“So am I,” Derek said. “Even if it’s to remind you to smile and laugh a little.”
It wasn’t until after they’d left that Claire let the tears fall.
Josh picked her up in his arms and carried her into the house, where they sat on the couch together, snuggled up close.
“I need to tell my mom,” Claire said, her fingers wrapped around the collar of Josh’s shirt.
“Not yet,” he said as he played with the ends of her hair. “Let’s just have the night, okay? Where it’s just us in our own little world. If you call Millie now, she’ll be over here within minutes, and we won’t have this chance to breathe.”
“She’s going to be hurt I didn’t call right away,” Claire mentioned, feeling a little guilty.
“That’s her problem then. Not yours. Call her tomorrow, or send her a text and tell her to come for breakfast.”
Claire liked that idea.
“Why don’t you go have a bath, and I’ll get supper started.”
“I’m not really hungry, Josh.” When she said not really, she meant not at all.
“I know. But . . . you need to eat. We need to keep you as healthy as we can. Not just for you but for the baby as well.”
Claire stared into his eyes, trying to read behind the words. Was he okay with her decision to focus on the baby then? To not give up on this little miracle of theirs?
“Okay,” she whispered. She wasn’t sure where he stood yet, but maybe he also needed the time. Time to adjust, to accept, and to come to terms.
Although, how they were supposed to accept the fact she could die from a brain tumor was beyond her.
TWENTY-TWO
MILLIE
Present day
Millie buzzed with energy, but the right kind of energy.
She needed to breathe, to remain calm, to take in what her daughter had just thrown at her, and figure out a way to make this right.
Right now, in this moment, Claire needed her more than ever.
“Okay, so if I’m hearing you right, you’re refusing any sort of treatment because it could hurt our baby. So what we need to do is figure out some alternative ways to fight this tumor and keep my grandbaby safe. Right?”
Claire nodded.
Millie wasn’t sure if she agreed with this. She also had a feeling her daughter wasn’t telling her the whole truth.
“What do you need from me?”
Claire leaned back in her chair, holding the cup of coffee between her hands, and her weak smile wavered. “Support me. Be there for me. Don’t let me lose hope.”
A ball of lead settled in Millie’s stomach. Her daughter sounded like she’d already lost hope, and that wasn’t good. If that were the case, then she would squash all her fears and worries into a box and stuff it in the remotest closet she could find deep within her heart.
“I’m here for you. Whenever you need me. I’ll be your biggest supporter. How is that tea from David working?” Her words ran together, but hopefully Claire didn’t notice.
At her daughter’s grimace, Millie chuckled, thankful that Claire focused more on the tea and not her nervousness.
“Add some sugar to sweeten the taste if you have to.”
“If you tell me to suck it up, I’m going to get upset.”
“You forgot to add the buttercup. It’s ‘Suck it up, buttercup,’ sweetie. And no, I won’t say that. You’ve already done it for me.” Millie worried her hands together, squeezing her fingers tight beneath the table.
“So what happens next?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
Millie jumped up from her seat to fill her cup with hot water. She dunked her tea bag repeatedly, needing to move, to do something other than just sit there.
“What are the next steps? What do you do now? I feel like there must be something we can do instead of just watching you . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Don’t. Don’t watch me, not like that. I’m not a lab rat or on my deathbed. I have headaches, and I’m pregnant. I want to enjoy life as much as I can. So there’s nothing we need to do other than what we normally do. I’ll write in a journal every day, Abby will monitor how bad my headaches get, and you’ll help me prepare for this baby, while Josh and I work on our stories.”
“So it’s life as usual.”
Claire nodded. “You got it. That’s all I can do, Mom. I won’t fall apart. I can handle this.”
“I know you can, honey.”
Her daughter was a strong and calm person, and she admired that. But what if her daughter was mistaking that strength for avoidance? This wasn’t just a headache she had to deal with. A stage-three tumor wasn’t something to ignore, and yet, she had a feeling that’s exactly what her daughter wanted to do.
“Do you remember what I used to do for you when you had headaches before?” Millie asked.
“You mean when I was pregnant before? At the cottage?” Claire knitted her brow in concentration. “You used to massage my head for me, didn’t you?”
Millie nodded. “You should start getting weekly massages and have someone do cranial on you. I know you have to be careful about the placement of the tumor and everything, but if Dr. Will or Abby could share your MRI scans, it might help them help you better?”
It wasn’t much, but if she could find small ways to help her daughter through this, then she would. She checked the time and realized it was almost noon. If she left now, she could stop in town and see if Dr. Will was having lunch at the pub. If so, she’d have a few words with him, and maybe he’d give her a better understanding of what was going on.
“Honey, do you mind if I head out? I’d like to find David and see if he has any other teas to help that are better tasting. I’m sure you have some drawing you need to get back to. Why don’t you join me for dinner tonight? Maybe the Wandering Table? I can see what Gloria has on the menu.” She caught the panicked look on her daughter’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not . . . ,” Claire said, and then cleared her throat. “Um, I’d rather just stay home if that’s okay?”
