The Words We Leave Unspoken

by L. D. Cedergreen

  When he finally did appear at the door, soaking wet from the unrelenting rain, I immediately broke down at the sight of him. He took one look at me and rushed to my side, pulling me into his lap on that old worn leather couch. I sobbed against his shoulder, unable to say the words that I had rehearsed for nearly an hour.

  “It’s okay, Gwen. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out,” he assured me. And in that moment, the fear of telling him, the fear of the unknown, the fear of what was to come melted away as I was reminded of why I loved this man so much. We were a team and everything would be okay.

  “I’m pregnant,” I whispered against the side of his face.

  He pulled back and held me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes.

  “What?” he asked in shock.

  And so I said it again, my voice barely a whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

  I saw the realization hit him in the expression on his face, moisture filling his eyes. “We’re having a baby?” he asked, wide-eyed. I nodded. He crushed his lips against mine, so intensely, as he held me close with his hands wrapped around my back.

  “Oh my God, we’re having a baby,” he said, pulling back just enough to say the words before kissing me again. It might not have been planned, the timing may not have been right, but it didn’t matter. John and I were going to have a baby, a family of our own and despite all of the above, it was meant to be. And once again I had felt silly for being so nervous, for being afraid to tell John.

  “Fall fashion sucks this year.” Charley’s voice breaks through the silence, bringing me back to my crushing reality and the fact that I’m not alone. As I hear her drone on about plaid and feathers and platforms, exhaustion seeps in from every angle. I feel it in every single muscle in my body. I’m ready for this day to be over.

  Chapter 6

  Charley

  I see Gwen in my peripheral vision rub at her face and abruptly sit up. She reaches over and pulls at the chain of the bedside lamp, and then lies back down on her side, facing away from me. I sigh and set my magazine down, switch off my own lamp and lie down on my back, staring into the darkness. I can feel her body shake and hear her muffled sobs as she cries silently into her pillow. This is not the Gwen I know. I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen Gwen cry, including the times she cried tears of joy, like when she said her vows to John or the moments following the births of Olivia and Max. Gwen was the strong one, she faced the hard things head-on with a head full of optimism and a heart made of steel. She was indestructible. She had held my hand through every step of life, literally since I took my first steps. She was five when I was born, six by the time I learned to walk. My mother loves to tell the story of Gwen holding my hand and teaching me how to walk. And that’s the way it has always been. Gwen the strong one, the nurturing one. And Charley, poor little Charley, the one who needs reassurance with each step in life.

  I’m not sure what to do. Watching Gwen silently crumble before me. I’m the one who falls apart and Gwen’s the reassuring voice, the comforting pat on the back. I’m not good at this. Fear rushes through me, causing my heart to pound in my chest.

  “Gwen?” I say her name so quietly that I can barely hear my own voice.

  She slowly rolls to her back and stares up at the ceiling. I turn my head and look over at her, her face highlighted by the street lights that stream in around the closed blinds. I see tears slide from the corner of her eye and trickle slowly down her cheek until they spill onto the pillow, leaving a darkened, wet circle on beige cotton. I reach over above the covers and grab her hand. I take her cold hand in mine and squeeze, just a light squeeze to let her know that I’m here. I’m afraid to ask what’s wrong, afraid of what she’s going to say next. So we both lay in silence and I feel her squeeze my hand back before her quiet sobs break through the silence, filling the room and fracturing my heart. She completely breaks down and I resist the urge to pull her against me and hold her like she would do for me. But I know Gwen. She needs her space; she needs time to work through whatever is breaking her apart in this moment before she can talk to me. And so I just lay still and squeeze her hand so tight that I can barely feel my fingertips while my own tears fall gently against my pillow. I brace myself for what’s to come because I know it will be big, life changing. Nothing small or simple would warrant such an emotional response, such a silent confession from Gwen. My mind races through the possibilities. Is it Olivia? Max? Is it John?

