by Patti Berg
“I can hear Gideon in the kitchen,” Fern said, letting James help her out of her coat. “Sounds like he’s on the phone with Jenni.”
“More than likely,” James added, hanging Fern’s coat in the entryway closet, “and raiding the refrigerator too.”
At seventeen, Gideon was always hungry, nearly eating them out of house and home, as he worked at topping James’s five-foot-eleven height. It wouldn’t be long, James figured, not when his eldest son was already wearing a size 13D shoe.
Sapphire, Fern’s Maine coon cat, wove in between James’s ankles, leaving long lengths of silver and black fur on the bottoms of his jeans, before Fern scooped up her much-beloved feline and cuddled her close, running slender fingers through Sapphire’s lionlike ruff.
For the umpteenth time, Fern looked at James, her smile as wide as the heavens and just as beautiful. “When Gideon gets off the phone—”
“That might be hours from now,” James interrupted, shaking his head at his son’s near-abandonment of anything that wasn’t related to his girlfriend.
“Okay, if he isn’t off in fifteen minutes, I’ll poke my head inside and ask him to hang up so we can tell him and Nelson the good news. After that”—now Fern really beamed—“I can fix dinner.”
Again James shook his head. “There’s no need for you to cook.”
“I want to.”
“We’ll go out to dinner instead.” James pulled her as close as they could get to each other with Sapphire in the way, and kissed her, the mint she’d popped into her mouth on the drive home still sweet on her lips. “We need to celebrate. I’m thinking dinner at the Corner. I’d suggest something more upscale, but I’d rather save that for our first weekend alone in Chicago. Maybe I’ll take you to Morton’s or Charlie Trotter’s. We’ll have appetizers, steak and lobster, and we can each have our own dessert instead of sharing.”
“I don’t need anything fancy, James. I just want to be with you, doing things we haven’t done in a long time. But tonight, I want to stay home and cook for the men I love, for the guys who have been taking care of me almost night and day for far too long.”
James chuckled. “Okay, but I’m helping in the kitchen, and Gideon and Nelson are cleaning up.”
Fern smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
“But first we’ve got to get the boys to acknowledge the fact that they’re still part of our family.”
“Nelson! Gideon!” James shouted once again. His voice wasn’t all that loud, but he was sure the boys must have heard him by now.
“Getting Nelson off the radio isn’t going to be any easier than getting Gideon off the phone, I’m afraid,” Fern said, setting Sapphire on the back of the sofa before she sat down in her favorite spot and pulled an afghan over her lap.
“Yeah,” James said, hearing the sound of fifteen-year-old Nelson’s voice mixed with the static on the radio he was operating in his bedroom. “That new antenna he and your dad put up is helping him make contacts all around the world, and right now he’s got a one-track mind—seeing if he can reach people at the South Pole and in Russia and who knows where else.”
“He’s a good kid, James. It’s far better that he’s into ham radio than running loose on the streets.” She patted the sofa beside her. “And why are you so on edge? I thought you’d be happy that I’m in a real, honest-to-goodness remission that could last a very long time.”
“I am happy. I’m thrilled.” He dropped down on the sofa beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders. “And,” he kissed her softly, “I love you.”
Fern smiled and leaned into his body, cuddling close. “The last ten years haven’t been too horrendous for you, have they?”
James shook his head. “They weren’t exactly the ten years we’d planned on during the first twelve years of our marriage. But all in all, I think we handled them pretty well. I just hated to see you suffering.” He didn’t want to do it, but he had to. He wiped away the tears building up in the corners of his eyes. “That was the worst part.”
“I want to make it up to you and the boys.”
James hushed her with a kiss, then smiled warmly. “There’s nothing to make up. I—”
“Did you call me?” Gideon stood in the open doorway between the dining and living rooms, a sandwich overloaded with ham, tomatoes, and lettuce in one hand, his cell phone plastered to his ear with the other.
