by Sarah Price
She watched as he slumped into the chair, his shoulders sagging, his face looking drained.
“When I found out, there were so many things going through my mind. So many questions, and I thought I’d get the answers first, you know? So that I could tell you everything at once. I know how you like efficiency.”
Deflated, he made a noise, a low groan from deep in his throat, and shut his eyes.
“But you were too busy, Nicholas. I tried before my first chemo treatment, but my dinner attempt failed. And then you left for Chicago. After that, I just didn’t know how to tell you.”
Reluctantly, he nodded his head but averted his gaze from hers. She felt she could read his thoughts as he remembered the times when she had tried to talk to him, but he had simply been too busy to listen. Too busy to spare even five minutes of his day to listen to his own wife. So partially because of her own procrastination but also because of his inaccessibility, she had faced cancer and its treatment by herself. It was clear that the guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders.
He leaned forward to take her hand. Awkwardly, he clutched it, squeezing it gently before he lowered his lips to her skin. She shivered at the gesture, unable to remember the last time he had kissed her anywhere, never mind just her hand.
“I should’ve been there, Frances.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he exhaled. “I . . . I don’t know what got into me. Or when it all changed.”
“Carrie . . .”
He grimaced. “Maybe yes. Maybe before that. You wanted more children, even though I didn’t. You didn’t want to work, and that made me angry. How much harder would I have to work to support another child? How many more years until I could retire and we could do all those things we wanted to do? I tried to tell you how I felt. But you didn’t listen and you got pregnant anyway.”
Frances bit her lower lip.
“Work became everything, and I lost sight of what’s really important.” He glanced at her and forced a small smile. “Family. My family. When I think back to all of those wasted years spent working sixty-, seventy-hour weeks, all of those recitals and games that I missed. And for what? A job? A promotion? A raise?” He removed one of his hands from hers and rubbed his eyes. “What does all of that matter, Frances, if my world is upended?”
She blinked her eyes, hoping that she could hold back the tears. She had been so strong for so long; she didn’t want to break now.
“I mean, you’ve been there for me at every step,” he continued. “I realize that now. Maybe I always did, but I didn’t want to admit it. Or acknowledge it.” Abruptly, he stood up and began to pace the narrow width of the room. “Or maybe I felt you owed that to me.”
“Owed it to you?”
He avoided looking at her. “The more I dug myself in at work, the more I took on, the more you took on at home. Without complaining. Why didn’t you ever complain, Frances? Why didn’t you call me out?”
Frances stared at him, her mouth agape. Did he truly not remember the arguments? The ruined weekends or nights out because he was late and she fought with him? The tears? Somehow, though, over the years she had stopped arguing and crying.
“And despite all of that . . .” He choked back a sob and raised his hand to his mouth as if to hold back another. “I wasn’t there for you when you needed me most.”
“Nicholas . . .”
“I wasn’t there for you at all, was I?” He didn’t fight it anymore; the tears fell freely. He sat back down in the chair, an expression of emptiness on his face. “I wasn’t there for you after Andy was born and certainly not after Carrie. I just spent my time focusing on myself and my career. Oh, Fran! How could you have put up with me? How could you have possibly stood by me?”
His shoulders slumped again as he sobbed. There was nothing Frances could say or do to help ease his suffering. Mostly, he had painted an accurate picture of their lives together, and when he said it in such simple terms, Frances had to agree that it was an ugly portrait of a dysfunctional family. Yet she couldn’t let him shoulder all of the blame. After all, she had been a willing participant.
“Please, Nicholas. Stop,” she whispered. “I could’ve spoken up. I could’ve said something.”
Yet, in truth, she knew that it wasn’t in her DNA to push back against her husband. From birth, her mother had trained her to keep harmony in the household, all the while reminding her that it was the woman’s place to serve the husband. If she really wanted to blame someone, she knew exactly whom to point the finger at.
But even that wasn’t the truth.
If she wanted to play the blame game, there was only one person she could truly hold responsible: herself. She could have spoken up and said something, just as he had said. The only problem was that she hadn’t. She saw the folly in her decisions, not just about the cancer but about everything else that she had remained silent about in their marriage.
Charlotte sauntered into the hospital room wearing a suit and carrying a vintage Louis Vuitton bag that screamed success. She must have been at a closing for one of her real estate deals, because Frances rarely saw her friend pull out her most expensive outfits unless there was money involved.
“Well, well,” Charlotte said. “For someone who didn’t want to tell the home team, you sure had a way of hitting it out of the ballpark!”
Frances gave a soft, tired laugh. “Point well taken.”
Setting her bag down on the floor, Charlotte slid into the chair and leaned forward. “So tell me what happened, Fran. You feeling all right?”
“I am, I guess. It’s just the white blood cell count is so low, and my blood pressure is so high,” she said. Individually they were dangerous. Combined was even worse. “I’m going to need a blood transfusion.” She paused, remembering Madeline’s comment to the doctor when told that she, too, needed a transfusion. “Maybe I should request a young, smart executive’s blood.”
Charlotte shook her head in disbelief. “What?”
But Frances merely laughed again. “Nothing. It’s just something that Madeline said.”
