by Rhett DeVane
I tried to open my eyes. “Bag?”
Jake jumped as if he’d been stabbed with a hot poker. “Oh! Oh!” He bent over to whisper in my ear. “No colostomy, sister-girl. You’re all in one piece. It’s okay. The only bag you’re gonna get is that cute little designer number we saw in Dillards. You know—the one you wouldn’t buy for yourself right before you bought Betty on your Visa.”
I managed a weak smile.
“She’s back!” Jake said.
When I closed my eyes again, I dreamed of people in trench coats silhouetted by a bright light. They were here to take me. The shadowy crowd parted. My mother and father walked toward me, hand in hand. They smiled. Love. Support. I felt light and free—floating. My mother held a small bundle in her arms. A baby—newborn. The baby looked at me with beautiful blue eyes and smiled. Sarah…my sister…I never got to meet you. I wanted to go away with them.
I lifted away from my heavy body and hovered over the room, looking down at the woman on the bed. Poor thing! The people around her seemed worried. Other people rushed in and out of the room. Why were they so upset?
I turned back to my parents. From the shadows, an elfish little man stepped into the soft light. His clothes hung in limp folds around his small frame. A purple hat with a daisy in its brim dipped over his eyes. He looked oddly familiar. Max?
Max the Madhatter held up one hand. Though his lips didn’t move, I heard his voice. You can not come here yet. You have many things to do before you can be with us. There will be a time.
My spirit pulled down…down. I felt the heaviness of my physical body—the pain. I settled into its injured shell. I took a deep, shuddering breath, and opened my eyes.
Holston’s eyes glistened with tears. “Hattie?”
The next two days were a drugged blur of familiar faces, flowers, cards, friends, and medical personnel. The family took shifts staying day and night. As the pain decreased, I weaned my body from the morphine pump. Three days post-op, Jon removed the catheter, and I began to slowly negotiate short trips to the bathroom and reclining chair. Eventually, I strolled the hall with the rolling IV pole Jake had fondly named Marvin.
On the fourth day after surgery, I had used little of the morphine, and the PCA unit, patient controlled analgesia, was removed from the room. The first meal was a lunch of beef broth (my father had fondly named it rusty nail soup), orange Jell-O, a lime Popsicle, and iced tea. A gourmet meal couldn’t have tasted any better.
Twenty-nine and a half tiles lined the ceiling. Many times, I’d counted them as a mantra until the pain medication took effect. Four corner shelves were weighted with flowers and plants. Behind the recliner, a cheerful clump of helium balloons bobbed. A large round wall clock with black numbers ticked off the time at a maddeningly slow pace.
Aunt Piddie visited on the morning of the fourth day. “We’ve got ever’ prayer circle in the county goin’ for you, gal. Miz Lucille has all the black churches sendin’ up pleas.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “They got a lot more ummph behind their prayers, I do believe. All that soul just boosts ’em straight up to Heaven.”
I smiled at my aunt. She wore her new Cracker Jack sailor-inspired pantsuit. Miniature replicas of the Regal Queen sailed at various levels in her light blue curled hair. Designs by Evelyn had struck again!
I held her warm hand. “Have you enjoyed your extended visit with Elvina?”
Piddie huffed. “That old woman? I’ve got a headache from trying to talk to her! She’s deaf as a stump. Couldn’t hear a fart in a jug!”
I clutched a pillow over the nine-inch, stapled-and-dressed vertical abdominal incision. “Pid, please don’t make me laugh right now.”
Evelyn wagged her finger. “Mama! She’s been cut up, now!”
“What’d I say? It’s true. Elvina is near deaf! I have to yell at her to get her to understand. I get a permanent earache from her yellin’ back at me!” Piddie reached up and stroked my hair. “You doin’ all right, gal?”
“Better, now that I’m off the morphine. It was making me itch like mad all over—one of the side effects. I’m really not in a lot of pain. Just sore.”
“Oh!” Piddie jumped. “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t tied on! I wanted to tell you that I talked to Paul Wong late last night. It was mornin’ over there, you know. He sends their love and best wishes. I gave him the number of that nice florist at Blossoms. I ’spect he’ll be sending you some flowers.”
