Dancing on Broken Glass

by Ka Hancock

  “Yes.”

  “Then don’t waste any time.” She smiled sadly.

  “Thank you for being honest with me.”

  Daphne reached down and touched my wrist. “You call me if you need me.”

  “I will,” I said, hoping that she would be assigned to help me when I had to come back. When Daphne turned to leave, I realized Lily had walked into the room. Her eyes shone with sad comprehension, but she still smiled as she stepped aside to let Daphne pass.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey. How’re you feeling this morning?” Lily’s tone was too polite, forced.

  “Good. Really good. Dr. Gladstone said I could go home.”

  “No way!” Lily looked sincerely skeptical, and I had to admit that I’d never expected to be leaving so soon either. But I wasn’t about to argue.

  Lily pulled the chair close to my bed and sat down. “I heard some of that,” she said, nodding toward the door. “Was she another doctor?”

  “No. She was here teaching me how to use the oxygen.”

  “I heard her say your cancer is growing. What are they going to do about that?”

  “I guess they’re going to do what they can, Lil.”

  She looked at me, love and sadness pouring from her eyes, then she took my hand and kissed it. When she knew she wouldn’t cry, she said, “So, when can you leave?”

  “The nurse said I could take a shower. I was going to tell Mic to come in an hour.”

  “Or I could drive you. I’ll call him. You get in the shower.” Lily lowered my bedrail, and with surprising agility I hopped down.

  I felt so much better that I laughed out loud. “Ask him if he wants to meet us for lunch.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” my sister said.

  “No. I’m starving.”

  That weekend, Ron and Lily invited Mickey and me over for spaghetti. Priscilla had driven in from Hartford—the third time this week—and she was invited, too. Mickey wanted to drive because it was a little chilly, but I insisted we put on sweaters and walk. It was a bit ambitious, but it was less than two blocks and I didn’t know how long it would be before I wouldn’t be able to walk to my sister’s house ever again. So I pressed, and Mickey relented.

  It was the fourth of November and winter had not yet arrived in Brinley. A few hay bales and cornstalks and shriveled-up jack-o’-lanterns still remained on porches from Halloween. I’d missed it all. I’d missed the leaf-rake and bonfire at the Dunleavys, and I’d missed the chili and hot cider. Mickey must have seen the turn in my expression because he stopped, alarmed, and asked me what was wrong.

  “Oh, nothing,” I groused. “I just missed the bonfire. That’s all.”

  “I did, too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Mickey pulled my arm through his and patted my hand and I snuggled into him. He’d been so great since I came home from the hospital.

  “How ’bout I build us our own bonfire?”

  “That would be fabulous,” I said, squeezing his arm.

  The night was crisp with a lazy breeze that carried a chill from the river. Mickey put his arm around me and kissed my head and I looked up at him. “I love you, Michael Chandler.”

  “I love you right back, baby.”

  “And I love this place,” I said, looking on either side of this street that could be a Thomas Kinkade painting. It was all the world I had ever needed—a place where kids could still play outside and moms sat visiting on the front porches keeping an eye out for them. It was a place where your lawn mysteriously got mowed or your walks got shoveled if you’d been sick or gone or just too busy. Mickey and I had been on both sides of that equation.

  I was pretty worn out, and trying to hide it when we turned up the walk to Ron and Lily’s house—a little Craftsman cottage with the windows glowing with warm, golden light. Before Mickey knocked on the door, he kissed me, then folded me up in his big arms. It felt wonderful to stand there, inside that love, and I was reluctant to give up the moment. But Priss must have heard us because she opened the door, laughing. “Where’s your car?”

  “The missus wanted to walk, and what the missus wants, the missus gets,” Mickey said.

  “You’re crazy! It’s cold out there,” she said, pulling Mickey and me into the house.

  My sister looked ravishing. She was beautifully turned out in winter-white pants and a black cashmere sweater that clung nicely to her curves. She cupped my face in her hands and gently pushed my hair behind my ears. “You look pretty good, Lu. How are you feeling?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “She’s doing great,” Mickey put in, winking at me.

