by Leslie Gould
Audrey sat in the eating nook and pouted. “I’m really not hungry,” she said. “I really want to play.”
“Leave your sandwich on the table,” Caye said. “You won’t have a snack until you finish it.”
Hudson looked at Audrey with sympathy. Jill never made her boys finish a meal. The two children raced down the hall to Andrew’s room while Liam finished the last bite of his sandwich.
Caye checked on Simon and then ran down the basement stairs and brought up a laundry basket of towels to fold at the dining room table. Her house was a square box. Two bedrooms downstairs, one bathroom, a living room, dining room, and kitchen, and one bedroom upstairs and a large landing. The floors of the house were covered with old-growth pine.
The house was a worker’s bungalow built below the Boulevard for a railroad family. Caye and Nathan had bought the house three months before Andrew was born. They were ecstatic. They had saved and saved.
Nathan painted the interior walls a faint, pale-lemon color and the outside light gray with daffodil-yellow and forest-green trim. He’d sanded the floors. He found a metal light fixture with colored rhinestones for the dining room at a flea market, and hung Caye’s black-and-white photographs taken in Lithia Park in the living room. They purchased 1940s furniture at estate sales. They dubbed the style “funky bungalow.”
They landscaped the backyard, creating flower beds and garden spaces, and mapped out a play structure for their kids. Caye imagined gardening while the children played with each other in their matching outfits. In her fantasy, which was influenced by Nathan’s desire for a “good-size family,” there were four: two boys and two girls, making the fact that they had two bedrooms for the kids a perfect fit.
Caye loved the Railroad District. She imagined how it had bustled years ago, trains coming and going, vendors selling pears and apples, carriages taking passengers up to the Plaza. After the train route was moved to the east side of the Cascade Mountains back in the late ’20s, the District had dwindled, but in the last several years the neighborhood had begun to pick up again. A park was built just two blocks away, right along the tracks. Bakeries, cafes, and shops brought the old storefronts to life again.
When Jill and Rob moved to Ashland, they first rented a house south of town—a fairly new split-level home with an attached double-car garage. “I can’t stand all that perfection,” Jill would say. “All those beige walls. It’s so boring. I want a different color in every room and nooks and crannies and a garden that’s worth working in.”
Jill hated the house.
“I want an older home,” she’d say when she was over at Caye’s, and naturally Caye thought that Jill wanted a place like hers. Caye imagined the Rhones moving into a house on her block, or at least close by, and every time one went on the market she picked up a flier.
Caye carried the towels into the bathroom. It was time to go get Andrew. She’d have to wake Simon. Why hadn’t Jill called?
She left Hudson’s car seat at the house. She’d have to double buckle the big boys up front. Nathan would not approve. She would not tell him.
“Auntie Caye,” Liam said as she fastened his booster seat, “where’s Mommy?”
“I’m Dr. Miles,” the man said to Jill, reaching for the clipboard on the end of the bed. He quickly scanned Jill’s chart and then asked about medical and family history. Jill answered his questions matter-of-factly, keeping an eye on the door, expecting Rob to barrel through it any minute, back from lunch in the cafeteria.
Dr. Miles jotted some notes and then said he’d order more blood work immediately and a CAT scan for the morning.
“I just had blood work done,” Jill said. “Call over to Ash—”
“We’ll do blood work here,” the doctor answered, “and a CAT scan in the morning.”
“What are you looking for?” Jill asked.
“Any abnormalities.”
“Like?”
“Like anything.” He snapped the chart shut and left the room. Rob walked into the room a moment later; Jill told him the doctor had ordered tests.
“What tests exactly?” Rob asked.
“More blood work.” Rob nodded. “And a CAT scan,” Jill added nonchalantly.
“A CAT scan? Jill, that doesn’t sound good. What is he looking for?”
She shrugged. “He wouldn’t say. Call Caye to see if she can keep the boys for the rest of the afternoon, okay?”
“I’ll call from the lobby,” Rob said. “I need to walk around some more.”
