by Leslie Gould
“Hey, Jill.” Audrey interrupted her thoughts. “We need Scotch tape.”
“Hey, you,” Jill answered. “Look in my desk in the kitchen.”
“I already did.”
“Ask your mom then. I think she’s down in the laundry room. And hey, tell Hudson and Liam that we’re going to the park after Simon wakes up.”
“All of us? You, too?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Hey, Hudson,” Audrey yelled, starting down the basement stairs, “your mom is better.”
By the time they reached the park, Jill began to tire; her morning surge of energy was fading. As they walked from the Suburban, she carried Simon’s diaper bag while Caye pushed the stroller loaded down with the baby, the picnic lunch, and the blanket.
Jill squinted, even with her sunglasses on, against the blue sky. As they crossed the bridge by the playground, Jill looked around at the trees, the flowers, the cobblestone pathway. It was fuzzy, soft, swimmy. The scene looked like a reflection in a buckled mirror that was gently swaying.
Hudson, Audrey, and Liam ran to the playground.
“Do you think Liam’s going to be okay with his cast?” Caye asked.
Jill nodded as she watched him climb the ladder and hold on with one hand. Audrey had decorated the plaster with a pink fluorescent highlighter, just a shade brighter than the cherry tree blossoms.
Jill sat down at their regular picnic spot on the grass, just up from the creek. Caye pulled Simon out of the stroller. He crawled on the grass toward Jill. His blond wispy hair lifted from his head with each jerky motion of his body. He needed his first haircut. Hudson and Liam needed haircuts too.
Jill felt intense hope as Simon scurried toward her.
She thought of the cancer in her body. She imagined the chemicals flowing through her blood, attacking the cancer cells, destroying them.
She needed a plan, a plan to beat the cancer. More than optimism. Something concrete.
“What research have you been doing?” she asked Caye as she pulled a whole-wheat cracker out of the bag and handed it to Simon.
“Research?”
“About my cancer.”
“I’ve gone to some Web sites, checked out a few books from the library.”
Caye must be reading the books at her house, at night, Jill thought.
“And what are you finding out?”
Caye shrugged and looked toward the playground.
“Come on, Caye. You know I know it’s bad. One of the worst cancers there is. I’m asking if you’ve found anything good out there—anything to pin a plan on.”
Jill felt Caye’s eyes meet hers. Caye shifted her body and tucked her feet beneath her legs. She sat up straight.
Jill smiled. I knew I could count on Caye. She was waiting for me to ask, waiting for me to feel well enough to soak this in.
“Basically,” Caye started, “there are three areas worth exploring. The first is strengthening your body through vitamins, supplements, and really good nutrition. You should talk with Dr. Scott on Thursday about that approach.”
“Okay.”
“Next is your psyche. Granted, your case is a little different than the average cancer since it seems genetics is involved. But the stuff I’ve come across suggests exploring your inner person. Do you have stress you haven’t dealt with? Bad relationships you need to mend?”
Jill pursed her lips and pushed her sunglasses up on the bridge of her nose.
“What?” Caye asked.
“It sounds like Joya’s question: ‘Do you have sin in your life?’”
“This is from a secular perspective,” Caye explained. “The idea is that cancer feeds off bad vibes. But you’re right, it can be looked at spiritually, too.”
“Are you thinking of Marion? Is this a setup to force me to make amends with her?” Jill chuckled. “Because if it is, you’re not being very subtle.”
Caye moved her shoulders from side to side in a sassy comeback. “I’m not making this up, Jill. I’m just reporting the research. You interpret it as you please.” Her short hair swung away from her head in little bursts.
“Joya thinks it’s the way I’ve treated Rob.” Jill, with effort, kept her voice light. “You think it’s the way I’ve treated my mother.”
“I don’t think it’s the way you’ve treated your mother.”
“Do you think it’s the way my mother’s treated me?”