  Priscilla placed a hand on his shoulder and pecked him on the cheek. “Looks like you’re taking very good care of her, Michael.”

  Mickey and I exchanged a look of mutual perplexity and followed my sister into the dining room, where her good humor was quickly explained. Handsome Nathan Nash was there helping Ron start a fire.

  “Mystery solved,” Mickey muttered.

  I gave his arm a warning pinch just as Ron clapped him on the shoulder and Nathan swallowed me in a bear hug. “Hey, good-lookin’, I hear you’ve had quite a time of it.”

  I waved his comment away. “That was days ago. I’m doing much better now.”

  “You sure?” he asked, backing away from me to take in my pregnancy in all its fully evident glory. “Are you sure you should be out?”

  “Absolutely. I feel good,” I fibbed. “I really do.” I thought Nathan looked a little self-conscious, and I didn’t know if it was me or that his being here with my sister was making some kind of statement. “How are the kids?”

  “Jess has been very worried about you. I guess she heard what happened at school.”

  “Yes, trust me to create a spectacle. I’m sorry about that.” I wondered how exactly I was discovered after I blacked out.

  I felt Ron’s hand on my shoulder and turned to kiss his cheek. “I hope you’re hungry. Lily has enough spaghetti in there to feed the neighborhood.”

  I laughed as I walked into the kitchen to see how I could help. I found my sister wilting over a steaming bowl of pasta. “What can I do?” I asked, looking around.

  “Grab that garlic bread, will you?” Lily said, straining around to air-kiss my face.

  In my opinion, she, like Priscilla, was overdressed in a teal sweater and matching skirt. “I didn’t get the dress code for tonight,” I complained.

  “No, you didn’t,” Priscilla said, eyeing my denim dress and boots. She was cutting radishes, so I sidled up to the counter and swung my hip into hers. “Sooooo?”

  She grinned. “What?”

  “How long have you been seeing him?”

  “A few weeks. It’s nothing. We just talk, we’re friends.”

  “I think that’s the way it should be,” Lily said, pouring marinara sauce into a bowl. “It’s only been, what? Just a year since Celia—”

  “I’m aware of that, Lilianne,” Priscilla interrupted with a bite.

  “Just checking,” said Lily, unaffected. “I think we’re ready as soon as you’re done with the salad,” she announced as she walked out of the kitchen with her enormous bowl of noodles.

  “Little twit,” Priscilla muttered. “Of course I know!”

  “Well”—I shrugged—“at least you look fabulous.”

  “I do, don’t I? And I didn’t even really have to work at it.”

  I laughed, filling a basket with bread.

  The men were already seated around a big mahogany table, and I stopped, recognizing it. “Lil, is this from the store?”

  “Yes! I couldn’t sell it.”

  Ron groaned, “We had three different buyers, and she wouldn’t let me sell it.”

  Lily grinned sheepishly. “I just love it. It’s a George the Third drop leaf, and way too big for this room, but I don’t care.”

  Nathan Nash fingered the wood. “What’s it worth?”

  “About eighteen grand.
So don’t be spilling spaghetti sauce on it,” Ron gibed.

  Nathan was sincerely surprised, and his expression made me laugh out loud.

  “It’s not actually worth that much,” Lily rushed to explain. “It’s not in mint condition.”

  “Phew,” he said, recovering from his sticker shock.

  Lily set the pasta in the middle of the table and asked Ron to bring in the sauce. In a moment, Priscilla brought the salad, and we all sat down. I looked around with true appreciation for the spirit of this small gathering. My sisters were watching over me, but trying not to be obvious about it. We were all together with a table full of Italian food in front of us. It just didn’t get better than this. Ron caught my eye and seemed to read my thoughts. He smiled at me and passed the salad.

