by Leslie Gould
“I don’t want to be there. I want to stay at the park.”
“Stop it, now,” Caye commanded.
They arrived in Kimberly, just a junction in the road with a store, at one o’clock. Caye directed Jill to the orchard. They checked in with the owner and then drove down a dirt road overlooking the John Day River.
She saw her dad’s old white Chevy pickup pulled off to the side. Wooden boxes of peaches were stacked beside it. Caye quickly counted fifteen boxes. Her parents were stretched out on a blanket in the shade.
“There they are,” Caye said, pointing under the tree.
“The weary travelers,” her mother called out as she sat up and watched Jill and Caye climb out of the Jeep. They unbuckled the kids and walked over to the shade. Caye introduced her parents, Bev and Hank Johnson, to Jill. Her father stood to shake Jill’s hand. He looked taller than six feet three inches with his cowboy hat and boots on. His gray mustache was neatly trimmed. Under his hat he had a full head of gray hair, cut short by Caye’s mom.
Hank turned to Andrew. “How’s my boy genius?” he asked, hunkering down in front of his grandson, balancing on his boots.
Bev reached for Audrey. It was only the second time she’d seen her. Nathan and Caye had driven over to Burns in June after school had ended and before summer school had started.
Caye’s moms hair was permed in tight little poodle curls. It was nearly snow white. She was short, shorter than Caye, and solidly plump. She tucked Audrey into the fold of her body and began to sway.
Caye looked at Jill, who sadly watched Bev and the baby. “Well,” Hank said. “You’re late, so we went ahead and picked for you, too.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” Caye said. “Sure we did.”
“But I want to pick!” Jill exclaimed. The usual sparkle quickly replaced the sadness in her eyes. “I’ve never picked peaches before.”
“She wants to pick,” Hank said in disbelief. “Not only do you drive three hundred miles for fruit you could buy down the street from where you live, but you want to pick it.” He chuckled.
Jill smiled, her big, embracing smile.
“Hey, I like you Hank,” she said. “Funny thing. You sound just like Nathan. Don’t you think, Caye? Logic, logic.” Nathan also thought it was ridiculous for them to drive to Kimberly. And he wasn’t thrilled to have Caye and the kids gone when he got home from work.
“And what about your husband?” Hank asked Jill. “Does he think it’s logical for you two to traipse across the state with a rig full of kids to pick peaches?”
“Rob? He doesn’t care about the peaches. He’s just happy to have us off on an adventure.”
Caye and Bev sat on the blanket with the kids while Hank set up a ladder for Jill a few trees away. It was hot and dry. The green leaves above them murmured in the slight breeze. Caye nursed Audrey while Andrew showed Bev his Fisher-Price cowboy and horse. Hudson sat on his haunches and clapped his hands until he fell over backward and startled himself.
“I’ll show them the river,” Bev told Caye, quickly righting Hudson and then taking his hand before he had a chance to decide whether to cry.
Caye burped Audrey and watched Jill awkwardly climb the ladder. She heard her laugh at something Hank said. Caye could tell her father was enjoying Jill.
Jill sauntered back, carrying one box while Hank carried the other. “Look what I did,” she called out to Caye.
Caye stood, leaving Audrey kicking on the blanket. Bev came back with the boys. “I’m hungry, Mama,” Andrew said.
“How about some fried chicken?” Bev asked, opening her cold box. She pulled out a plastic container.
“Did you make that?” Jill asked.
“Sure,” Bev answered.
“When?”
Caye’s mom always made fried chicken when they went on an outing. Caye knew she’d fried it that morning. She also had potato salad, baking powder biscuits, and rhubarb pie.
“Yum!” Jill exclaimed.
They all crowded on the blanket and loaded the paper plates Bev pulled from her picnic basket.
“Caye,” Hank said, wiping his mouth with his bandana, “why don’t you and Jill and the kids come back home to Burns with us tonight? Spend the night. You can start on your way in the morning.”
