It sounded more like a question than a definitive statement.
But the man was too busy looking at Chuck to notice. “Casseau?”
Chapter 6
“Guy?” Chuck said with surprise.
“It’s been too long,” the man said, his voice was deep, a slight French accent.
Billy wasn’t sure who the man was, but Carolyn cleared it up, “You’re Guy Borcher!” Which she properly pronounced as Gee Borshay.
The man looked down at her. “And who might you be?”
Her excitement grew. “I’m Carolyn Whitcomb, and you’re Guy Borcher!”
He looked to Chuck. “This is your little baby all grown up? It really has been too long.”
“From what I’m told, she’s an old-young kid,” he said, before introducing him to Billy, “Guy and I played in Juniors together back in the day. Of course, he went on to become an NHL star, and Boston icon, while I ended up a career minor-leaguer with arthritic hands from fighting.”
Chuck was self-deprecating as usual, without a hint of animosity in his voice. He was more comfortable in his own skin than any person Billy had ever met.
Carolyn added, “Guy Borcher won two Stanley Cups and three Hart Trophies … that’s for being the best player … it’s a really big trophy.”
Guy looked impressed. “You’re a big hockey fan I see.”
“You’re like my fifth favorite player ever. Right after the Hanson Brothers, and Reggie Dunlop, and Sid the Kid!”
Most of whom came from one of her favorite movies, Slap Shot, Billy noted. So really he’d be her second favorite, among non-fictional characters.
“Sounds like I’m in good company,” Guy said with a charming smile. “But my favorite player was always your father. Because those arthritic hands he speaks of, helped get me to the NHL in one piece. He was my protector.”
“He was a goony,” Carolyn said proudly.
“And a damn good one,” Guy added, still smiling, “One time he dropped his gloves to fight, and his opponent got so scared he skated off the ice and out of the arena, never to return.”
Since Chuck was six-foot-six and built like a brick house, Billy thought that opponent was very wise. Guy then turned his attention to him. He stared uncomfortably for a moment, before saying, “Billy Harper—I know that name from somewhere.”
It could have been his football exploits in college that earned him the Rose Bowl MVP, but also controversy when he walked away from the team in protest of academic fraud. But more likely it would be the arrest for abusing his ex-wife, Kelly, which even though proven false, there’s no way to put the horse back in the barn. Or it could be from their escape from Operation Anesthesia, when his face was splashed across the television, accused of kidnapping Carolyn. Same barn door.
Guy snapped his fingers a couple times, and it hit him. Billy braced.
“I know now—you write those Peanut Butter & Jelly books. I have two twin daughters at home. They love those books.”
Sigh of relief.
“I have twins of my own, Anna and Maddie. That’s who I based the characters on,” Billy said proudly.
“Do your twin daughters play hockey?” Carolyn asked Guy.
“My son is the hockey player in the family. Unfortunately, my wife got hold of the girls before I could get them on the ice. But I’ll get them out there eventually.” He thought for a moment. “Just don’t tell her I said that.”
Carolyn made a motion like she was zipping her lip.
Guy and Chuck then began reminiscing. He seemed to really light up when he spoke of their time playing together, mentioning a couple times how fun and innocent those days were.
“Why do you call my dad Casseau? That’s a weird name,” Carolyn said.
Guy looked down to Carolyn. “Have you seen pictures of your father back when he played hockey?”
She nodded
“Did you notice that he was, let’s say, more robust.”
She laughed. “You have a funny way to say fat.”
Now everyone laughed. “He used to eat McDonald’s every day, breakfast, lunch, dinner. Casseau is the French word for the carton that the fries come in, so we started calling him that, and it became his nickname. But luckily he met your mother and she was able to save him from himself.”
Billy watched Chuck’s expression change at the mention of Beth. He could tell what he was thinking; he wished he could have saved her.
Guy also saddened at her mention. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Casseau—she was a great woman. It hurt me greatly when I heard the news.”
