by Jan Coffey
When she goes, Christina leans against the treatment table where I’m sitting. “If you could take a day off from all of this, what would you do?”
I think about all the activities that I’ve missed out on. There are a million things. I know what Christina is doing, though. She’s thinking of doing something nice for me. The last thing I want is for her to feel obligated.
“I’d do nothing,” I tell her. “I’d lie in bed and do nothing but read and read and read.”
She laughs. “What do you like to read?”
“I love reading romance novels. I have to read so many technical articles about pharmacy that reading about love and new beginnings is a welcome change. So on this day off, as you call it, I’d read about a woman like me falling in love. It would be a story that makes me believe happily ever after exists for people who are sick like me.”
Christina looks toward the light pouring in through the large window. I know she’s trying to keep her emotions in check. I kick myself inwardly. “I didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so morbid.”
“It didn’t.”
“You’re being nice to me.”
“I am.” She smiles.
“Has there ever been anyone?”
“Of course! Thousands! Zari always beats them away with a broom.” We both laugh.
“Seriously. Even in the best of worlds, relationships can be difficult.”
“They’re complicated for me. I have many male friends who are colleagues, or that I know through my girlfriends. We often go out as a group for dinner or movies or to university events or lectures. But my relationships with men are pretty much platonic.”
I don’t tell her that most of my friends are now married and have children. Of my unmarried friends, six more are having weddings this year.
“Platonic because of religion?”
“To some extent, I suppose. Of course, Turkish men can be quite…um, ardent. But the ones I associate with are respectful. We tend to spend time in small groups. And then some fall in love and marry. Not me, though.”
“You’re beautiful and kind and smart. What’s wrong with men these days?”
“You’re repeating my words back to me. I think we are great fans of each other.”
“Tell me there’s been someone.”
“Well, there was a classmate at the university that I had feelings for. And a young doctor at the hospital. And the brother of a good friend who lives in Australia and visits twice a year.”
Christina is the first person I feel comfortable talking with about men and relationships. I’m thirty-two years old, and I can’t really discuss it with my friends in Istanbul. They’d know who I’m talking about. And, as much as I love Zari, talking about men with her is out of the question.
“There are four or five others I could name that I secretly hoped would ask me out, but none of it has happened.”
“Why?”
“Because of this.” I wave at the machinery around us.
“Wait. Your choice or theirs?”
I smile and shake my head at the darkening expression in her face. She looks so much like Zari right now. “Does it make a difference?”
“I think it does.”
“It wouldn’t be fair to drag a partner down this path with me. But, to be honest, men rarely get close enough to have a conversation about it.”
“Assholes.”
I laugh and my chest hurts. Christina waits until I clear the mucus, but this time she doesn’t panic.
“Can you spell that?” I manage to gasp.
“Gladly…and I’ll do it to their faces.”
I motion for water from the cooler in the corner. She gets it for me.
“I think the only good men exist in romance novels.”
“I don’t believe that. There have to be some good guys left out there. I’m not giving up hope for you.”
Our relationship might be new, but it’s a special one. We’re two very different people because of our upbringing, culture, religion, even schooling, but I feel that our lives are connected on so many levels.
“Speaking of men, your boyfriend Kyle flew in last night.”
“Yeah, he did. But he’s not my boyfriend anymore. I broke up with him last night.”
The furrow in her brow has reappeared, but Christina seems more resigned than sad about it. She knew it was coming. Back in June, she told me she had her doubts that their relationship would survive once the baby was born.
“After we’re done helping Elizabeth sell the company, we’ll go our separate ways.”
I’m not exactly sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“No worries.” She’s trying to sound cheerful, but I can feel a deeper disappointment that she’s pushed inside of her.
“So when your business is finished here, will you live in LA?”
“No.” She waits while a nurse rolls a piece of equipment into the room and then goes back out. “At least, not on a permanent basis.”
I already know that she’s planning to stay around for a while after Elizabeth leaves. She told me she wants to spend some time with Zari.
“What would you think of me moving to Istanbul?” she asks.
“I think it would be wonderful, but it’s a big step.”
I immediately think of Maman and how many times in recent months I’ve thought about what would happen to her if I were to die. As if I needed a reminder of my condition, the breath catches in my chest, and for a few moments I struggle.
Christina’s eyes go wide with alarm, and before I can stop her she’s out the door. Seconds later, she comes back in with a nurse. I raise my hand to indicate to them I’m okay. She comes and stands next to me, touching my face, wanting to make sure for herself.
I love the idea of her moving here. I can’t say it out loud, but I’ve already lived well past my life expectancy, and having her in Istanbul will make all the difference for Zari.
“I suppose you’ll want me to share Zari with you.” I cock an eyebrow at her.
“I’ll insist on it.”
“You’re not sending me back with Elizabeth.”
“Fine. But I want my name back.”
“Not happening. I’m keeping the name Tiam.”
A young doctor walks in as we’re talking. Immediately, he looks at me, at Christina, and then back at me. He thinks we’re arguing.
“Merhaba.”