  Before my mind even settles on Gwen, she whispers quietly into the silent darkness, “I’m going to die.”

  I’m going to die. Her words echo through my mind before I have the sense to absorb them. I sit up abruptly without letting go of her hand. “What?” I ask, now feeling frantic, desperate for answers, an explanation.

  Gwen swipes at her eyes, one at a time. “I saw my oncologist today. The cancer is back. I felt another lump in my armpit and so I had a bunch of tests done. I got my results today and it’s not good. He said that it spread and I don’t have much time left. I’m going to die. And it’s like I can feel it. Like this is it.”

  She says it so matter-of-factly, she’s so calm. But her words punch me right in the gut, hurt me so deep inside that I feel like I might throw up.

  “I’m scared, Charley. I’m scared to tell John. I’m scared for the kids. I’m scared of feeling sick, of what it will feel like in the end. I’ve never been so scared in my life and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know...” Her voice trails off as she sobs so hard that her body shakes. I don’t know what to say. I lie down next to her and wrap my arms around her and squeeze. I feel her relax into me and roll to her side. And I hold her as we both cry, the way she has done for me so many times before. Like the day that Dad left, or the day Jennifer Holt – my best friend in third grade – moved away, and especially after my first real broken heart. She was there, holding me just like this and I remember feeling as if she was holding every broken piece of myself together, afraid that if she let go I would crumble into a million pieces. I hold her like this now until I feel her heartbeat slow and her breathing even out. When I’m sure that she’s asleep, I roll away from her knowing that sleep will not come to me tonight. I can’t stop the thoughts that circle in the deep crevices of my mind, the thoughts that scream, It should be me. Gwen is full of too much life, too much love and has too many people that depend on her, love her. She can’t die. It should be me. Why isn’t it me? And my heart ruptures, breaks completely wide open at the thought of my life without Gwen, at the image of the two little faces that will have to experience the world without their mother.

  The pitter-patter of rain on the roof echoes in the quiet room, and I match my breath to its beat to distract my mind from what lies ahead, to ebb the unbearable pain that has taken root inside me.

  I am up early, cracking eggs into a bowl, plopping bread in the toaster. I couldn’t sleep, instead my mind drifted away from the desperation and settled into a better place. I’m on a mission. I refuse to give in, to let Gwen give up so easily. I will help her through this; I will be strong for her. There has to be another way, some other option. And so my mind is as busy as my body in the early morning hours as I make Gwen breakfast and contemplate what I am going to say to her.

  As if on cue, Gwen pads softly into the small galley kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Since when do you get up this early?” she asks, her words drawn out as she yawns and stretches her arms above her head.

  “Sit,” I tell her as I pull a bar stool out from the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room. I plop a plate down on the counter in front of her and pour her a cup of coffee. And then I lean over the counter, resting my elbows on the cool granite and launch into my spiel that I rehearsed in my head all night.

  “Tell me exactly what the doctor said. We need to figure out your options, get a second opinion. We’ll fly to Switzerland if we have to, Gwen. You’re not going to die. I won’t let that happen.”

  Her shoulders sink as s
he sighs. “Charley, I appreciate your fight, I do. But Dr. Rand doesn’t feel like treatment will be effective and I shouldn’t spend the time I have left sick and hospitalized. I should spend it with Olivia and Max and John. And you. I don’t know if I have it in me to fight this. The first time around was so hard on John. I just don’t know if it’s worth it. I don’t know what the kids would do while I went through treatments and surgeries. They were too young to know what was going on last time. This time it would be different. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” She wraps her hands around her coffee mug, bringing it hesitantly to her lips before taking a sip. Her eyes are glazed over, filled to the brim with unshed tears.

  I slam my fist down on the counter, startling her. “The Gwen I know wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t give up without a fight. Listen to yourself, Gwen. ‘I don’t know what the kids will do while I’m getting treatments,’” I imitate her voice, adding a little whine for effect. “Well what are they going to do when you’re dead, Gwen? What will John and Olivia and Max do when you’re gone? How about then?” She jumps at my words, too harsh coming from my mouth. I don’t stop there.