  It was a long, chatty dinner with lots of reminiscing. Such as the time Priscilla and Trent got locked in the high school after a basketball game and the township organized a search party. My sister turned eight shades of red when Mickey asked her what they were doing when they were found. Then there was the time that Lily and Ron found Mom’s stash of Christmas presents and told Priss and me everything we were getting. Somehow Mom found out. She took it all back and we got shoes, pajamas, and underwear instead.

  I laughed until I could hardly breathe when Ron told Mickey how he proposed to Lily.

  “He broke into our house,” Priscilla cut in. “I thought he was a burglar and I nearly shot him, or I would have if I could have found the BB gun.”

  Mickey chuckled. “I can’t imagine you’d need a gun, Priss. You were always deadly enough on your own.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much,” Priss piped.

  “That’s exactly how I intended it.” Mickey grinned, then leaned over. “Okay, my turn. So, Nathan, what’s the deal with you and Priscilla?”

  A forkful of chocolate cake was suddenly suspended midway to Priscilla’s mouth, and I watched color bleed down her face. My cake made it into my mouth without interruption, and Lily and I grinned at each other across the table.

  Nathan didn’t miss a beat. “How should I put this? I guess you could say that it’s a pretty good deal.” He turned his grin on my embarrassed sister and picked up his glass. “To Priss, my good friend. And my wife’s good friend.” Only then, and only for a second, was a bit of weight added to our lighthearted conversation.

  But Priss just shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll drink to that—or better yet, let’s drink to Celia.”

  After that, we stacked the dishes in the sink and played Texas Hold ’em, betting with pennies. I kicked butt. Lily added extra incentive to win by imposing dishwashing duty on the loser, and when I effectively eliminated Mickey and Nathan with my brilliant bluffing, they were sent to the kitchen with heads hung low. But after the game was finished and they were still in there, I went to check on them.

  I found my husband and Nathan quietly discussing something serious and knew immediately that they were talking about me. I stood just out of sight and heard Mickey say, “I just don’t understand what happened, Nathan. I mean, I don’t get why she’s not sick, but then out of the blue, she has this attack that nearly kills her. What’s that about?”

  “I’m not an oncologist, Mic. I treat bones, not cancer,” Nathan said. “But it seems like the tumors are probably growing and interfering with her lung capacity.”

  “And there’s nothing they can do to slow it down?”

  Nathan Nash sighed. “Oh, buddy, I don’t know. Advanced lung cancer is pretty tricky. All they can really do is aggressive chemo and radiation, and Lucy’s not going to do that at this stage of the game. After the baby . . .”

  “But can she last that long, Nathan?”

  I heard the desperation in Mickey’s voice, but I also heard a rational man bravely asking a difficult question.

  “I wish I knew, Mic. Have you talked to her doctors?”

  Mickey sighed. “I have. I just don’t like their answers.”

  “Oh, man, I’m so sorry.”

  “I just don’t get why she can seem so normal. I mean, she’s tired, but look at her.”

  “It’s because she’s not having chemotherapy. Chemo is hell. Without it, well, it’s pretty unbelievable how long you can walk around with cancer. But then all of a sudden . . .”

  “Yeah. All of a sudden,” Mickey echoed.

  On the way home, I asked Mickey what he and Nathan had been talking about in the kitchen. He snorted, “Priscilla.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “He claims they’re just good friends. And I hope that’s true because I really like Nathan.”

  I shoved Mickey with my shoulder. “Be nice.”

  His arm came around me and he kissed my forehead. After a quiet moment he said, “How you holding up?”

  “I feel pretty good, that was a great night. I’m so glad we did it.” As Daphne had warned, this was a reprieve, and I did not plan to waste it. “Mic?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think about painting the nursery tomorrow?”

  “Oh . . .”

  “I just think we should take care of it. I’m feeling good, and besides, we’re running out of time.” Realizing what I said had sounded glib and fatalistic, which was not the way I meant it at all, I added, “The baby will be here before we know it.”

  “Yes, she will,” Mickey agreed, not looking at me.

  “Mickey?”

