by Julie Allan
An unguarded Dot flung her arms around her mother's neck and allowed herself to be held. Lizzie gently rubbed her back, then whispered, “Go back to sleep now, I'll see you in the morning.”
Dot settled back into her pillows and allowed Lizzie to tuck her in. “I love you, Mama.”
“I love you too, baby.” Lizzie gently closed the door behind her.
She stopped to look in on Sawyer, but resisted the urge to kiss him—she did not need an overtired third grader on her hands. She headed to her room and stepped into the newly remodeled bath. Bennett had not needed to be persuaded to get top-of-the-line fixtures—she saw this as an upgrade to their forever home. Lizzie luxuriated in the multiple-spray steamy shower, stepped out onto the radiant-heated floor, and wrapped herself up in the towel that had become toasty warm on the heated towel rack. Yes, these were all things she could live without, but she was glad she didn't have to.
She changed into her pajamas and put on her favorite red floral kimono robe. She grabbed her tablet and headed downstairs to Aunt Dorothy, climbed into the queen rice bed and snuggled up beside her. “I am so glad things went so well,” Aunt Dorothy said.
“I’m very relieved, but I know this is far from over. I’ve heard the chemo can be brutal.”
“Let's take this victory today has given us and just be grateful for that. No sense in worrying ahead of time,” Aunt Dorothy sagely offered.
“You are right, as always. I’ve been working on the living in the moment thing. I am just a slow study.”
“Child, one thing I've learned is that once you master something, there is always something else to improve. We are a work in progress, never complete until we go to our eternal rest.” Aunt Dorothy brushed her hand across Lizzie’s forehead.
“Well, you are a masterpiece in my book. Do you mind if I sleep here tonight? I just don't think I want to sleep in that bed alone.”
“Settle in, child. It's best we turn off the light; tomorrow will be almost as hectic as today.”
Chapter 8
Getting Bennett home was the easy part. Getting him to agree to rest and recover turned out to be the challenge. He had been content to sleep and watch movies for the first few days, but as he weaned himself off of the pain meds, he grew restless. Lizzie found herself nagging at him to rest, and Bennett became increasingly annoyed at her hovering. There had been so few times in their marriage that they were out of sync, and she found it very disconcerting. Now, almost three weeks out from surgery and at least four weeks to go before the doctors would consider starting the chemo, they found themselves in a limbo that was wearing on their relationship.
The morning sun was barely hitting the bedroom windows when a crash shattered the stillness. “Just where do you think you are going?” Lizzie said, sitting straight up in bed, a bit shell-shocked from such an abrupt awakening.
“Sorry, I was trying not to wake you, but I pulled too hard on the drawer, and it jerked the dresser. I think we might need a new lamp,” Bennett answered as he gingerly picked up pieces of broken ceramics.
“I never really liked that lamp,” Lizzie rubbed her eyes. “Bennett, you did not answer my question. Where are you going?” she asked, settling back into the pillows.
“I left you a note. I’m meeting up with Scott and Jim. We’re going to take Scott's boat out and do a little fishing.”
“I thought the doctor told you to take things easy.” Lizzie twisted the sheet in her hands.
“Yes, but he also told me I should resume normal activities when I felt like it. I am going stir-crazy! If I don't get out and on the water, I think I might become very difficult to live with. He dropped the pieces of the broken lamp in the wastebasket. He stooped down to kiss Lizzie on her forehead. “You worry too much. I'll be back before supper.” Bennett headed towards the door.
“What makes you think you’re easy to live with now? You better be careful Bennett Edward Wilson, if you end up back in that hospital . . .”
Bennett turned in the doorway and cut her off, “Darlin', I am a cakewalk compared to our children, our businesses, and all our extended family. I promise I will take it easy and let Scott and Jim do any of the heavy lifting.” Bennett sighed in exasperation. “Lizzie I love you, but I can't have you turning into my mama. Cancer may be something my body is dealing with, but I will not let it define everything about my life,” Bennett said bluntly.
