Once in a Blue Moon

by Vicki Covington

  Landon reached for his hand and held it. The sun came out from behind a cloud. They didn’t say anything, even though Landon knew what she had to tell him. She had been thinking about it since the last time he visited. It was time to tell him. But sometimes, people think they want an answer to something, even though the answer only brings pain.

  She stared at the pitcher of lemonade. It was green etched glass and had been her mother’s. She heard the sound of Abi’s broom upstairs, moving across the hardwood floor. She looked at her hands. Even though she had washed them when Mr. Kasir came in, they were still dusted in earth. She stared at the place on her finger, at that pale circle where the wedding ring had been. The sun couldn’t get to it. Even though she had taken the ring off a year ago, the band of skin was still white. She wondered how long the discoloration might last.

  Landon kept her hand on Mr. Kasir’s and told him what she knew must be true. “I think I know what she was trying to ask you.”

  He took off his glasses and looked almost scared.

  “I think her question was, Will you come back for me?”

  Mr. Kasir nodded and inhaled sharply.

  “It was a blessing that you spoke different languages. How could you have answered that question, knowing it would break her heart, and yours, too?”

  “You’re right,” Mr. Kasir said.

  “But she lives on in a place in your heart. And it’s not a dark place.”

  “Oh, but to me, it is,” he replied. “Once we moved on, I started feeling that I had betrayed Mrs. Kasir. But I also betrayed Carissa. Even without a shared language, I should have told her I was leaving.”

  “I know so little about war,” Landon said, thinking of her father, her daughter. “But I do know what it’s like to have to move on. That is what I’ve been doing for as long as I’ve been your tenant. I have been moving on. And it hasn’t been easy. I wish I could see my daughters. I fear for my oldest, who will be in Iraq soon. I long to hear my ex-husband’s voice. I mean, I have talked to him on the phone, but I long to hear a hint of our old love, just a word to betray that he might come back for me.”

  “I forget,” Mr. Kasir said, squeezing Landon’s hand. “I hate it that you are alone. Most of my tenants are children. They seem to be happy living alone, just to be out of their mama and papa’s control. You don’t know what you’ve lost until long after you lose it. How long were you married?”

  “Thirty years.”

  “My, my,” Mr. Kasir said, shaking his head. “But you are building a new life.”

  “That’s right. I’m building it through you, through Abi and Jet and Sam, this neighborhood, this apartment. I was building it when you pulled up, planting tomatoes in my yard, putting down my roots. My new life is starting. And in a way, you are my new father. Growing up, I never felt safe like I do here. I never felt cared for the way you care about me. I never knew when my father would lash out, and I never knew why my mother allowed him to. But she must have been scared, as scared as I was. And we make mistakes. We can’t save everyone we love.”

  Landon put her hands to her cheeks. They felt hot. She shouldn’t have told all this to Mr. Kasir.

  “So you do know about war,” Mr. Kasir said. “That was your war, Landon Cooper.”

  “I suppose so,” she said, and self-consciously looked at her watch. “But now I’ve kept you too long.”

  “You know better than that.” He lifted the piece of shrapnel from the table. He examined it closely, moving it around so as to get every angle. “I don’t think I’ve told you this. Every platoon gets a medic, lovingly referred to as ‘Doc.’ You train with them, eat with them, and share every hardship. We love them; they love us. When someone gets hurt, the first call is ‘Medic!’ So I’m your medic, and you are mine—moving on together, despite our wounds.”

  Landon walked with Mr. Kasir back outside, and the two surveyed her tomato plants.

  “I’ll bring you some stakes,” Mr. Kasir said, sounding like his regular self again. “And don’t forget to clip the suckers at the bottom. You want all your growth in the fruit, not the leaves.”

  ABI

  Abi waited until Jet pulled out of the parking lot of Lenny’s apartment, just to make sure that her car started. Lenny was out and had left Jet’s keys under a planter by his door.