  “We’ll see, Lucy. I don’t want to talk about the nursery right now.”

  “Okay,” I said, not wanting to push it. He knew as well as I did how all our preparations had come to a sad and silent standstill in August when Charlotte had paid her fateful visit. That night, after she’d told us what Dr. Matthews had found, I’d closed the nursery door, and neither Mickey nor I had been in the room since. The paint cans sat in the middle of the floor having never been opened. The wood floor had been sanded, but not varnished. We walked past an unfinished room every day. How much longer could we really wait? She’d be here in seven weeks.

  Mickey looked down at me with an unreadable expression, somber and a bit hardened. “There’s something we need to talk about, Lu.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, and we can’t put it off any longer.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s the baby, Lu.”

  There was not a day since we’d started this conversation back when Mickey was in the hospital that I hadn’t imagined the end of it. I took a deep breath and stopped. Mickey stopped, too.

  “What about her?”

  “Lucy, you know there’s a chance . . . There’s a possibility that by the time the baby comes you won’t . . .”

  “I know,” I said, barely able to hear my own voice.

  Mickey shook his head and I heard him swallow. “Lucy, I’ve done everything I can think of to prepare myself for what’s coming—what might be coming. But there’s just no way. And I need you to listen to me for once, Lu. I can’t do it. I cannot raise her by myself.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute, Mickey.”

  Tears filled his eyes, but he didn’t lift his gaze from me. “You’re not listening to me, Lucy. This is so hard.”

  “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Lucy, I don’t mean just for a little while, or just until I get used to the idea. I’m not strong enough or good enough to not screw her up with my weirdness. We both know my limitations.” He stared at me and neither of us breathed. “Lucy, I want to give the baby up.”

  I looked up at this hulk of a man who seemed suddenly a stranger, hardly comprehending his words. “What?”

  He almost broke down then, and in the night shadows I could see the crushing weight he carried. “Please don’t look at me like that, Lucy. It’s not that I don’t love her, and it’s not that I don’t want her.” His eyes were full of pain and I stepped closer to him. “Lucy, you have to believe that I’d give anything to be a different man . .
. for her.” He breathed out a shaky breath. “Every morning I look in the mirror hoping I’ll see someone curable and capable and strong. Hell, I’d even settle for someone who’s just going through a terrible time, but will be okay someday. But that’s not who I see. I see the same broken man I’ve always been.”

  Mickey took my hands. “A lifetime ago you told me you couldn’t fix me, but you could love me broken. Do you remember?”

  I nodded.

  “I never imagined you could actually mean that, that you could take me and love all the pieces. What I ever did to deserve that kind of gift, I’ll never know. But because of you, I’ve had a life I never dreamed I’d have. Sometimes—even now—when I’m driving home at night, I catch myself not believing I’m actually going home to you. You, Lucy. That I—Mickey Chandler—get to spend my life with you.”

  “Mickey.” I lifted my hands up to his face and he kissed my palms.

  “But I’m still broken, Lu,” he whispered. “I’m still broken, and alone my brokenness can only hurt my daughter. I can’t do that to her. I won’t.”

  “Oh, Mickey.” I thought back to my conversation with Gleason. He won’t know what he can do without you until he’s without you, he’d said. And as I stared up at my trembling husband, I realized how prophetic Gleason’s words had been. I pulled Mickey close and his arms came around me. I couldn’t imagine having to leave him. What was God thinking?

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, and when we got home, Mickey was so restless that I made him take two Ambien. We talked until he finally fell asleep in my arms around two. But long after he was softly snoring, I was still staring at the ceiling, digesting his words. For hours now, my mind had wrestled with what to do. I was running out of time and ways to convince him that his limitations did not make him unworthy. But Mickey wasn’t just afraid of the responsibility of raising our daughter, he was looking out for her the best way he knew how.

  Tears filled my eyes again. If I couldn’t leave him our baby, then what had I been doing all this for? The very thing he was pushing away was the only thing I had to leave him.