Casanova Cowboy (A Morgan Mallory Story)

by Loomis, Lisa

  The afternoon when I left the to go shopping for my wedding dress, Ryan gave me a hug and told me to find something pretty, knowing how excited I was. As I drove over to pick up my mom, I thought how funny it was that I had walked by the bridal shop in the mall so many times over the years, but it wasn’t until Ryan and I started dating that I had paid much attention to it. My thoughts soon veered to the dresses I had looked at in Brides magazine. I had an idea of what I wanted, but in the end, I knew a lot of my decision would come down to cost. I wanted to keep this event affordable for my parents.

  Mom and I looked through the racks of white dresses, holding up various ones for each other’s review. We finally decided on six for me to try on. As the store clerk assisted me getting into the first dress, Mom smiled. The raw emotion I saw in her face once I had the dress on clutched at my heart. Her bottom lip quivered and I thought she might cry.

  “You look beautiful, like a princess,” she said with awe. “Do you feel as beautiful as you look?”

  I nodded, admiring the dress in the mirror, rotating left than right. The clerk helped me try on all six. The fourth one hit both Mom and me in particular, and we went back to that one a second time. When I put it back on, we admired the cut, the beading, the way it fit my body. I smiled, imagining Ryan seeing me in it as I came down the aisle.

  “Do you think Ryan will like it?” I asked.

  “He already thinks you’re beautiful, but in this dress—yes, he’ll like it. I think this is the one, Morgan.”

  When she smiled at me standing there, turning slowly in the mirror, I knew she was right. I couldn’t believe I was going to be a bride, that I was really going to marry my true love.

  Ryan and I decided on a location for the wedding and the reception before Christmas rolled around. Our rings were finished, and Ryan told me I could wear mine for Christmas Day, but it would have to go back in the box until the wedding. Christmas was spent at my parents’ house, and again, Mom and I competed on decorating our trees. Hers won again. How could it not with the memories the ornaments brought back. Ryan thought it was funny that we competed; his family had their traditions, but they were not over-the-top like ours. Still, I intended to start these traditions for Ryan and me, and I dreamed of collecting our own ornaments and memories.

  Mom fixed a turkey dinner with all the side dishes. The dining room table was set with china and silver and the house smelled of browning turkey. I had helped with one of Ryan’s favorite dishes, a Jell-O salad that my grandmother had come up with. Ryan always raved about Mom’s cooking, and she loved the attention. She was a great cook, and unfortunately, we as a family didn’t praise her enough.

  “Patty, once again your dinner was wonderful,” Ryan said, as we sat at the table after his third helping.

  “Yeah, Mom good dinner,” Pat said.

  “I hope you all saved room for dessert,” she said, getting up and gathering several plates.

  “None for me,” Dad said, pushing his chair back from the table and relaxing into it.

  I smiled at Ryan as I got up to help her clear the table, picking up more plates. Ryan started to stand and I waved at him to sit. Following Mom into the kitchen I noticed that she seemed thinner.

  “Mom, what’s up with the weight loss? Are you back dieting?” I asked.

  “I haven’t been real hungry. I fill up fast,” she answered.

  She was proud of her weight loss, so I figured she must be working to keep it off, however she was looking a little too thin. She started rinsing the dishes handing them to me to put them in the dishwasher, stacking the silver flatware to wash by hand.

  “How long has it been since you had a physical?” I asked. Mom avoided doctors as much as possible, she just didn’t

  like them.

  “I have in fact,” she answered proudly.

  “Wow, I’m in shock,” I said, surprised.

  “Everything’s fine,” she said itching her nose with the back of her wet hand. “They ran some tests, but they didn’t find anything wrong.”

  That seemed strange to me for a physical.

  “What kind of tests? Are you feeling bad?” I asked accepting another rinsed plate.

  I was suddenly worried as to why she hadn’t mentioned anything to me about going to the doctor or having tests done. Normally, when she went to see her doctor, I got to hear her complain for week’s prior. I wondered if she was hiding something from me.

