The Faded Photo

by Sarah Price

  “Yeah right.”

  Frances sighed. She could no more convince Carrie of that than she could believe it herself. “Look, why don’t you go upstairs and get changed? They’ll be here any minute. I’ll finish setting the table.”

  “Thank God!” She tossed down the final plate and hurried out of the dining room before Frances could change her mind.

  The quiet that followed was a welcome change. All morning, Frances had been cooking and cleaning, trying to juggle everything while Nicholas went to watch Andy’s football game. Frances had remained quiet when they left, resenting that she had to miss it but far too aware that neither of them seemed disappointed.

  When they finally returned, it was only an hour before his parents were due to arrive. Andy hurried upstairs to take a shower while Nicholas escaped to his office to check his e-mail. Frances bit her tongue. She could hardly believe his firm expected him to answer e-mails on Thanksgiving.

  When the oven timer beeped, she hurried into the kitchen to check on the turkey and stuffing. As she opened the oven door, the comforting aroma wafted into the room, filling the entire kitchen with childhood memories. She stood by the counter, recalling how her mother’s house always smelled during the holidays: warm, inviting, and calming. Picture-perfect, her mother would say. In hindsight, whether or not that was true, Frances had wanted to duplicate that feeling for her own children, but each year it seemed to take more and more of an effort. No one wanted to help prepare the meal she inevitably made alone.

  “Wow! That smells like a family dinner!”

  She looked over her shoulder at Nicholas. He stood in the doorway, dressed in freshly pressed tan slacks and a burgundy sweater over a white turtleneck. The perfect image of a country club man. Her mother would have approved.

  He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. She could smell the citrusy undertones of his aftershave—Jo Malone, another gift she had given him the previous year. The grapefruit scent that she usually found so attractive made her feel nauseated now, so she turned her face away from his cheek.

  “I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure,” he said, the first words of tenderness that she’d heard in a long time. “I want you to know how much I appreciate all that you do.”

  As he pressed against her, she felt his chest rub against her port. It was just one more reminder that he hadn’t touched her in weeks, nor had he displayed any interest in intimacy. For if he had, surely he would have noticed the small quarter-size disk that bulged from the upper-right corner of her chest. Even now, he felt nothing or, rather, chose to feel nothing. In a way, there was a bitter irony to his words.

  “I need to check the oven.” She turned her back to him.

  By the time the doorbell rang, Frances felt her heart racing. The kitchen was hot and her forehead was sweating. She dabbed at her brow with a paper towel, mindful of where her wig met her skin. The synthetic fabric made her scalp perspire and itch. She hated it.

  “Where’s my grandson?” The singsongy voice of Ellen calling out for Andy made Frances’s skin crawl.

  “Hey, Granny!” Andy walked down the stairs. Frances wondered at that. Usually he came charging down like a bull in a china shop.

  Wiping her hands on the dish towel, she took a deep breath and walked toward the foyer to greet her in-laws. When she reached the small gathering, she stood by the foot of the stairs, leaning against the handrail.

  Ellen noticed her. “Oh!” she gasped. Confusion registered on her face. “Frances! Oh . . .”

  For once, she was speechless. Frances wasn’t certain why.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Ellen,” she said and moved to embrace her mother-in-law.

  The returned hug was brief.

  Holding Frances at arm’s length, Ellen stared into her face. “Are you well, dear?” She didn’t wait for a response to turn toward Nicholas. “You didn’t tell me that she was sick!”

  Nicholas frowned and glanced at Frances. “She’s fine, Mother. Why would you think that?”

  Ellen pursed her lips and returned her gaze to Frances. Her eyes flickered back and forth. Frances saw Ellen’s mouth open as if she wanted to actually respond to Nicholas’s question. She couldn’t help wondering what she would say. Would Ellen point out her pale skin and hollow cheeks? Or perhaps she’d comment on how thin her eyebrows looked? Or maybe just point out the overwhelming sense of general fatigue that Frances knew lingered around her entire body?

  “I’m fine,” Frances said with as much forced happiness as she could.

  To her relief, Ellen dropped the subject.

  “Now there’s our big football player!”

  Frances took a step back as Dan walked into the house, carrying a large suitcase that he promptly dropped on the floor. Frances looked at the bag, then Nicholas. He hadn’t said they were staying. Or had he? She couldn’t remember. What she did remember was that she didn’t have the guest room ready for company. It needed a fresh set of sheets, a dusting, and a vacuum, and it would take a miracle to pull that off without anyone noticing.

  She heard Carrie’s footsteps trudging down the staircase. Each slap of her heels on the hardwood sent a dagger through Frances’s head.

  “Please, Carrie,” she said in a low enough voice so no one else would hear. “I have a splitting headache.”

  “You always have a headache,” Carrie said softly. Only this time, her words were not spoken in a sharp or unkind tone; they were more of an observation. “Want something, Mom? Water? Tylenol?”

  Frances gave her a smile and reached up to put her hand on top of Carrie’s, which was sitting on the smooth oak railing. “Thank you, sweetheart. That would be nice.”

  As they snuck past their guests, Frances realized that no one had said hello to Carrie. It dawned on her that her daughter, too, was invisible.

