Garden of Dreams

by Leslie Gould

  “Let’s get you up,” the nurse said. “Swing your feet out of bed onto the floor.”

  Jill looked at the nurse. Her big brown eyes were kind, like Caye’s. Her hair was short and gray. She wore a bright Hawaiian scrub shirt and blue scrub pants. Jill had forgotten her name. She looked at the nametag dangling in front of her and read “Diane.” “How’s the pain?” Diane asked.

  “Better. I think I’m getting the pain thing, the pump, figured out,” Jill said.

  “Do you feel like you can stand?” I can try.

  “And walk out into the hall?”

  “Okay.” Jill put her weight on her feet. She could feel her muscles pull, the incision tighten. She stood.

  “Good,” Diane said. “How about a few steps? The IV pole will come along with us.”

  Rob hadn’t packed her slippers. Jill hadn’t thought to ask him to. Her thick socks padded against the carpet.

  She was tired, overcome by that sickening feeling of exhaustion. She took a step toward the door and winced.

  Rob had come by at 8:30 and then gone into work. She’d been near tears when Rita called.

  “Do you and your husband have any kids?” Diane asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Jill answered. “Three boys.”

  “How old?”

  “Almost five, almost three, and almost one.” Jill said, reaching the hall. She stopped.

  Jill raised her head. Diane’s eyes looked misty. She smiled gently, pulling the IV pole even with Jill.

  “This is hard work,” Jill said.

  “Yep,” Diane answered. “And you’re doing great.”

  “They didn’t get all of the tumor.” Jill paused and took a shallow breath. “And it’s spread to my lymph nodes.” She stopped walking. “I was so sure that it hadn’t, so sure they were going to get it all. That I would do the chemotherapy as a precautionary measure, just to make sure.”

  Jill took another step. “I have to fight this. I have to beat it. The odds don’t look good, but God will see me through.”

  “If there’s one thing I’ve watched on this floor,” Diane answered, “it’s God seeing people through, over and over.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Tell me, what do you like to do?” Diane asked.

  “Garden. Paint. Be a mom.” Jill smiled, a quick half smile.

  “What part of Ashland do you live in?”

  “Up above Briscoe School.”

  “Nice.”

  “We have an old fixer-upper.”

  “And three kids? You must be busy.”

  “It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Jill stopped again and fought for a deep breath. “Why did you choose to be an oncology nurse?” she asked, leaning against the wall.

  “My mom died from cancer when I was sixteen,” Diane answered.

  “I’m sorry.

  Diane smiled. “The nurses who took care of her made me want to be a nurse.” Diane paused and then continued. “You’re here because you have to be. I’m here because I want to be.”

  “I’m counting the days, the hours, until I get out.”

  “Do you have help at home?”

  “Yes. Good friends.”

  “Great. Let’s head back to your room. I’ll help you clean up, and then you should rest.”

  17

  Marion stood on the front porch with her coat and bags. She was dressed in her suit. Her hair was still wet and streaked with comb marks. “I have a 2:30 flight,” she called out to Caye. “Can you take me to the airport after we go to the hospital?” Caye shut her car door.

  “Let me check with Rita—see when she needs me back.” Marion descended the porch stairs, passed Caye, and climbed into the car.

  As Caye headed up the stairs, the screen door banged. Liam came running through it. Hudson chased after him with a plastic bat.

  Caye grabbed Hudson by the arm. “What’s going on?”

  “He broke my pirate ship. He did it on purpose.”

  Liam kept on running. He wore his black cape and yellow rubber boots.

  “Stop, Liam!” Caye shouted. He was halfway down the steps. He stopped.

  “Hudson’s mean.” Liam turned around. “He won’t share.”

  “Come on, guys,” Caye said. “Let’s go in the house.” Hudson led the way. Caye held Liam’s left hand; he shoved his right thumb into his mouth. Once inside he stood in the entryway, still sucking his thumb. His almost-three-year-old belly jutted out over his orange shorts. His white T-shirt was too short and revealed a thin strip of skin. Saliva glistened on his hand. Tears brimmed over his lower lids.

