placed it on the waterbed, and stared. Should I open it? Permission to get his clothes did not necessarily extend to
snooping.

  But Mike had hidden his kidney problems from her. Was he hiding something else? She tried to open it. Locked. Shit. She shook it, nothing rattled inside. She sniffed it. Not pot. Silly girl. Mike would never let his pot stink up his clothes. Anyway, she knew where he kept his stash.

  She left the box on the bed while she got toiletries for him, zipped up his bag, and put it alongside hers in the hallway. The sound of bells jingling and banging against the inside of the front door startled her. Of course. It was Friday, cleaning day.

  “Teresa, is that you?” Kassie shouted.

  “Yes, Miss Kassie. You going somewhere?” Teresa almost certainly spotted the luggage from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Yes. Um.” Kassie stood hands on hips, shifting from one leg to the other. “I took Mike to the hospital early this morning. Looks like he’ll be there a few days. I’m going to stay with a friend,” she said, providing an excuse for the multiple bags.

  “Oh my God. Mr. Mike okay?” Teresa blessed herself.

  “Nothing too serious. Just there for observation.”

  “What about the cat? Do you want me to check on him until you’re back?”

  “Well . . . um . . . no. Thank you. I already asked a neighbor to do that.” She crossed her fingers behind her back.

  Kassie retreated to the bedroom and finished dressing. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. Getting close to noon. Time to leave. She returned the metal box to the bureau drawer. She’d tend to that later.

  A naked man awaited.

  10

  Guilty Pleasure

  For the first time, Kassie walked into a local hotel to meet Chris without caring whether anyone recognized her. From her perspective, Mike’s hospitalization was a temporary setback. Divorce papers would be served as soon as his meds and diet were squared away. She sauntered into the lobby with an air of accomplishment as if she’d won a gold medal.