by Ka Hancock
I took a bracing sip of tea. “Mic, honey, I need to talk to you before—”
The ringing of the cordless phone at Mickey’s side cut off my words. Harry, next door, had a dead battery. Mickey was out the door to give him a jump before I could exhale. A half hour later when Jared called with another problem, Mickey’s mood turned so quickly that I began to doubt my prior reasoning. He was gone in a flurry of promises that we would talk when he got home. And though I worried about it all morning as I shopped for a rug for the nursery, it became a moot point by that night.
I was setting the table when Mickey came in the back door. He didn’t look good. “Honey?” I said. “You okay?”
He came up behind me and buried his face in my neck, which I misinterpreted as his wanting to fool around. “What are you doing?” I giggled. But then I felt him shudder against my back. “Mickey? What’s wrong?”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Lucy, do you have anything to tell me?”
I felt myself get a little tingly and my mind raced to find the excuse again for not telling him about yesterday. But I was given a reprieve when my front door opened and Lily yelled my name. Mickey let go of me as my sister walked into our kitchen.
“Ron’s picking us up some chicken and I brought some leftover—Oh, hi, Mic. I hope it’s okay that we’re crashing here for dinner—” Lily stopped when Mickey didn’t say anything. “Is everything okay?”
“Mickey?” I said.
He looked pained. “Charlotte called.”
I felt the tingle again start around my jawline. “What did she say?”
“What’s wrong?” my sister said.
The chimes sounded at the front door, and for a few seconds we stood dumbly looking at each other. Then I pushed past Lily and went to answer it. When I found Charlotte standing on my front porch, I felt an unseen hand at my throat. “What’s going on?”
“Hi, darlin’,” she said, with no lilt as she walked into my house.
“Charlotte?”
Charlotte Barbee smiled falsely at me, then looked at Mickey and Lily, who had followed me into the room. “Sit down,” she said to them. “I need to speak with Lucy for a moment.” Charlotte took my elbow and led me back to the kitchen.
“What’s happening? Charlotte?”
She took a composing breath. “I heard from Dr. Matthews.”
I felt one knee buckle. “Oh, Lord.”
Charlotte put her hands on my shoulders. “Now, now, none of that. He has some concerns, and I came to talk to you and Mickey. But Lily being here probably isn’t a bad thing.” Charlotte nodded, her grip on me tightening. “You didn’t tell Mickey about yesterday, did you?”
“No . . . ,” I squeaked. “I was going to, but . . .”
“Okay then, I’m going to ask you to allow me to speak to all of you about this. Let’s just get it out there. Are you comfortable with that?”
A breath shuddered out of me. “It’s that bad?”
“We don’t know that yet, darlin’. But it needs to be talked about.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
Charlotte took my hand and led me back into the living room. Neither Lily nor Mickey were talking. I’m not even sure they were breathing.
With trepidation in her voice Lily said, “What’s happening?”
Charlotte walked me to the couch and patted the seat on the other side of her for Mickey. Lily was in the wingback leaning over so she could see us around the crib that we’d pushed against the wall. I looked at my doctor and said, “So this is about yesterday?”
She nodded.
Tears sprang from nowhere and Charlotte’s grip on my hand tightened, just slightly.
“What happened yesterday?” Lily and Mickey asked in unison.
My hand went limp as Charlotte cleared her throat. “I want you both to try to stay calm.” She breathed deep and looked at me. “I’d like to start at the beginning, Lucy, because I know you haven’t.” She searched my eyes for permission, and I nodded.
Charlotte looked at Mickey, then at Lily. “Yesterday I sent Lucy to see a colleague of mine. I sent her because the ultrasound she had five days ago indicated some changes from her last mammogram. It suggested some minor concerns, and I wanted her to be evaluated by someone more specialized than me.”
“What?” Mickey said on a breath. There was also a squeak from Lily, but Charlotte didn’t acknowledge either of them. She looked at me. “Dr. Matthews did a biopsy yesterday, and he found some unusual cells, which has created more questions than answers.”
“Oh, no,” Lily whimpered.
“I’m worried about Lucy because it’s her nature to try and take care of each of you. . . .” Charlotte turned pointedly to my sister. “I don’t want to frighten you, Lily. I want to give you the opportunity to be supportive here.” Charlotte then looked at Mickey for a long moment, then turned back to me and squeezed my hand.
“Is it back?” I whispered. “Be straight with me, Charlotte.”
“It’s too soon to know that, Lucy.”
Lily sniffed.
Charlotte turned back to Mickey, whom I couldn’t see. “I found a little abnormality in Lucy’s breast the other day. Mickey, I was almost certain that it was pregnancy-related. But I wanted to eliminate any possible question, so I sent her to see Dr. Matthews.”
Mickey ripped his hand from Charlotte’s and leaned forward enough to make scalding eye contact with me. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to freak out,” I said weakly.
“Please don’t be angry with her,” Charlotte said in an even tone. “She knows how frightening this can be for you, Mic. I know she was only trying to protect you. And you have to believe this was the last thing anyone expected.” She patted his hand, but I couldn’t see his reaction. “Yesterday, when we were dealing in favorable probabilities, I didn’t think there was a reason to worry. I honestly thought another evaluation would clear up my concerns, not create more. So be angry with me, not Lucy. I didn’t present this to her as a huge concern, I’m sure that’s why she didn’t mention it to you.”
