by Leslie Gould
Rita had just arrived and was hugging Jill. Summer brought an aluminum pan of vegetarian lasagna to put in Jill’s freezer. Joya sat beside Jill.
Jill wore overalls. Comfort clothes. Soft and worn. Her hair hung loosely around her face.
“Let’s get started,” Thomas said.
Caye sat down in the rocker with Simon. Nathan sat beside her on one of the mahogany dining room chairs.
“Jill, tell us how you want us to pray,” Joya said. Was Joya being smug? Her vision had been right.
“For healing,” Jill said. “It is cancer. Surgery is tomorrow. I’m asking God to heal me. Completely.”
“Were asking that too,” Joya said. “And he will.”
“I want you to kneel in the middle of the room,” Thomas said, “and we’ll gather around you.”
Then Thomas took out a glass bottle from a purple cloth bag with a gold drawstring. “And I’d like to anoint you with oil before we pray.”
Caye looked at Nathan. He shrugged his shoulders. Caye had heard of anointing but had never seen it done.
“Okay,” Jill said, kneeling down on the carpet.
The others gathered around her, except for Caye, who stayed in the rocker with Simon. Thomas poured oil on his fingertips; he knelt in front of Jill and made the sign of the cross on her forehead as he said, “I anoint you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.”
One by one members prayed, but Caye stayed silent. She was relieved to hear Nathan’s simple prayer asking God to comfort Rob, the boys, and Jill, to give them strength, and to show each member of the Fellowship what they could do to help.
Summer prayed next. “God,” she said, “if it is your will, we ask you to heal Jill.”
Joya followed, thanking God for the healing of Jill. “We don’t know when,” Joya prayed, “but we know that you will heal her.”
Thomas closed by leading the group in the Lord’s Prayer.
The words “Thy will be done” hung in Caye’s head as they finished.
Jill stood, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Joya handed her a tissue. Simon had fallen asleep in Caye’s arms.
“Thanks,” Jill said. “Thank you—all of you.”
Summer started down the hallway to the bathroom. Rita hugged Jill. Caye was aware of Joya positioning herself in the halls entryway.
Nathan stood to talk to John. Rita sat down beside Caye and rubbed her hand over Simons soft hair. “Poor baby,” she said. “How are the boys doing?” she asked Caye.
“All right, I think.”
Summer walked up the hall. Caye turned her head toward the doorway, straining to hear Joya as she began to speak.
“It is God’s will that Jill be healed,” Joya said to Summer.
“How do you know that?”
“Because he is a God of life, not death,” Joya said. “How could it be his will for these boys to lose their mom? For Rob to lose his wife?”
“I think God allows death,” Summer said.
“I think,” Joya said, taking a deep breath, “that you’re being fatalistic. Jill doesn’t need that. You should keep your doubts to yourself.”
Rita put her hand on Caye’s shoulder, pulling her focus away from Joya and Summer, and asked, “How are you doing? I know this is terribly hard for you, too.”
Caye half smiled, knowing she’d just missed Summer’s response. “Thanks, Rita,” she said, holding back. She didn’t want to talk with Rita about how she was doing in front of everyone. She didn’t want to say how scared she was, to say she knew God could heal Jill but might not. Would he? That was the question. He could heal all 28,300 people who came down with pancreatic cancer each year—but he didn’t.
And she felt confused by Joya’s insistence that healing was a faith issue. Who had to have enough faith? Jill? Rob? All of them? This was the sort of thing that made her feel like an outsider in the Fellowship. She could usually talk with Jill about her confusion, but not this time.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joya head into the kitchen.
A wail came from upstairs.
Caye stood. “I’d better go check on that,” she said to Rita, “and put Simon to bed.”
Louise stood at the top of the stairs, crying. “They’re mean to me,” she said. “They won’t let me play.”
Sheets covered the bedroom, tied from the crib to the bunk bed to the window. Simon stirred in her arms.