  “No, I feel fine. It’s just normal tests,” she answered brushing me off.

  I searched her face for more of an answer. She smiled.

  “It’s nothing,” she said with assurance. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

  “Does Dad know?” I asked.

  “Yes, he knows. I tell him when I’m going to the doctor,” she said, like I was being foolish.

  “Would you tell me if something was wrong?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said, patting my arm. “Now get dessert going, I’ll get the rest of the dishes.”

  As she made her way back to the dining room to clear more of the table, I pulled out the pies she had baked, putting slivers of pumpkin and pecan on each plate. When we finished dessert, Ryan and I packed up our Christmas gifts and headed home.

  “I’m worried about Mom,” I said as Ryan drove.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “She looks like she’s lost more weight, and she’s eating like a bird,” I said.

  “Your mom never was a big eater,” he said.

  “I know, but the weight thing worries me. She says she’s seen a doctor and nothing is wrong. She hates doctors, she’s seriously afraid of them,” I fretted, looking out into the dark night. “She doesn’t go just because. She hardly goes when she’s sick.”

  Car lights coming the opposite way came at us bright, then brighter, and then whooshed past us. The freeway was busy it seemed to me for Christmas night.

  “She’s lost weight, but she doesn’t look sick,” Ryan said. “I wouldn’t worry.”

  She didn’t look sick, just too skinny. The doctor thing was what really bothered me, it was always a big deal, and now it wasn’t.

  “When I was ten, she had a cough for a really long time, longer than normal, and it kept getting worse. She simply refused to go to the doctor. When we finally made her, well, Dad did, it was pneumonia. She was sicker than a dog. The doctor scolded her for waiting so long. He told her it could have killed her. It scared me to see her so sick,” I pondered.

  I remembered how she looked that time, almost grey in color and coughing so badly she could hardly breathe. It was when we lived in San Jose and I was afraid to leave her to go to school. I’d begged Dad to make her go see someone.

  “I wonder if she’s ignoring something now.”

  Mid-January she got the flu when Dad was out of town on a business trip. I talked to her on the phone several times a day to check on her. She was adamant that she didn’t want us to come by and get it. After three days of me worrying, Ryan decided he would stop by her house on the way home from the airport. He called me while he was there.

  “I think I should stay with her, Morgan. She’s really bad,” Ryan said.

  “Go home, Ryan,” she said in the background. “I’m fine.”

  “Should I come?” I asked.

  “I can stay,” he said.

  For Ryan to say he could stay with her made me uneasy. I hadn’t seen her and she’d convinced me she was fine, he obviously didn’t think she was fine.

  “You’re not staying, and no, she doesn’t need to come,” she called out loudly.

  “She doesn’t sound so bad,” I teased, hearing the tone of her voice. “Do as she says. We can check on her in the morning.”

  Ryan got home about thirty minutes later, Bo charging through the door before him.

  “I felt bad leaving her,” he said setting his keys on the shelf. “Of course being your mom she doesn’t think she needs help, but she really doesn’t look good. I think you should go back for the
night.”

  The way he said it concerned me. Ryan didn’t overreact. Normally he was the even-keeled one of the two of us.

  “Really?”

  “I think she’s sick enough that she needs someone there, get her aspirin, juice, whatever. She has a fever, and with your dad away, there’s no one around if she needs help. She’s that sick,” he said.

  I rubbed my temples. Dad would be gone several more days and if Ryan thought she might need help I should go.

  “I’ll go for the night. Now you have me worried, and I would just lie awake all night thinking I should be there. Damn her, she always plays so tough,” I said.

  Ryan was relieved I was going which intensified my worry. I hurriedly packed a small bag and drove to her house. When I got in, I saw instantly why Ryan was concerned. She looked ashen in color, and she was wrapped up in blankets on the couch, shivering uncontrollably.