“Yeah, we called you,” James said. “Three times. Think you could get off the phone pretty quick? Your mom and I want to talk with you and Nelson.”
“Could it wait a few minutes? Jenni and I are making plans for the football game Friday night. It’s in Peoria, and if you guys don’t mind, we’re going to meet a bunch of friends at Germain’s afterward.”
“We don’t mind,” Fern said, and James nodded his agreement. “But hurry up. We’ve got some good news to share.”
Gideon mumbled something to Jenni and bit a big hunk out of his sandwich before heading back into the kitchen for some semblance of privacy. Hopefully he hadn’t already forgotten that his mom and dad wanted him off the phone so they could talk.
“I’ll get Nelson away from the radio,” James said, caressing Fern’s cheek as he stood, loving her warmth and the touch of color in her face. “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you curl up on the couch?”
Fern laughed. “I’m no longer an invalid, James, and I’m not going to lie around. There are endless things I need and want to do around here.”
“What you need to do is take it slow.”
“I’ve taken everything slow for nearly ten years. That’s over, James. Finished. From now on, I want to go full steam ahead.”
James chuckled. “I should have known you’d say that.”
“Did you call me, Dad?” Nelson walked into the living room, wearing baggy shorts and a T-shirt, probably for the last time this year. He was munching on an apple and in a spurt of energy, launched the short, lean body he’d inherited from his mom onto the couch and scared Sapphire off the back of the sofa, sending her hiding who knows where. “There was a lot of static on the radio, and I couldn’t tell if I was being yelled at or if I was getting interference from somewhere in the world.”
“It was me,” James said, sitting down in Fern’s rocker, now that his spot next to Fern was taken. “Your mom and I want to talk to you and Gideon.”
“He’s been on the phone with Jenni since he got home from school. Good luck getting him to hang up.” Nelson took another bite of his apple, then propped his white sock–covered feet up on the coffee table. “Hey, Dad, guess who I contacted on the radio this afternoon?”
“Who or where?”
“Both. It was a girl in New South Wales, Australia. She and her mom and dad own a sheep ranch—but they call it a station—and she’s really into ham radio and biology and anthropology. She wears glasses, and her friends think she’s a geek—like me.”
“You’re not a geek,” Fern said. “You’re a bright—”
“I’m a geek, Mom.” Nelson frowned at his mother, stating the fact as if being a geek were the same as wearing a badge of greatness. “Everyone at school knows it, and I don’t mind. I’d rather be a geek than a dumb jock.”
“So,” James asked, getting the conversation back to the girl on the radio, “does this Australian geek have a name?”
“Allison, but she goes by Allie. We must have talked for a good hour, and we’re going to try to contact each other at the same time tomorrow. She’s going to e-mail me some pictures of her horse and her budgie—that’s a parakeet.”
So much for Nelson’s not being interested in girls, James thought, as his youngest son continued to chatter. When it seemed that both their sons would go on forever talking about or to the girls in their lives, James pushed up from the rocking chair and headed toward the sound of Gideon’s voice.
Entering the kitchen, James stared at his son, who was once again rummaging through the fridge. “Could you finish up your call and come into the living r
oom?” he urged. “Now. Please.”
Gideon started to roll his eyes, which wasn’t his normal style, but obviously decided that wasn’t such a smart thing to do at the moment. From the look on Gideon’s face as he started saying good-bye to Jenni, he knew his dad meant business.
James didn’t leave the kitchen doorway until Gideon shoved his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans and then walked back to the living room and sat once more in the rocking chair. Gideon plopped down on the floor, crossing his legs Indian style. “Okay, I’m all ears.”
“Your father and I met with Dr. Chopra today,” Fern said, thinking the boys must have seen her smile, letting them know it was good news, not bad. “I had an MRI last week and…”—Fern took a deep breath and let it out slowly—“and Dr. Chopra says I’m in remission.”
Nelson sat up board straight. He frowned. “Everything I’ve read says there isn’t a cure for MS.”