  It was Saturday. Two more night shifts, and then she’d pick up her daddy for his Monday-morning appointment. She had a quiz on Thurs-day and felt she needed to go ahead and study for it. Monday was going to be the day of reckoning.

  When Abi pulled up against the curb in front of her house, she noticed the new tomato plants that Landon must have planted. Once inside her apartment, she headed straight for the couch and her stack of textbooks. She lit a cigarette, trying to focus on sociology rather than Monday’s appointment. They had all agreed that, no matter what the outcome, Daddy was to spend Monday night with her. She looked to where the aquarium had been and saw the water stain on the hardwood floor. She hoped that Fred had taken her fish home like he promised.

  The chapter she was studying was titled “Life at Home.” The first section covered the topics “What Is Family?” and “Diversity in Families” and “Sociological Perspectives of the Family.” The second section, called “Changing the World,” included “Who Can Marry,” “Forming Relationships,” “Talking about Kin,” and “Selecting Mates.”

  She paused.

  She knew her mama worried over her being single. According to her textbook, she wasn’t really driven by the romantic concept of chemistry. She actually was driven by what society selected for her—homogamy, meaning mates who were similar in class, race, age, religion, and education; or propinquity, the tendency to choose people who lived nearby. But neither of these concepts interested Abi. Maybe it was because her life was cut in half. There was trailer-park Abi, and there was Birmingham Abi. Trailer-park Abi never dated, held on to the memory of Marcia and the pond in Tennessee. Birmingham Abi had dabbled with Scott, a lawyer, and Celeste, a masseuse, had a one-night stand here and there. She had nothing in common with any of them, including their neighborhoods.

  And the thing was, Abi wasn’t seeking a mate in the way that the textbook and Mama assumed she was. She liked being single. She had worked so hard to get where she was. She was only now beginning to understand herself. Why bring another person into the equation to muddy all that up? She loved the restaurant staff like they were her family. She loved the neighbors on Cullom in the same way. She wasn’t opposed to having a little fun when the mood struck. But that had nothing to do with love. It was as if she were married to herself. Her old self in the trailer had married her new self in Southside. In this respect, she was beginning to feel complete.

  Abi read and reread a passage about the development of intimate, romantic relationships—they were not something natural; they were socially constructed to appear natural.

  She felt the same way about religion. She knew it as a construct, and not one she was particularly interested in participating in. The situation with Daddy had, of course, stirred up her unwillingness to make this intellectual surrender. People such as Daddy and Landon caused Abi to question her agnosticism. They were both so smart, yet they believed. Mr. Kasir had his Lebanese church, and even Jet had found something special, thanks to Father Patrick. Sam was always talking about his granddaddy’s preaching. And all of them had told Abi that they were praying for Daddy. She pictured him in the blue leather chair, among all the other patients. Surely, they all had people praying for them, but some were sure to get bad news. Did God not hear those prayers? The whole thing seemed random and senseless to Abi, like a cruel game of chance. But she wasn’t ever going to let Daddy know that her doubts went this deep.

  Monday morning came none too soon.

  On the way to the compound, Abi called Landon.

  “I know how big today is,” Landon said. “I’m thinking about you.”

  “I’m afraid I might come apart at the seams,” Abi said. �
�The appointment’s at one-thirty. Will you be home after that?”

  “Of course. You know I never go anywhere but down the block and back with Alejandro.”

  “Will you come up when we’re back?” Abi asked.

  “I’ll be glad to,” Landon said.

  “I mean, you’ve been in on all this treatment, and I know Daddy will want to see you, whether the news is good or bad.”

  When they said goodbye, Abi tossed her phone back into the passenger seat. Once she took the exit that led home, she wanted to go slowly. And quietly. She wasn’t ready to face Daddy. Surely he was anxious, and surely they’d only amplify one another’s fears.

  It was still early, so Abi stopped at the small, familiar café just a few miles from her parents’ place. The waitress approached her as she slid into a booth. She was young and had a word tattooed on her arm. Abi tried to make it out, but she didn’t want to stare.

