Blue Wide Sky

by Inglath Cooper

  “What made you decide to have chickens? Before you married Scott, you said the only animals you liked were dogs.”

  “People can change, Gabby,” she says sharply.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to be critical.”

  Annie sighs and slings another handful of chicken feed. “And I don’t mean to be Mrs. Super Sensitive.”

  I smile at this and say, “It’s okay. You’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Okay, I’m mad at you.”

  “You think I’m being stupid.”

  “If I’m honest.”

  “Can I throw some?” I ask, reaching out for the bag.

  “Sure,” she says, opening the top.

  I scatter some of the feed and several chickens go after it with admirable determination. “Logically, I know you’re right, Annie. And I know you saw me at my worst.”

  “That I did.”

  “But like you said, people change.”

  “And you forgive him? Just like that?” she asks, snapping her fingers.

  “I can’t explain it, Annie. If you had asked me a month ago, I would have said you were crazy.”

  Annie puts the bag of feed away just inside the barn and says, “Come on, I’ll make you a glass of iced tea. I’m thirsty.”

  We walk to the house in silence, but it’s the kind between old friends where words aren’t always necessary. I wait on the front porch while she goes in the house. The swing plays its own squeaky song. Looking out across the green pastures of this farm, I can see why Annie loves everything about it.

  She’s back in a couple of minutes with two delicious glasses of iced tea, mint fresh from her herb garden floating in between the ice cubes. “Thank you,” I say.

  She sits down next to me, takes a sip and then says, “You know my only care is that you don’t get hurt again.”

  “I know. That’s why you’re my friend.”

  “I don’t feel much like a friend at the moment. I feel more like the chastising parent.”

  “Because you want to protect me. That’s what good parents do.”

  “Except you’re not going to listen to me.”

  “I want to. I just don’t know if I can.”

  “Can you not remember all the pain you went through when he—”

  “I can. I do.”

  She sighs and pushes the swing back with her feet, and we glide gently back and forth. “Well, if that’s not enough of a deterrent, there’s nothing I can come up with to beat it.”

  I reach across and put my hand over hers. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Annie. I just can’t make myself close the door yet.”

  “Fair enough,” she says. “I’ll be here.”

  And I know that what she hasn’t said is as meaningful as what she has.

  She’ll be here. To pick up the pieces.

  The best things in life are unexpected – because there were no expectations.

  ~ Eli Khamarov

  Gabby

  I don’t hear anything from Sam on Sunday, and it seems as if it takes forever for Monday morning to arrive. The appointment is at nine o’clock, and since the drive will take two-and-a-half hours, we pick Sam up at 6:15.

  He’s waiting outside when we pull into the driveway. Sitting next to him like a small sentry is a black cat. He reaches down and rubs the cat’s head before walking out to the car and sliding in.

  “Morning,” he says, not quite meeting my gaze and smiling at Kat in the back.

  “Good morning,” the two of us say in unison.

  “Do you have a cat, Sam?” Kat asks.

  “I have a boarder,” he says. “He arrived on Saturday, and we’ve worked out a temporary arrangement.”

  I smile at this and say, “Does he know it’s temporary?”

  “I was quite clear about the terms of our contract.”

  Kat laughs. “Will he be outside while we’re gone?”

  “I propped the screen porch door open so he can go in and out.”

  “He looks as if he’s right at home,” I say.

  “What’s his name?” Kat asks.

  “Eli. Or at least while he’s here.”

  “What will happen to him when you leave?”

  “I don’t know,” Sam says. “We haven’t gotten that far.”

  “We could come over and feed him when you’re not here.”

  Sam hesitates, and then, “That’s a really nice offer, Kat.”

  “I like cats,” she says. “They have a good name.”

  Sam and I both chuckle at this. In a few minutes, Kat puts her ear plugs in to listen to music. It’s only then that I say, “Thank you for coming with us.”

  “I’m glad to,” he says.

  I find myself gripping the steering wheel a little tighter when I add, “I don’t expect anything, Sam. Just so you know.”

  “I know you don’t. But you have every right to.”

  “Just not from you?”

  “I wish it could be me.”

  “I don’t know what to make of that.”

  “And I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “Stalemate?”

  “Stalemate.”

  We drive in silence for a good bit, and then I finally say, “Can we just let this be whatever it can be for however long it can be?”

  He looks over at me, and I glance at him long enough to see the look of longing in his eyes. I know he wants this as much as I want it, but whatever is holding him back is bigger than my desire or his.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Gabby,” he says softly.

  “I’m not going to let you,” I say, my voice exuding a confidence I’m not sure is real.

  He stares out the window for a mile or two, his jaw tight. But when he looks at me, his expression has lost its storminess. And there is resignation in his voice when he says, “Okay. We’ll let it be whatever it is, for as long as it is.”

  I feel complete relief in hearing it, and I force myself not to look beneath the surface of his concession, even though the tiniest voice tells me I should.