Chuck nodded his thanks.
While Chuck collected his thoughts, Carolyn changed the subject. Whether on purpose or not, was impossible to decipher. “So did you have a nickname, Guy Borcher?”
“If I don’t get this food back to my wife, it’s going to be Mud.” He pointed to the tray he carried, which featured a salad, couple bottles of apple juice, and assorted bags of chips. “Ever since I retired from hockey, I’ve become her delivery man. Finally an honest living,” he said with a grin.
“Why would you stop playing hockey on purpose?” Carolyn asked.
“It was time to leave the game to the younger players—give them their chance. And since I left, I’ve learned that there are much more important things to life than a game. There was a time when I’d eat, drink, and sleep hockey, but now it’s the furthest thing from my mind.” His thoughts seemed to wander off.
Carolyn looked perplexed—more to life than hockey? It was as foreign of a concept to her as slowing down.
“It’s nice that you and your wife would take time to visit sick children?” Billy said. You couldn’t put a price on the smile a child would get when receiving a visit from his or her favorite sports hero. It was one of his favorite memories from when he played football at Ohio State.
His face creased with sadness. “I wish that were the case—I’m here to visit my own child. My son Ryan was diagnosed with cancer seven months ago, and he’s been here since. Daniel’s House has become our new home.”
Chuck looked floored. “I had no idea.”
Guy smiled through the pain. “So you’re the one person who doesn’t read my wife’s blog.”
“Last I heard, he was one of the top amateur players in the country. I guess I’ve been too caught up in my own life.”
“He was at tryouts for the US Junior team last summer, and he collapsed on the ice. We thought, as did the doctors, that it was dehydration. Certainly cancer was the last thing on our minds. But when we got back to Boston, we had Ryan go through some precautionary tests. And just like that our lives changed forever.”
He looked at Billy and Chuck. “Hey—no long faces. That’s Ryan’s rule. And he’s made great progress—it’s looking like we might get to go home in a few weeks. Fingers and toes crossed.”
“That’s good to hear,” Chuck said, still a little shaken by the news. “I haven’t seen him since he was a baby.”
“Then what do you say you come for a visit?” he said.
Chuck was hesitant. “We don’t want to intrude.”
“Nonsense—Ryan would love to meet the man who kept his father in one piece.” He looked to Billy. “But not as much as he’d like to get one-up on his sisters, by meeting their favorite author.” He laughed to himself. “The only rivalry better than the Bruins and Canadiens is sibling rivalry.”
“Can I come?” Carolyn asked, feeling a little left out.
Guy looked at her for a long moment, lightly nodding. “Something tells me that you and Ryan will really hit it off.”
Chapter 7
They followed Guy to the oncology floor where they were fitted for new IDs.
It’s also where they parted ways with Dr. Soos, but not before he reminded Billy that he’d see him tonight at the auction. He was hoping that he would have forgotten, but no such luck.
Two women stood chatting in the doorway of Ryan Borcher’s hospital room. One was about a foot taller tha
n the other, but they both sported the same tired eyes. Guy bent down and kissed the shorter, auburn-haired woman, and introduced her as his wife, Heidi. He then quipped that he used to be the famous one in the family but now was simply known as the husband of the world-renowned writer of “Hat Trick 4 Hope,” a popular blog about their family’s journey through the emotional minefield of childhood cancer.
You could tell it wasn’t the first time she’d heard that line. She searched for the energy to smile at them, and replied, “Just doing whatever I can to get the word out—maybe help other families who are in similar situations.”
Her taller friend, Shay—over six foot by Billy’s estimation—who Heidi referred to as a “fellow soldier,” announced that she had to get back to her son, Owen, who was in a room down the hall. Heidi explained that she had come all the way from Australia to Daniel’s House when they got Owen’s diagnosis, because it had the reputation as the best children’s cancer hospital in the world. Showing once again that there is no length a parent won’t go when it comes to the health of their child.