Caye smiled. She thought of her parents’ tiny farmhouse. The third bedroom was now Hank’s workroom. They’d be crowded.
“That way you won’t have to be traveling with these little ones after dark.”
Jill put down her plate. “Are you sure? Sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”
Bev patted Jill on the knee. “We’d love to have you, all of you.”
It was decided. They’d caravan the two hours to Burns and call Nathan and Rob, let them know they’d be home the next day.
Caye rode in the Chevy with her father; her mother rode with Jill and the children. That night Bev barbecued hamburgers. It was the first time Caye had seen Jill eat red meat.
After bathing the kids, Caye and Jill collapsed onto the double bed in the spare room, Caye’s old room. Audrey was stretched out on a blanket on the floor, and the boys were feet to feet on the old mauve couch with the rickety dining room chairs pushed up against Hudson’s end.
“You are your parents’ best thing,” Jill said, flinging her leg out from under the sheet. The fan in the window blew warm air across the room. “Your mother is so proud of you. Of your going to school. That you married a good man like Nathan. Your kids. She couldn’t stop talking about you.”
“Well, that’s embarrassing,” Caye grimaced.
“No. It’s great. It’s absolutely epical,” Jill said. “I’d give anything to have a mom who talked that way about me.”
They’d gone back to Kimberly each year. The end of August, they’d load up the kids, visit Burns for several days, and then drive on to Kimberly the last day before the long trip home. Last year they’d stayed nearly a week at the ranch. They joked that they’d stay all of August this year. The four-time tradition had become the highlight of Caye’s parents’ year.
Caye dumped the rest of her coffee and put the mug in the dishwasher. She hung the dishrag on the faucet and opened Jill’s refrigerator. It was nearly empty. She pulled open the vegetable drawer. The carrots and celery were fresh. She would make soup for lunch.
The phone rang. She picked up the cordless off Jill’s desk tucked in the corner under the vineyard mural.
“Rhone residence,” she answered.
“This is Dr. Kendall’s office,” a voice said. Jill’s surgeon. Caye found herself fully resituated in the uncertain present. “Is Mrs. Rhone available?”
Jill woke to Caye patting her arm. She must have dozed, she thought, wriggling the afghan up over her arms. “Hey, you,” she said sheepishly.
“The phone’s for you. It’s the surgeon’s office.”
Jill took the phone and said “hello” in a quiet voice.
After a moment she answered, “Okay. We’ll be there at 4:30. This afternoon.” Jill pressed the Off button and smiled at Caye.
“Did I just fall asleep? Like an old lady?” Jill asked
“Yep. Just like an old lady. Must be the afghan. Ready for lunch?”
Jill stood, wrapping the afghan around her shoulders, and waddled to the kitchen table. “Is Simon still asleep?”
“Haven’t heard a peep. And the other three are in the basement playing.”
“After the surgery,” Jill said, sitting down on the window seat and staring into the backyard, “I might be diabetic. I might have to take insulin. No matter what, I’ll have to take enzymes every time I eat.”
“I know,” Caye said.
Jill sighed. “Do you believe in name it and claim it’?”
“In what?”
“That if you claim something in Christ’s name, he’ll do it.”
“Like boss him aro
und?”
Jill smiled. “Not really.” Caye was so refreshing.
“I think,” Caye said, “that praying isn’t just telling God what we want. It helps us to trust him with our lives, with the life of the person we’re praying for.” She paused. “Easier said than done, huh?” Caye hesitated again and then continued, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but have you called your mom?”
“I should, shouldn’t I?”
“You should.”
Caye dumped carrots and celery into chicken broth and then added a jar of tomatoes, tomatoes they had canned last September, to make soup. Then she pulled a jar of peaches from Jill’s pantry.
“When I was growing up,” Jill said, speaking quietly, “Marion would freak if I got sick. She was always taking my temperature. It was the only time she paid any attention to me. If it was over ninety-nine, she’d take me to the doctor. She hardly ever went to my games and art shows, but she could always take time off to take me to the doctor.