  The first wealth is health.

  ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Sam

  David has barely changed. He was a runner in college, and he still has the same lean build he had then. A bit less hair but other than that, he’s pretty much the same.

  We greet each other in his office with backslapping and man-hugs. Gabby and Kat stand back and watch with small smiles on their faces, as if they are surprised to see that we know each other this well.

  David steps away and clears his throat, extending a hand to Gabby. “I’m David. Dr. Lanning,” he corrects.

  “Hello,” Gabby says. “This is my daughter, Kat.”

  “Hello,” Kat says from her chair, suddenly shy.

  “I hope you’ll excuse Sam and me,” he says. “We were good buddies in med school. It’s been a long time.”

  “It has,” I agree.

  “I hope we’ll have a few minutes to catch up before you go,” David says.

  “Yes,” I say. “And we’re here about Kat, of course.”

  “Please, sit,” Dr. Lanning directs us. “Let’s get a bit of history if we can.”

  I look at Gabby and say, “I can wait outside while you—”

  “We’d like for you to stay,” she says.

  I take the chair next to hers.

  “How old are you, Kat?” David asks, looking at her with a smile in his eyes.

  “I’m ten,” she says with all the pride the age deserves.

  “Ten is outstanding,” he says. “I’ve looked at the chart, Ms.—”

  “Gabby,” she interjects.

  “Gabby,” he says. “So I have a good idea of the back story. Was there any particular incident that triggered Kat’s current pain?”

  “We don’t think so. It started out as a nagging kind of thing and then continued to increase. It’s most noticeable when she stands or walks
.”

  “Hmm,” he says, making notes in her file. “I would like to start with a physical exam and an MRI.”

  David picks up his phone and asks for a nurse to show us to the exam room. She’s there in seconds, smiling a greeting and helping Kat with her chair.

  Gabby follows the nurse out of the office, turning to say, “Thank you, Sam. And thank you, Dr. Lanning.”

  “You’re most welcome,” David says. “See you in a few minutes.”

  ~

  ONCE GABBY AND KAT leave the room, David leans back in his chair, looks at me and says, “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

  “It’s good to see you, David.”

  “May I be nosy?”

  “Sure.”

  “Are you and Megan still together?”

  “No,” I say, sitting up and leaning forward with my elbows on my knees. “We’ve been divorced a little over a year.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  “You too?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  We shake our heads, and then David says, “Are you and Gabby—”

  “We used to be.”

  “Ah.”

  “In high school.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you moved back from England?”

  “No. I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

  “Kids are still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes it tough. Is Gabby part of the reason you’d like to stay?”

  “It’s complicated,” I say.

  We sit for a stretch of moments, before David says, “Are you okay, Sam?”

  “Yeah,” I say, trying to force a lightness I don’t feel into my voice.

  “May I be honest?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t look exactly well.”

  I absorb what he’s said, start to brush it off with a light reply, but I truly can’t force myself to do it. Instead, I look down and say, “I always knew you would be a good doctor.”

  “What is it, Sam?”

  And I find myself telling him, this friend I haven’t seen in years. I watch his face as he absorbs each word, and by the time I’m done, David’s expression tells me all I need to know.

  Sometimes it’s better to put love into hugs than to put it into words.

  ~ Author Unknown

  Gabby

  Dr. Lanning conducts his physical exam of Kat with a professional persona that feels a little different from the less-serious version of himself we met in his office a short while ago.

  I’ve often wondered how doctors handle the difference between seeing people as people and people as patients. I guess it must be critical, this ability to slip a shield into place when objectivity isn’t optional.

  I sit in silence on the chair next to the exam table, my hands clasped in my lap. My heart pounds with anxiety. For me, this has been the hardest part of being Kat’s mother. Not the fact that she has this condition that will be with her for the rest of her life, but that I wish I could take her pain and discomfort on myself.

  I would rather feel the fear and uncertainty than know that she is feeling it. She’s brave. She’s always been brave. But I can see in the set of her jaw and unsmiling eyes that she is worried.

  She has seen so many doctors in her young life, some of the experiences less than pleasant. I steel myself not to reach for her hand, but can hardly wait until he is done and I can pull her into my arms for a hug.

  “Could you lie flat on your belly for me, Kat?” Dr. Lanning asks.

  She does so, and he parts the back of the paper gown to run his hands gently along her spine. She winces at one point, and he says, “I’m sorry, Kat. Is that where the pain is?”

  She nods, biting her lower lip.

  “Okay. You can sit back up.”

  Dr. Lanning looks at me and says, “I’ve already set up the MRI. It should only be twenty or thirty minutes before they take you down for that. Would you like to just wait here?”

  “That’s fine,” I say. “Thank you so much.”

  “Thank you for being so patient with me, Kat. These pictures we’re going to take next will give me a better idea of how to address what’s going on here. Sound good?”

  “Yes, sir,” she says.

