The word “cancer” caused Claire’s knees to buckle, forcing her to grasp Charlie’s arm. “What then?” she asked, fighting back her tears. “What do we do now?”
“There’s not much we can do,” Doctor Sorenson answered. “The tumor is inoperable because of where it’s located, and the radiation treatments have been unsuccessful. Of course we’ll continue to treat Elizabeth’s symptoms so that she’s comfortable and relatively pain-free. But with a tumor this aggressive, only a miracle drug…” She shrugged.
For the second time in two months, Elizabeth looked at Doctor Sorenson and asked, “Am I going to die?”
The doctor took a deep breath and sighed. “Unfortunately Elizabeth, this is a terminal situation.”
“How long?” Elizabeth finally asked.
“Maybe months, maybe years. It depends on how rapidly the tumor grows.”
With every question JT moved further back until eventually he was pressed up against the far wall.
“Mister Caruthers, do you have any questions?” Doctor Sorenson asked pointedly.
JT shook his head side to side.
“I do,” Claire said. “You mentioned a miracle drug. Is there one that might stop the tumor’s growth?”
“Yes and no,” Doctor Sorenson answered reluctantly. “There have been reports of a new regimen, but it’s a long shot. I’m almost hesitant to subject Elizabeth to it without a more substantial analysis of the success ratio.”
Charlie asked, “What kind of treatment is it?”
“It’s a group of drugs. They’ve been individually approved and used for other applications, but not in a combination therapy and not specifically for inoperable brain tumors. Right now the regimen is undergoing clinical trials and showing positive signs, but it’s still considered experimental.”
“Are they chemotherapy drugs?” Elizabeth asked.
“Yes. The regimen is called Five F U. But this application works differently than most chemotherapy drugs.”
“How?”
“Instead of killing cells, it segregates the tumor and starves it of the blood nutrition it needs to grow.”
“I don’t understand,” Claire said. “Don’t all chemotherapy drugs kill the good cells?”
“Yes, if taken individually. But this regimen bonds the drugs together so they’re drawn to only the cancerous cells. The drugs create a barrier around the cells to prevent the normal flow of blood nutrition.”
“Is Elizabeth strong enough for this kind of treatment?”
“I believe so. Her healthy cells won’t be affected. Five F U attaches itself to only the cancerous cells. Theoretically, if we could isolate that area of her brain and deprive it of nourishment, we might be able to slow or possibly stop the tumor’s growth.”
“Is there a downside?”
Doctor Sorenson nodded ever so slightly. “Unfortunately,” she winced at yet another use of the word, “these drugs are quite expensive. Because the regimen is not yet recognized as an approved therapy, it’s not covered by insurance.
Without hesitation Charlie said, “We’ll take care of the cost.”
“There’s more,” Doctor Sorenson replied. “While I doubt use of this regimen could cause further deterioration, there’s also no guarantee it will work.” She turned to Elizabeth and asked, “Do you feel this is something you really want to pursue?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Her eyes rimmed with tears as she stretched her right hand toward JT again. “I know it will work. It’s got to. JT and the kids are counting on me to get well.”
When he didn’t come to her, Elizabeth lowered her hand and gave him a frail smile. He remained stone-faced, emotionless as the wall behind him.
Charlie glared at JT with contempt, then turned back to the doctor. “When can Elizabeth start these treatments?”
“As I said, this is a long shot at best. The regimen is still in clinical trials, and I’m not certain we can get clearance to use it. Before we even try, I’ll need several other tests to establish whether Elizabeth is a candidate for consideration.”
“I can deal with a few more tests,” Elizabeth said.
“This means you’ll have to remain in the hospital,” Doctor Sorenson warned.
“It kills me to be away from my kids for so long, but I’ll do whatever I have to do to get well.”
A long moment of silence followed, the kind of silence that thickens the air and allows fear to creep into people’s hearts. Charlie felt it as did everyone else. He noisily cleared his throat and asked more questions. Claire also asked questions; so did Elizabeth. But JT remained silent. When there was nothing more to be said, Doctor Sorenson left.