  “What can I get for you?” The waitress was definitely a local. Her accent confirmed that.

  “I’d like coffee and a cinnamon roll,” Abi told her.

  “That it for you?”

  “Yes, thanks, that’s all.”

  When the waitress returned with the order, Abi told her she liked her tattoo. She couldn’t help asking what it said.

  “Mike.”

  “Mike must be a special guy,” Abi said.

  The waitress smiled and shrugged.

  “Do you have any others—tattoos, that is?”

  The waitress glanced back at the man near the cash register, who was more than likely her boss, leaned forward, and whispered, “I have one right above my ass.”

  Abi smiled her approval. She thanked the girl for her breakfast and watched her walk away in her gingham shirt and blue jeans, the order pad stuck in her back pocket, the pencil behind her ear. Abi missed dressing like that at work.

  She ate only half of the cinnamon roll and wrapped the other half in a napkin from the silver holder beside the salt and pepper shakers. She used to come here a lot when she had just turned sixteen and gotten her driver’s license. She hadn’t eaten here in years. In the past, the waitresses wore what looked like nurse’s uniforms, puffy white numbers with a big pocket in front for the pad and pencil. Abi couldn’t imagine her waitress in that getup.

  She picked up her check. The coffee and roll came to $2.50. She paid up front, then approached the waitress and handed her a five. She knew from experience that the tips people filled in when they signed their credit-card receipts didn’t always make it to the waitress.

  Back in her car, she phoned Daddy to tell him she was almost there. When she arrived, he was sitting on the concrete stoop, his old suitcase beside him. Abi saw that her mother’s car was gone. She must have been working the morning shift.

  Abi got out of the car and gave him a long hug. “As handsome as ever,” she told him.

  And he did look good. He had lost only a little bit of weight. Abi could see it in his face. But all in all, he didn’t look like a cancer patient. He still hadn’t lost his hair. His blue eyes matched the sky. He looked excited, maybe even happy. How could he be so jubilant on a day like this? She didn’t ask him why, of course, because she was sure his answer would have something to do with God.

  She reached down to pick up his suitcase. “You staying all week?” she asked, noting the unexpected weight of the bag.

  He laughed. “Just a change of clothes for tomorrow. The city’s making you weak.”

  Abi didn’t want to leave right away. But she knew that, one way or the other, she would bring him back to the trailer the next morning. If things were good, there was no reason for him to stay. If things were bad, there wouldn’t be any further treatments right now, and Mama would want him home with her.

  “There’s half a cinnamon roll in the glove compartment, if you want it,” she said.

  “I have something to tell you that you will love but not believe,” Daddy said. “Your mother is talking about voting for Obama.”

  Abi was stunned. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Honest to God.” Apparently, it was all part of Mama’s sophisticated new self. “She almost gave Aunt Sister a stroke when she announced her intentions.”

  Abi just shook her head, feeling like she owed a bit of thanks to JCPenney.

  Abi wanted to get to the medical center early. She circled her car up the parking deck. The crossover was on the fourth floor. She spotted an empty place right by the elevator. She tucked the parking ticket into her jeans pocket and her wallet in the other. Her keys were on a carabiner hooked to her belt loop. A purse would have made more sense, but she had always hated carrying one.

  When they opened the doors on the far side of the crossover, the Oncology Department stared them right in the face. They checked Daddy in, but rather than being led to the chemo room, they were asked to have a seat there in the waiting room. Big windows filled the space with light, which must have been an attempt to make the wait feel less grueling. A table of magazines was beside the chairs where they sat.

  “I just can’t read celebrity gossip right now,” Abi whispered.

  “Those people holding magazines aren’t really reading theirs either,” Daddy whispered back.

  Abi nodded. This wasn’t like a waiting room for internal medicine or family practice or pediatrics. This was oncology. Everybody involved—from the patients to the receptionist and the other clerical workers behind the window—knew that oncology was a special and dreadful place to find yourself.