Jill thought of her boys. By now they’d be playing with Andrew, following him around. Except Simon. Simon would be tenaciously clinging to Caye. Poor baby. Poor Caye. Simon seemed to know before any of them that life had taken a sudden downward turn.
By the time they returned home with Andrew, Simon and Liam were both crying. Audrey held her hands over her ears as she ran into the house shouting the words to “Jingle Bells.”
Immediately alliances shifted. Hudson betrayed Audrey by slamming her out of Andrews room. Audrey stomped down the hall, dragging Liam with her. Andrew came out of his room to comfort Audrey. His round glasses slipped halfway down his nose as he invited his sister and Liam back to play with the LEGOs. Hudson stood in the hall, hands on his hips. Hudson, at nearly five, was almost three years younger than Andrew was and nearly as tall.
Bouncing Simon on her hip, Caye checked the caller ID. One call from Rogue Valley Medical Center.
Alarmed, she pushed the memory-two button for voice mail.
“It’s Rob. I need to talk to you.” His message sounded tense.
Bewildered, Caye walked into the living room, the phone still in her hand, and sat down to rock Simon. She tried Rob’s cell phone. No one answered. She wondered if she should call the hospital and have Rob paged. She wanted to call Nathan—school had just ended—but didn’t want to be on the phone if Rob tried to call again.
Rob. Caye tended to say his name as two syllables. In her opinion, Rob never helped Jill enough with the kids and the house. He happily let Jill manage their domestic life; he had no idea how hard she worked. It was obvious when Caye first met Jill that Rob adored his wife. Caye could tell by the way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, the way he held her when they hugged. It had been months since Caye had noticed Rob eyeing Jill as she crossed a room, or since he’d brought her flowers, or a gift from one of his many business trips.
“I feel like I don’t have any time for Rob,” Jill had said last winter when Simon was seven months old. “And I’ve become such a lazy lover.”
“It will get better,” Caye said. “Simon’s still little. You’re up nearly every night.” None of Jill’s boys were good sleepers.
“Rob’s been acting weird,” Jill continued. “Restless. He’s unhappy with his job. He’d like to move back to Argentina. He doesn’t call me twice a day when he’s out of town like he used to. Last night, when I was trying to talk, he said I should talk to you, tell you my story, he couldn’t keep track of every little detail.”
Caye had felt uncomfortable.
But now she wondered if it had felt more smug than uncomfortable. Jill had a better house, more talent, more kids, more money. But Caye, she was sure, had a better husband.
Nathan and Rob, although amiable, had never clicked the way Caye and Jill had. The two men spent time together, were content to double-date, even play tennis together, but had never become fast friends. Nathan was responsible and serious, predictable and cautious; Rob made him nervous.
Rob could hardly sit down for more than a few minutes at a time. He always had some idea or project brewing, something in the works. “It’s that computer mentality,” Nathan had said once. “Even when he’s sitting at a desk he’s off somewhere. Inside a computer. Jumping from site to site, program to program.”
The phone began to ring, startling Caye. She jarred Simon as she clicked the blue On button. It was Rob.
“They�
��re going to do more blood work,” he said. “And a CAT scan. I’m sure they think it’s something bad, really bad.”
And then he began to cry.
3
Caye checked on the kids. Andrew had put on Muppet Treasure Island—at Hudson’s request, Caye was sure. All four were on the living room floor transfixed by the TV.
She gave Simon a graham cracker and took him and the phone out into the backyard. He gnawed the cracker and then wiped the crumbs, mixed with his spit, on Caye’s shoulder. The day had grown somber and chilly; the wind was picking up, forcing the top branches of the big-leaf maple to scrape and screech against the roofline.
She decided to call Nathan first. Then she’d call Marion, Jill’s mom, as Rob had asked her to. She quickly dialed the number to her husband’s school. The school secretary transferred the call to Nathan’s room.
“The doctor ordered a CAT scan,” Caye blurted out. She felt alarmed. Confused. Afraid.