“Everybody out,” Caye said quietly. “It’s bedtime for the baby.”
Louise was right. The other kids were mean to her. Especially Audrey, even though Louise was four years older. Most four-year-old girls looked up to older kids. Not Audrey. She wanted to be queen.
Tonight Audrey’s behavior felt like the least of Caye’s worries.
“Go talk to Daddy,” Caye said to Audrey. “Tell him you were mean to Louise again.”
With one hand she untied the sheet from the crib, imagining Simon standing up in the night and catching his head over the knot. “Baby hangs himself in crib” the headline would read.
Not on my watch.
“Is your mother coming to stay after the surgery?” Joya asked as she told Jill good-bye.
“I’m not sure,” Jill answered, aware that both Rob and Caye were staring at her.
Caye had put Liam and Hudson in their pajamas, herded them down to say good night, and then read them a bedtime story while Jill talked with the Fellowship members. Jill felt loved and cared for. She felt genuinely optimistic.
She sat down in the rocking chair as she said thank you to Joya and Thomas. To Louise she said, “You are getting so big. I can’t believe you used to be that little tiny baby in Argentina. You’ll be a teenager in no time.” Louise beamed. Joya’s face soured.
“Please call—let us know how things go, let us know what you need,” Thomas said, stepping onto the porch behind his wife and daughter, pulling the door shut behind him.
Nathan reached down and hugged Jill. Rob came over from across the room.
“Nathan,” he said, “can you and Caye come to the hospital tomorrow? Stay with me during the surgery?”
“What about the kids?” Caye asked.
Jill knew Caye had expected to have them. “Rob called Stephanie this afternoon. She can watch all of them here.”
“Can you get off work okay?” Rob asked Nathan.
“Of course. Well be there,” Nathan said. “What time?”
“How about eight?”
“But what about Andrew and school?” Jill asked.
“It’s okay,” Caye said. “He can skip.”
“Thanks,” Jill said, reaching for Caye’s hand.
Caye bent down and kissed Jill on the forehead. Jill could feel her friends lips sliding over the oil, the olive oil.
Caye laughed nervously as she stood up. “I just anointed my lips,” she said. “Oh no—I hope I didn’t take away from your blessing.”
“Did you call your mom today?” Rob asked after Caye, Nathan, Andrew, and Audrey left. It was 9:15.
“Bring me the phone,” she said with a sigh.
She punched in memory seven and let it ring. The message came on. “Voice mail,” she mouthed at Rob who was sitting on the sofa staring at her. She wished he’d go away.
“It’s Jill. I’m going into surgery tomorrow. Bye,” she said, quickly pushing the Off button.
Rob shook his head slowly.
“What?”
“That’s it? That’s all you can say to her?”
“She knows the rest.” Jill stood. “Let’s go to bed.”
Rob followed her down the hall.
“I’d better pack,” she said when she reached the bedroom.
“I’ll do it,” Rob responded, pulling a sports bag off the top shelf of the closet.
“Thanks.” Jill changed into her pajamas.
He put in her
robe, nightgown, and Bible. Her journal and pen. A handful of socks and underwear. A pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“We can put my bathroom stuff in tomorrow,” Jill said, climbing under the covers.
Rob sat down beside her. “Baby,” he said, running his hand over her cheek. His fingernails were always perfectly manicured. “I don’t want to fight about this—about your mom, about the cancer, about what you didn’t tell me. I just want us to work together.” “I know,” Jill said.
“To work together to get you well, to keep our family going.”
“I know,” Jill said again.
“It’s just that I’m so scared.”
“It’s okay,” Jill said. “It’s okay to be scared.”
“But you don’t seem that scared.”
“I am,” she answered, cupping his face in her hands and pulling him down to her, kissing his forehead and then his nose and then his lips. She scooted over and pulled the covers back. “Get in,” she whispered.
“Is it okay?”
Jill nodded.