Surprised, Millie touched her hand to her throat, not liking what she heard in her daughter’s voice.
“Since when did you turn down a meal you or Josh didn’t have to make? You love Gloria’s cooking.”
Claire went to stand in front of her patio door, looking outside, and not at her.
“Claire? What’s going on?”
Her daughter’s shoulders lifted and then dropped. “Nothing. I just . . . I just want to stay home for now. I want things to be normal, I need them to be normal, but I know it’s not.” She turned, a haunted look in her eyes. “Here, at home, I can pretend things are and that I’m in control. But when people start finding out . . . they’re going to look at me with pity. I don’t . . .” Her head dropped forward and Millie rushed over, placing her arms around her daughter, holding her close.
“Everyone in town loves you. You know that, right?” Millie said softly.
Claire nodded.
“They’ll be sad, and some will be uncertain what it means, but other than that . . . I’d be shocked if you didn’t see people only wanting to give you support, whether it’s a smile or a hug or words of advice. Some might even ignore the fact you have a tumor and just focus on your growing belly, so happy that you’ll soon have that baby you’ve been praying for.”
Claire didn’t say anything for a few moments, but then she turned in Millie’s arms and hugged her back.
“I just want to be a mom, to hold my baby, and know he or she is mine. Forever,” Claire whispered.
The words tore at Millie’s heart, more than she thought possible even after all this time.
Should she confess, as Liz had been bugging her to do, about her correspondence with Marie and her drawer full of photos and drawings from Jackson? Millie struggled with this, not knowing whether telling Claire was the right thing to do.
It might bring back too many memories. Memories she didn’t need to deal with
right now, not with everything else going on.
“You will, hon. You will.”
“I wonder if he’d care to know he was about to be a big brother? Maybe he already is, and it wouldn’t be a big deal.”
Millie took a deep breath and forced herself to say the words she’d often thought about over years. “Have you ever thought about trying to find him?”
“Of course I have. All the time. But I made a decision years ago to let him live his life, with his family, free of the complications of adding another mother who loves him to the mix.” She bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “I do hope that he’ll want to reach out to me when he’s eighteen, though. That . . .” She shook her head and inhaled slowly. “It would be another dream come true.”
Millie nodded and held her tongue. It would be so easy to ask her if she’d like to see photos, but then she’d have to explain how she’s been in touch with Marie all these years. How could she explain that? As far as her daughter has been concerned, Millie never wanted anything to do with her grandson. And as hard as it had been to maintain that facade, facing her daughter’s anger at this moment, when she had not one but two ticking time bombs in her body . . . No.
Her decision was made. She’ll wait till later, after Claire had her surgery, after her grandchild was born, when things calmed down, and Claire could handle it emotionally.
It might not be the right decision, but it was the best one she could come up with for now.
Will Shuman walked down the street toward where Millie stood, arms crossed over her chest and ready to have words with the man.
“Millie,” he said. His back looked hunched, and his feet shuffled against the sidewalk.
“You look old, William.”
“I feel it. I think it’s time I retire, move to my little cottage up by Tobermory, and fish.”
Her brows rose. “I don’t think so.”
“Excuse me?”
“You think I’m going to allow you to abandon me and my family when we need you the most? Come on, William, you’re better than that. You don’t leave a patient behind.”
“Abigail is an excellent doctor. Your little girl is in good hands.”
“Abby is also Claire’s best friend and is bound to find the two roles a struggle on the best of days.” Millie wasn’t going to let him give up, not on her daughter. “She needs you. Besides . . . you’ve got to be there when my grandbaby is born.”
Will huffed then blew his nose. “You’re a stubborn ol’ mule. You know that, right? Especially when it comes to that girl of yours.”
Millie’s arms relaxed to her side. “That daughter of mine has been your favorite patient since she was a little girl, and you know it. She was the one who started that wall of drawings, and you need a picture on there from her baby too. Which means you’ve got a few more years left in you before you try fishing full time. Am I right?” She smiled up at him, knowing she was right and he was full of hot air.
William shook his head. “Of course you are,” he said. He walked past her toward the door to the pub and held it open. “I’m a hungry man, Millie, and I don’t want to discuss this out on the street. Are you coming in, or will I find you waiting for me outside my office later?”
“Now then. No need to get snippy with me.” She followed him to a table off in the corner.
Fran waved from the bar, and Millie waved back. By the time Fran made it to their table, she had two glasses of water and a pot of tea on a tray.
“Doc, the usual?” she asked as she set the beverages down, with the tea in the middle. “Millie, good to see you. Interested in my homemade cream of mushroom soup today?”
“Girl, you know I don’t like mushrooms,” Millie said. She and Fran had a bit of a rival going on. Each year at the local fair, they both entered their recipes and baked goods, and every year they tied for first. Millie believed people were just afraid of not letting Fran win, but it annoyed her every single time.