Charlotte glanced around the room, most likely noticing that there were no flowers or cards on the windowsill. “Hasn’t Nicholas been here?”
“Of course!”
“Well, you say that as if he’s been Mr. Wonderful throughout this entire crisis.”
Frances didn’t want to argue with her friend, but felt the urge to set the record straight. “Charlotte, remember that he hadn’t known. And he’s surprised me with how supportive he’s been since he found out. He hasn’t left the room much, the nurse told me. And he got very emotional today when I woke up.”
Arching one of her eyebrows, Charlotte leaned back in the chair. “Tell me more.”
“Everyone was shook up, especially the children.” Frances tried to push away the fuzzy memory of their reactions when she’d fallen to the floor and hit her head. Even worse was the imagined picture of how her children had reacted when they learned the truth about her condition. She shut her eyes and shook her head, fighting back tears. If only she had told them. If only she had thought this through. Swallowing, she took a deep breath, willing herself to be strong. “They can’t visit me here. Andy and Carrie. Infections are too risky, especially with children.”
Charlotte inclined her head and gave Frances a knowing look. “So I gathered. They practically sprayed me with antibacterial soap before they’d let me in,” she quipped. “I thought I’d have to put on a hazmat suit!”
Frances almost smiled. The nurses had been obsessive about washing their hands before touching any of the plastic bags of medicine or lines that connected to her port.
“No flowers or anything that could bring in germs, either.”
Once again, Charlotte’s eyes flickered to the windowsill. “Ah.” Charlotte nodded and changed the subject. “I’m sure not visiting you is causing extra stress. How are they? The children, I mean. Carrie in particular?”
Carrie. Unlike Andy, during times
of crisis, Carrie preferred to isolate herself under a false mask of bravado. It was a defense mechanism that she had created in order to hide her feelings. And that meant that most people assumed that Carrie was stronger than she actually was. They tended to forget that she was still a little girl who needed hugs and a sympathetic ear from time to time. Something Frances seemed to have forgotten lately, too.
“I . . . I’m not certain how she’s doing,” Frances admitted.
Charlotte ignored Frances’s uncertainty and persisted. “Tell me that Nicholas isn’t ignoring her again.”
It wasn’t a subject that Frances liked to discuss with Charlotte. It had taken her five years to finally admit to her friend that Nicholas hadn’t wanted children and, after Andy was born, was adamant that they have no more. But Frances hadn’t wanted an only child, and despite his protests, she had stopped taking her birth control pills. When she became pregnant again, Nicholas had been furious. That, too, was something Frances had been reluctant to confide to Charlotte, even after she admitted that there had been an issue about having children.
In hindsight, Frances knew that was about the time when Nicholas started working more, and she suspected it was to avoid participating in the child rearing. She had promised him that she could handle two children and he would not be inconvenienced. Perhaps there are some promises that should never be made.
The second-child issue had lingered, woven deeply into the fabric of their relationship. Yet as much as she had tried to shield Carrie from the truth, surely she had sensed the resentment built into their father-daughter relationship.
“I don’t think he’s ignoring her, although he’s been here when he’s not at work,” she finally acknowledged. “Not with the children.”
Frances could see the disapproval in Charlotte’s expression when she shook her head. “I’ll stop by the house, then. She can’t be left on her own. This must’ve been a shock for both of your children, but you know that I worry especially about Carrie. She’s more fragile than she lets on and might need some one-on-one time with a person who cares.”
Frances gave her friend a grateful smile. The vision of Carrie sitting alone in her room, worrying about her mother, was not a happy one. Leave it to Charlotte to consider the needs of her children. No one else would share that concern; people were usually too absorbed in their own needs or unwilling to be inconvenienced by someone else’s children.
It was at times like these when Frances realized what a blessing Charlotte was in her life.
“I’d really appreciate that, Charlotte. Perhaps you could take her out for a bite to eat. Both of them.”
“Of course. That’s what friends do, right?” Charlotte reached out her hand to cover Frances’s. “We take care of each other and each other’s families, especially during a time of difficulty.”
Frances nodded her head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. How could she ever thank her friend for everything that she had done?
“Don’t get all weepy-eyed on me,” Charlotte said, reaching over with her free hand to grab the small box of tissues. Gently, she placed it on Frances’s lap. “I can’t stand that crying stuff. You know that.”
Frances gave a soft laugh, even as some tears trickled down her cheeks. She reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “No. No tears. I haven’t cried yet, have I?”
“You have not!” Charlotte proclaimed like it was a badge of honor. “So don’t start now!”
Again, Frances laughed. She squeezed her friend’s hand and gave her a loving smile. “Thank you, Charlotte. Thank you for everything.”
Charlotte tried not to smile back, pretending to roll her eyes. But when she looked at Frances again, she had tears in her eyes, too. “Anytime, my friend. Anytime.”
CHAPTER 20
The house felt unusually peaceful. After nine days in the hospital, Frances was glad to be coming home. Behind her, Nicholas set down her bag. Somehow she had accumulated things while at the hospital: a new robe to wear over her hospital gown, fuzzy pink slippers for her feet, and, of course, her toiletries, books, and magazines.