“I make a sturdy lamppost to lean on, or kick, depending on the mood,” she said in a thick Australian accent, accompanied by a big laugh as she departed. This was one of those places where you had to either laugh or cry, and there was no in between.
When they entered the room, Ryan Borcher was lounging on the bed, looking more like a lazy teenager than a cancer victim. He wasn’t hooked up to any machines or tubes. He was wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt with “Puck Off Cancer” inscribed across the chest and a pair of pajama pants. He wore a winter knit hat with a beanie on top, even though they were indoors.
That’s not to say the effects of his illness weren’t present, especially when compared to the photos displayed next to the bed. They were of a healthy, athletic seventeen-year-old with a mop of dark hair and not a care in the world. A few were from a prom, or some sort of school dance, with Ryan looking uncomfortable in a tuxedo, standing beside an attractive date. Others were of him playing hockey, looking like a chip off the old block.
It contrasted from the boy on the bed, who was thin and pale, and despite the hat, you could tell that his hair had lost the battle with the chemotherapy.
Guy first introduced Chuck to him. Ryan was polite, but didn’t seem overly interested. Billy figured he’d had well beyond his share of these type of visits, which had become monotonous at this point, no matter how well intentioned.
But he perked up when his father mentioned that his other visitor, Billy Harper, was the author of the Peanut Butter & Jelly books.
“Can I get a picture? My sisters will be so jealous,” he said with surprising enthusiasm.
Guy tapped Billy, as if to say, “I told you so.”
“I think what Ryan means, is it would be really nice if he could get a photo of his sisters’ favorite author, purely motivated by the potential joy on their faces when he gives it to them,” his mother corrected.
“Borchers can be a little on the competitive side,” Guy conceded.
“Mom’s the one with the competition problem—she even got bent out of shape when that other cancer blog got more views than hers.”
“I got caught up in the moment, I admit, and briefly forgot that we’re all on the same side, trying to get rid of this horrific disease. And I said I was wrong, which would be a first for you.”
Billy moved close for the photo. He wrapped his arm around Ryan’s back, and he could feel his ribs. It was hard to believe it was the same kid from the hockey pictures.
Billy thought it would just be one shot, but Heidi took a few more in different poses, like this were a professional shoot. “These will look great on the blog,” she sounded pleased.
Ryan rolled his eyes. “Because it doesn’t count unless the whole world gets to see it.”
“That’s not fair, Ryan. Those people care about you, and want to know how you’re doing.”
“Funny how your favorite word is transparency, yet you don’t want to hear how I really feel.” He looked to Billy. “You’re an author—that would be irony, right?”
Billy was smart enough not to get involved. Not to say he was surprised that there would be tension between mother and teenage son. It’s a tough relationship, regardless, but being stuck together in a small hospital room for seven months, and you had a recipe for a powder keg.
Dana was the next to be introduced and Ryan’s eyes widened. “Wow—a lot of models and pop stars have come here doing their charity work, but none of them are as beautiful as you.”
Cancer could take his hair and his white blood cells, but it couldn’t touch his teenage hormones. And Billy had to admit, the kid had game.
Dana blushed. “Thank you—you’re not so bad yourself.”
Guy looked proud; mother not so much.
Lindsey was next up, and Ryan asked, “Snowboarder?”
“A little, but mainly skiing. How’d you know that?”
He pointed to an area around her eyes; “You’ve got the goggles-tan going.”
She smiled. “We went to Stratton last week. It was a good time. You ski?”
“Mostly snowboard. I love all winter sports, but probably miss hockey the most.”
This got Carolyn’s attention. She and Ryan locked eyes. “You can’t play hockey anymore, either?” she asked.
“The doctors shut me down—what’s your excuse?”
“I have Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis … it means I can’t feel pain.”