He slid under the covers, wrapped her in his arms and tucked her head under his chin. “Do you hurt?” he asked. She shook her head.
It wasn’t just for him, as she was sure he thought. It was for her too. For the life of it. The love. The comfort.
In the middle of the night Jill woke slowly. Her back hurt. The nausea was back. It took her several minutes to remember the bottles on the nightstand and the glass of water waiting for her. As she pulled herself up, Rob asked, “How are you?”
He was sitting with his pillow propped behind his back. Just sitting.
“What’s the matter?” Jill asked.
“Can’t sleep,” he answered. “Just can’t sleep.”
14
Caye took a roll of mints from her purse and offered one to Nathan. He shook his head. She popped one in her mouth, turned it over with her tongue, and then bit it in half with her back teeth.
“I wonder what Rob and Jill are saying to each other,” Nathan said. He shifted his weight on the gray hospital couch and turned toward Caye.
She chewed the mint.
“I feel so hopeless,” Nathan continued.
Hopeless about Jill? Caye stayed silent. She crushed the last of the mint with her back teeth, pushed the pieces around her mouth with her tongue, and then swallowed.
A huge magnifying glass hovered over the day. Caye was aware of how much Jill meant to her, but also how much she loved Nathan and the kids. It was that Technicolor reality. Everything was too bright. Too large. Too clear. She was constantly on the verge of tears.
She was even aware of an appreciation for Rob. He had risen to the occasion. She couldn’t help but wonder if he could keep it up.
“You’re quiet this morning,” Nathan said, taking her hand. “You’re usually so talkative.”
Caye shrugged. She felt hopeful—and also foolish for her hope. She felt like crying. She didn’t feel like talking.
“I love you,” Nathan said, squeezing her hand three times. “I can’t imagine this happening to us—can’t even make myself imagine it.”
Caye nodded again.
“Are you mad at God, Caye?” Nathan asked.
“Ask me after the surgery,” she answered.
They looked up to see Rob standing in the doorway of the waiting room, looking lost, like Liam after his nap. His eyes were red. Nathan stood and Rob walked toward them.
“I broke down,” Rob said. “Again. I didn’t mean to.” Nathan stepped away from the couch. Rob sat down next to Caye. “Jill was strong—but I wasn’t.” Caye put her arm around him. He wore a white dress shirt and gray slacks. He was dressed for business. His face was freshly shaven.
Nathan sat down on the other side of Rob.
“I’m so afraid,” Rob said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his forearms extended. “Afraid that they’ll open her up and she’ll be full of cancer. Afraid it will all be over. That we won’t even have a chance to fight it.”
Caye patted his back, the same pat, pat, pat that she used on Simon. She felt compelled to chant, “It’ll be okay, baby. It’ll be okay.” But she didn’t. They were hollow words. The sound and cadence wouldn’t soothe Rob.
“The boys seemed to be doing all right this morning when we dropped our kids off,” Caye commented. Jill and Rob had already left for the hospital when Caye and Nathan swung by the house with Audrey and Andrew. Stephanie was feeding Simon breakfast.
“So far it’s all an adventure to them,” Rob said, looking at Caye. “Either I’m home, or they’re with you guys.”
Caye didn’t think it was an adventure to the boys. She thought they were out of sorts and would soon be frightened.
She smiled at Rob.
He turned his face from her, cupped his palms, and put his face in his hands. His shoulders began to shake.
Caye put her hand on his shoulder again, this time as if she could stop him, stop the shaking, stop the sobs that were rising up in him, stop the fear, the question of life or death that loomed ahead.
Nathan sat down and put his hand on Rob’s other shoulder.
The three of them sat while the sobs came one after another, hard body-racking sobs. Finally Rob held his head up and wiped his red-rimmed eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No need to apologize,” said a voice from the doorway.
It was Jill’s mother. A brown leather handbag was draped over her shoulder, a brown leather attaché case in her hand. She wore a brown suit and had an ivory trench coat slung over her arm. Her short gray hair was flat on one side. Her blue eyes lacked Jill’s sparkle.