“Where is everybody?” she asked, more than disappointed that the children were not there to greet her.
Nicholas, however, called out for them.
To Frances’s surprise, both Andy and Carrie poked their heads around the open kitchen door.
“Come,” Nicholas instructed. “Say hi to your mother.”
They looked nervous as they approached her, both lacking color on their cheeks. Carrie looked thinner than ever. Standing before her, both children stared, wide-eyed, at the scarf she had wrapped around her head.
Nicholas cleared his throat.
In one swift movement, Andy reached out to embrace her as Carrie flung herself into Frances’s arms. The hug from her son was surprisingly protective, while Carrie’s seemed apprehensive but genuine.
“How are you feeling, Mom?” asked Andy.
Frances reached out her hand and pressed it against Andy’s cheek. “I feel fine, honest.”
He didn’t look convinced.
“We wanted to visit you in the hospital,” Carrie blurted out, her arms still wrapped around Frances’s waist. “Someone wouldn’t let us.” From the look of the glare that she gave to Nicholas, it didn’t take much imagination to know who that someone was.
Frances leaned her head so that it was pressed against the top of Carrie’s. “Now, now, sweetheart. I had an infection, and they wouldn’t let anyone visit.” Truth be told, Frances had been glad to have a break from the children so that she and Nicholas could deal with the situation without the risk of interruption.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Andy asked, his eyes searching her face. “How could you keep that from us?”
Nicholas interrupted. “Let’s not bombard Mom with those questions right now, eh? Let’s get her situated in the family room so that she can relax.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and gently guided her away from the foyer.
The house was spotless, and the family room had been set up for her. A pillow, a fluffy white blanket, and her slippers had been placed on the sofa. Carrie hurried into the kitchen to fetch her some ice water while Nicholas helped her sit down.
“Honestly,” she laughed. “I’m fine.”
Andy fiddled with her pillow. “I guess you can let us pamper you some.”
“We even made supper!” Carrie announced as she bounded back into the room, spilling some water on the carpet.
It was overwhelming, their sudden change of attitude toward her, and as she took the water from Carrie, she fought the urge to cry. How was it possible that, buried so deep within her family, there was such decency that had been hidden from her for so long? Even more important, how long would it last?
“I spoke to your oncologist today,” Nicholas said. She had been home for only a few hours when he came into the family room with this announcement. “He won’t speak to me until you sign a HIPAA form.” He handed it to her with a pen. “He’s going to call me in fifteen minutes, Frances, so please sign it. I need to get it back to him right away.”
She sighed and took the paper. “I can tell you everything you need to know. And I have a folder upstairs in my nightstand with all of the reports from the biopsy.” But she signed the form anyway.
“Thanks.” He took it back from her. “It’s always good to have a second person hearing what they’re telling you, Frances. And I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Nicholas . . .”
He stood there, the paper in his hand, staring at her. His eyes seemed to study her face, and she wondered what he saw. Gaunt cheeks? Thinning eyebrows? Was he realizing that all of the signs had been there and he simply hadn’t noticed?
“They . . . they want me to get a double mastectomy,” she said softly.
He paused and stared down at the paper. For a long time he seemed to study her signature. But she knew that he was actually pondering what she had just told him. How would he feel a
bout his wife losing her breasts? The recovery? The multiple surgeries to reconstruct them? She couldn’t imagine what he was thinking, especially since she couldn’t begin to wrap her own head around it.
Finally, he looked up.
“That’s probably a good idea,” he said, even though his face had drained of color. “Avoid any possible recurrences, I guess.”
Slowly she nodded.
“We don’t want to go through this again, right?”
Neither one had to comment on the irony that, so far, only she had been going through it.
“But we can cross that bridge when we get to it, right?” He rolled up the paper and tapped it against his hand. “You need anything before I get on the phone with him?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
“I’ve put off calling your mother,” he said. “But I feel it’s time that she knows.”
Frances took a deep breath. She’d have to mentally prepare herself for the ultimate arrival of her mother. Once she learned about Frances’s cancer, she’d be flying to New Jersey in no time. The house would fall under her domain, and Frances would become the poor, pathetic patient that she certainly didn’t want to be.
“Please, Nicholas. I don’t want her to come here.”
He gave her a helpless look. “I don’t see how you—or I—can stop her. You know how determined she is. A woman who doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“You don’t need to remind me.” She shut her eyes and raised her hands to her rub her temples. “I just don’t want to be another one of her charity cases. Like when I was growing up. She always made such a big production out of everything. Like that time with our neighbor.”
“Your neighbor?”
She nodded. “Mrs. Bentley. She lived down the street, and my mother made me pose with her for Christmas because Mrs. Bentley had no children and she was dying of cancer. I was horrified, standing next to her, but mostly because my mother kept calling her a poor, pathetic creature.”
He frowned.
“Exactly. I don’t want to be that person, a person to be pitied, to my mother. You know how she wants everything to be perfect, even if it’s in appearance only.” Frances dropped her gaze and stared at the floor. “And cancer clearly does not make a person perfect in her eyes.”