Lizzie felt the verbal slap wash across her. She did not want to be a nag or be motherly towards her husband, but she was worried he wasn't taking this cancer seriously enough. She was terrified he would not beat it. She also knew that for once in their long relationship, his needs and wants clearly needed to come before hers. Lizzie knew she had to step up and push her fears aside. Lizzie smiled, and flipped away the covers, revealing her silky negligee and her still slender legs. “Do I look like your mama?”
Bennett raised his eyebrows, “Careful, Lizzie, or you will push me past taking it easy.”
Lizzie pulled the covers back over her legs and tossed a pillow in Bennett’s direction. “I'll see you in a while.” Bennett grinned, the tension between them broke for the moment.
“Have fun!” She called after him. She lay still, listening to the sounds of his footsteps on the stairs. A shadow of her biggest fear fell across her, will there be a day I won't hear those footsteps anymore? This thought had dogged her from that moment the ER doc had explained they had found a mass on Bennett’s X-ray. Despite the sun streaming in the window and the glimpse of deep blue sky, she struggled to feel any joy.
It was Saturday. Sawyer was on a Cub Scout camping trip. Dot had spent the night at a friend's house, and now Bennett was gone fishing. If she pushed her feeling down, she could almost pretend it was a typical Saturday in their typical small town life. Even Aunt Dorothy would be out the door soon. Every Saturday, one of the younger members of the church's altar guild would pick her up so they could do the flowers for the Sunday service, then take her out to lunch with some of the other ladies. If Lizzie lazed in bed for another thirty minutes, she would have the whole house to herself. She let her mind wander freely, and she found herself thinking about recipes. Something Lizzie had not done much of lately was cooking, and she was craving it. She loved working in the kitchen. To Lizzie, it was like conducting a symphony. The ingredients were all the different sections and she, as the maestro, brought them together to create something beautiful and pleasing.
Cooking had saved her after the end of her first marriage. I need to take charge, and I am going to start in the kitchen! Today, she was going to produce an opus. Lizzie heard the door open and close as Aunt Dorothy departed and she swung her legs out of bed. Her feet hit the cool hardwood floor as her mind began to construct the list of things she would need to get at the market.
She stood before the bathroom sink and the reflection before her in the mirror gave her a jolt. The dark circles under her eyes were not a surprise; it seemed like weeks since she had slept more than a few hours at a time. What startled her was the undeniable presence of gray hair taking over her natural blonde locks. Lizzie had always been proud of the fact she had never colored her hair, beyond occasional highlights over the years. When did I start looking older than I feel? She tried to finger the gray strands under the blonder ones, with no success. Lizzie sighed. I will definitely need to do something about this. She went through the motions of brushing hair and teeth and slathering on moisturizer.
Lizzie sat down at the vanity between the two sinks and opened the drawer to look at her arsenal.Thank goodness for color corrector and concealer, she thought as she worked to hide the evidence of her disturbed sleep. Somewhat satisfied with her handiwork, she headed to the closet. Lizzie grabbed her favorite jeans, a plain long sleeve white t-shirt, and her favorite emerald green cardigan. She slipped on her green and blue plaid ballet flats and selected her favorite emerald pendant. Aunt Dorothy and Uncle George had given it to her for graduation. She also put on her mother’s emerald cocktail rin
g. Whenever she wore it, she felt stronger, as if it was a talisman protecting her against the world.
On her way to the market, she stopped into The Biscuit Box to check on her employees and pick up some paperwork. The dining area was full of happy brunch diners, and a line of customers waiting to be seated. Others were shopping the shelves of local and regional products or ordering from the to-go casseroles. She had been in business for sixteen years but still got a thrill when customers flocked in. She sometimes missed working on-site daily but did not regret the decision to scale back her time so she could be a hands-on mother. Once the kids were older, she planned to get back to a more active role in the business. She was grateful she had found such a competent and talented manager to keep things running in the meantime. Not wanting to disturb her busy staff, she slipped in and out with a quick hello, grabbing the files that her manager had left for her.
