Was it possible Maddy hadn’t heard Carol? Was there still a chance?
Her laughter tightened up into choking sobs. Please, God, maybe she hadn’t heard. . . . Please, God, I want her to know. . . .
The elevator chimed.
“I hate to leave her this way,” Carol said, “but I need to get back to my desk.”
“Go,” said Maddy, forcing a smile. “I’ll stay with her.”
“I’ll say a prayer for your daughter.”
Maddy thanked her. So polite. Maybe she hadn’t done such a terrible job with her after all.
Carol stepped onto the elevator and just before the doors closed, she called out, “Give me a yell when you find out something.”
“What’s your extension?” Maddy asked.
“Just ask for Carol in Oncology,” the woman said. “They’ll find me.”
And the jaws of the trap snapped shut.
MADDY’S FOCUS NARROWED until there was nothing in the world but her mother.
“Tell me,” Maddy said, her tone steely-hard and uncompromising.
Rose lifted her head and looked up at her. “I think you already know.”
“You have cancer.”
“No,” said Rose. “I had cancer.” She forced a shaky smile. “A very significant distinction in certain circles.”
“I don’t understand. How could I not know this?”
“Very simple,” Rose said. “I didn’t tell you.”
“How long?”
She heard her mother’s sharp inhalation of breath, the pause, the shaky exhalation. The ex-smoker’s canto. “A long time.”
“How long?”
“Five and a half years.”
“Jesus!” She backed away from Rose. “When were you going to tell me?”
“I wasn’t,” her mother said. “But Lucy has been—”
“Aunt Lucy knows?” Rose nodded. “Who else? Gina? Denise? The Loewensteins? The Armaghs?” She tried to lower her voice but failed miserably. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know?”
“Lucy knows,” Rose said, tears still streaming down her face. She hesitated. “And your father.”
That little piece of information hit Maddy like a kick in the gut. “You’re telling me that Bill knows?” My father? Daddy?
“When Irma was dying.” Rose’s voice had been reduced to a whisper. Maddy had to lean closer to hear her words. “I didn’t mean to tell him. I didn’t want to, but she was so frightened and I—”
“If you’re looking to score points as a humanitarian, don’t bother.”
Rose turned and punched the Down button.
“You can’t leave now,” Maddy said, starting after her mother. “You can’t drop a bombshell like this on me and walk out.”
“Of course I can’t,” Rose shot back. “That’s your job, isn’t it? You’re the one who walks out when the going gets tough.”
“Unfair,” Maddy said, her voice shaking with outrage.
“Is it?”
“Look at me, Rose. I’m not running. I’m not walking out.”
“This isn’t the time,” Rose said over her shoulder, “nor is it the place.”
“Maybe not, but here we are and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk away from this. You owe me, Rose. You owe me an explanation.”
“You may not like it.”
“Try me.”
“There you are!” Aunt Lucy seemed to appear from nowhere. “I’ve been looking all over for—” She stopped, looking from Rose to Maddy. “What’s wrong? I know it’s not Hannah. I was just in there.”
“She knows,” said Rose.
It took Lucy a second, but then her lovely face broke into a huge smile. “Oh, thank God! Honey, I told you it was time, didn’t I? I’m so glad you don’t have to walk around with that terrible load on your mind any longer.”
“Maybe we should open a bottle of champagne,” Maddy said, glaring at the two women. “A toast to keeping secrets . . . where would a family be without ’em?”
The elevator clanked into position. The doors creaked open and a score of DiFalcos spilled out. Aunt Toni and Aunt Connie. Gina and Denise and their kids. More cousins and nephews and nieces than Maddy could take in. She was passed from hug to hug, moving on an unexpected wave of love and support. They brought food with them and newspapers, knitting projects and coloring books. We’re here for the long haul, their actions proclaimed. You’re not in this alone.
Rose was crying softly, her forehead resting against Lucy’s soft shoulder. Maddy felt a quick stab of guilt but pushed it away as the others gathered around the two sisters. Your choice, Rose. Over and over, in every given situation, Rose had always made the choice to be alone.
Her sisters and nieces and nephews and cousins and friends would have been there for Rose, gathering around her like a human shield, protecting her from outside invaders. They would have ferried her to doctors’ appointments, held her hand during chemo, driven her to radiation. They had done it for their own before. Rose was their blood. They would have done it for her, too.
Maddy would have been there for her mother as well. She would have put aside old differences and come home to help her through. That was what families did when they were given the chance.
But Rose never gave any of them the chance.
Look at them over there with Rose. Look at the kindness on their familiar faces, the love and concern. In that throbbing mass of family love only Lucy knew Rose’s story. Only Lucy had been given the opportunity to hold Rose’s hand, a gift whose value Maddy was only now beginning to fully understand.
Maddy slipped away from the knot of family and moved quickly down the hallway. She felt numb and bruised. Too much was happening. Her little girl’s illness, Rose’s revelation, the sense that she was beginning to see her family clearly for the first time in her life. She had been gone for almost half her life. She was a virtual stranger to most of them. But they loved her just the same. It was a revelation to her. They had opened the circle wide enough to let her slip inside and bring Hannah with her. They were her tribe. Her people. Even if she packed her bags and disappeared for another fifteen years, they would be here waiting for her when she came back. The circle would open wide again.