  “We need a second opinion. I never liked that doctor. What kind of respectable man wears a plaid bow tie anyway? There has to be more options. I refuse to accept this, and so should you.” I feel anger move through me, filling the spaces that were filled with sadness just hours ago. I’m angry at Gwen, angry at her Pee-wee Herman of an oncologist for stripping her of hope, but I’m mostly angry at God.

  Gwen sets her coffee cup down on the counter and folds her arms across her chest. “Charley. I...”

  “Don’t say it, Gwen,” I insist, holding my hand up to stop her from speaking. “Don’t tell me to listen to you. I won’t.”

  I watch her sigh and reach for her coffee cup again, a quiet acceptance that I take as my cue to keep talking. I grab my laptop from the small desk in the corner of the living room and take a seat on the empty barstool next to Gwen. And we spend the next hour searching the Internet for treatments and procedures. I even make the awkward phone call to Phillip Nash, a well-renowned cardio-thoracic surgeon who I dated for a few months last year. He gives me the name of three oncologists that are known for treating the untreatable and are heading up several trials for cancer research. He wishes me luck and it’s hard not to detect the regretful tone of his voice. As if he knows how hard Gwen’s journey is going to be, how hard she will have to fight. At least he didn’t comment on how things had ended between us last year. He had wanted more, as they always do, but I just didn’t have anything else to give. He’s a great catch and any girl would be lucky to have him, if they can tolerate interrupted dinners and middle-of-the-night wake-up calls. The man is undoubtedly married to his job, but even I have to admit that there’s definitely something noble about a man who spends his time saving lives.

  Gwen and I make a plan. She agrees to call all three oncologists that Phillip suggested and I agree to watch Olivia and Max next weekend while she goes away with John for one night, alone. We both agree that telling John now when they both will have to dive back into their routines, moments later, is too unbearable. She wants to tell him alone, when John will have time to digest the news before having to face the kids or work. Gwen seems more determined once we make a plan and I feel like maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

  We watch a movie in our pajamas, an old Sandra Bullock film that Gwen and I used to watch together years ago. When the movie is over – after Gwen and I both shower and dress –we say goodbye at my door before she runs to her car, dodging the heavy rain. I watch her drive away, down my narrow street until I can no longer see her car. I look up into the dark, stormy sky from my doorstep where I stand sheltered from the rain, and wonder why this is happening to Gwen of all people.

  “Please don’t let her die,” I say quietly, my voice lost to the thunderous roar of the heavy rain beating down on the pavement. “Please.”

  Chapter 7

  Gwen

  With a heavy heart, I drive home in complete silence. The rhythmic drone of the windshield wipers lulls me into a deep and thoughtless trance. I follow the traffic, mindlessly, letting my subconscious lead me home.

  The sixty-mile drive to Seaport goes by in the blink of an eye and I find myself inching down the long driveway and parking in my spot in the garage next to John’s sleek black sedan before sunset. I take a deep breath before exiting the car. I can do this, I think to myself. It’s only six days. Six days of living a lie, six days of pretending that my life is the same as it was yesterday morning.

  I open the door that connects the garage to the kitchen and before I can even set my purse down, Max runs straight into my legs and wraps his chubby little arms around my knees, nearly knocking me to the ground.

  “Mommy’s home,” he squeals. And my heart soars. I kneel down and embrace him, pulling his small frame into my arms and kissing the side of his face and then the top of his head, inhaling his sweet scent. He smells like peanut butter and baby lotion and I squeeze him tighter against me.

  “Hey Bubs,” I say when he wiggles out of my arms. I fight the emotions that rock through me, pushing aside the thought of Max’s life without me. It’s too painful.

  “Daddy said I could have a treat if I ate all my dinner,” he beams. His face is covered in peanut butter.