“She reminded me every chance she got that my father had died from pancreatic cancer,” she said. “And his father. And some aunt no one talked about.
“I wish it was a different cancer. A more glamorous cancer. Like breast cancer.”
“Breast cancer is glamorous?” Caye asked, forcing a laugh. “More than what I have. Pancreatic cancer just makes Marion right.”
“Still, you really should call her.”
“I’ll call her after lunch,” Jill said, “before you pick up Andrew.”
13
Jill didn’t call her mother after lunch. Instead she called Rob and asked him to call Thomas about the prayer meeting. Then she took a nap while Caye, holding Simon on her hip, called the rest of the members of the Fellowship.
“I think Simon needs a bottle,” Caye had told Jill the day before. “I think he’s too young to go straight to a cup.”
What Caye really thought was that he needed extra comforting. She’d stopped by the store yesterday and bought more formula and a bottle. After the phone calls she mixed a batch of formula and sat down in Jill’s antique platform rocker with Simon, holding him close, tipping his head back.
He grabbed the nipple with both hands, his chubby fingers poking at the rubber. Caye wiggled it into his mouth. He bit the nipple, pulled his mouth away, smiled at Caye.
“Come on, baby,” she cooed. “You’ll like this.”
He spit out some of the formula that pooled in his mouth, then swallowed the rest. He began to suck.
Gradually her hunger for another child of her own had eased. Now, holding Simon, she realized it had disappeared. She felt as if she had another baby.
Caye’s plan was to put Liam and Simon down for their afternoon naps before going to get Andrew. She would take Audrey and Hudson with her and then hurry back to Jill’s. But neither of the younger boys would settle down. Simon stood in his crib and wailed while Liam sat on the top bunk and stripped off his clothes, one item at a time, throwing them over the edge. Then he put on his superhero cape and yellow rubber boots. “Guess you guys are going with me,” Caye finally said, looking at her watch. Andrew would be out in ten minutes.
She took the cape off Liam and pulled off the boots; she slipped a T-shirt over his head, and held his shorts for him to step into. Thankfully, he’d left his Pull-Ups alone.
She tiptoed into Jill’s bedroom before pulling Simon out of his crib. “Were going to pick up Andrew,” she whispered.
“All of you?”
“Yep.”
“Take the Suburban.”
“Okay.” It was the easiest plan. She’d be back before Rob came to take Jill to the appointment with the surgeon. And if not, Rob could drive the Jeep.
“Wait a minute,” Jill said. “I keep meaning to ask you. Did you get that job?”
“It didn’t work out,” Caye answered matter-of-factly, hoping Jill wouldn’t pry.
After the boys were in bed, Rob accused her of being in denial. She’d known ever since the doctor had relayed the diagnosis that they’d have this conversation sooner or later, was even more certain of it after talking with the surgeon in front of Rob and going over her family history in detail.
She was already in bed, ready to sleep. Rob left the lamp on as he crawled in.
“I wasn’t in denial,” Jill said. “If I’d been in denial, I would have taken up smoking and drinking, eaten a pound of butter each day, stayed in Argentina, moved next door to a factory, used chemicals in the garden. That’s what I would have done if I’d been in denial.”
“No. Your logic is off. You’re implying you wanted to do all those things. You didn’t. Denial is that you didn’t tell me. That you didn’t get tested like you could have. What if this had been diagnosed a couple of months ago?”
“Who’s to say it could have been diagnosed a couple of months ago?
He was silent.
“Rob, look at the risks you’ve taken.” Was it fair to bring him into it? “Have you been in denial? The surfing. Snowboarding the backside of Mount Ashland. Scuba diving. The chances of your being injured or dying were probably greater than my getting cancer.” Maybe greater. Or maybe not. Who could know?
“But the difference,” Rob said, “is that if I died, the boys would still have you. If you die, they’ll only have me.”
Jill reached for his hand.
She thought about their conversation as she fell asleep. Rob had no common sense when it came to the children. He’d forget to feed them lunch if she wasn’t home. He said their immunization schedule was too complicated. This from a man who could set up an entire office computer system and train the staff in a matter of days. Who chastised her when she failed to screw the mustard jar lid on all the way.