“I have T-cell Lymphoblastic Lymphoma. It means my white blood cells came out of the marrow and mutated into a soft cancerous mass.”
“Whoa—that’s a mouthful. What does it mean?”
“It means that my life is total shit right now.”
“Ryan!” his mother admonished.
He shrugged. “She asked.”
“How come you get to wear a winter hat inside?” Carolyn continued.
“It’s my room, my rules. I can do whatever I want.”
Carolyn soaked in the statement, and then looked to Chuck. “I think maybe at home, it should be my rules in my room.”
“Not gonna happen.”
“It was just an idea.”
“Not a very good one.”
She turned back to Ryan. “Can I wear a winter hat in your room?”
“I got a better idea,” he said and reached down under his bed. He pulled out an old hockey helmet that looked like it had been through a war. “It was my grandfather’s. Only special visitors get to wear it.”
“I can wear the hockey helmet inside?”
“On one condition.”
“Is this about eating vegetables? Because I fell for that once.”
“Nope—the rule is: if you wear the helmet, you have to play hockey again one day. Sooner rather than later.”
“Because sooner comes before later.”
“We have a deal?”
“Do we do a pinky swear?”
“In my room, we do the head-rub instead.”
He took off his winter cap, revealing a bald head. Carolyn appeared mesmerized by it at first, and he bent down so she could reach. Billy could tell she enjoyed the feel of it as she rubbed—she could feel texture, but not pain—but most of all he could tell that she’d found a new friend.
Chapter 8
While Ryan and Carolyn continued to chat away, the adults split up like a seventh grade dance—females on one side, males on the other.
Billy, Chuck, and Guy congregated by the window. “You see the world from an entirely different place from this vantage point,” Guy said.
“Ryan is young, strong, athletic, with great genes—if he can get this, then anyone can,” Chuck said with a shake of the head.
Guy nodded. “Like I say, it was the last thing on our minds. I was out of town when Heidi got the diagnosis—that’s how little thought I’d given the tests. He’d battled mono his freshman year, so if it wasn’t dehydration, we expected that’s what it was.” He
grew emotional. “It still kills me that she had to go through that alone. I will never forgive myself.”
Chuck patted him on the back. They were all parents, and understood the guilt.
“And once diagnosed, the information came at us like a tsunami. It was overwhelming—you need a doctorate from Harvard to understand all the options. They talk about cancer like it’s one disease, but it’s a thousand diseases with one name. Luckily Boston has some of the best hospitals like Daniel’s House.
“And on top of that, the cancer Ryan was diagnosed with is very rare. T-cell Lymphoblastic Lymphoma is a form of Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma—only about two thousand cases documented a year, and mostly in young children. The older you get, the less curable it is. The treatment was a pediatric regimen of chemo, since young children respond so well to it.” He shrugged. “The things you learn, but never want to know.”
“It seems like he’s responding to it,” Billy said.
“He is now, thank God, but it was a rocky road getting to this point. Infections, bloody noses, sleepless nights. And a whole bunch of Clorox cleanups after a night of throwing up. Frustration, confusion, exhaustion …”
“Your family is strong,” Chuck noted.
“There’s no other choice. Heidi finds her strength through others, that’s what the blog is really about. I tend to internalize, and focus on it like it’s a hockey game. Win the small battles. He slept through the night—win. He gained four pounds back—win. That way I don’t have time to ask the bigger questions—will my son die in this room? Why him? Why not me? I’ve lived a good life, take me instead.”
He took a moment to fight back the cruel emotions, then refocused his stare out the window. He pointed to a brick building across the street. “It’s the Borcher Skating Rink,” he informed.
“I thought I was doing a good thing—investing in the inner-city, so more kids could learn to skate and play hockey. But I really should have been looking across the street to this place. These are the people who need the money, the hope. Daniel’s House was sitting here the whole time and I never noticed it.”
The Carolyn Chronicles, Volume 1 Page 3