Once back at the house with her haul from the market, she tied on an apron and set to work. She loved so many things about this kitchen, especially the butcher block counters that were lovingly worn to a patina a designer would envy. This room had long been the heart of the Long home, and now it would be so for the Wilsons. Time in the kitchen had always been an escape for Lizzie. She found cooking allowed her brain just to be in the moment. The food would nourish the bodies of her family, but the process of preparing it fed her soul. It was a way for her to express her love tangibly.
She started with her tart crust. She loved how pulsing a few simple ingredients—butter, flour, salt, sugar and ice water—could bring forth a dough. She turned the dough out onto the floured butcher block and began to do a final knead, shaping it into a disc. She wrapped it in plastic wrap and stuck it in the refrigerator to chill.
She then turned her attention to making pasta dough. All the kneading was therapeutic. The rhythm of her hands pushing and pulling the dough was soothing. She selected her favorite heavy Dutch oven pot and began the base of the ragout she would serve over the noodles. The onions and garlic were sizzling in the hot olive oil and pork drippings from the browning of the meat perfumed the air with the promise of a delectable meal when Aunt Dorothy returned from her altar guild work and lunch. "Something smells divine," she said, setting her purse on the counter and taking off her coat.
“I’m making a pork ragout to serve over homemade noodles tonight,” Lizzie answered. She was kneading her third variety of dough for the day, soon to be homemade French country bread.
Aunt Dorothy looked around the kitchen with flour dusting almost every surface. “Looks like you’re having a grand time. I think I will leave you to it; I’m anxious to do some work for the on-line history course I’m taking. I am thoroughly enjoying learning all about the history of our lowcountry.”
“I’m still not sure I understand why you are taking that.’
“An idle mind makes for an old mind, Lizzie. My body might be failing me, but I'll be darned if I let my mind turn to mush.” Aunt Dorothy fixed a cup of tea to take with her.
‘I feel like lately, my mind is very mush-like. Maybe I need to take a course.”
“I think, child, your problem is that you have too much on your mind. You need to learn how to focus in on one thing and give your mind a rest from your worries.” Aunt Dorothy swept the room with her eyes. “By the looks of this kitchen, I would say you may have found a great way to do that,” Aunt Dorothy patted Lizzie on the back and headed to her cozy suite.
Lizzie smiled at Aunt Dorothy as she watched her walk away. For the past hour, she had not thought about any of her worries. “I think you might be right. I guess we’ll be eating well for the foreseeable future,” she called after Aunt Dorothy.
“That is a happy circumstance for us,” Aunt Dorothy called back.
Lizzie set her bread dough to rise and turned her attention back to the ragout. She added the rest of the ingredients to the onions, added the pork back in and set it for a long simmer. She cut her noodles and set them to dry between floured towels. After stirring the ragout, she turned her attention to the coffee cream and chocolate ganache she would use to create a delectable tart. She rolled out her tart dough and carefully pressed it into a tart pan. She filled it with weights and put it in the oven for a pre-bake. Lizzie hummed as she worked and smiled to herself. Some may need retail therapy; apparently, I need culinary therapy.
That night, as they gathered around the table, the adoration and gratitude of her family for her efforts, increased the impact on her mental state ten-fold. It did not hurt that Bennett didn’t look any worse for wear from his day out with the boys. Lizzie was surprised that she had gotten so lost in the kitchen that she had not even thought to check up on him. Aunt Dorothy looked especially bright, and Sawyer and Dot were kind to one another.
“You outdid yourself with this meal,” Bennett declared, pushing back from the table and tossing his napkin onto the table as if offering up a surrender. He was in good spirits; the time out on the water with his buddies had been a good decision. Lizzie had to admit she was wrong to try and keep him under glass. After all, in the kitchen, she had found out for herself how doing something normal, and something that she loved had improved her state of mind.
“Yes, child, if we eat like this too often, we will all have to join a weight loss program in a few months,” Aunt Dorothy added.
“I hope there will be leftovers,” Sawyer said. His appetite was insatiable these days.
“What did you do on the campout?” Lizzie asked.
“Well, we cooked hot dogs and s’mores. This morning we made pancakes, eggs, and bacon over the fire.”