  Caye bent down to hug him. He turned toward her, smearing spit on her cheek.

  “Are you okay, Liam?” she asked.

  He shook his head. She picked him up. He put his head on her shoulder, his thumb still in his mouth. His boots kicked against her khaki skirt.

  “Let me take him,” Rita said, coming in from the hall. “We’ll be okay. Don’t hurry back. I took the rest of the day off.”

  Caye passed Liam to Rita and headed back out to her car. Marion sat in the passenger seat looking straight ahead.

  Marion was silent for the first ten minutes of the trip to Medford, to the hospital.

  “I have to be honest with you, Caye,” she eventually said.

  Does she know I saw her in the shower? Is she going to tell me about her cancer? Caye glanced behind her shoulder and changed lanes to pass a truck. Was she going to spill her guts now?

  “I’m jealous of your friendship with Jill.”

  Caye looked over at Marion. Marion was staring at her. Their eyes met. Caye quickly returned her gaze to the freeway.

  “I’ve always wanted to be closer to her, like we were when she was young,” Marion continued. “Things were better after she came home from Argentina, before she moved up here. I know I wasn’t the best mother. In fact, I know she thinks I was a horrible mother. I think she feels that I forced her to have the abortion. She’d just started college. Later she told me she was sorry she ever told me she was pregnant. Frankly, I was surprised she did.”

  Marion shifted in the seat and turned her head toward the passenger window. “I wanted more for her than I had. That’s all I wanted. Didn’t want her to be saddled with a child.”

  Saddled with a child? Marion had been in her midthirties when Jill was born.

  “The hills are so pretty,” Marion said, her voice trailing off, “so green.”

  Marion made Caye nervous, anxious, uncomfortable in her company. The feeling was similar to the way Caye felt toward Joya—but worse. Marion was hugging the passenger door again, her face against the window.

  Caye thought again of Joya and then about the weekend getaway the women in the Fellowship went on two years ago. Rita had arranged the use of a friend’s cabin, and all six of them piled into Jill’s Suburban for the ride over.

  The idea, Jill and Caye thought, was to relax, to have fun.

  Joya had other ideas. First, she insisted that they sign up to do chores for the weekend.

  “Let’s live by faith instead,” Jill joked. “Lets see who’s inspired to pitch in.”

  “I’m happy to make up a chart,” Joya said.

  “If you do,” Jill kidded, “I’ll call you ‘Sarge’ for the rest of your life. Lighten up.”

  Joya gave up the idea. Caye marveled at how Jill could—at times—tease Joya out of an idea.

  Jill didn’t try to tease Joya out of leading devotions each morning and a sharing time each evening, but she did insist that they at least hold the sharing time in the hot tub under the stars.

  Joya, looking uncomfortable with the water frothing around her, suggested they create an accountability group that would be ongoing. They could meet once a week, just the women in the group, to encourage each other spiritually.

  “What did you say?” Jill asked.

&nbs
p; Joya, speaking louder to be heard over the bubbles, repeated herself.

  “And Thomas will watch Hudson and Liam when Rob’s out of town? Right?”

  “You seem to be able to get a baby-sitter for everything else,” Joya replied.

  It was no secret that Joya thought Jill was extravagant. On the trip to the beach she commented on the horrible gas mileage the Suburban got. Caye felt her irritation with Joya rising. Jill simply pointed out that it was better than the women taking two cars to the beach. Caye calculated the gas and mileage in her head and concluded that taking two economy cars would beat the Suburban. Then she realized that Jill meant it was a benefit to have all the women in one vehicle. Caye wasn’t sure she agreed.

  At the end of the hot tub time, Summer said she had something to share.

  Jill turned off the bubbles. “I’ve been questioning my faith,” Summer said.

  “Why would you question your faith?” Joya asked.

  “It doesn’t always make sense.”

  “Then you’re going too much on how you feel—not what you know.”