“One day you ladies will kiss and make up,” William mumbled as he poured tea into both their empty cups.
“That’s the day Lake Huron will freeze over completely.”
Don’t get her wrong, Fran was a lovely lady and a pillar in their small town. But would it hurt her to not enter the same categories Millie did for once?
“Now.” William leaned back. “Tell me what Claire told you. I was worried she didn’t get a chance to take it all in, and I was expecting her to call me.”
“Abby spent some time with her yesterday.”
“Ah.” William nodded. “That’s good.”
“How about you just tell me what I need to know. My daughter is pretending nothing is seriously wrong with her.” Millie leaned forward, pushed her water glass out of the way, and put her forearms on the table. “Is my daughter going to die?”
William took a sip of his tea and then removed his glasses, resting them on top of his head. “Not on my watch.”
“Is that a doctor talking or a friend?” Millie needed to know the truth, no holds barred and all that stuff.
“She’s not going to die, Millie. I can promise you that.”
“Then how serious is it?” She played with the cutlery wrapped tight in a napkin, unable to keep still.
“She’s got two tumors—brain and spinal cord. They are grade three, which is serious. If she weren’t pregnant, I’d suggest surgery and then radiation. But I won’t put that little baby of hers at risk.”
“So you’re placing my daughter’s life at risk then?”
He shook his head. “I need you to trust me, Millie. I love that girl as if she were my own. You know that. I couldn’t be more proud of her if she actually were mine.” Tears glistened on his cheeks as they ran down his face, but Millie gave it no thought. The old man cried at the simplest of things on the best of days.
“Then what are you going to do? And don’t give me that nonsense about watching her and keeping track of her headache pain. You know that girl has a high tolerance. And if she feels being honest with you will put her baby at risk, she’ll keep her mouth shut.” Millie’s lips pursed in frustration.
“Just like her mother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
William sighed with frustration, and it irritated Millie to know it was directed at her.
“I know a certain woman who put up with a lot to protect her child too. Claire comes by it honestly.”
Millie took that as a compliment, whether he meant it that way or not.
“You still haven’t told me what the plan is. And”—she held out her hand when Willian began to object—“don’t bother telling me there is no plan, because I know you.” She leaned forward again. “I’ll tell you what I think the plan is. You’re going let her pregnancy progress until it’s safe for the baby to be born. Probably via caesarean, so after thirty weeks. Right? Then you’re going to whisk her off to surgery and thus save them both at the same time.” She sat back, folded her arms across her chest, and smiled at the look on his face. “Tell me I’m wrong.” She challenged him.
He shook his head. “I’ll do no such thing. Of course, that’s what we’re going to do. Claire explained all that to you, I’m assuming. There’s no hidden agenda here, Millie.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What happens if the tumors grow? Still just going to passively watch her?”
“Of course not.” Will sounded offended.
Good.
“So then what? What if you have to make the choice between my daughter’s life or my grandchild’s?” As much as Millie hated to admit that might be a possibility, someone needed to, because she had a feeling her daughter wasn’t facing reality.
William rubbed his face with both his hands and groaned.
“I’m praying that won’t happen,” he said.
“We both know God doesn’t always answer prayers,” she said quietly. She’d lived a lifetime learning the hard way that God’s ways were not always her ways.
“What do you want me t
o tell you, Millie?”
“I want you to tell me you will do everything possible to ensure my daughter doesn’t die. Everything. Do you hear me, William Shuman? I do not care what needs to be done. My daughter’s life is nonnegotiable.”
The words twisted their way out of her very soul, and the moment she voiced her fear into existence, she knew deep in her heart that while she was reacting as a mother, so too was her daughter.
TWENTY-THREE
CLAIRE
Present day
Dear child of my heart,
There will be times when you’re faced with difficult decisions, some harder than others, but all test your strength, your determination, and your heart.
Above all else, trust your heart.
In the large chair in her office, which overlooked her backyard, Claire recalled those words she’d written on a postcard while staring out across the Tyrrhenian Sea in Positano, Italy. Casa delle Memorie, the small family-owned bed-and-breakfast, had welcomed them with open arms, and Claire had been lulled by the tranquility of the area, never wanting to leave.
She wished she could go back. What would it be like there now, in the fall? To stare out across the waters, to be surrounded by the warmth of the people, and to marvel at the heritage and culture she’d fallen in love with.
She should write Rocco and Miima, the family who ran the little bed-and-breakfast they stayed at for a week, and let them know about her pregnancy. Miima would be ecstatic.
Claire reached down for a box she kept close to her chair. It was full of hand-drawn postcards she’d made a few years ago. Sending one of her postcards to Miima would be perfect, especially considering the large wall of postcards they kept in each bedroom.
When they’d first walked into their bedroom at Casa delle Memorie, they’d marveled at the small hallway that led to their suite. The hallway was covered in postcards from others who had stayed there. Once she saw that wall and listened to Miima’s story about how it started, the name of the bed-and-breakfast suddenly made sense—House of Memories.
Saving Abby Page 16