I’ve seen him here once before. In Turkish, I introduce him to her. She nods and fades back toward the window.
He’s all business and listens to my lungs as he asks his questions.
“Öksür.”
I cough as he instructs.
“Tekrar.”
I do it again.
“This one is quite handsome. Is he one of the assholes?” Christina asks softly. I can hear the laugh in her voice.
“One of which assholes?” the doctor asks in English, never looking up as he continues what he’s doing.
I smile as she slinks over red-faced to inspect some equipment in the corner of the room.
“I was complaining about tech aides in the radiology lab,” I lie, speaking in English. “You’re definitely not in that category.”
“Handsome or asshole?”
“Both.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I asked,” he says, winking at me.
He goes back to listening to my lungs. The clipboard on the bed next to me has some of my test data from this week. The oxygen saturation measurement result is underlined in red, and the other tests are also bad.
“I don’t—”
“Türkçe konuş,” I say immediately, asking the doctor to speak in Turkish.
He gives me the news. My life has always been about the fight to stay alive, but I’m losing the battle, little by little. He says they’ll try the vest today, but he wants me to come back tomorrow for more tests.
He goes out, and a nurse comes in. Christina joins me next to the bed.
“He has definite potential for bec
oming one of my assholes,” I say to her.
She laughs and watches the nurse put the inflatable percussion vest on me.
Seeing her standing so attentively, feeling her optimism, knowing she’s here and planning to stay obliterates my fears. For the first time ever, I’m not worried about tomorrow. I know Zari will be taken care of.
25
Christina
Before today, I had no personal experience with the mental and emotional toll that comes with watching someone you care for suffer.
Standing in that clinic treatment room, I wasn’t the caregiver. I wasn’t in charge of making decisions. I didn’t have to do anything but keep Tiam company. Still, I worried. I found myself pacing my breathing involuntarily to the machine that she was hooked up to. When they asked her to cough to clear her chest, I discreetly coughed. Each time the doctor came back to check on her progress, my palms were sweating. I was anxious to hear his findings. The entire time, however, I held back my tears, bottled up my emotions, and pretended I was handling it.
The expressions on the faces of those who moved in and out of the room clued me in. I needed no translator to understand what they were thinking. No one was happy with how Tiam was doing.
Being in Istanbul and seeing Tiam’s condition only confirm my plans. The moment Elizabeth made the offer of a bonus upon the completed sale of Externus, I knew what I wanted to do with my share. I haven’t told anyone about it yet. The money is going toward Tiam’s treatment. But after what I’ve seen today, I realize that financial assistance is not the only thing she needs. Her disease seems to be far more advanced than I thought.
Questions regarding Tiam’s prognosis clutter my mind. My knowledge of CF and its treatment comes from online searches. Definitely not the most reliable source. I have no idea if what she’s receiving as treatment is adequate. I want to know if she’s on a waiting list for a lung transfer. And if she is, how long is the waiting time in Turkey. Another thought occurs to me. If I can somehow get her to the US, would the wait be any shorter there? Would the operation be more successful?
Right now, watching her undergo these treatments, I have no opportunity to ask these questions. I don’t even know if she’ll confide in me. She’s trying to protect Zari. I’m afraid she’ll try to do the same thing to me by holding back the truth.
By the time the session is over, four hours after we went in, a tension headache is pounding away above my temples, but I paint on a smile to hide it.
“I can’t have dinner with you and Elizabeth tonight. I’m sorry. I need to go home and sleep,” Tiam tells me as we walk out of the clinic. “Can we postpone it?”
She’s pale and obviously spent. Her eyes have dark shadows beneath them.
“Sure. Tomorrow night?”
“I can try.”
I’m relieved about putting off the dinner too. Whenever this reunion takes place, I’m supposed to be both bystander and mediator. But I’m worried about Tiam. Today I’ve had a glimpse of what Zari has gone through for the past thirty years. She’s watched a child she loves struggle month after month, battling to stay alive. She’s known from the time Elizabeth left that Tiam’s illness is critical.
The time I had with my daughter was far too short, but I recall how her every twinge ripped at my insides as I worried. The hospital staff told me she was going to be fine. Still, I was consumed with watching her, pacing the room with her tiny body in my arms. And after they moved her to the ICU, they kept telling me she had a good chance of pulling through. I wanted to believe them…until I couldn’t. And then she was gone.
Zari has lived with the specter of imminent death hanging over Tiam for decades. It drains the life out of me just thinking of it.
I tell Tiam that I’ll take her home, but she refuses, saying she’ll be fine. We argue about it, but she’s adamant. So we get separate cabs. Before we part, she promises to text me in the morning and tell me how she’s doing.
As I arrive at the hotel, I think to check my messages. I have a few. Kyle wants to see me about the presentation. Four texts come from Elizabeth’s new Turkish number, summoning me.
“Ms. Hall. Your mother wishes to see you,” a registration clerk announces as I walk through the lobby. “She’s in the courtyard.”
My plan of sending a group text to Elizabeth and Kyle about the need to reschedule dinner is pointless. I’m certain she’d send hotel security to collect me if I don’t see her.