Someone tapped lightly on the door. “Come in!” I called.
Patricia Hornsby ducked quietly into the room, holding Ruth by the hand. “We wanted to come by. We won’t stay long.” Patricia hugged me carefully. “Ruth has been begging to come see you since we found out you were here. I told her we had to wait a few days for you to feel up to company.”
Ruth handed me a tall green vase full of daisies. “For you, Mama chuntian.”
“How beautiful! How did you know that daisies were my favorite flower?”
She shrugged and smiled.
Jake settled on to the rollaway cot at the foot of my bed. “I kinda like these little slumber parties.” He bounced a couple of times, and grinned at the sound of the squeaky springs.
“I’m really okay for me to stay alone, now. I’ll probably be going home tomorrow. At least that’s what Dr. Crowley said today.”
He pursed his lips into a pout. “I don’t want you to be by yourself. Besides, it’s my turn to stay with you.”
“I don’t remember a lot about the first night after surgery,” I said.
Jake fluffed his pillows and settled back. “It was pretty scary for all of us. You almost stopped breathing! They said it was a reaction to the anesthesia. I think you were deciding if you were going to stay with us.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You know, all that week I roomed with Holston—all the times I’ve been around him, I’ve never seen his feathers ruffled at all. He’s always so calm and controlled, so even. But, he broke down and cried like a baby after you started breathing okay. The man adores you, sister-girl.”
I felt tears forming. “I thought he might not want me anymore.”
Jake looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Why?”
“I don’t know, damaged goods. The whole cancer thing.”
“That you even thought that, is the only thing that is damaged!” He snorted dramatically.
“You know what really gets me?” Jake continued. “Holston doesn’t realize how handsome and magnetic he is. I’ve known scads of men with half his looks and class, and they acted all stuck-up, preening in mirrors, not caring who they stepped on, or why.”
“I think his ex-wife had a lot to do with his lack of self-esteem. From the little tidbits he’s told me, Claire was a real ball-buster. She was okay with him as long as he earned the big bucks playing the high-roller’s game, but dumped him like yesterday’s dirty socks when he left Wall Street to follow his dreams of becoming a writer.”
“Claire doesn’t know what she lost.”
I looked down. “I haven’t shared this with anyone, but…”
Jake shifted to the edge of the bed and curled into a girl-talk position. “Like I’m just anyone? Really!”
“Holston was shy with me at first, you know, sexually. He had very little confidence.”
Jake smoothed the pillow behind me. “I find that hard to believe. The man’s an Adonis.”
“Would I lie?”
“I’m certainly glad you turned him around, sister-girl. It’d been a cryin’ shame for all that manliness to go to waste.”
Jake rubbed his stubby chin thoughtfully. “There’s only one small thing I’ve found somewhat… bizarre about Holston.”
I grinned. “Three times every morning, right?”
I held the pillow over my stomach and tried not to laugh too hard, but Jake rolled around on the cot like a rabid skunk.
“Lordy, Jake. Don’t you ever tell him that we discussed his morning gas ritual. He’d ju
st die!”
“Some things are better just between us girls.” Jake wiped the joy-tears from his eyes. “When will you find out about the biopsy results?”
“In a couple of days,” I said.
His brows knit together. “I had the weirdest dream while I was napping here that first night. I won’t say I was actually sleeping—about every two hours, the nurses came in and flung on the lights and threw a party. Anyway, in the dream, Little Ruth told me that everything would be alright, and that you were healed.”
I paused. “Jake, I haven’t told anyone about this. I don’t even know if I have the words to describe it. Something happened to me, I suppose, when I almost stopped breathing that afternoon.”
“Spill it…” After I relived the strange occurrence, Jake stared at me with his mouth hanging open.
I tapped his chin. “Close your trap. You’ll catch flies.”
“Gah! You had a near-death experience!”
I shrugged. “Yeah, suppose I did.”
Jake shook his head. “I don’t know how you can be so blasé about it. It’s incredible!”
“Maybe. Now. Jake, don’t fudge me. I know the real reason you want to stay here with me is roaming up and down the hall in blue scrubs.”