“There isn’t,” Fern admitted, “but it isn’t unheard of for a person to stay in remission for years. As far as any of us know, I might never again have another symptom.”
She was so upbeat, so sure she might never again be bothered by the MS; and James prayed it was true, that she’d never suffer another day. He wanted his wife to be realistic though; to take it slowly. On the other hand, he didn’t want to burst her bubble.
And he didn’t want to be a fatalist.
It appeared, however, that Nelson and Gideon were taking on that role. Both boys looked from their mom to their dad, their faces registering far more concern than happiness.
“Hey, didn’t you guys hear me?” Fern laughed lightly. “I’m in remission, my latest tests looked great—the best the doctor’s ever seen in any of her patients. Which means we can get back to being a normal family again.”
“I thought we were a normal family,” Nelson muttered, while he and Gideon took turns flinging their arms around their mom. They’d witnessed all the bad times, watched their mom go from raking the lawn with them in the fall and diving into the piles of leaves they amassed, to having to be helped into a wheelchair; and they’d hardly ever complained.
They were a blessing, and he loved them more than they’d ever know.
When the boys finally came up for air and sat back down, returning to normal as if they hadn’t just heard something miraculous, Nelson again looked from his dad to his mom. “Does this mean we can stop doing the laundry and setting the table and stuff?”
“No.” James’s one quick word was all the answer the boys needed, but then he winked. “We’ve worked into a pretty good routine over the last few years. I don’t see any sense changing how we operate around here. Besides, your mom might want to use her newfound energy doing something she enjoys. Let’s not bog her down with mundane stuff like washing dishes and dirty clothes.”
“Those things may sound mundane to the three of you,” Fern said adamantly, yet with a touch of laughter in her voice, “but at this moment, they sound exciting to me, like they could be activities in a decathlon.”
“What about mopping the floor and cleaning the litter box?” Gideon asked his mom. “We could maybe give you a gold medal or two if you want to take on those chores.”
James nailed both his sons with a withering glare. “And I could cut your allowance in half.”
“Ah, Dad,” Nelson whined, “you’re no fun.”
“He’s right, James.” Fern grinned, cautiously pushing herself up from the sofa and taking guarded steps toward the rocking chair. He could see that she’d already grown tired, already done too much, and when she held out her hands, he clutched cold fingers. “Don’t dampen our fun.”
James pulled his wife onto his lap. She was the love of his life—and, yeah, maybe he was being a bit of a wet rag; but he’d been worrying about Fern for ten long years, and it was hard to change. Still, if he continued to worry, it might drive him into an early grave; and he couldn’t bear the thought of being away from his family. Ever.
It was time to get with the program. To relish every moment with his wife.
With a little luck and a lot of faith, he might only worry a little bit.
Chapter Six
NOT LONG AFTER ARRIVING HOME FROM WORK Tuesday afternoon, Candace stepped out of the shower when she heard the telephone ringing, quickly wrapped her hair with a towel, and tugged on one of the oversized, white terry cloth robes she and Heath had received as a wedding gift. She opened the door, doing her best to ignore Heath’s dirty socks, the second pair that hadn’t yet found their way into the hamper.
What was it with men? If it was a basketball, they’d keep shooting until they hit the basket. But dirty socks? If they missed the hamper, they were instantly forgotten.
Two days in a row now, Heath had overshot or undershot. How long would it be before he figured out that she wasn’t going to pick his socks up for him? How many pairs of socks would have to pile up before he noticed them? It was going to be fun counting the days, and boy was she going to tease him when he finally woke up and saw that she wasn’t going to deal with his dirty socks. That was his job—now and forever.
She grabbed the phone on the fourth ring, and was surprised to hear Marge Matthews, the ICU supervisor, on the other end of the line. “I’d hoped to catch you before you went home today,” Marge said, “but I wanted you to know I talked with Elena.”
“You didn’t tell her I was worried about her, did you?”