Before I go out, I get some water in the lobby and search in my purse for something to take for this headache. The box of medicine I filled yesterday is at the bottom.
For a moment, my mind turns to what my life could be like in Istanbul. I’d call Kemal Osman and ask him to bring his cousin, or maybe some other friend, to accompany me and Tiam to see the Whirling Dervishes. Kemal and Tiam are both pharmacists; maybe they’ve met before. They might have a great deal in common.
My schemes for matchmaking are interrupted as another text comes from Elizabeth. She’s telling me that she’s moved from the courtyard to the rooftop terrace.
I find a couple of acetaminophen tablets in a side pocket of my bag and down them with a sip of water. I’m starting to recognize the faces of many members of the hotel staff, and they know me too. They smile and greet me by name as I pass by. Two Turkish-speaking men dressed in dark suits are standing near a window. My attention is immediately drawn to the taller of the two, but he’s not the driver from last night. Since exchanging a few words with him at lunchtime, I’m no longer frightened by our encounter. How he knows Tiam and why he was asking about her continue to stir my curiosity, however.
I go to the terrace, and Elizabeth waves to me from a sofa as soon as I appear. The September sun is dropping into a golden western sky. The air is still comfortably warm, but Elizabeth has had them light a heater nearby.
“Where were you? I’ve been trying to find you all afternoon. People at the front desk said you left the hotel.”
“I went for a walk.”
She pats the seat on the sofa next to her. As I sit down, a white-jacketed waiter approaches, replacing Elizabeth’s empty glass with another cocktail. I shake my head at the offer of seeing the drink menu.
“I could have come with you.”
“No, I needed some time on my own.”
“I’m glad that Kyle arrived safe and sound. Aren’t you?”
“Absolutely.” I have my answer about whether he’d said anything to Elizabeth about us. “So what’s the emergency? Why did you send me so many texts?”
“This dinner tonight. You know how much I hate surprises. Tell me who’s coming or I won’t be there.”
My head hurts too much for me to argue. I motion to the waiter. “I’ve changed my mind. May I have a cup of tea?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Elizabeth continues as soon as he goes. “It’s Patricia Nicholls, isn’t it?”
“Have you called her?”
“I tried but she didn’t answer.”
“Did you leave a message?”
“Of course. I said that I’m in Istanbul and told her where we’re staying. That’s all.”
She drinks down half of her standard old-fashioned. From her slurred speech, I suspect she’s had a few already.
“I still don’t understand why you care at all about seeing this woman. All this nostalgia crap you carry around about your childhood is exhausting. Patricia was old thirty years ago. She’s probably a doddering old biddy by now. There’s nothing that she can tell you that I haven’t already told you…numerous times.”
Whether we make contact now or not, I already plan to get to know Patricia Nicholls when I can move here. Perhaps after a lunch date or two, she’ll be willing to share a few glimpses into Elizabeth’s old life, particularly with regard to the men. Maybe what I’m hoping for is too great a stretch, but I think it’s worth the effort. I’ll do anything for Tiam.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s Kyle, telling me that two changes to th
e contracts need to go to the lawyer and come back corrected by Friday. He’s in the business center, and he wants me to go over them with him.
I text him back, saying I’ll be there in five minutes.
“You can relax,” I tell her, standing up. “Dinner tonight is pushed back to tomorrow night. Same restaurant. Same hour.”
“I can’t,” she argues. “You can’t. Kyle has already made a reservation for the three of us. We’re celebrating your birthday a day early tomorrow night.”
How appropriate, I think. It’s really Tiam’s birthday this week. Zari told me that I was actually born in March in a mountain village in the eastern part of Turkey.
“I’ll work it all out with Kyle.”
“I’m warning you. I don’t want Patricia to join us for dinner,” Elizabeth says curtly. “If she decides to contact me, and she wants to come and chitchat over tea, maybe. Not dinner. Do you understand me?”
I find it amusing that she’s already decided who my guest is.
“Promise me.” She’s not giving up.
“I’ve got it. Patricia won’t be joining us for dinner.”
The server delivers my tea, but I leave it on the table and walk away. I’m already wondering what kind of scene Elizabeth will make if Tiam shows up at this birthday dinner as my guest. As I go down to the business center, I start to have second thoughts about the two of them meeting for the first time in a restaurant. Elizabeth has seen pictures of Tiam and caught glimpses of her. What if she decides to be rude or belligerent? It isn’t beyond her to behave badly.
The idea of a casual dinner doesn’t seem so great anymore. Right now, my head is hurting too much to think of an alternative. Maybe tomorrow, after I speak to Tiam, we can think of something else.
Kyle is the only one in the business center. When he sees me coming, his expression darkens. He’s still upset about the way I ended things.
“What do you have? What do we need to do?” I ask as I pull out a chair and sit at the adjoining workstation.
He slides his notes in front of me, and I go over them. The changes he wants in the contract have to do with taking out the noncompete clause, so the current Externus programmers’ jobs will be protected. I agree with what he’s suggesting. I open up my laptop and write an email to the company lawyer, identifying the changes.