He patted up and down his pants and shirt. “Do I have on my transparent clothes, today? Or…did your close brush with the Grim Reaper leave you psychic….or would that be, psychotic?”
“You two would make a cute couple.”
Jake studied his nails. “I know I grow enough cuticles to make a whole ’nother person.”
“Jakey, changing the subject won’t get it with me.”
He huffed. “Okay! Jon said I could call him for dinner after you leave the hospital. He thinks it wouldn’t be professional otherwise, even though I’m not his patient. He’s really into this whole ethics thing.”
I threw one hand into the air. “All right!”
Jake tilted his head and looked toward the heavens. “It really is so circular, when you think about it. My assault brought Holston into your life, and your surgery brought Jon into mine.” He smiled and leaned forward, a rapt expression on his face. “Did you know that Elvis was the Georgia 2000 poster dog for December?”
“Amazing. I’ll have to ask for his autograph when we meet.”
At 3:00 PM, a pink-lady volunteer delivered an interesting oriental arrangement. The design was an asymmetrical yet perfectly balanced blend of live flowers, dried twigs, and moss. I admired the parity of light and dark hues, stillness and suggested movement—yin and yang. The small card read: We are with you in spirit. For in spirit, there is no separation. Paul and Sushan Wong.
Jake admired the arrangement. “The amazing thing about this—Piddie said he phoned this order in personally to Blossoms. He had to stay up late to call them during working hours.”
“Paul Wong’s such a nice man. Hey, by the way—how’s Jolene doing in the shop?” I asked.
Jake was studying the simple, yet intricate arrangement. Probably contemplating adding oriental designs to his repertoire. “Hmmm? She’s doing great. She still gets a little wigged-out under fire. I haven’t had any big events in the last two weeks, so she’s handling the workload just fine. And, she’s really very clever. She makes these lady-hat arrangements that are nothing short of genius. She finds old pillbox felt hats at flea markets and yard sales, then uses them, lined of course, as containers for floral designs. They’ve become the rage of Gadsden County. She’s even had women bring their own old hats in for her to work with.”
“I know having her help takes a big load off of you.” I sighed. “This cancer thing has forced me to make some decisions. I told Garrett I’d sell the townhouse to him.”
Jake flipped through a stack of get-well cards. “Really? You want to make the Hill your full-time home?”
“Yeah, I think so. Heck, I’ve already moved most of my belongings to the Hill. I have to dump some stress from my life, Jake. I’ll probably close my massage practice over here. I can delegate my clients to Anna or one of the other therapists at the clinic.”
“Biggie decisions, sister-girl.” He pushed a stray sprig of hair from my eyes. “The pace in Chattahoochee is a lot slower than over here. Besides, you’ll be an old married woman soon. Oh! Did I tell you about the idea for the Witherspoon mansion?”
I winced as I rearranged myself on the bed to alleviate a muscle cramp in my back.
“Mandy, Stephanie, and I want to turn the house into a day spa. We haven’t been to the town council yet to get the clearance. It’s zoned residential right now. But, I think we can prove that the type of business we’d attract wouldn’t have a harmful impact on the neighborhood. I still plan to live there after you and Holston are married, of course.”
“That’s a great idea! I just knew you’d come up with a way to make things happen.”
“Hasn’t happened yet. That pompous butt-hole attorney, Hank Henderson, sits on the council. If it doesn’t grease his palm, he won’t support it. And, he doesn’t like queers.” Jake chuckled. “Piddie’s put in to help us push it through. She says she knows a lot about ole Hankie-boy. We’ll just have to see how things pan out.”
Jake flipped channels on the television. The more stations we had, the less there was to watch. “You and Holston set a date yet?”
“I hoped for mid-to-late October.”
He twirled around. “That’s only four months away!”
“I know, I know. We’ll have to see. I don’t want a big fancy free-for-all. Neither does Holston. I hate lace and frou-frou, and I refuse to waste gobs of money on a big show for its own sake. If it was up to me, I would get married in blue jeans.”
“It’s your wedding. You can wear plastic wrap and a ribbon if you want.”