Cyndi, Elizabeth’s day nurse, stood outside the room listening to the exchange. When Doctor Sorenson came out, Cyndi followed and struck up a conversation.
“I couldn’t help but hear,” she said. “Elizabeth Caruthers is my patient. Terminal, huh? Tough break. She’s so young.”
“Yes,” Doctor Sorenson said, “and they have three small children.”
“Her husband is the one who owns that big clothing store over in Westfield, right?”
Doctor Sorenson nodded absently and began writing a prescription order.
“How’s he handling his wife’s illness?”
Rebecca Sorenson paused. Forgetting her resolve never to discuss the personal affairs of a patient, she said, “It’s odd. He seems almost removed from the whole thing. He doesn’t visit her very often, and when he does he acts like a stranger. I think he’s not accepting the reality of this situation.”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too,” Cyndi mumbled. Then she turned and walked away, wearing the slightest trace of a smile.
~ ~ ~
As she passed by Elizabeth’s room for a second time, Cyndi distinctly heard JT’s voice saying, “I want out!” She wanted to hear the rest of the conversation, but just then another patient called for her from his room.
Charles glared at JT and growled, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’ve gotta walk away from this,” JT answered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry Liz’s sick. I’m sorry things are the way they are, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’ve got my own problems, and I can’t take on the responsibility of hers.”
“Responsibility?” Charlie echoed. “What responsibility have you—”
“I’ve got three kids and a business going down the tubes. That’s more than I can handle. I gotta take care of me and the kids. There’s no way I can care for Liz. She’s your daughter, you’ve got the money, you take care of her.”
“We enjoy having Elizabeth with us,” Claire said, checking her anger, “but she wants to be with you and the kids.”
“I can’t help that. I’m up to my ass in bills. I got problems with no answers, and I don’t want Liz coming back to my house!”
“How dare you!” Charlie snapped. “That house is as much hers as yours. More perhaps. She’s got every right to—”
“No, she doesn’t!” Jeffrey’s voice grew belligerent.
“We’ll see about that!” Charlie answered.
“Try it. I’m telling you right now, you bring her back to my house and I’ll walk out. I’ll take all three kids with me, and she can sit there and die alone!”
Charlie took a step toward JT. “You rotten—”
Elizabeth’s eyes darted from father to husband, husband to father.
“No, Daddy!” she screamed.
Charles stopped and turned to his daughter.
“You can’t make Jeffrey want me if he doesn’t,” she said. She closed her eyes and pictured JT’s blue Buick—a car he had adored, a car he waxed and polished until it sparkled like a diamond—but once he got a dent in the rear fender, it became a car he could no longer stand to drive. Within weeks he had replaced the Buick with a new Pontiac.
She remembered the Bulova watch that kept perfect time but was tossed away when JT discovered a hairline crack in the crystal. The green c
ashmere sweater she’d bought for him while they were on their honeymoon, gone because of the smallest snag imaginable. Flawed as she had become, Elizabeth knew he wouldn’t hold on to her.
When she opened her eyes again, he had left.
Later that afternoon Cyndi telephoned her sister, Kelsey, a single mom who, along with her two-year-old terror, had moved into Cyndi’s one-bedroom apartment. To say the apartment was unbearably overcrowded would be a gross understatement. Kelsey had arrived with five suitcases, several sacks of toys, and a tricycle that had a battery-operated siren attached to the handlebars.
“I’ve nowhere else to go and no money,” she’d complained.
Against her better judgment, Cyndi agreed to let her sister stay a few days. That was five months ago. Kelsey promised to get a job and find another place to live, but as days stretched into weeks she became more settled. Now she occupied every corner of every room, and she no longer bothered to flip through the “Help Wanted” section of the newspaper. Something had to be done.
The telephone rang six times before a groggy voice said, “Hello.”