  “Mom, you are really sick,” I scolded.

  I sat on the edge of the couch, reaching my hand to her forehead and feeling how hot and clammy it was.

  “I told Ryan not to have you come. You should be home with him,” she said miserably.

  “He was worried, Mom, and I see why. How long have you been this sick? You haven’t said anything to me on the phone, except to stay away,” I said headed to the kitchen to get a cool towel.

  I was mad at myself for letting her convince me she was fine, mad I hadn’t heard more in her voice.

  “It started a couple of days ago, but today is the worst. I’m on fire one minute and then freezing cold the next,” she said, her jaw trembling because she was shaking.

  “We’re going to the doctor tomorrow,” I said firmly.

  She knew it wasn’t a request. I slept on the other couch in the family room and helped her get the blankets on and off as her temperature changed. I fed her aspirin every four hours and wiped down her face with a cold cloth when she would burn up and sweat.

  The next morning she told me that she’d been seeing an internist, and that he had performed a lot of tests, all inconclusive. I called his office first. It was a Sunday so they had to page him. She showered and dressed as I nervously waited for his call. I realized that what she told me at Christmas wasn’t the whole truth. You didn’t see an internist for normal tests. I thought back to the night at the condo, the celebration of our engagement, where she hadn’t eaten much. I realized that whatever was going on had been going on for months, the filling up easily, the weight loss. I mentally started to look back over the last few months for other signs.

  The doctor called me in after she had been in his office awhile.

  “You need to take your mom over to the hospital. I’ll come over as well. I have her scheduled to see a specialist, Dr. Chin. I think she has a ruptured appendix. I can feel a mass in this location,” the doctor said, pointing to his right side.

  Mom had dressed and was sitting in the chair in the examining room, when I went in. She looked like a frightened child, her eyes large and fearful. Even as sick as she was I hadn’t ever thought of her as frail and now I did and it scared me. I wished Ryan were here to reassure us both.

  “Come on, Mom,” I said gently, trying to overcome her paralyzing fear of doctors, “you heard the doctor.”

  I walked arm-in-arm with her to the hospital next door; Dr. Burns and Dr. Chin meeting us in Emergency. I could tell Mom was scared. They led her to an examining room behind a white curtain. It smelled of hospital, antiseptic, sterile, bringing back memories of when I crashed Max’s Blazer. Bright white lights shone from the ceiling reflecting off the polished linoleum floors.

  “Just lie back and let me have a look,” Dr. Chin instructed.

  Mom grabbed the side of the bed and slowly reclined. She stared blankly at the ceiling and I held her hand, squeezing it to reassure her while Dr. Chin examined her.

  “Dr. Burns is probably right; it feels like a ruptured appendix. We need to get her into surgery right away,” he said.

  The nurse got us all the forms, and with my hand shaking I filled them out for Mom to sign.

  “Here Mom, sign right here,” I instructed handing her the pen.

  I felt like our roles had reversed, like she was the child and me the adult, now taking charge. They had her change into a hospital gown and hooked her up to an IV. She got a little teary, and I told her it would be all right as I dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. Oh, Ryan, I’m so scared. Any surgery was worrisome, but emergency surgery, a ruptured appendix, I knew that could kill a person. I jumped as the anesthesiologist whipped the curtain back and came into the room.

  “Mrs. Mallory, I’m going to start the fluid that will put you to sleep. You won’t feel a thing and you won’t remember falling asleep. Once you are asleep we will get you into surgery,” she said calmly with a small smile.

  “Okay,” Mom replied weakly.

  We watched in silence as the drug was administered. Mom’s body was stiff with fear. I held her hand and waited for her to fall asleep. Her eyelids got heavy and I could see the drugs start to affect her pupils as she slowly blinked and then she was out. I kissed her forehead trying to convince myself that everything would be all right. Dr. Chin and Dr. Burns came back a few minutes later to check on her.