“There’s a thought.”
Jake grinned. “Now, you’re scaring me.”
A knock on the door announced the arrival of the family, with the exception of Holston, who was at the townhouse resting.
“I’m glad you’re here. Jon said I can take a shower if we can figure out a way to keep my incision dry.”
“Just a minute,” Evelyn said. She left the room, returning shortly with a trash can liner and a roll of cloth tape she’d borrowed from Jon. “Necessity is the mother of invention. I’ll just make a quick patch, and cover up that cut like nobody’s business.”
Since I was wobbly and weak from the aftereffects of pain medications and inactivity, Evelyn and Leigh supported me as I shuffled to the small bathroom’s shower stall. All three of us giggled like kids in a summer rainstorm as they washed my hair and body. Clean hair, after five days, was a near-orgasmic luxury. They towel-dried my skin, removed the protective plastic over my dressed incision, then used a blow-dryer to style my hair.
As anyone who’s ever experienced abdominal surgery can attest, to leave the hospital, you must perform the three P’s: pee, pass gas, and poop. Everyone who wandered into my room looking the least bit medically inclined wanted to know about my bodily functions. I became so accustomed to reporting the latest update, I even told Mevlyn, the pink-lady volunteer who delivered a dish garden from Reverend and Lucille Jackson.
Dr. Crowley bustled into the room around 11:00 AM on the fifth day of my incarceration. “Well?”
“I’ve done everything—except the poop part. I wish I had great things to report. I only started eating solid food yesterday. If it counts, I did have the very teeniest bowel movement.” I held up my fingers as a measure.
Evelyn said, “We’ll take good care of her, Doctor. We have my daughter’s old room set up and ready, just waiting on her to come home.”
Piddie chuckled. “And everyone’ll start bringing food over as soon as I say the word—so Evelyn won’t send her back here with her cookin’.”
“Now, Mama…,” Evelyn said.
Dr. Crowley checked the notations in my chart. “I don’t see any reason why you can’t go on home. Call my office in the next couple of days to set up
a four-week post-op appointment, and I’ll want to see you in my office in a week to remove the staples.”
The nine-inch vertical stainless steel-clamped incision on my belly resembled a huge zipper. “Great! I’ll be happy to give them back to you.”
Dr. Crowley scribbled release orders. “Hattie, we should have the biopsy results on the lymph nodes in a couple of days. I’ll call you as soon as I have the papers in my hands.” He smiled. “I just have a good feeling about it.”
Excerpt from Max the Madhatter’s notebook, March 2, 1957
Good comes out of bad. All the time. Like when I have one of my spells, and I’m shocked by the simple beauty of what my hand has drawn on a blank page. Beauty and goodness can paint over hate and meanness, given half a chance.
Chapter Thirty-three
THE WEDDING
In the snippets of time Evelyn and Jake had taken from watching over me during my, as the family now referred to it, cancer scare, Karen’s old bedroom had been transformed into a light, airy guest room. The dark mausoleum that had served as a memorial for her lost daughter now sported pale buttercup-yellow walls, pressed flower prints, and windows shaded with white plantation blinds framed with wispy folds of unbleached muslin. Heavy oak furniture that had anchored all four corners of the room had been replaced with natural wicker nightstands and a white crackled-paint iron headboard. Unlike the outdated avocado-green shag monstrosities, two sisal rugs complemented the pale hardwood floors.
The remainder of the house was slowly being transformed within the parameters of Evelyn’s new decorating scheme. Brass porthole mirrors, miniature lighthouses that lit from within, and ocean-scene watercolor prints infiltrated the living room. Joe carried his honey-do list around as he gathered materials to strip the Jamaican-print wallpaper from the kitchen.
My homecoming to Joe and Evelyn’s house was followed by a parade of casserole-bearing well-wishers. Aunt Piddie kept a careful inventory of the incoming food, and sent thank you cards in the following day’s mail. Dr. Crowley called two days after I came home to relate the wonderful news that all of the twelve lymph nodes he’d stripped during surgery were clear of cancer cells. Thank heaven, no chemotherapy would be necessary.