Caye shrugged her shoulders slightly. “I think your mom’s been awful, but you don’t have control over her. You only have control over yourself. Is there anything you can do to make things better?”
Jill raised her eyebrows. “Okay. What’s the third thing?” she asked.
“Faith. Even the secular books talk about faith, about believing in a purpose in your life, that your work isn’t done. There are incredible case studies of people whose cancer disappeared because they believed a placebo would work.”
“So it’s all in the mind?”
“No. Sometimes it’s in the mind. But it’s more than that. Case studies have shown that cancer patients who get angry, who aren’t the model patients, who challenge their doctors and take charge are the ones more likely to get well.”
“Is it time to eat?” Audrey bellowed from the play structure.
Caye motioned Audrey to come over to the blanket.
“So I need to get angry? At Dr. Scott?” Jill asked. “Then I’ll get better?”
“If there’s a reason to get angry at him,” Caye said.
Jill watched Caye pull the sandwiches, grapes, and juice boxes out of the picnic basket and spread them on the blanket. Jill thought about the anger issue. She’d never felt mad at Dr. Scott, although Rob seemed agitated each time they met with him.
Caye was right about Marion. Jill had an underlying issue of disappointment when it came to her mother. Perhaps she was projecting anger onto Marion—as if it were Marion’s fault that she had cancer.
Who would she be angry with ultimately? God? But why should she be angry with God when, ultimately, that was where her healing would come from?
Caye handed Jill the thermos of broth.
Simon pulled himself up on the stroller and began to push it backward. Jill twisted the cup off the thermos and thought again about the chemicals coursing through her blood, attacking the cancer, destroying it.
“You know what sounds good?” Jill said, her hand on the cap of the thermos. “Watermelon.”
Audrey, Hudson, and Liam ran onto the grass and collapsed on the ground in a heap.
“Watch out for Liam’s arm,” Caye said, as Hudson and Audrey rolled off him.
“And salmon.” Jill grinned. “And they’re both in season—or nearly.”
Simon fell against the footrest of the stroller and began to cry. Jill put the thermos down and reached for him just as Caye put down the napkins to scoop him up. Jill grabbed the baby first and dragged him along the blanket into her arms. She was aware that she had reacted too quickly; she felt the movement in her incision. Simon banged his head against her collarbone.
“Whoa, baby,” she said, pulling him against her chest. “Don’t hurt your mommy.”
Liam plopped on the blanket beside her, slamming his cast against her thigh. Hudson put his arms around her neck. Her three little boys clung to her, needed her. They were the core of her plan. Maybe she could be angry with God, for the inconvenience of all this, and still believe that he was going to heal her.
She didn’t feel the anger though. Not toward God.
She thought of her house—of the painting she’d done back in L.A. before they moved to Ashland, before they bought the house.
She needed to paint. That was what she needed to do. Paint her future.
Caye watched Jill with the boys until Hudson moved back to the blanket and settled down next to Audrey with his sandwich in his hand, and Liam inched away f
rom Jill to grab a juice box. Simon wiggled down into his mom’s lap and clapped his hands. Jill handed him a cracker and then wrapped her hands around his tiny bare feet.
Audrey sighed as she took a bite of her sandwich. She only tolerated the whole-wheat bread from Jill’s house. Caye knew she was wishing she had peanut butter and grape jelly on white, instead of hummus on wheat.
The muscles in Caye’s stomach began to relax. She fell back on the blanket and looked at the blue, blue sky. A single white wisp of a cloud floated overhead. The dark burgundy leaves from the flowering plum trees flickered in the breeze. The sun warmed her face.
“This little piggy went to market,” Jill said. Caye turned her head to watch Jill wiggling Simon’s bare toes.
When Caye called her mother on Mother’s Day, Bev listened as Caye talked about Jill.
“Do you want us to come down, honey, to help? Your dad and I could.”
Caye hadn’t even considered that. The thought was tempting.
“Wait,” she said. “Let’s see how things go. I might need you to come down later even more.”
