Blue Heart Blessed

by Susan Meissner

  He shuts the door behind him and we begin to walk toward the stairs. It seems very quiet in the hallway. Too quiet.

  “So, Liam tells me you’re a landscape architect.”

  His eyebrows arch the tiniest bit. I know that look of surprise. I do that all the time. He is wondering what else I know about him.

  “Uh. Yes. Yes, I am.”

  “That sounds like a lovely way to spend your day; making yards beautiful.”

  Ramsey stares at his feet as we descend the first set of stairs. “I guess it is.”

  His answer surprises me. “Isn’t it?”

  “Well, what I’ve been doing lately is designing green roofs. They’re an aesthetic feature, but they’re more functional than anything else.”

  “What’s a ‘green roof’?”

  “It’s a roof covered with vegetative material. Green roofs keep buildings dry by conveying water away from the roof deck. And they reduce the volume of storm water in city sewer systems and absorb ambient heat.”

  “Sounds like a fancy way of saying you build roof gardens.”

  “Well, your typical roof garden is containerized. A green roof doesn’t use containers. The roof is the garden.”

  I think that sounds absolutely heavenly. I tell him so. Ramsey seems unimpressed with what he does for a living.

  “So, how do you do it? Do you put topsoil on the roof and just plant grass and stuff?” I ask. We are near the entrance to the boutique.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. The growing compound is pretty specialized.”

  “But the stuff that grows is ordinary, right? Like grass and shrubs and vines.”

  “Pretty much.”

  I place my hand on the door to Something Blue. “Sounds like a lovely roof garden to me. I bet it looks like one, too.”

  He shrugs. He doesn’t correct me.

  It is on the tip of my tongue to say it’s too bad he has to go all the way to Tokyo for four months to be a part of something so lovely and functional but Harriet within me insists I keep my meddling mouth shut.

  It’s not until Ramsey has faxed his papers and left for the hospital that I realize I never made it to Wendy and Philip’s.

  Thirty-one

  Max, Liam and Maria Andréa return from their tiger photo shoot a little after one o’clock. Max immediately heads upstairs with his equipment but Liam and Andréa stop in my office at Something Blue. Andréa shows me the tiger whisker she found outside one of the cages. It is white, curved and as thick as a guitar’s low E string.

  “So how was it?” I ask, handing it back to her.

  “They’re pretty lazy. And their poop stinks.”

  “Did you know tigers are bigger than lions?” Liam volunteers.

  “No, I didn’t know that.”

  “They’re only successful one out of every twenty hunts. And they live and hunt alone.”

  Now that sounds downright depressing. “Guess I’m glad I’m not a tiger.”

  Liam nods. “Daisy would be a pretty lame name for a tiger.”

  Andréa makes a little snorting sound. “All the tigers there had stupid names. Gus, Elmo, and Tony. Stupid.” She runs her finger across the whisker. “If those were my tigers I’d name them Captain, Orion and Gabriel.”

  “But you wouldn’t have tigers. You think they stink,” Liam says.

  Andréa begins to walk away, fingering the whisker. “Not the tigers. Just their poop.”

  Liam turns to me, surely about to make a comment about girls before remembering, that I am also one.

  “So.” I change the subject. “Ready to go visit your grandfather?”

  Liam and I arrive at the third floor of Methodist Hospital twenty minutes later. The door to his grandfather’s room is closed. Liam is about to open it when I suggest we knock first.

  From within we hear Father Laurent tell us to come in.

  Liam opens the door and we step inside. Father Laurent is in his bed, but the mattress is raised to nearly a sitting position. Color has returned to his cheeks. He looks ten times better than he did when he was brought here yesterday. But his countenance still seems haggard, despite the flush to his cheeks. Ramsey is seated next to his father. He too, looks a little beleaguered.

  Something has happened. Something I won’t like.

  Ramsey’s eyes communicate something to me. He has sensed that I’m aware something is amiss. He offers a mere shake of his head. Ask nothing.