  “Let me guess, you had peanut butter and jelly for dinner?” I ask with a smile stretched across my face.

  “Yup,” he answers, proudly. “And apples and cheese too.”

  “Wow, sounds like a good dinner.” I stand and run my fingers through his blond curls. “Come here, let me clean your face little man.” Opening a drawer, I remove a washcloth and wet it under the faucet. “Let me see that sweet face,” I say as I hold him by the chin and gently wipe the peanut butter from his mouth and round cheeks.

  “Thanks Mommy,” he yells as he runs away toward the family room.

  I sigh. One down, two to go, I think as I make my way into the family room in search of John and Olivia.

  “Hey honey,” John calls out from where he’s seated on the cream-colored sectional couch, his feet propped up on the matching ottoman. He’s wearing a faded pair of jeans and an old Seahawks T-shirt. His face is covered in stubble and he’s wearing his glasses. I smile, thinking how young he looks without his suit and tie, when his blond hair is unruly and his face unshaven. He probably didn’t have time to shower let alone shave or put in his contacts. A phenomenon that still baffles him after spending any length of time alone with the kids and usually earns me a little more appreciation for my full-time role.

  “Hi Mom,” Olivia says as she looks up from her book that she’s reading. I sit down next to her on the couch, pulling her against my side and kissing her cheek.

  “Hey Love Bug,” I mumble against her ear quietly, so only she can hear. I have learned to tread lightly with Olivia. She’s growing up and stuck in that middle ground between a little girl and a young teen. She’s over the mushy stuff, including the pet name that I gave her when she was only a bundle of cells in my womb. I know she still needs me in the same way she always has, even if she refuses to accept it.

  “How’s Charley?” John asks as he leans over Olivia’s head and kisses me on the temple.

  “She’s great, actually.” I realize that I can’t look him in the eyes. I have never kept a secret like this from John and I suddenly feel nervous and guilty. Instead, I fix my eyes on the television where John is watching a football game with the volume muted.

  “What did you guys do?” he asks.

  “We went out for sushi last night and then just lounged around today,” I say, mindlessly running my fingers through Olivia’s long blonde strands, my gaze still focused on the football game. But all I can picture is Charley and I researching cancer treatments on her computer, and planning the rest of my life, so to speak. Whatever’s left of it anyway.

  After putting the kids to bed, I retreat to the kitchen and pour myself
a glass of red wine. John is in the shower and I take a minute to catch my breath. I walk to the French doors that lead out to the deck and look out at the dark bay. The rain has stopped and the blanket of clouds have opened up, revealing a large, yellow gibbous of a moon that glows low in the sky, a soft contrast to the dark and inky, flawless surface of the water. A sailboat inches across the bay, its mast lit up with white lights. I open the door and step out onto the deck. A chill runs over me from the cold air but I don’t mind. I can smell the salty sea of Puget Sound and hear the water lapping softly against the rocky shore, and I’m reminded of all the reasons why John and I bought this house six years ago. I was pregnant with Max and Olivia was getting ready to start kindergarten. Money wasn’t an issue really, John’s growing success would have allowed us a beautiful home anywhere, but we both wanted to escape the city, to raise our kids in a smaller community with good schools. Having grown up in Seaport, I knew everything that this small seaside town had to offer and John fell in love with this house the instant he saw it. The house itself was stunning but it was the acre of lush landscape situated right on the water that sold us. The view was breathtaking and the peace and quiet a welcomed retreat. We have been so happy here. I want to hope that we will all be happy here for years to come. I want to dream about our future in this house. Taking pictures of Olivia and her prom date in front of the marble hearth of the fireplace, Max and his friends tearing up the yard at elaborate birthday parties that I plan down to the tiniest detail, the kids returning here during their college breaks, and the pitter-patter of little feet from the grandchildren that will one day grace this house. I want to picture all these moments and yet, it is only a reminder of what I will miss if this disease wins. It’s too painful to dream or plan for a life that I may not get to experience.