In the park with Jill and the kids, Caye felt as if they might not need Bev at all. Maybe Marion would come up for some sort of reconciliation, but besides that they could make it on their own. Caye, with Rita’s help and meals from the Fellowship, could handle the childcare and attending to Jill.
Jill will get better. She will recover. We will go on like this for years, surrounded by kids, someday by grandchildren. We are being tested, reminded not to take any of life for granted. We are learning our lesson. Were all being healed spiritually by Jill’s illness.
Caye’s confidence deepened. Jill wants to get better, more than anything. She is the woman with a plan, the woman who makes things happen. Today is a turning point. The chemotherapy has begun to work. Jill will tackle any issues that might hinder her healing. We will all move forward.
Caye looked into Jill’s pale, cheekbone-framed face. Caye was aware, again, of how thin her friend was, except for that puffy belly. Her blue eyes were bigger than ever.
22
It was Saturday afternoon, and Jill sat in the window seat, looking out over the garden. The bearded irises were blooming against the fence—purple, blue, and white. Their first spring in the house, Marion had told her that in Pennsylvania they pulled the bearded irises out because they were too prolific.
“I didn’t know you gardened,” Jill had said to her.
“I did in Pennsylvania. My father liked to garden. I tended it after he died.”
“But you didn’t like it,” Jill stated.
“No, I did,” Marion answered with a frown. “Especially yanking plants out.”
Jill did as little pulling as possible in her garden. Dividing and replanting, yes, and selective thinning. Destruction of plants, no.
The wisteria was in full bloom. The clematis over the rock fountain in the far corner was just starting to bud. In a matter of days it would be covered with deep-purple five-petal flowers.
The garden looked like a painting. A perfect balance of shapes, colors, and textures. Her eyes teared as she looked out the window. The ceiling fan was on, and the windows were raised. She could feel the heat of the day and smell the sweet, warm scent of the flowers.
At times she’d felt guilty for all she had—her husband, three children, the house, the yard, living in Ashland, the Fellowship, her friendship with Caye. She’d felt so loved. So blessed.
She didn’t know anyone as blessed as she was.
Did the cancer eradicate all that?
A tear welled over her eyelid.
No. She was still loved. Another tear escaped. Still blessed.
Jill wiped at her eyes with the back of her right hand.
Caye had taken the boys to Andrew’s game. Rob was out for a run. It was too quiet. Too lonely.
She felt irritated and on edge when the boys were home—depressed and lonely when they were gone.
Scout whined at the back door. She stood and let the dog out.
Caye held both of Simon’s hands, hovering above him, gently guiding from foot to foot, side to side, as he practiced his walking over the grass toward third base. Liam, Hudson, and Audrey ran back and forth under the bleachers.
It was midafternoon and hot. Caye felt sweat drip down the back of her knees. She’d called Jill about taking Hudson and Liam. When she got to the house, Simon had just gotten up from his nap. Rob was off on a run.
“I’ll take Simon, too,” Caye said. She could tell Jill wanted to have Simon stay, but it was hard for her to handle him.
“Whose baby?” one of the moms asked as Caye climbed onto the bleachers with Simon. Maybe he would let her sit for a minute or two.
“My friend Jill’s,” Caye answered.
“The one with cancer?”
Caye nodded. She had told some of the baseball mothers Jill’s story when Jill was first diagnosed.
“Your friend the artist?” the mom sitting behind Caye asked. “The one who was pregnant last year?” Jill had done a ceramic project with Andrew’s class when she was seven months along with Simon.
“That’s the one,” Caye answered.
“How old is she?” the first mom asked.
“She’s thirty-four,” Caye answered.
The women asked how many kids, what the diagnosis was, what the prognosis was.
Caye felt as if she were dramatizing the situation. Three kids turning five, three, and one. Pancreatic cancer. A l-in-287 chance of living one year.
No, she wasn’t dramatizing it.