The third-floor lounge swarmed with people. She saw Kelly’s boyfriend, Seth, at least a dozen familiar faces from around town, Claire and Billy Jr. She ducked into Hannah’s room seconds before the dam burst, and the flood she had been struggling to hold back finally broke free.
AIDAN SAW MADDY disappear into Hannah’s room, three doors down from Irene. She looked exhausted, terrified, on the ragged edge of losing it.
The hell of it was, she had every reason to be scared shitless. He’d overheard the doctors talking in the hallway and it was clear they were flying blind. The kid was sinking fast, and unless somebody threw her the right lifeline they were going to lose her.
If he needed proof that God had left the building, he was looking at it.
At least Irene was leaving with all flags flying. They had begun to arrive an hour ago, people who had crossed paths with Irene over the years and been the better for it. Each new revelation reminded him of how little he knew about the woman who had raised him and Billy.
“I’m pulling for her,” Tommy said. “This town won’t be the same without her.”
“She put me in touch with Charles at the bank,” Julie said. “I doubt I could’ve gotten the coffee shop renovated and relaunched without her help.”
“I owe her big time,” said Mel Perry. “She wrote a school recommendation for my kid the lawyer. Made all the difference.”
Jack Bernstein tried to say something, but the hitch in his throat rendered him mute.
The crowd in the third-floor visitors’ lounge overflowed into the corridor. It seemed to Aidan that Grandma Irene had touched the lives of almost everyone in town and they were determined to thank her before it was too late.
He and Kelly watched, astonished, as one familiar face after a
nother stepped into Irene’s room and whispered a few words of friendship. It was a thankless exercise. Irene gave no indication that she was aware of any of them, but still they came. He sat there taking it all in, wondering about the secret lives people led and how they intersected with each other in the strangest and most profound ways.
But it was when Claire showed up with Billy Jr. that he nearly lost it.
She hugged Kelly, then grabbed him by the biceps, her tone fierce and loving. “Not for her,” she said. “For us.”
Their family. It was worth fighting for.
The DiFalcos were there in force, too, gathered together to support Maddy and Hannah in every way they could. All of the sisters. The cousins. Spouses, current and ex and almost. Nieces and nephews. A huge outpouring of love that spilled over onto Kelly and him until you couldn’t tell who belonged to whom.
Gina spent a few moments at Irene’s bedside. He didn’t know what their connection was, but at this point nothing would surprise him. Denise. Toni DiFalco and her husband sipped coffee and watched the kids. Rose sat by herself near the window, her body language an expression of sorrow in its purest form.
Minutes passed. An hour. He got up to stretch his legs, grab a can of juice from the kitchen fridge at the end of the corridor. His head ached from the continuous low buzz of conversation, from playing host at a party nobody wanted to attend.
Maddy was in there, leaning against the sink, holding a can of orange drink to her forehead. Her eyes were closed. Dark shadows were clearly visible.
“Pretty crowded out there,” he said. The things he wanted to say had no place in this room today.
Her eyes flickered open and she offered him a weary smile. “I’m surprised the staff doesn’t kick some of them downstairs. Looks like O’Malley’s on a Friday night.”
“Ten years ago maybe.” He had the feeling his own smile was almost as weary. “Our Fridays aren’t what they used to be.”
“How is your grandmother?”
He shook his head. “It won’t be long.” A beat pause. “Hannah?”
“They don’t know.” She placed the can of orange drink on the counter and wrapped her arms across her chest. “All of the advances in medicine, all of the expensive equipment they keep telling you will save your life—” Her voice broke and he looked away while she regained her composure. “If they can’t pinpoint the cause after the lumbar puncture, then . . .” Her words trailed off.
Neither one of them needed a road map.
He grabbed the can of orange drink, popped the top, then handed it to her. She murmured her thanks, took a long swig, then handed it back to him. He could taste her warmth on the metal rim. They stood there for a long time, leaning back against the counter, leaning into each other.
“I owe you breakfast,” she said, taking another sip of orange drink.
“Name the day.”
“The second Hannah’s out of here, we’ll—”
He held her as she cried, shielding her with his body from curious eyes. He wanted to tell her that Hannah was going to be okay. He wanted to tell her that nothing bad ever happened to the people you loved, but she would know he was lying. Bad things happened every day of the week. The only sure way to keep your heart from breaking was to lock it away. But that wasn’t living. It had taken Aidan a long time to figure that out, but now that he had he wasn’t about to let her go.
BILL BAINBRIDGE SHOWED up around suppertime. Rose flew into his arms and didn’t let go for a good five minutes. Maddy watched from the entrance to Hannah’s room, eyes wide with shock, as her parents kissed, looked deeply into each other’s eyes, then kissed again.
They’re in love, she thought in amazement. More than that, it was clear they always had been. She was too tired in body and soul to question any of it. If love showed up, you would be a fool to show it to the door.