Marge was silent a moment. “Well, yes. It just kind of slipped out. But knowing Elena the way we do, you should know that she wasn’t the least bit upset. In fact, I’m sure she was happy to know that her friends are concerned, and that even though she doesn’t want people to know when she’s out of sorts or not feeling well, we do notice.”
Of course she’d noticed, not only last Friday but at the game on Saturday and today too. James and Anabelle had also noticed. Elena was definitely not herself.
“So what did she say?” Candace sat on the edge of the bed. “Please tell me she isn’t sick.”
“She’s fine.”
Candace let out a sigh of relief, even though she wasn’t 100 percent sure she should believe it.
“I simply think she’s on overload—again,” Marge said. “She’s organized a lot of things before, and sometimes more than one thing at a time, but chairing the Walk for a Cure committee is a pretty big job, and she’s having to keep all of Hope Haven’s head honchos up-to-date on everything that the team is doing. I know I’d be exhausted if I had that kind of responsibility.”
“Me too,” Candace admitted. After thanking Marge for talking to Elena, they chatted about the bake sale Marge’s church would be holding, the weather, and other inconsequential things before saying good-bye.
Heading back to the bathroom to blow-dry her hair, Candace ignored the four dirty socks on the floor, but smiled. They belonged to Heath—her husband, the man she loved—and that in itself made her happy.
Tomorrow she’d catch up with James and Anabelle and let them know that Elena was okay, that she might just be stressed or a little under the weather, but fine nonetheless. Not that they’d believe it; they’d simply try not to worry.
But they would keep an eye on Elena, just as she’d keep an eye on them.
That’s what friends did.
Always.
A while later, a little after five, Candace was finishing up the last of the dusting, hoping to have at least part of the house spic and span before Heath came home from work. For once, she wondered why she’d ever acquired so many antiques and knickknacks. She loved them, but boy could they gather dust.
“I’m home!”
Candace spun around, the feather duster in her hand knocking over one, then two of the picture frames on top of the old upright piano in the family room. Normally she would have picked them up right away, but that was the past. Now she was too caught up in the smile on her new husband’s face, a radiant smile that nearly took her breath away.
He walked toward her slowly, a
handsome man nearly a foot taller than she, whose curly, golden-blond hair had grown a little long since their wedding, making it perfect for running her fingers through in those moments when they were alone—like now. When he stood just a few feet away, he stopped—and like a storybook hero, whisked a bouquet of lemon-yellow, snow-white, and ruby-red roses from behind his back. “For you, my sweet.”
The feather duster slipped from her fingers, and she took the flowers from Heath’s outstretched hands, holding them close and inhaling their fragrance. An instant later she was caught up in Heath’s embrace, the flowers hanging at her side. He kissed her so sweetly that she found herself sighing. Heath Carlson had been the answer to so many of her prayers.
It seemed as if long minutes went by, heavenly minutes standing on tiptoe, wrapped in his arms, kissing him and being kissed back, before her senses returned. Reluctantly she stepped back a few inches and offered her husband an I-love-you-more-than-anything smile. “I’d better get these roses into water.”
“Seems to me I saw a big crystal vase in the cabinet over the fridge. Want me to get it for you?”
“Please.”
Holding her hand, Heath led her up the few steps from the family room to the kitchen and then reached high above the fridge, a place Candace could only reach with a three-foot stepladder.
“I think there’s a jade-green vase up there that would be perfect.”
Heath rummaged around, glass vase clanking against glass vase, until he found just the one Candace wanted. “Is this it?”
Nodding, Candace took it from Heath’s outstretched hand, whisked a dish towel over the outside to remove any remnants of dust, and then filled it with water before arranging the roses.
“They’re beautiful.” She gave Heath a quick peck on the cheek. “Where should we put them? On the dining room table or—”
“I know just the right place.” Heath took the vase from her hands and bounded down to the family room, pushing aside a stack of magazines on an antique bookcase in front of one of the windows that looked out onto the backyard. He set the vase right in the middle. “How’s that?”