“How’s her husband doing?” the woman sitting behind Caye asked. “He’s hanging in there,” Caye answered.
“Let me take the baby,” the woman next to Caye said as she reached out her arms.
Simon smiled and leaned toward her.
Caye passed Simon over. She could feel her emotions shift and settle. It felt cathartic to talk about Jill’s cancer. She was also aware of how altruistic she appeared. She was the good friend. She was admired for her loyalty, for her devotion.
On the surface the admiration felt good, but taken deeper, it annoyed her. What else would she have done but care for Jill and her family? There was nothing to be admired. It was simply the right thing to do.
On the other hand, the concern of the baseball moms warmed her. Their authenticity was a universal trait of mothers. But she also knew they felt relieved that some other mom, and not them, was facing such a horrible ordeal, a mother’s worst nightmare.
During the last inning, Caye walked Simon up and down the edge of the field. She heard yelling and looked up to see Jason, who was playing shortstop, in right field, throwing the ball to second. The player was safe. Andrew looked befuddled.
“Oh, Andrew,” Hudson yelled in disappointment and then ran back under the bleachers to where Audrey and Liam were digging in the dirt.
After the game was over, Andrew walked slowly from the outfield.
“Andrew Beck,” the coach bellowed, “you didn’t even try to catch that fly ball. It was coming right at you.”
Andrew pushed his glasses up on his nose. Caye swung Simon up into her arms.
“It would help if you’d make it to practice.” The coach yanked off his hat and ran his hand through his sweaty, thinning hair. Caye felt her face redden.
“My fault,” she said, striding quickly over to the coach with Simon bouncing on her hip.
“Was it also your fault he didn’t catch the ball?” the coach demanded, looking down at her.
“Let’s go, Mom,” Andrew whispered, tugging on her shorts.
The coach marched away with his baseball cap still in his hand. Caye’s temper surged as she watched the back of his balding head.
“Let’s go,” Andrew said, pulling on her wrist.
It wasn’t just that the coach had yelled. It was that she regretted that Andrew had m
issed the baseball practices but felt helpless to make them a priority.
Caye wished Nathan weren’t coaching middle school baseball. He should be here for Andrew. For both the practices and the games. There’s no way the coach would have treated Andrew that way with Nathan around.
When they reached the house, Andrew rushed into his room and slammed the door.
Caye took a Tums and fixed hot dogs for dinner while Simon played in the Tupperware drawer and the other kids turned the backyard picnic table into a covered wagon.
When she called Andrew for dinner, he was sitting on his bed, popping the heads off his LEGOs men.
“Did you try to catch the ball?” she asked. As long as he tried, that was what mattered.
“I never saw the ball,” he answered. “Not until Jason ran over me.”
“I hate playing baseball. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
Caye thought of Jill having Hudson quit preschool. There was no way Nathan would allow Andrew to quit, not in the middle of the season, not even if he hated it, not even if it would make life significantly easier for Caye.
“We’ll talk about it later,” Caye said, “with Daddy.”
“How was your baseball game yesterday?” Jill asked Andrew.
“I got put out at first. We lost. And I missed a pop fly.”
“Did you have fun?”
Andrew pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked at Nathan. “Not really.”
Caye had brought chicken to barbecue for lunch for the two families. The other Fellowship members had left.
“Want to go for a walk?” Rob asked Nathan. “Scout needs some exercise. We can take the little boys, too.”
Jill imagined Rob’s frustration as he wrestled the double jogger stroller out of the garage and put Liam and Simon in it. “If you go by Starbucks, bring me back a latte,” Jill heard Caye call after the guys as they headed down the hill. Caye stayed outside; Jill decided she was probably starting the grill.
Andrew, Hudson, and Audrey banged out the front door to play in the yard. They’d been playing Oregon Trail the last few days—a game inspired by Andrew’s southern Oregon history unit at school. Jill imagined Liam falling off a wagon.