  “Hi, Grandpa,” Liam walks toward the bed. “I saw some tigers today. Up close. I got to touch one on the back.”

  Father Laurent smiles. “Well, there’s something you’ve done that I’ve never done. I don’t think I’ve ever touched a tiger before.”

  “You should go next time Max goes there. It was cool. They have lions, too. But they weren’t out today.”

  The door opens behind us and a doctor walks in. I don’t recognize him. He seems surprised to see Liam and me there. “I see you have company,” the doctor says. “I’ll just leave these for you then. We can talk later, Mr. Laurent.” The doctor lays a sheaf of papers on the bedside table and walks away.

  As Father Laurent thanks him, my eyes travel to the papers and the bold lettering on the top sheet: Answers to Your Questions about Prostate Cancer.

  A surge of panic spills over me and I inhale abruptly. I turn to Father Laurent, as cold fear mingles with the panic.

  He just smiles at me; a weak smile, but one that still creases his face with tiny laugh lines from happier days.

  I open my mouth but before I can speak, Ramsey clears his throat.

  “Liam, would you mind running down to the vending machines and getting me a Pepsi?” He stands and hands his son a five-dollar bill. “You can get yourself a drink, too, if you want.”

  “Can I get a candy bar?” Liam asks as he takes the money.

  “Sure.”

  “Okay.”

  As soon as Liam is gone, the words are out of my mouth. “What has happened?”

  Ramsey looks to his dad. Neither one says anything.

  “What are those papers about?” I look from one to the other.

  Father Laurent turns to me. “The doctors found a tumor on my prostate gland.”

  “A tumor?” The only word scarier than tumor is cancer and I say it anyway. “Cancer?”

  “It’s a very treatable form of cancer.” Father Laurent’s voice is void of worry.

  I swallow. “So what does that mean?”

  “Usually it means the doctors watch to see how quickly the tumor changes size, but mine is a little bigger than they’re comfortable with. They’re probably going to want to do some radiation treatments. As soon as I recover from this other little thing.”

  This other little thing.

  I am blinking back tears. I hardly know what to say.

  “Many men recover from this kind of cancer, Daisy. If it’s caught early.”

  “Did they catch it early?”

  Ramsey looks away. Father Laurent hesitates for a second. “They think so.”

  “Did you know you had this? Were you feeling sick? I would’ve taken you to the doctor if you had told me.”

  Ramsey sits up in his chair when I say this. I think he’s a bit miffed at me. I don’t care. I wasn’t the one planting grass on Japanese roofs for the last four months.

  “I really didn’t feel that sick. This is not your fault, Daisy. It’s no one’s fault.”

  We are all quiet for a few moments.

  “What kind of radiation treatments?” I finally say. “Do you have to be hospitalized?”

  “No. The doctor is recommending radiation seeding. They inject these seeds into the gland to shrink the tumor. It’s an outpatient procedure. It’s supposed to be the newest thing.”

  “And it’s been successful?”

  “Very. The oncologist I saw this morning highly recommends it.”

  “So you’re still coming home?”

  Ramsey shifts in his chair. Then the door bursts op
en and Liam walks in with a soda can and a Snickers.

  “They were out of Pepsi, Dad. I got you root beer.” He is oblivious to the tension in the room. He hands Ramsey the can and then turns toward Father Laurent. “Want a bite of my Snickers, Grandpa?”

  “Wish I could say yes, Liam. But the doctors probably wouldn’t like it if I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to be a little nicer to my heart. It doesn’t like all those fat grams, I’m afraid.”

  “Well that stinks.”

  As do quite a few other things.

  I don’t stay long after hearing of this new development. When I get back to Something Blue, Mom and L’Raine can tell something weighs on me and it isn’t long before they coax it out of me. When I tell them that on top of having angry arteries Father Laurent also has prostate cancer, Mom goes pale and L’Raine starts to cry. I tell them what Father Laurent was careful to tell me, that this kind of cancer is very treatable, but they are like I am. Unable to hear the word cancer and not think the worst.