  “Dr. Chin will take it from here,” Dr. Burns said noting that she was indeed asleep. “This is his specialty so she’s in good hands.”

  “I need to call my fiancé and my dad,” I said my voice catching in my throat.

  “I’ll show you where you can wait. There is a phone there. It should only be about a forty-five minute procedure,” he said, trying to reassure me.

  I leaned over Mom and kissed her cheek.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  I followed Dr. Chin out of the room, down several long halls, to a small room with green chairs and pale, muddy pink walls. It was very sterile looking with low ceilings and very little light. I wondered who would decorate a waiting room to look this sparse and ugly. There was nothing comforting about it; it would have been better if it had been left plain white.

  “Phone is right there,” he said, pointing to the table in the corner.

  “Dr. Chin,” I said hesitantly “if it’s not a ruptured appendix, what else could it be?”

  My mind was racing, wondering what could be the worst situation. I longed to be back with her, near her, holding her warm hand.

  “It could be a lot of things,” he answered contemplating.

  “What’s the worst it could be?” I pushed.

  “The worst it could be is cancer, but I don’t think it’s that because the mass feels too large. I’ll see you in a bit,” he said with a forced smile as he closed the door.

  Alone in the room that terrible word reverberated in my head. Cancer, please don’t be cancer. I dialed Ryan at home and explained what was going on. I could tell by his voice he was very worried.

  “Go by my folks’ house and get Dad’s itinerary on the counter. It should be by the phone. I need to call him,” I instructed. “I’m scared Ryan.”

  “I can imagine. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Hopefully she’s out by the time I get there,” he said.

  “Let’s hope.”

  It seemed like forever before Ryan showed up. When he opened the door I rushed to him, and he hugged me, holding me, and I finally let the tears come.

  “It will be okay,” he comforted me as he rubbed my back.

  He pulled away and wiped the tears from my face. He took my hand and we sat down in the chairs by the phone.

  “I hope this is what you need,” he said handing me a paper.

  I found the number of the hotel Dad was staying at in Miami. Unfortunately he wasn’t in, so I left a message with the front desk. The clock on the wall clicked loudly. Ryan continued to hold my hand as the minutes and then hours clicked by. We were on hour two when Dad called. I told him the whole story from when Ryan went by the house.

  “Oh, Dad, she was so frightened. I was glad I could be with
her until she was out.”

  “Me too,” Dad sighed.

  I could tell he was worried, could picture him in the hotel room sitting on the side of the bed rubbing his hairline with his fingers nervously.

  “Dr. Chin said it would be less than an hour and it’s been two already. Each minute that goes by I feel more anxious.”

  “Ryan’s with you I assume.”

  “Yes, he’s here. I don’t think I could bear the wait if he wasn’t.”

  Ryan smiled at me.

  “Call me when you know something. I’ll wait in the room till I hear back from you.”

  “I love you, Dad.”

  “Love you.”

  I hung up the phone and Ryan leaned over and kissed me. Another hour passed, when a nurse called from the operating room to tell me they were still working on Mom.

  “Is she all right? Has something happened?” I asked, frantic.

  I could feel every nerve in my body tense. People died in surgeries all the time.

  “She’s fine,” she said. “It’s taking longer than Dr. Chin expected. She should be out soon.”

  Her words didn’t give me any sense of relief; I only knew at this point she was still alive. The minutes seemed to crawl by, the clicking of the clock marking every one of them. Each time it clicked I felt I might leap out of my skin. Ryan held my hand on and off, trying to comfort me the best he knew how.

  “Ryan, why do you think she hid the tests from me?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t want to worry you.”

  “But it must have been weighing heavy on her mind.”

  “She didn’t want it weighing heavy on yours and it would have,” he said forlornly.

  “Obviously I should have asked more questions when she told me they were normal tests. Has she seemed sick to you?”

  “No, I told you that. We both commented on her losing weight, but she pawned it off on stress. And god knows we gave her enough of that,” he answered leaning forward in his chair.