  “That’s it. I’m not always sure what I know.”

  “What does Lonnie say?” Joya asked.

  “What does it matter what Lonnie says?”

  “I think it’s normal to question faith,” Jill interjected. “That’s what makes faith stronger.”

  “Practicing faith is what makes faith stronger,” Joya rebutted.

  “That’s part of the problem. Lonnie doesn’t practice faith with me. He’s so lackadaisical—”

  “Summer,” Joya interrupted, “we’ve talked about this before.”

  “About what? My faith?”

  “About criticizing Lonnie.”

  Jill put her arm around Summer. “We’ll talk,” she said.

  “Later.”

  “Let’s pray,” Joya concluded.

  The next day was warm and sunny. In the afternoon the women went down to the beach to walk. Caye and Jill kicked off their sandals and ran out into the waves.

  It felt so good to be there without the kids. To be carefree.

  Together, holding hands, they rushed into the crashing waves.

  “It’s so cold!” Jill screamed.

  As they ran back toward shore, Caye looked up. Joya was staring at them. Rita was taking off her sandals to join them. Gwen and Summer kept walking.

  Caye recognized, from her own past, Joya’s hungry look. She’s lonely. The thought surprised Caye. She needs a friend.

  “Come on, Joya,” she shouted. “Come in with us”

  Joya was wearing cutoff jeans, a red T-shirt, and an old pair of Keds without socks.

  Joya smiled.

  Caye was sure she was going to join them. For a moment, Caye was optimistic. This is what we needed, this time away. But then Joya shook her head and started walking toward Gwen and Summer. Caye turned and ran back into the waves. She grabbed Jill’s hand and then Rita’s. They danced in the shockingly cold water with the salt against their skin, soaked from head to foot.

  Later Caye told Jill that she couldn’t help but think of God when she looked at the waves crashing in, when she heard the roar of the ocean, looked out over its seemingly endless expanse, thought of the thousands of miles of water she couldn’t see.

  “That’s how I feel in my garden,” Jill responded.

  That’s so like Jill to see God in the details. And so like me to find him in a setting that is only a sliver of what goes on for thousands and thousands of miles. Caye pulled to the side of the road as an ambulance blared by. They were only a half-mile from the hospital. If she were Marion or Joya, God forbid, she’d be jealous too.

  Marion stood leaning against the wall by the door; she shifted her feet.

  “Hey, you,” Jill whispered to Caye. “Rob went back to work.” She felt relieved Caye had come. She reached for her hand, as if she could draw physical strength from her friend.

  “Did you want him to?”

  “No.”

  “Did you tell him you wanted him to stay?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want him to get behind. He has so much to do.”

  “You should tell him, sweetie. He’d stay.”

  “It doesn’t look so good, does it?” Jill whispered. She wished she could talk to Caye without Marion in the room. Caye stooped down and hugged Jill.

  Jill began to cry, softly. “This is really serious. Do you still think God will heal me? Do you still think Joya is right?”

  “I do,” Caye said. “I really do.”

  “Hi, Mother,” Jill said, dabbing at her eyes with the limp tissue wadded in her fist. “How long are you staying?”

  “I have a 2:30 flight.”

  “So soon?”

  Jill’s hair was loose around her head. Her voice gave away her tension, her exhaustion. She honestly hadn’t wanted Marion to come at all—but now that she was here, her premature departure felt like a slap.

  “How are you feeling?” Caye asked.

  “Like a mess. Everything hurts.” Jill was grateful that Caye was sensitive enough to change the subject.

  Her friend let go of her hand and reached for the chair beside the bed, pulling it forward. “What do you need?”

  “More drugs,” Jill said with a painful smile. “The nurse had me walk earlier. That was a trip. How are my boys?”

  “The paint on your house is peeling,” Marion said.

  Jill inched up on her pillow to look at her mom. “I’m in the hospital, Mother. I have pan-cre-at-ic can-cer. I just had surgery. I have three little boys. A husband. I don’t care if the paint on my house is peeling.”