He accused her of getting easily distracted, but he would forget about changing a diaper for an entire day unless the smell was bad enough to demand his attention. He still couldn’t seem to comprehend that early bedtimes made for happy children and junk food made them cranky.
“God, my boys need two parents,” Jill prayed as she fell asleep. “Please, God. They need us both.”
The next day, Jill planned to call Marion before Caye arrived so she could answer a resounding “yes” when her friend asked. But she was still asleep when Caye got to the house at 8:45.
“I’m off,” Rob said, pecking her on the cheek. “Caye’s here.”
Jill dozed again and woke at ten o’clock disgusted with herself. She pulled on her robe and headed down the hall. Caye was folding laundry in the living room. “I’m sorry,” Jill declared. “I’m turning into such a bum.”
“No,” Caye answered, “you need your rest. You need to be as healthy as possible for the surgery.”
“Still,” Jill said, “I think I just got a record-breaking thirteen hours of sleep.”
“Mommy!” Liam shouted, running down the stairs. “Makin’ fort. Upstairs.”
“Oh, good,” Jill said, bending down, running her hand through his curls, and pulling him to her.
“They got into the linen closet and have sheets draped all over everything,” Caye said with a shrug. “It’s keeping them busy.”
Hudson was taking another day off from preschool. He’d only gone on Tuesday this week. Jill decided it was better for him to be home—in fact she was contemplating not having him go back at all. She wanted him nearby—not off at school. He’d be off to kindergarten soon enough.
“But he needs a schedule,” Caye had responded when Jill told her what she was thinking. “And I don’t mind driving him.”
Jill didn’t answer. She didn’t want to argue with Caye—but she’d go with her instincts on this one.
“Did Simon have a bottle?” Jill asked. The baby was crawling toward her.
“No,” Caye said, “I was going to give him one and then put him down for a nap in a few minutes.”
“I’ll get it,” Jill said, bending down
to pick Simon up. She felt a stab of pain.
He felt so heavy, so incredibly heavy. She pulled the sash of her jade green robe with her free hand. The fabric was too light; she was cold. She swung Simon into the highchair and gave him a wholewheat cracker to chew on while she poured the formula into the bottle and microwaved it for forty seconds. While she waited, she added “bottles” to the list attached to the refrigerator by a magnet. Someone would need to do the grocery shopping soon.
Jill settled into the rocker with Simon. He wiggled to sit up.
“Does he really take this?” Jill asked Caye.
“Once he settles down.”
Simon grabbed at Jill’s mouth, poking at her teeth. Then he yanked her hair.
“I should wash it, huh, baby?” Jill said. “Mommy needs to take a shower and get dressed. Mommy’s being lazy.”
He pulled at the opening of her robe. She tried to give him the bottle again. He pushed it away.
“Do you want me to try?” Caye asked, walking over to the rocker.
Caye took the baby and settled down on the sofa with a pillow propped under her arm. Simon started to suck and closed his eyes after a few minutes.
Jill watched, rocking slowly.
It wasn’t until Caye stood to walk upstairs, shoo the other kids out of the bedroom, and put Simon in his crib that Jill started to cry. There was no reason not to be optimistic, not to believe she would be healed. Being positive could only make her chances better. No amount of being upbeat could make it worse. Still she felt a dark cloud building. She was so sad, incredibly, painfully sad. And scared.
And Simon wouldn’t take a bottle from her.
She couldn’t force herself to think any further than the surgery. She would get through the surgery. That’s what she would do.
She pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her robe and went into the bathroom to shower. She’d help Caye fix lunch. That would make her feel better. Maybe Simon would take a bottle from her in the afternoon.
Caye felt uneasy as the Fellowship members gathered to pray for Jill. The older kids were playing in the boys’ bedroom. Caye had scooped up Simon and stood holding him. He comforted her. Protected her. From what, she wasn’t sure.