Charlotte then sighed. “Today, however, we have no choice. Mickey, you’ll have to rise to the occasion here, and I know you will.”
Charlotte then turned to my sister. “I had no idea you’d be here, Lily, but the same goes for you, darlin’. I can imagine the pain you’ve had to confront over Lucy’s pregnancy. But, sweetheart, that, too, has to be put aside. Your sister needs you. And, Ron, well, he’ll need to calm the waters whenever they need calming. He’s very good at that.”
Mickey bent over and pushed his fingers through his hair. For a long time he just stared at the floor. None of us moved. Finally, he looked over and fixed me with eyes layered in emotion—fear, anger, confusion. I’m pretty sure he saw the same in mine. He got up and came to sit by my side.
Charlotte turned toward us. “Roland found some unusual cells, which he is going to evaluate further. Let’s just go that far for now.”
I looked around—there was Lily holding back tears, Mickey holding on to me like a lifeline, and Charlotte squeezing my fingers. I had been in this very place before. I felt hot tears sting my eyes. “What do we do now?” I croaked.
“Dr. Matthews will need to do more tests to determine what we’re dealing with.”
I nodded. “When?”
“He can do an excision on Monday. Then we’ll know exactly what we’ve got.”
“What about my baby?”
Charlotte looked hard at me. “We’re not going to think about the baby right now.”
“We’re not?”
Charlotte shook her head, then kissed my forehead. Her refusal to say anything more about my daughter sent a black chill through me. “Charlotte?”
“Sweetie, you are the priority right now. We’re going to take care of you.”
I thought I might faint and I leaned my head into my lap. What was she telling me? What exactly was she saying?
Mickey pal
med my neck for a moment, then I heard him say, “Charlotte, can I talk to you in the kitchen?” He stood up and Dr. Barbee said, “Of course,” and followed him out of the room.
I sat up to find Lily looking helplessly at me. When my eyes filled with tears, my sweet sister walked over to where I was and gathered me into her arms. I wanted to be strong for her; my getting sick again was her worst fear. She surprised me though, my sister who’s afraid of all uncertainty. “Let it go, Lu,” she crooned in my ear. “You don’t have to be a hero tonight. Just cry and let it go.”
So I did. Not over the terrible prospect of a second go-round with this monster, or even a second go-round with Mickey’s crushing fear, and not even the dark possibility of dying from all of it—these specters were not strangers to me. Instead, I sobbed over the tiny life now threatened by the betrayal of my chemistry. I wept uncontrollably under the sudden pall imposed by Charlotte’s awful words: We’re not going to think about the baby right now.
sixteen
AUGUST 6, 2011 (EARLY A.M.)
Can’t sleep. In the kitchen the full impact of the words that were never supposed to be uttered again had slammed through me and I started to shake. I’ve been shaking ever since. Charlotte followed me as I’d asked and she took my hands in hers. “You’re okay, Mickey.” It was not a question.
“I can’t blow this, Charlotte.” I looked at her and almost pleaded for her to lie to me. I needed her to lie. I needed her to tell me my wife was going to be okay. I couldn’t breathe. I shook my head and whispered, “I can’t fall apart here, but I’m afraid I can’t stop myself.”
“Yes, you can,” Charlotte said firmly. She put her hands on my face and forced me to look at her. “We’re not going to make this worse than it is, Mic. We only know that we need more information. We don’t need to imagine anything past that. Take a deep breath.” She nodded. “I have faith in you, Mickey. I know you’re scared. But as scared as you are right now, Lucy is more scared. So, you need to put yours away. Take a break, go for a run, and pull yourself together. Your wife needs you to be strong. Are you hearing me? Look at me. She needs you to be solid and reassuring. Let her lean on you. If she needs to cry, you let her cry. If she needs to scream, you let her scream. You can do that, Mickey. I know you can.”
After Charlotte left, none of us really said anything, and if I hadn’t been so lost in my own thoughts, the silence might have felt awkward. But I was so self-absorbed I barely registered Lily’s hug or her leaving. Why? was the only thought in my head. That and begging it not to be what it might be. Not again. I could not imagine it. I leaned into Mickey and his arms came around me.
“We’ll get through this, Lu,” he said on a shaky breath.
“Will we?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I can do it again,” I croaked. “I can’t go back there and be that sick again. I can’t.”
Mickey said nothing, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.
I breathed deep and pulled my hand free. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Honestly, I would have, but Charlotte didn’t think it was serious. I should have told you, though.”
“Am I really such an invalid, Lu, that you couldn’t have trusted me?”
“It wasn’t that. I promise you it wasn’t that.”
“Then why?”
“I didn’t want to pop the bubble we’re in,” I said thickly.
Mickey’s eyes softened. “We’re in this together, Lucy. You had to face it, and I should have been there. You have to trust me.”
“I know, baby. I’m sorry.”
We sat in silence for a moment, then Mickey stood up. “Will you be okay if I go for a run, Lu? Clear my head.”