“Kelsey?”
“Yeah.” She yawned.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Yeah. Me and Dumpling were napping.”
“At four o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Well, there’s nothing else to do.”
“I’ve got a thought for you,” Cyndi said. “I know how you like money and nice things. You know that big dress shop in Westfield, the one on Main Street?”
“The one next door to The Bootery?”
“Yup. The guy who owns it, his wife is here in the hospital, and she’s got a tumor…”
~ ~ ~
The next morning Kelsey, wearing a tee shirt that made skin saggy by comparison, trotted into Caruthers Couture and asked for a job.
“I’m not really hiring right now,” JT said, even though he could scarcely take his eyes from Kelsey, a younger, healthier version of Liz.
“I’d be willing to work for almost nothing.” Kelsey sighed and leaned across the counter so her face was inches from his. “I’m real interested in learning the business.”
“Oh.” JT made no effort to move back.
“I’d be a trainee. And I could model some of your beautiful clothes. Show them off to their best advantage.”
“That’s a point,” JT mused. “Yeah, that’s a point. Seeing someone like you wearing the outfits might encourage customers.”
“I’ll try on a few things. You can see what I mean.”
Before he could object, Kelsey scooped up an armful of gowns and headed for the dressing room. Moments later she came out wearing a blue satin sheath that reflected the color of her eyes and slid across her body like the cascade of a waterfall.
JT smiled. “Now that’s how a woman should look.”
Within the hour Kelsey had a job at Caruthers Couture. Although the store was just weeks from being padlocked, JT rationalized that Kelsey modeling clothes would bring an influx of customers.
Elizabeth stopped asking if Jeffrey would come to visit, but she continued to ask for the children. “Please,” she begged Claire, “make him bring them to see me.”
Three weeks after Jeffrey had stormed out of the hospital, when she could no longer stand by and listen to her daughter pleading to see her children, Claire began telephoning the Caruthers house. She called early in the morning, too early for Jeffrey to have left for work. She called throughout the afternoon and at dinnertime. Her final call was at ten o’clock in the evening, a time when all three children should have been tucked in their beds. Not once did Jeffrey answer the telephone. Eventually she tried calling the store.
“Caruthers Couture,” a woman’s voice chimed.
Claire, taken aback by the feminine voice, asked, “Is this Caruthers Couture?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is Jeffrey Caruthers there?”
“Yeah, sure, hold on a sec.” The woman sounded young. And happy.
As she waited, Claire heard the woman say, “Honey, you’ve got a phone call.”
Honey? What kind of employee calls the boss honey? Claire wanted to ask JT that question but never got the chance. After a giggly conversation at the other end, a conversation too muted for her to catch, someone hung up the receiver.
Claire called back twice, but no one answered either time.
The next morning before heading to the hospital, Claire drove to the Caruthers house. She parked her car in the driveway, walked to the front door, and rang the bell. She heard a flurry of footsteps and whispered voices inside, but no one answered the door. Claire slipped around to the side of the house and peeked into the garage window. JT’s car stood there, and a red Nissan sat alongside it. More determined than ever, Claire returned to the front door and continued ringing the doorbell.
After almost twenty minutes, she knew JT wouldn’t answer. She returned to her car and headed for Saint Barnabas. On the way she stopped at the bakery and bought a dozen of the Neapolitan cookies that Liz loved.
Charlie McDermott
I realize Elizabeth is no longer a child. She’s a woman with three children of her own. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s still my little girl. I’m her father, so of course I feel protective. Any father would feel the same way. How can they not?
We grow up understanding that fathers are the protectors, the ones who slay the dragon to keep their family safe from harm. Let me tell you, I’d trade this insidious monster inside Liz’s head for a good, old-fashioned dragon any day. I look at her lying in that hospital bed and see my own inadequacies. I’m her father; I should be able to do something. Instead I fumble around, helpless as a baby. The money, that’s nothing. I’d give everything I own to buy back Elizabeth’s health.