“Hold on,” Nathan said. “What are you talking about?” Caye knew it drove Nathan insane when she started in the middle of a story.
“Jill’s at Rogue Valley—at the hospital. Rob says the doctors think it’s bad.”
“I thought she had allergies.”
“It’s more than that. They’re doing a CAT scan tomorrow—more blood work today.”
“But they don’t know what’s going on?”
“No.” Caye knew Nathan wanted facts. “Their doctor thought it might be hepatitis or a liver virus. Or something else.” There are no facts. Not yet.
“Well it doesn’t sound like we should be alarmed.” Caye felt the heat rise in her neck.
Not alarmed? At times she greatly appreciated Nathan’s calm, logical approach. This was not one of them. They were talking about Jill. Next to Nathan, the kids, and her parents, Caye loved Jill more than anyone else in the world. And something was wrong; Caye knew it.
“They have her on the oncology unit.”
“Why?”
“Rob said they use it for overflow.”
“Then it doesn’t mean anything,” Nathan countered.
“Would you call Joya?” she asked. She could hear the defensiveness in her rising voice. “Rob asked if we would let the Fellowship know. Ask Joya to call everyone to pray?” It was too windy to stay out in the yard with Simon, and she didn’t want to call Joya while she was in the house where the kids could hear. Honestly, she just didn’t want to call Joya at all.
“And, Nathan,” she added, forcefully lowering her voice into her asking-a-favor tone, “could you stop by the hospital on your way home? Rob was crying. He’s scared. Could you see how he’s doing?’
Back in the house Caye realized she didn’t have Jill’s mom’s number. With Simon still on her hip, she pulled the phone book off the shelf with one hand and flung it onto the nook table, thumbing through it until she located the area codes. She scanned down to L.A., memorized the area code that was closest to the city of Whittier, and dialed directory assistance. Linsey, Marion Linsey. There was no Marion Linsey. She asked for Linsey, M. No M. Linsey either. She thought again, remembering that Liam’s first name was William, after his maternal grandfather. “How about Linsey, William.”
Bingo.
She dialed the number, wondering if it would be the right one.
It was. Marion’s voice came on, unnaturally friendly: “We’re not available to take your call, but if you care to leave a message, please do so after the beep.” She sounded as if she and William were out to lunch together, as if they would be back any moment from their happy outing. She did not sound like a widow who had lived alone since Jill left home nearly fifteen years before.
Suddenly Caye felt rattled. What was she going to say? Beep.
“Hello, Marion. This is Caye Beck, Jill’s friend. There’s no need to be alarmed, but I wanted you to know that Jill is in the hospital for—for some tests. Could just be that she’s overtired. Rob asked me to pass the message on to you.”
She left her phone number and then added, “Hope everything is fine. Take care. Bye now.” She hung up, feeling unsettled.
She hoped that Marion wouldn’t call her back.
She thought again of Jill’s father. Jill was young when he died. Maybe six. Caye couldn’t remember what he’d died from. Maybe cancer. Had Jill ever said? Had Caye ever asked?
Caye remembered when she first found out that Jill’s father was dead. She’d asked if that made Jill worry that Rob might die, that her children would be left without a father also.
Jill had laughed. “That’s never even entered my head,” she replied.
Jill felt the pressure of the automatically inflating cuff against her right arm. The beep of the monitor signaled that her blood pressure had been recorded. The sheets felt clean and smooth and slick against her bare legs. The hospital gown was twisted around her thighs.
She still clung to the thought of a baby. Just think of the unbelievable story she could tell the little one someday.
She lay completely still and listened to the soft whirs of the hospital monitors. She heard muffled voices at the nurses’ station. But there was no shouting, no crying, no children pulling on her, clinging to her.
The door swung open slowly. It was Rob carrying a silver Mylar balloon with “Get Well Soon” scrawled across it in neon pink lettering.
“Thanks,” she whispered, although she wished he’d bought flowers—late tulips, a bouquet of irises, orchids, even roses.
She could tell he was worried. The rims of his gray eyes were red.