I nodded.
“You sure?”
“I’ll be right here,” I said, not unhappy that he was leaving. It would be a chance to be alone with my thoughts. Not his or Lily’s or even Charlotte’s. Just my own voice. But as Mickey left and the opportunity presented itself, it turned out I had nothing interesting to say.
I pulled my knees to my chest. It was dim thanks to light glowing from just one lamp, and I looked around the room that I had grown up in. My father had played poker around a wobbly card table in this room. I’d caught Lily and Ron making out in here when they were in junior high. Priscilla had screamed her good riddance to my weeping mother in this room.
These walls had witnessed it all, the evolution of my family. I so wanted the chance to see my little girl come into this room on a Christmas morning with eyes full of awe, Mickey catching it all on video. She deserved to grow up in this rickety, creaky, cozy house that was filled with so much history. And I deserved to raise her here, dammit!
I’d almost fallen asleep on the couch when I heard a soft knock on my front door, too soft for it to be Mickey. The old door slowly opened, and Harry Bates, bedecked in a robe and cotton pajamas, walked in. He didn’t say a word. Ron’s father is just like Ron. Quiet, strong, dignified. He’s tall and commands your attention, reassures you with his confidence even when it’s apparent he’s ready for bed.
“Hi, Harry.”
He smiled and walked over to sit beside me on the couch. Harry looked at me without fear, without any annoying overblown solicitousness. He was solid. “What can I do for you, kiddo?” he whispered.
I didn’t know what to say, so I just leaned my head into his.
Harrison Bates had stepped inside my family when I was five years old to help us, never attempting to fill shoes that didn’t belong to him, and at that tender age I would have known. Just as I knew now. But as I looked at Harry tonight, I so missed having my dad. I shook my head. “Be the one person that doesn’t assume I’m going to die.”
“I think I can do that,” he said, taking my hand.
I sighed. “What are you doing here? It’s after midnight.”
“Your sister is still over at the house bending Jan’s ear. I got tired and decided to see for myself if you were as bad off as she said.”
I smiled despite myself. “I haven’t been given a death sentence yet.”
“Well, then, why is everyone crying?” He hugged me. “Where’s Mic?”
“He’s gone for a run.”
“Should I go look for him?”
“No. I just think he needs a little time. This is hard for him to hear again.”
“What about you?”
I nodded but couldn’t find my voice.
Harry and I sat in the quiet for a few more minutes, neither of us speaking. When my eyes were too heavy to hold open another minute, I told him I was going to bed. He kissed my hair and offered again to look for my wayward husband. But as if on cue, Mickey walked in the door. He looked awful. His eyes were swollen and his hair was wet. He’d run hard. He nodded at Harry but didn’t say anything.
Harry walked over and patted Mickey’s shoulder. “You kids take care of each other,” he said as he left.
Mickey looked at me from across the room and we stared at each other for a long moment. Then he came over to the couch and wrapped me in his arms. He didn’t say a word. And when we were both finished crying, he carried me upstairs.
Mickey and I held hands in the office of Roland Matthews, waiting for the doctor to come in and talk to us. Mickey was in a dark mood and trying to hide it. But his deep sighs and the way he chewed the inside of his mouth gave him away. He’d had a bad night despite a second dose of Ambien. I reached over and stroked his cheek and he managed a tight smile. I found myself fantasizing about a man who looked just like Mickey stroking my cheek, telling me with a straight face that everything would be okay. And fantasizing that I would believe him.
I looked around the cold, bare space. The snotty receptionist had called first thing this morning and set up this procedure with the same put-out tone she’d used to greet me a few days ago. “Please don’t be late, Mrs. Chandler,” she instructed. “Again, you are being squeezed into a very full day.” Mickey and I had now been sitting in this exceptionally impersona
l office for nearly forty-five minutes, and the tension he was emitting made me want to crawl out of my skin.
Finally, the door opened and the doctor burst in, head down, studying my chart. “Mrs. Chandler, how are you doing this morning?”
All I could do was nod, and Dr. Matthews briefly met my eyes with an apology, then offered his hand to Mickey. “You must be Mr. Chandler.” Dr. Matthews was pudgy and bald, but he still managed to pull off a fair degree of panache in his crisp white shirt and pleated trousers. The brisk scent of cologne followed him into the room and settled around his person as he sat down in front of us. Small, rimless glasses perched at the end of his nose as he scanned the pages of my chart.
He looked up at me. “If my calculations are correct, you’re nineteen weeks pregnant. Is that right?”
I nodded.
“General anesthesia can pose a mild threat to the fetus at this stage, but you will be monitored very carefully and we’ll do our best not to jeopardize the baby. I know this is upsetting for you, Lucy.”
He handed me a consent form. I scanned it, realizing that it exonerated him from any liability. I swallowed. “Can’t this be done under local anesthesia?”
“I don’t know what I’ll find, and I don’t want to be limited if I run into more than I expect. I’m going in surgically to evaluate the size and extent of the problem, and I anticipate the procedure to be quite intricate.” He shook his head. “I’m just not comfortable with the limitations of local anesthesia under these circumstances.”