Thank God for Claire; she’s a tower of strength. Somehow she can move past the fact that Elizabeth is practically paralyzed and focus on pleasantries. She’ll start talking about something of no importance whatsoever and next thing you know she has Liz laughing at the silliest things, like a bird pecking at the window or the long hair that stuck out of some doctor’s ear. To watch her you might think Claire doesn’t realize how serious the situation is, but I hear her crying at night and asking God to find a cure for Elizabeth.
I wish I could be more like Claire. When I’m visiting Elizabeth, I stand there with my hands stuffed inside my pockets. I ache to say something, but what can I say to make things better? A father should have all the answers, should take care of his child. All I can do is stand there, looking useless. To escape my own inadequacy, I go to work and let my share of the responsibility fall on Claire’s shoulders. How cowardly is that?
For most of Elizabeth’s life, I was there whenever she needed me. I was somebody to keep her safe from harm, ease whatever hurts came her way. She was a colicky baby who’d scream and carry on until you’d swear she’d have a convulsion. Even Claire couldn’t stop her crying. But I could. I’d cuddle her and walk the floor for hours until she finally drifted off to sleep, her tiny little body curled up against my chest. I lost a lot of sleep, but what I got in return was well worth it.
I taught her how to ride a two-wheel bike, even though falling terrified her. I ran alongside her and steadied the seat until she got enough confidence to ride on her own. That’s what a father does, keep his daughter safe—safe from falling, safe from getting hurt. I did all those things for Elizabeth, but God forgive me, I also gave her to Jeffrey Caruthers.
The day they were married, Elizabeth looked like an angel floating on a cloud. She was so happy and so in love. I got caught up in her happiness and when Pastor Howell asked, “Who gives this woman?” I answered, “I do,” without considering all the reservations I had.
Jeffrey wasn’t much more than sixteen when he started dating Liz, so I wasn’t concerned about the seriousness of their relationship. I figured he was just some gawky kid scratching the itch of puppy love. Most every night he was sprawled out on our living room fl
oor, and I watched how he followed Elizabeth everywhere she went. He hung on to her like she was a blue ribbon show dog, but still I didn’t worry.
I should have, because that was the time to set things straight. Once she came home with a diamond ring on her finger, it was too late to start voicing my concerns. That diamond was way too big for someone of his age to have afforded. I wondered where he got the money for it, but Claire warned me against asking.
All the signs were there, I simply didn’t pay attention. It was my responsibility to take care of Elizabeth, and I didn’t. I allowed her to marry someone I had serious misgivings about, giving them my blessing and a good part of the down payment on their house.
Now when Jeffrey should be helping Liz get through this, he wants to be rid of her. Jeffrey only cares for Jeffrey. That’s how he is, how he’s always been. I don’t generally think ill of people, but Jeffrey, well…
If I had my way, I’d go at him with every ounce of strength I’ve got. But that’s not what Elizabeth wants. I suppose, in time, Jeffrey will get what’s coming to him. I sure as hell hope so.
December 1984
Three weeks before Christmas the weather took on a chill, holiday decorations sprang up, and the fragrance of fresh-cut pine trees wafted from every street corner and vacant lot. Elizabeth had fared well with her first treatment of the “wonder drug.” No serious side effects, no unusual reactions. Doctor Sorenson claimed to be “optimistically hopeful,” although it was too soon to know whether the tumor had stopped growing. On the first Friday of the month Elizabeth was to have her second treatment. If she tolerated that one as well as the first, she’d go home for Christmas—well, at least back to the McDermott house.
Thursday morning Claire instructed Charlie to stop on his way home and buy a tree. Claire wanted it fully decorated before the weekend.
“Make sure to get a big one,” she said, “at least seven, maybe eight feet.”
“Okay,” Charlie nodded and hurried out.
Before he left the driveway, Claire bolted from the house. “And lights,” she called out. “Get some extra lights.” Charlie nodded, backed into the street, and pulled away.
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