  A customer walks in and I whisk away the horrors of what I know and what I don’t and I pretend that nothing matters more to me than finding the right wedding dress for this lovely girl. But as soon as I start to tell her about the little blue heart sewn into the first dress she selects, I get teary and I have to excuse myself to have a make-believe coughing fit.

  The rest of the afternoon is a tedious affair. When Shelby pops in a bit before four and asks if I want to go get a smoothie, I am more than ready for the diversion.

  The June sun is bathing the sidewalk with ripples of heat as we head to my favorite smoothie shop.

  “How goes it?” Shelby is probably expecting my latest update on the toad formerly known as Daniel.

  And I begin to tell her what is really troubling me at the moment. The very real possibility of losing Father Laurent.

  Twenty minutes later, after we’ve sipped our drinks to the halfway point, I come up for air.

  “So is he cute?”

  I surely must look like I’ve no familiarity at all with the English language.

  “Huh?”

  “This Ramsey guy. Is he cute?”

  I am struggling to comprehend my shock at her question. I am shocked, no doubt about it. But not shocked that she asked. More like shocked that I’m shocked that she asked. I’m sure there’s someone, somewhere who knows what I mean. “I don’t see what his looks have to do with anything!”

  Shelby shrugs and pushes her straw up and down in her cup to break up the clots of melting ice. “You talk about him like he interests you.”

  “I do not.”

  “He doesn‘t interest you?”

  What a bizarre question. “I haven’t given it a moment’s thought, Shelby. All I’ve been concerned with is Father Laurent. I hate the idea of him being sick.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, Father Laurent’s a great guy and all, and I know he reminds you of your dad, but Daisy, your store won’t fold if Father Laurent is too sick or too busy with treatments to bless your little hearts. You could bless them yourself.”

  I hope she can see that I’m appalled. “That is not the only reason why I want him well.”

  “Of course it’s not. But you could, you know. Bless them yourself.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same. I‘m not a priest, for Pete‘s sake.” Shelby clearly doesn’t understand the marketing genius of my little set-up. Those little blue hearts are my logo, my brand, my business identity.

  “You could get someone else to do it.”

  “Shelby, how many pastors, retired or otherwise, would be willing to do what Father Laurent does for me? I bet your average minister would think the whole thing is nuts.”

  We start to walk back to the boutique, and as we stroll, Shelby concocts a plan to solicit a new heart-blesser for me on Twitter, just in case.

  She’s nuts. I’m not going on Twitter with this.

  We open the door to Something Blue and step inside just as Ramsey and Liam walk in from the back of the store.

  “Everything all right?” I ask.

  “We just decided to let Dad rest a bit,” Ramsey says. “It‘s been a busy day for him.”

  No kidding.

  Ramsey points toward my office. “Mind if I check to see if a fax has arrived for me?”

  “Not all. I‘ll be right there.”

  Ramsey and Liam head to my little office and I turn to say goodbye to Shelby. She is smirking.

  “You need to open your eyes, Daisy,” she whispers. “He’s quite handsome.”

  Thirty-two

  Dear Harriet,

  I’ve spent the evening surfing the Internet looking up all the information I can find on prostate cancer. Father Laurent was diagnosed with it today. The doctors detected a tumor during an exam at the hospital. Cancerous, of course. This, on top of everything else.

  Father Laurent’s doctor told him this kind of cancer is highly survivable. Like that’s supposed to allay all our fears. He will undergo a new kind of radiation treatment as soon as he recovers from his heart attack. Father Laurent didn’t say what the doctors will do if that doesn’t work. I told Max about it and that I’m worried it won’t work and he just said it’s not cool to kill your chickens before they’ve hatched. I asked him, “What the heck does that mean?” He said, “Don’t make reservations for the worst case scenario.” Life according to Max Dacey.