“Did you do anything else besides cook and eat?” teased Bennett.
“Yeah, we did some wood carving, and we went out in the canoes.”
“Well, Son, I plan to come on the next campout,” Bennett said.
Sawyer beamed. “Yes sir, that’s the one to the barrier island.”
Lizzie loved to see Sawyer looking so happy. She smiled at him and caught Bennett’s eye and mouthed the words; I love you. Bennett smiled back. Maybe by spring, the cancer would be gone, and we can count on doing normal things like camp outs. Lizzie sighed and looked at Dot, “Anything you want to share about your sleepover at Ashley’s?”
“I had fun,” was all Dot said.
Lizzie was about to fuss at Dot for not being a willing participant in the family conversation when Bennett shot her a warning look. She reluctantly held her tongue and smiled at Dot. “Fun is always good,” Lizzie said.
“What did you do?” asked Sawyer.
“We did some cooking, too. Ashley’s mom let us make homemade pizza. Then we did our nails and watched an old movie with a princess and a pirate . . . Princess Buttercup was her name.” “Yuck! A princess movie,” Sawyer made a face.
“Actually, you would have liked it. It had a cool Spanish sword fighter and some really funny parts,” Dot tried to convince him.
Bennett laughed, “I know that movie; your mom and I used to watch it on the VCR over and over again when we were in high school.”
“A VCR?” asked Sawyer.
“It’s what you do now with a DVD or when we stream movies,” Lizzie said. She loved being reminded of her high school days with Bennett. “I think we ought to have a family movie night with that.”
“I bet we could arrange that for next weekend,” Bennett said.
“Dot, we could make homemade pizza for the family,” Lizzie suggested.
“That would be good. I also want to learn how to make noodles. Will you teach me?”
“I would love to teach you how to make noodles,’ Lizzie answered surprised that Dot was suggesting spending more time with her. “I promise not all our meals will be so calorie-laden, but I will make them tasty,” Lizzie added, patting Aunt Dorothy's hand.
“Who wants to play Scrabble?” Bennett asked. A chorus of "me" rang out around the table.
“Let's clean up the table and kitchen first,” Lizzie said. Without any cajoling, the childr
en sprang into action and Aunt Dorothy headed for the sink.
“Aunt Dorothy, we can do this, you go relax,” Bennett said.
“Move it or lose it,” Aunt Dorothy replied. “Besides, the rule in this house has always been if you don't cook, you clean up.” She swatted Bennett with the towel in her hand. “You load up that dishwasher you insisted on installing, and I will wash the by-hand things. Lizzie, you go and set up the Scrabble board,” she commanded.
“Yes ma'am,” Lizzie and Bennett said in unison. She may have insisted that Lizzie and Bennett think of this house as their own, but in moments like these, it was obvious that Aunt Dorothy still ruled the roost.
For the next hour, they sat around the game table in the living room. Through an epic Scrabble battle, followed by the red-velvet cake Lizzie had prepared for dessert, until they climbed into bed, all was right with the world. For the first time in weeks, Lizzie was able to sleep through the night. Her fears about Bennett’s cancer, her concern about losing Aunt Dorothy to declining health and increasing age, and the stress of her temperamental relationship with Dot did not enter her dreams.
Chapter 9
A new normal settled in at the Wilson-Long house. The kids were wrapped up in their schoolwork and the end of fall activities. They barely asked any questions about their dad's health and the impending start of chemotherapy. Bennett was back to work. Aunt Dorothy quietly maintained her routine of volunteering at the library and the church and was also managing to wrap up her on-line course and continue work on a project she was very mysterious about. If pressed, she would only say, “Someday soon, I will share.”
Lizzie did not understand how her family could just go on like nothing was happening in their lives that could turn it upside down. On the inside, she waffled from living in the moment to being overwhelmed by emotional turmoil. On the outside, she played the calm, confident woman she was trying to be. Lizzie gave The Biscuit Box more of her time now that Thanksgiving was only a week away. She dazzled her family with night after night of homemade dinners. It was as if feeding them with fresh food made by her loving hands could ward off anything that ailed them.