  Abi played with her keys. She snapped and unsnapped the carabiner nervously. Daddy wasn’t talking. She wasn’t going to hide behind a magazine. It was all about stoicism now. A brave face. She wondered if her daddy was praying. Whatever was in his file was already there. It was too late to change anything now.

  Daddy whispered to her, “Where do you think Dr. Ravi is from?”

  She laughed.

  “Is that not an appropriate question?” he said softly.

  “Not really, but I don’t know how much political correctness matters on the oncology floor,” she whispered. She felt like they were kids misbehaving. It helped. “I think he’s probably from India. Do you want me to ask him?”

  “No, no. You know, your mother is calling black people African- Americans now.”

  “That’s a lot better than what she used to call them.”

  Daddy was laughing now, too. A lady who was dressed to the max glanced at them, looking up from her magazine. She was reading House Beautiful. Abi thought about nabbing it on the way out to give to Mama.

  A nurse holding a chart walked into the waiting room. “William,” she called. She didn’t say Daddy’s last name, but he was the only man who looked up.

  Abi held Daddy’s hand while they followed the nurse.

  “Here,” the nurse said, and opened the cracked door to a spacious office. “Have a seat.”

  Abi was surprised. She assumed the nurse would weigh him, take his temp, check his vital signs. But none of that mattered. The verdict was in.

  The walls were covered in framed diplomas and Picasso prints. The carpet was plush and blood-red. Dr. Ravi’s desk was huge. It held nothing but her daddy’s file, a pen, and a stack of what appeared to be blank paper. Another big window let in a beam of sunshine.

  Abi looked for dust particles in the light but didn’t see any. She guessed the staff took great care to avoid too much dust in the air. Still, the office didn’t feel sterile. Three lavender irises bloomed from a pot on a side table. Abi wondered what her blood pressure was right now. She looked at Daddy, but he was sitting with his eyes closed. The clock on Dr. Ravi’s wall read 1:35. She took a few deep breaths.

  Dr. Ravi entered the room and closed the door behind him. He shook Daddy’s hand, then Abi’s, before he sat behind his desk. With everyone in place, the desk seemed bigger, like an interminable boundary separating doctor from patient, known from unknown.

  Dr. Ravi wasted no time. He didn’t even open Daddy’s chart.
He simply looked at both of them and said the words.

  “I have good news, William.”

  Abi grabbed her daddy’s hand.

  It was only after delivering this one statement that Dr. Ravi opened the file.

  “The chemotherapy is working for you. For right now, the tumors have shrunk. And there is no indication that any of them has metastasized. So,” he said, closing the file, “right now—and I want to emphasize this—right now, you are in good shape. Right now, the prognosis for you is good. Tumors can reappear later, and if they do, we will work together again. But all in all, your body is healthy. For a man your age, you are in remarkably good health overall. Had you not been, the chemotherapy would have been a lot harder on you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Dr. Ravi,” Abi said, realizing her voice sounded like a kid’s.

  “I’m happy when I have good news,” the doctor said. “This can be good, or it can be just a lull. I will want to see you again in three months. If you’re still healthy, then it will be six months, and eventually it will be once a year. Any questions?”

  “No, sir,” Daddy said, standing to shake Dr. Ravi’s hand again. “Thank you for taking such good care of me.”

  “Some days, it’s good to be an oncologist,” he replied.

  They stopped at the receptionist’s window to make a three-month follow-up appointment.

  When they cleared the Oncology Department and were walking on the crossover, they let loose. All their pent-up anxiety made them both delirious. Abi skipped along, as if playing hopscotch. Daddy held out his arms and whirled around, as if dancing with an invisible partner. Despite her fear of high places, Abi stopped and looked over the side at the cars moving along the street. How could she ever have been afraid of anything? The doctor’s words of warning that the tumors might return weren’t lost on her. But the good news was all about remission. Daddy danced up to her and wrapped her in a hug. They stood there, embracing on the crossover. Abi wasn’t crying. She was fearless.