Bill enveloped her in a bear hug, and the enormity of what was happening took on an even darker edge of foreboding.
“I thought you were some place woodsy and midwestern,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“I still am,” he said. “Just thought I’d use up a few of those frequent-flyer miles I’ve been accumulating and come admire your snow.”
He had always been a terrible liar.
He tried hard not to show how much or how deeply Hannah’s condition affected him, but he seemed to age as he stood there by her bed, her tiny hand in his, and talked to her.
“Go for a walk with your old man,” he said to Maddy after he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and stuffed it deep into his pants pocket. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“Hannah’s doctor should be here any minute,” Maddy said. “He promised to let me know when they’re taking Hannah up for the tap.”
“They’ll find you,” he said.
They walked past Irene’s open door. The room lights had been dimmed and Maddy could just make out the slight figure of the old woman as she moved restlessly in the bed.
She turned away.
“It’s a hard life,” Bill said as they neared the nurses’ station, “and sometimes we don’t leave it with quite the grace we’d hoped for.”
“She’s a fighter,” Maddy said. “I guess you don’t live over one hundred years if you don’t know how to fight.”
“True enough,” he said, “but sooner or later the time comes when you need to stop fighting and let go of the past.”
They paused by the window at the far end of the corridor and looked down on the parking lot below.
“I’m glad Rosie finally told you the truth.”
She could feel her spine stiffen with anger. “She didn’t exactly tell me.” She explained how the truth had actually come out.
“But now you know,” Bill said. “Now it’ll finally make some sense to you.”
“Make sense? What are you talking about?”
“When you were pregnant with Hannah,” he went on, oblivious to her confusion. “Why she didn’t come out and help you.”
“I don’t get it,” she persisted. “I don’t see what one thing has to do with the other.”
“For a smart woman you can be mighty dumb when you put your mind to it.” He fiddled with a mended latch on the window. “You’re good with numbers, Maddy. Think about the timing and tell me what you come up with.”
She saw it all in an instant. The evasions. The flimsy excuses. The times when Rose sounded like answering her phone took took more energy than she had to offer. The missed Christmas.
“Oh, God,” she said, “that’s why.”
Bill nodded. If she didn’t know better she would think his blue eyes were damp with tears. “She didn’t want to put a damper on a happy time,” he said. “And, let’s be real honest here, she figured if nobody knew, she wouldn’t have to deal with all of their worrying on top of everything else.”
“Dad, I—”
“Go,” he said. “And thank God for second chances.”
ROSE WATCHED THEM until they disappeared around the bend in the corridor. She could count the times on one hand when she had been able to indulge herself in the pleasure of watching the man she loved and the daughter they had created walk down a corridor together.
A small pleasure in the grand scheme of things, but all the diamonds in the world would fall short by comparison. Both tall. Both rangy. Both with that long, loose stride Rose always thought of as quintessentially west of the Rockies. She had carried Maddy for nine months inside her body, but you would never know it to see them together. Her genetic material was nowhere in sight.
If only Hannah had been walking with them, her shiny blond hair bouncing on her shoulders and—
No. Don’t think about it. Think positive thoughts. They were going to get this whole thing figured out any minute now, and before you knew it Hannah would be her old bouncy self.
She refused to believe anything else was possible.
It felt good to sit there surrounded by family and dear friends. If positive energy
meant anything, Hannah would get well in record time and Irene O’Malley’s passing would be gentle and swift. She could never remember a time when she had felt more connected with her family or with Paradise Point. She hoped Maddy felt even a tiny portion of what she was feeling right now. If she did she would understand that she was loved.
That she had finally come home.
Her eyes closed and she began to drift. She could work eighteen-hour days at the Candlelight and leap from bed the next morning eager for more, but worry exacted a different toll from a woman. Exhaustion tugged at her like the undertow near the Point. Sly and seductive. Relentless. Pulling you away from shore until there was nothing you could do but give in to its demands.
A hand on her shoulder jolted her back to earth. “I’m not asleep,” she said. “I was just resting my eyes.”
You would think a woman would recognize her own daughter’s touch, wouldn’t you? But they had never been touchers, Rose and Maddy. No spontaneous hugs or arms slung around a waist for them. There were days when breathing the same air was about as close as they cared to get.
Maddy sat down next to her on the bench seat. An inch was all that separated them. Rose wasn’t sure they’d been this close at any point since Maddy left diapers behind. She felt almost drunk on her daughter’s nearness.
“You didn’t have to go through it alone.” Maddy spoke softly. For Rose’s ears alone. “I would have come home to help you.”
“I wasn’t sure you would,” Rose said, looking down at her nails, “and that would have hurt more than anything the doctors could have done to me.”
“The day Hannah was born I was so sure you would show up. Every time I heard footsteps I looked up, expecting to see you standing in the doorway.”
“I wanted to be there,” Rose said. “More than you’ll ever know.” She had been desperately ill from chemotherapy at that time. Struggling to pull herself through from one day to the next while maintaining the illusion that none of it was happening.
“We could have helped each other,” Maddy said. “Neither one of us should have been alone.”
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