“I asked Caye to call your mom,” he said.
“Really? Why?”
“I thought she should know.”
“I thought we should wait until we know what’s going on,” Jill responded.
She reached for his hand and found a wadded tissue in his fist.
“Sit down,” she said. It’s time. “I have something to tell you.” Better he hear it from me than from Marion.
The kids paused the video and bumped restlessly from Andrew’s bedroom to the living room. Caye carried Simon, who had fallen asleep, into Audrey’s room. She rolled the baby onto the quilt that was still on the floor from his first nap. He scrunched his knees under his tummy. She pulled half of the blanket over his back. She looked out the window. The rain, which had been coming down in sheets, had turned to hail.
Hail. She hated it.
She’d grown up on a ranch east of the Cascade Mountains, in eastern Oregon, where her father was the crew boss. The closest town was Burns—twenty miles away. On an afternoon like this, they’d all run out and stare at the alfalfa being beaten by the hail. As a child she used to shut her eyes and raise her mouth to the spheres of ice. Later, she’d stand with her family and stare at the fields, as the green plants were shredded like paper, like currency. She hated the uncertainty of it—the lack of control.
“At least I don’t own it,” her father would say as he stood on the porch glaring across the field.
Jill looked around the hospital room. She had dozed. Had she heard Nathan’s voice? Rob was gone. The door was closed.
Had she brought her purse? She wanted her cell phone. She looked around—at the counter by the sink, on the chair where Rob had sat. No purse. The cell was probably in Simon’s diaper bag anyway.
She looked at the hospital phone on the bedside table. It had been pushed out of reach. If the phone were closer, Jill would call Caye. She would say, “Can you believe it?” She would tell Caye, “Well, I should be out tomorrow, after the tests. I’m feeling better already.” She would ask, “Can you come over tonight? Leave the kids with Nathan. Bring me some flowers—and some chocolate. I need something to perk up this place—and me.”
Jill wondered if Caye thought up conversations between the two of them. Sometimes Jill would make a mental list of the things to talk with Caye about. Simon’s tooth. Rob’s new account. The oliv
e bread recipe Caye asked for.
The balloon came untied from the chair and bumped against the ceiling, caught in an upward air current from the heater under the window, and bobbed like a neckless head.
The heater, with its institutional look, made Jill think of elementary school. She shivered. Rain began to splatter against the window, hard and forceful. Jill could see it through the half-open blinds. Big drops raced down the window against the dark sky. Jill thought of her father, of the daybed in the living room. She’d been six, home from first grade to sit in the chair at the end of his bed. It was December, before they came and took her father away while Jill slept.
She could hear Rob and Nathan talking in the hall. She closed her eyes. The door opened. “I’ll see you soon,” Nathan said. “Let us know if you need anything, anything at all.”
She heard the good-byes. She wanted to ask Nathan to have Caye call, but she didn’t want them to know she was awake. Rob came back and sat beside her. She knew he wanted to talk about what she’d told him before she fell asleep, before Nathan arrived.
Jill kept her eyes closed.
The rain turned to hail. She could hear it against the window.
The children settled back down in the living room. Andrew sat on the floor against the couch. Fingerprints smudged his glasses. He draped one arm across Hudson’s shoulder. Liam curled up on a blanket on the floor next to Audrey, his thumb in his mouth. Caye hadn’t changed his Pull-Ups all day, and she hadn’t reminded him to use the toilet either. She wasn’t going to interrupt him now. She’d wait until the video was over.
She wished that she’d asked Nathan to pick up a pizza. She opened the pantry door and pulled out two boxes of macaroni and cheese. Jill’s boys loved macaroni and cheese—they never got it at home.
The bag of dried Echinacea on the window sill caught Caye’s attention. Jill had given it to her day before yesterday. It had come from Jill’s garden last fall—she’d been drying several cuttings of it in her basement all winter because she wanted to do a painting of it. Suddenly she decided to turn it all into tea, saying she planned to do a painting of tulips instead.