  Shelby says my fears are a little childish. Well, she didn’t actually say that, but that’s how I felt when she said it. Like a spoiled child who wants her way. She said I could just bless those hearts myself, which is a preposterous idea. Who wants to wear a wedding dress blessed by a jilted bride? Ludicrous. She also thinks finding another man of God to bless my little hearts could be as easy posting the opening on the Internet. Can you imagine the kind of responses I’d get?

  No, thanks.

  Shelby asked me if I thought Ramsey was good-looking. I told her Ramsey’s looks are the furthest thing from my mind and how on earth could she ask such a thing. She said I spoke of him like I was interested in him. How do you speak of a man and sound like you’re interested in him?

  She saw him today at Something Blue and she told me she thought he was very handsome. The truth is, I’m not unaware that he’s attractive. And he does interest me. But not because he is nice to look at it.

  I think it’s his sorrows that draw me. The love lost that attracts. Because I know that road. Been down it. Am traveling it still.

  I saw him tonight; up on the third floor, when I remembered I never went to Wendy and Philip’s this morning to listen for the weird bathroom noise. I left Wendy’s not having heard it, but when I was coming out of her apartment, he was opening Father Laurent’s front door. And so there we both were.

  Two pathetic souls.

  I smiled and nodded and he did the same.

  I’m watching Steel Magnolias, which is really dumb because I cry like a professional mourner when M’Lynn breaks down at the cemetery after burying her daughter, Shelby. And it’s not just because my best friend is named Shelby. It’s that whole “no one should have to die that young” thing. I will probably switch it off just before she dies.

  I like to gauge my reaction from time to time to Shelby’s wedding dress at the beginning of the movie. It’s huge. Her hair is huge. Her veil, her bouquet. It’s all ‘80’s huge. Huge.

  You know, it worked back then. You could wear big glasses on your face and have big hair and drive a big car and wear a big wedding dress and it was okay.

  No one thought those things were big back then.

  Perspective is everything.

  Dear Daisy,

  So you’ve figured out Ramsey’s handsome. So what. Console yourself with the knowledge that it’s not the first thing you noticed about him. There are degrees to shallowness.

  It’s not a pathetic thing to be drawn to someone’s sorrow. Isn’t that what ‘sympathetic’ means? Who doesn’t like the idea of being sympathetic? It’s
only pathetic when you compare your sorrows to someone else’s with the purpose of gauging whose are worse.

  Fashion in the ‘80’s was no different than fashion in any other decade. People you didn’t personally know told you what looked good and what didn’t. And whatever you were told, that’s what you believed, regardless of how you really felt about it.

  How nice for me to be the Voice of Reason who can wear whatever she wants.

  Harriet

  Thirty-three

  I am carrying a bouquet of tiger lilies and daisies as I head to Father Laurent’s room and it suddenly bothers me—just I’m about to open the door—that there are more daisies in my arms than lilies. I stop just outside the room and contemplate the audacity of having a dozen or more bridal-white flowers in my hands, all bearing my name—albeit with a lower case d. How uncouth.

  I am considering yanking a few out when the door opens and Ramsey appears. He made the trip back to Duluth yesterday to pick up uncamp-like clothes. Today, instead of shorts and a faded Hawaiian shirt, he’s wearing a tangerine Henley and cream-colored cargo pants.

  “Daisy. I almost ran into you.” His gaze immediately falls on my flowers. All those daisies. Arrogant, pompous daisies.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine.’ I mumble, wishing I had a box of chocolates instead. Make that rice cakes. “Are you on your way out?”

  “No. Was just going get a cup of coffee. It can wait.” He opens the door and holds it for me. “Dad I and I were just talking about you.”

  I snap my head around and a little bone in my neck protests. His tone doesn’t sound particularly neighborly. It doesn’t sound particularly anything. “Really?”

  He motions with his head toward the open door. “Want to come in?”

  No, what I want is to know is what he and Father Laurent were saying about me. “Um. Sure.”

  “Hello, Daisy.” I hear Father Laurent’s voice from within the room. I step inside and am relieved to see him looking pink-cheeked again. He is sitting up in bed in his own pajamas. Ramsey follows behind me.