Caye had only seen Marion three times. Twice at Jill’s and once last year in Anaheim when Caye and Jill had taken the kids to Disneyland.
Rob was slower to turn around.
“Has she already gone into surgery?” Marion asked.
Rob nodded slowly. “I wondered if you would come.”
Caye was relieved that Jill didn’t have to deal with this surprise before going under.
“I’m sorry she didn’t tell you years ago, Rob,” Marion said, walking toward them. “She should have. I told her to. But you know Jill—she does what she wants. She doesn’t listen to anyone.
“I only had that terse message from her last night. How bad is it?”
So Jill had left a message. Caye looked over at Rob. He looked ready to cry again.
“It’s pancreatic cancer,” Rob said. “She’s in surgery. You know that. They’ll see how it goes, then do radiation and chemo if they need to.”
“Is the doctor hopeful?”
“He seems to feel Jill has a lot to live for.”
“But is he hopeful?”
“I think so.”
“Well,” Marion said, walking to a chair at the end of the couch next to where Nathan sat, “I guess we’ll just wait.” She dropped the case to the floor and let the bag fall from her shoulder.
Caye looked at Nathan and smiled. He grimaced. She gestured her head toward the door and then said, “Rob, why don’t you and Nathan go get some breakfast. You must be starving.”
Rob stood. He looked befuddled, as if he’d forgotten which way the hall was. “Marion,” he said, turning awkwardly toward her, “you must be hungry too.”
“No, no,” she said. “I can’t eat. You go ahead.”
Marion excused herself and went down the hall to the rest room, taking her bags with her. Caye wondered what was in the attaché case—work or clothes. It was obvious she’d taken a taxi from the airport. That was all she brought. Caye wondered how long Marion planned to stay.
Jill had said several times that Rob got along better with her mother than she did. It surprised Caye. She didn’t think of Rob as sensitive, but even in the brief interaction she just witnessed he seemed tender toward
Marion.
On the other hand, Jill, who was usually so patient with people, had little tolerance for her mother.
Caye couldn’t imagine having such a strained relationship with a parent. Jill didn’t dwell on her relationship with Marion, but she did give away little glimpses of frustration.
Every Christmas Jill would dedicate herself to pulling off the “perfect Christmas.” She’d shop for the boys and Rob, decorate the house, bake, plan scrumptious Christmas meals—crab for Christmas Eve, omelets and scones for Christmas morning, Cornish game hens for Christmas afternoon. Last Christmas Caye’s family stayed in town and joined the Rhones on Christmas afternoon. It was lovely, but by the time early evening rolled around, Jill was quiet, not her usual gregarious self.
The year before Marion had spent Christmas with Jill and her family. Jill spent December 26 in bed. Later she told Caye it wasn’t the work of the holiday, as Marion and Rob both thought, that exhausted her. It was just that Christmas always made her sad, made her feel so empty.
Every year Jill took the decorations and tree down by December 28. “I’m just so ready to be done with all of it,” she’d say. “I want my house back.”
Caye stood up and walked around the waiting room. An older man and a middle-aged woman sat in the corner. Caye imagined the man’s wife—the woman’s mother—in surgery. Maybe she had breast cancer. The woman read People magazine. The man had a book in his hands, but he wasn’t reading; he was staring above the pages.
Caye sat back down. Suddenly she felt compelled to pray. “Make the surgery a success,” she prayed. “Heal Jill.” As she prayed, she closed her eyes. She saw the image of an operating room. She could see a figure draped in blue sheets on the table and a surgeon in blue scrubs. Next to the surgeon was a man dressed in a red T-shirt and Levis.
She opened her eyes.
The man was Jesus.
A shiver ran down Caye’s spine. She thought of Joya. I’m losing it too.
Jesus was in the operating room, guiding the surgeon. And she had seen him!