  “I’ll see you in a bit then.” He leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Are you okay, Mama?” Kat asks, once he’s gone.

  “Yes, sweetie,” I say, standing. “But I’d really like to give you a hug.”

  “I’d really like for you to,” she says, opening her arms to me.

  You don’t really understand human nature unless you know why a child on a merry-go-round will wave at his parents every time around — and why his parents will always wave back.

  ~ William D. Tammeus

  Sam

  I’m waiting in the lobby off the X-ray department when a nurse wheels Kat down the hallway. Gabby is right behind them, and from the look on her face, I can tell she’s trying to be brave.

  “Okay, Mom,” the nurse says when they reach the set of double doors marked MRI. “If you can please wait right here, I’ll have her back to you in no time. That all right with you, young lady?” she adds to Kat.

  Kat nods, trying to smile, but it wavers a bit. Tears pop into Gabby’s eyes.

  She stands with her arms folded across her chest, staring at the doors through which the nurse has just disappeared with Kat. Her shoulders are shaking a little.

  I walk over and put a hand on her arm, saying, “It’s gonna be okay. But I know. It’s awful when it’s them, isn’t it?”

  She nods, biting her lower lip.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s sit down.”

  Gabby follows me, and we take the two chairs in the far corner of the room away from the annoying TV hanging on one wall.

  “When Evan was seven years old,” I say, “he was spending the night with a friend from school. The boy’s mother picked him up on a Saturday morning early because they had planned to go to a soccer tournament an hour or so away. A car driving the wrong way on the freeway hit them head on at eighty miles an hour. The driver was drunk. Evan’s friend and his mother were both killed. They were in the front seats. Evan was in the back.

  “He was in the ICU for a month. For a lot of that time, we had no idea whether he would live or not. The doctors didn’t give us a lot of hope. I can honestly say I would have given anything to change places with him. Seeing him in that bed hooked up to tubes and IVs like this shell of his vibrant self—it was nearly unbearable.”

  Gabby’s grip tightens, and her eyes are filled with sympathy when she says, “Oh, Sam. My gosh. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “It’s not something you would wish on anyone.”

  “How did you get through it?”

  “I spent a lot of time on my knees,” I say.

  She nods, squeezing my hand. “Sometimes, that’s the only place to go. Is he okay now? I mean, were there any lasting effects?”

  “No. Miraculously, there’s no evidence that it ever happened. It was as if he had stayed in the coma until his body healed what was broken. I can’t explain it. I met other parents during that time who had children with serious injuries, and, of course I met many in my practice over the years. I think there’s a universal dread among those of us who love our children the way parents are supposed to love their children.”

  “That we would rather be the one suffering than to see them suffer,” Gabby says softly.

  I pull her into my arms and wrap her up against me, wanting to comfort her in the way I know she needs comforting. She presses her face to my chest. I feel the moisture of her tears, rubbing a hand over the back of her hair. “She’s going to be all right.”

  “I just want this to be fixed for her. I want her to be a regular little girl who gets to run and play. I know her disease is never going to go away, but for her to be in pain so much of the t
ime is—”

  “David is a great doctor,” I finish for her.

  Gabby nods, her face still against me. I press my lips to the top of her head before I let myself consider the wisdom of it. She looks up at me with raw honesty in her eyes. I can’t deny what I see there. I don’t want to deny it, and I don’t want to hide what I’m feeling from her either. “Gabby,” I say.

  She presses a finger to my lips and says, “Shh. Is there anything wrong with us comforting each other?”

  I shake my head, and pull her close in against me. We wait like that until the nurse sticks her head through the swinging doors to let us know that they’re all done.

  Honest hearts produce honest actions.

  ~ Brigham Young

  Gabby

  Kat is asleep in the back seat before we’re even out of Durham. Her fatigue tells me that the morning had been as stressful for her as I had thought. She usually has so much energy at this time of the day.

  “How long do you think it will be before Dr. Lanning lets us know something?” I ask, glancing at Sam.

  “Knowing David, I feel sure he’ll call you as soon as they get the results.”

  “I really don’t know how to thank you, Sam, for making all of this happen.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “But I want to. Can you come over for supper tonight?”

  “It’s not necessary, Gabby.”

  “It won’t be Kat’s level of cooking.”

  He looks at me with a smile. “She’s a tough act to follow.”

  “I’m not promising I won’t ask for her help.”

  “We’re on,” he says.

  ~

  WE DROP SAM OFF at his house just before three o’clock. Eli, the cat, is waiting on the front-door step, as if he’s been sitting there since we left this morning.

  Sam scoops him up and brings him over to the car where Kat can pet him through the window. Eli allows the small show of worship as if it’s his due.

  On the way home, Kat reviews her list of reasons for why we need to get a dog or cat. It’s been a year since Sawyer, our yellow lab, passed away. I just haven’t had the heart to let anyone take his place. But I realize it’s probably time to do so for Kat. I know how much she misses his company.