  While Frances reached for the Tylenol in the cabinet by the sink, Carrie fetched her a glass of cool water. When she handed it to her mother, she stared at her, that same look of concern that she’d had a few weeks past when she noticed her mother’s hair falling out.

  “I can help you with dinner,” she offered, a dejected tone in her voice. “It’s not like they’ll miss my company.”

  Frances swallowed the tiny white tablets and set down her glass. “That’s not true, Carrie. I told you that earlier.”

  “They didn’t even say hello to me, Mom!” This time, her voice sounded bitter. “I don’t exist. And neither do you.”

  “Please stop, Carrie.” She raised her hand to her head and shut her eyes. She needed a break from what seemed like incessant complaining. At this moment she frankly didn’t care if her in-laws neglected her. It was probably better that way. She just needed to go through the motions and get through the rest of the day. “If you want to help me, why not sneak upstairs and tidy up the guest room?”

  “What?”

  Frances put her hand on her hip as she faced her daughter. “That would be the most helpful.”

  “They’re staying here? Overnight?” Carrie asked, although Frances suspected that the question was mostly rhetorical. She rolled her eyes and mumbled something under her breath. “Get Andy to do it. He’s their ‘favorite football star’ grandson.” The way she emphasized the word son made Frances sigh.

  Andy appeared in the doorway. He made a face, but Carrie just glared at him.

  “There she is!” Ellen said. “Where’ve you been hiding, Carrie? Not coming to greet your grandparents!” She looked at Frances. “Honestly, Frances. Her manners . . .”

  Carrie crossed her arms over her chest in defiance.

  “Excuse me . . . ?” Frances felt the familiar tightening in her chest; she gripped the side of the counter.

  “Andy came right down. Such a good boy!”

  Frances wanted to defend her daughter, felt the urge to speak out, but Nicholas emerged and lovingly wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulders.

  “Doesn’t everything smell wonderful, Mother?” He didn’t wait
for an answer. “Hey, Pop. Beer? We can catch the tail end of the game.”

  “All right!” Andy hurried into the family room with Ellen close on his heels, asking him questions about who was playing and which team was his favorite. Within seconds, the noise of a football game filled the air.

  Frances would have preferred soft music and meaningful conversation.

  Carrie turned toward her mother.

  “I’ll go do the guest room,” she said and slipped out of the room, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

  Frances looked around the kitchen and wanted to cry. Her heart ached, and the pounding in her head was making her feel light-headed. A family holiday, indeed. And at that moment she remembered Charlotte’s two words, just after she’d finished her first chemotherapy treatment: What family? The jarring truth to that simple question caught her off guard, and she suddenly understood exactly what her friend had been trying to tell her for over a month: she had no family.

  “Frances?”

  Frances turned in the direction of Nicholas’s voice. He gave her a smile, too long overdue, and handed her a glass of wine.

  “You going to watch the game?” he asked.

  She almost declined the wine. She wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol during treatment. But she needed that glass to get her through the day. Taking it from him, she bit back her anger and resentment.

  “In a minute,” she said with a forced smile. “Let me just baste the turkey one more time.”

  During the meal she found herself short of breath. Somehow she’d managed to cook the entire meal by herself. The only “help” that she’d gotten was when Dan had offered to carve the turkey and Ellen helped to carry a few serving bowls from the kitchen to the dining room table.

  They weren’t where Frances would have put them, but at this point, she didn’t care. Just eat. Eat and let me go to bed. Her father-in-law was on his seventh beer, and his words were slurring just enough to tip off Frances that his eighth beer must definitely be his last. Nicholas and Ellen were deep in conversation about something work related; Frances had no desire to be a part of that conversation. She was sick of hearing about the big merger. Andy was teasing Carrie about something, probably a boy from the way her face was turning red, and she was elbowing him, whispering for him to shush.

  “Pass the carrots, Fran?”

  She looked up and realized that Nicholas was talking to her. “Hmm? I’m sorry. What?”

  He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine!” she snapped. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  Ellen leaned toward Nicholas. “I told you she looks sickly. So puffy and red.” The whisper would have been easily overlooked if anyone else had been talking. However, that wasn’t the case.

  Frances glared at her mother-in-law. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, dear. I’m just concerned.”

  “About what?” Frances felt her heart rate increase as her breaths came in short, quick bursts. “Certainly not about your granddaughter, who, by the way, came downstairs to greet you, but you overlooked her once again!”

  “Frances.”

  She ignored Nicholas. “Certainly not about your husband’s excessive drinking problem!”

  “Calm down, Mom,” Andy urged.

  But Frances couldn’t stop. She pressed her hands against the tabletop and forced herself to stand. “And certainly not about lifting one finger to help me with this meal. So why, Ellen Snyder, would you have any reason to be concerned about me and my well-being, except to point out, yet again, to my husband how imperfect I am!”

  Ellen blinked twice and let her mouth fall open. “Where on earth is this coming from?” She gave a nervous laugh and looked at Nicholas. “Has she lost her mind?”

  He frowned. “Frances, what’s going on?”

  “Mom?”