  “Well, I thought you should know. I paid a lot of money for that paint.”

  Jill took a raggedy breath. “Are you just going to stand there the whole time? Come over here.”

  Marion walked across the room.

  “Are you happy that you were right? All these years you were so sure I’d get it.”

  “I hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “But I did.”

  “And for that I’m sorry.”

  Caye took Jill’s hand again and squeezed it.

  “Why did you come?” Jill asked Marion, looking up into her face.

  “I’m so worried about you,” Marion answered, sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed from Caye. Marion gave Jill’s arm two quick pats and then turned her head toward the window.

  “Why are you going home today?”

  “You don’t need me,” Marion spoke, directed her words toward the far-off hills. “Caye has everything under control.”

  Jill ran her hand through her hair. “When will you come back?” Caye held on firmly to Jill’s other hand. “When you ask me to.”

  “Okey-dokey,” Jill said. “I’m a day out of surgery and here we are playing this stupid game again. When do you want to come back?”

  Caye sat in the cafeteria with Marion, silently mulling over okey-dokey. She had never heard Jill say okey-dokey before.

  “She was mocking me,” Marion said. Saying ‘okey-dokey’ I used to say that when she was in junior high, and she mocked me then too.

  “When should I come back?” Marion continued, looking into Caye’s eyes.

  You’re asking me? Caye pulled her shoulders back and sat up straight, stopping her soupspoon in midair. Marion took a bite of her Rueben sandwich.

  “You know, Marion, I can’t figure out what’s going on between you and Jill. I have no idea what to tell you, no idea when you should come back.” Caye put her spoon back in the bowl.

  “Then tell me this,” Marion said. “Do you think family secrets are best left unsaid?”

  “Jill doesn’t know you had cancer?” Caye blurted out, leaning forward, bumping her spoon with a clatter against the bowl. Caye felt relief that Jill hadn’t been deceptiv
e about that too, and then embarrassment for speaking out so brashly.

  Marion looked puzzled. “Well, there is that. But there’s something else. And I wonder if there’s any point in telling Jill.”

  Caye felt anxious. She had no idea what to say to Marion.

  “Secrets separate people,” Caye finally said, slowly formulating her answer. “Do you think telling Jill would help? Would it make your relationship with her better?”

  “I don’t know,” Marion said.

  Is she going to tell me? Caye was curious but not sure that she wanted Marion to confide anything more to her. She picked up her spoon and chased a slice of carrot around the bowl.

  “How did you know I had cancer?” Marion asked, breaking the silence.

  Why did I open my big mouth? Caye paused. Took a breath. “This morning. When I was getting Liam. I saw you in the shower.”

  Marion blushed slightly. “Oh.”

  “Does Jill know about that?”

  “No.”

  Caye concentrated on eating her soup, waiting for Marion to continue, but the older woman sat silently, focused on her sandwich.

  All Caye wanted to do was go back up to Jill’s room. To brush Jill’s hair. To watch her sleep. To pray with her, read her a psalm, do anything she needed. Caye’s throat tightened. Her eyes began to ache.

  “We’d better get going,” Marion said, looking up from her watch. “I don’t want to miss my flight.”

  18

  “I talked to Rob,” Joya said as she poked her head around the door. “He said I should come on up if I wanted to.”

  “Hi,” Jill answered.

  “How are you?”

  “Sore. My throat hurts. My back hurts. My whole body hurts.”

  Joya nodded. Jill thought of Joya’s many years as a nurse. That was one of the things that impressed Jill about Joya when she first met her—that she worked in an Argentine hospital.

  “Where’s Louise?” Jill asked.

  “With a neighbor.”

  Joya sat down in the chair and handed Jill an envelope.

  “Thanks.” Jill decided she would open it later; she put it on the table beside the dozen pink roses from Rob. When they were delivered an hour ago, Jill thought they looked more appropriate for the mother of a new baby girl than for a woman who just had her pancreas dissected.