  Her daughter’s panicked voice broke her concentration. It sounded as distraught as it had the day she noticed her hair had fallen out. Frances turned toward her daughter just in time to see the color draining from Carrie’s cheeks.

  “You’re . . . you’re bleeding!”

  At first, Carrie’s words didn’t make sense. Bleeding? She backed away from the table, intent on leaving the room and letting the rest of the family gorge themselves on the fruits of her labor.

  “Frances!” Nicholas jumped to his feet and hurried down the length of the table. “Your nose!”

  She lifted her hand to touch her nose, then looked at her fingers, which were covered in blood. She took a step backward and turned, her leg catching the foot of the table. In what felt like a suspended moment in time, Frances felt herself falling toward the floor, and then, as she landed, her head hit the edge of the sideboard. The last thing she noticed before she blacked out was Nicholas hovering over her and Carrie screaming, “Mom!”

  CHAPTER 19

  When she opened her eyes, it took a minute for her to place where, exactly, she was. Her head hurt and her mouth was dry. She tried to lick her lips, but there was no moisture in her mouth. She looked around, but with fuzzy vision she couldn’t clearly see anything. Still, she could tell that someone was seated near the window.

  “Water,” she managed to whisper, barely recognizing her own voice.

  “Frances?”

  She heard the sound of the chair legs against the floor as Nicholas hurried over to her side. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand, holding it in his.

  “I need water,” she said again, feeling as if her lips were practically glued shut.

  “Oh! Of course! Yes.” He hurried out of the room, and she thought she could hear him calling for one of the nurses. Within seconds, he returned and sat back beside her.

  She was in the hospital. That much she could figure out. But she didn’t know why. “What happened?”

  Nicholas stared down at her and smiled. It was a sad smile, and as her vision cleared, she thought she noticed tears in his eyes.

  “You gave us quite a scare, Frances Snyder.” He reached out and straightened the thin blanket that covered her. “You passed out during dinner. Don’t you remember? You hit your head and”—he paused, swallowing deeply as he struggled to tell her—“your wig came off.”

  She shut her eyes and groaned.

  “The paramedics came and brought you here.”

  For a length of time they were both silent. The sound of someone walking into the room stirred Frances to open her eyes.

  A nurse smiled at her as she carried a white Styrofoam cup and a dark-pink pitcher. “I hear someone woke up thirsty!” she said in a loud, happy voice. She set the items down on the hospital tray before reaching up to adjust something on the drip line connected to her Port-a-Cath. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty.” Frances started to reach for the cup.

  “Just a little to start, OK?” the nurse said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Need to check your vitals. See if that fever’s come down at all.”

  Fever. Was that why she was here? But Frances couldn’t form the words to ask. She was too busy trying to drink as much water as she could. The coolness of the liquid did little to quench her thirst.

  “Just slow down now, OK?” the nurse said, reaching for the cup and taking it from Frances. “Too much too soon and you’ll know it.”

  As quickly as she had entered the room, she hustled back out, leaving Nicholas and Frances alone once again.

  He leaned forward and reached for her hand, holding it gently in his. His eyes, shadowed by dark circles, searched her face.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Frances shut her eyes and turned her head so that he couldn’t see her face. How many times had she tried to tell him? How many times had he made up excuses as to why he didn’t have time to listen? How could she explain to him that his inability to make her a priority in his life had thwarted every attempt she made to include him in hers?

  “I have to tell you,” he said slowly, picking hi
s words carefully, “we were all shocked, Fran. The children, my parents, me.”

  Quickly, she turned her head back to stare at him, her eyes wide with fright. “The children? Oh, Nicholas! How are they?”

  He squeezed her hand. “Fine. Or, rather, they are fine now, anyway. Carrie had a terrible time understanding why you were bald. My mother nearly fainted, and while Andy tried to put on a brave front, I could see how shaken up he was. Between Carrie’s hysterics and my mother’s reaction, it wasn’t easy.”

  She almost chuckled at his comment, but couldn’t muster the strength.

  “They said you had almost no white blood cells, Frances,” he said at last. There was a tenderness in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time. If she didn’t know any better, she would have thought she saw tears in his eyes. “You could’ve died.”

  That was the one thing she didn’t want to hear. It was the only thing she hadn’t considered during this solitary journey she had unwittingly embarked on.

  “You should have told me,” he said, a disapproving tone sneaking into his words.

  She felt a flash of anger and did her best to repress it. She reminded herself that, for Nicholas, this was new. He would have to go through the same stages of denial, regret, and acceptance that she had gone through. And apparently in a much shorter period of time.

  “I tried. At least in the beginning” was the best response she could give without sounding too critical.

  “I . . . I never thought you were unfaithful to me,” she whispered. “Not really. It’s just that . . .” How could she explain how she felt? In the past, she never did. Now, however, she needed to share all of those feelings she had hidden for so long. “Every time I wanted to talk to you, something else came up. Something else always comes up.”

  “Frances . . .”

  “Maybe I could have tried harder. Maybe I should have told you after that first phone call.” She raised her eyes and met his. “But I really thought it would be nothing, and I know how you hate hospitals. How you hate waiting and wasting time.”