Garden of Dreams

by Leslie Gould

  She sipped the ice water that Caye had left on the end table. It tasted like metal. She felt like a machine falling apart piece by piece. Hardly human.

  Hardly human. That was what she used to call Marion twenty years ago.

  “What do I do, God?” she asked in a whisper. “I really don’t think Marion has anything to offer me.” Hardly human.

  Jill thought of Gideon throwing out the fleece. “How about if I just call her, okay? I’ll call her and see what happens from there.”

  Caye had planned Simon’s birthday dinner. She asked Nathan to stop on the way home and buy a salmon to grill. She asked Rob to pick up the cake at the bakery and a gift for Simon at the drugstore at the same time he got Jill’s prescriptions. Caye was too tired to make a cake. And she was tired of birthdays. Years from now, when she looked back on this time, would she remember the birthdays? Audrey’s, then Liam’s, now Simons, and Hudson’s next week? Why did Jill have all of her babies at the same time of year? This month of all months. All these celebrations of life amidst the pain and suffering and threat of death. All these birthdays and a new baby, growing, dividing cell by cell while Jill’s cancer did the same.

  Andrew was home from school. A friend’s mom had dropped him off. Caye felt guilty for not being there to pick him up the last day, but she didn’t want to leave Jill alone. And Jill was right; it was harder to find people to come in to help now. She’d called Rita and Gwen. Both were busy. She didn’t bother calling Joya.

  Caye sat at Jill’s mahogany table. Andrew, Hudson, and Audrey were playing in the backyard. Caye could hear Scout barking. Jill slept on the couch.

  Caye tried to pray. “Heal her,” she pleaded out loud. “Please heal her.” She struggled with God, wrestled. All she could pray were those three words. “Please heal her.”

  What will Rob do? What will the boys do? Why would God choose not to heal her? Caye felt frantic. Her face was twisted in pain. She buried her head in her arms on the cold, bare tabletop.

  “I called Marion this afternoon,” Jill said. “She’s coming tomorrow.

  Rob froze with his fork, loaded with salmon, in midair. Caye put her glass down with a clatter against the glass tabletop.

  “Where will she stay?” Rob asked.

  “I think she should stay at Caye and Nathan’s.”

  Rob’s eyes got big. “Sweetie,” Rob said, “maybe Nathan wouldn’t like that.”

  “Mom and Dad are coming too,” Caye said, looking at Nathan and then at Rob. “We need more help.”

  “How about if they all stay at Caye’s and Caye and Nathan stay here?” Jill interjected.

  Rob looked at Nathan.

  “It would be the best thing for the boys. They need Caye around—they don’t need Marion,” Jill continued.

  “What do you guys think?” Rob looked from Nathan to Caye and back to Nathan.

  “It might work,” Nathan said.

  Caye nodded.

  Simon sat in his highchair and squished a piece of garlic bread in his fist.

  Jill took a bite of salmon. It had no taste. She tried the watermelon. It felt good in her mouth but was hard to swallow. She took a sip of broth from the traveling mug Caye was constantly putting in front of her. This feels like a Last Supper.

  The kids were playing house under the wisteria. Jill moved to the lounger and pulled her afghan around her. She knew she was drifting, moving away.

  She listened to the children play. Audrey was the wife and Hudson the husband. Liam was the baby. Andrew, who didn’t really want to be playing, was Hudson’s boss.

  Jill thought about all the positive thinking she’d done—she’d imagined her body healing, the cancer cells shrinking, the good cells taking over. She’d visualized next Christmas, another moms-and-kids’ trip to Disneyland—this time with Simon, too. She’d created a trip to Paris with Rob in her mind. Imagined the boys in high school and graduating from college, getting married, having kids someday. She’d imagined it all, over and over, during the last seven weeks.

  Jill turned her head toward Caye clapping. Nathan was helping Simon walk. The baby held on to just one finger. Simon laughed and swung his other arm as he marched along. Nathan slowly slipped his fingers from Simon’s grasp and the baby kept on going.

  Jill smiled. “Rob, grab the camera.” Rob was already to the kitchen door.

  Simon fell.

  “Up you go, big guy,” Nathan said. They started again.

  Rob hurried down the deck stairs with the camera and began filming. Simon fell on his bottom again, clapped his hands together once, laughed, and got back up. He turned and headed to Jill. Rob turned the camera on Jill and caught her full-face smile. “Come on, baby,” she laughed. “Come to Mommy.”

  Simon swung his arms, his diapered bottom covered by purple shorts bobbed below his orange-striped shirt. He reached the lounge, and Jill slowly pulled him beside her. She smelled his sweaty hair, sucking it in against her lips, against her mouth, like cotton candy ready to melt. Simon sat on the cushion and clapped his hands. She wanted to breathe him in, breathe him back inside her, to when she was well, when they were all safe. God, don’t take me from my baby, from my boys. If she died, Simon would never remember her. Neither would Liam. Only Hudson.

  She struggled to inhale as she looked up into the video camera that partially covered her husband’s face, and then past Rob to Caye and on to Nathan. She looked back at Rob; he put the camera down. They were all crying. Tears were streaming down their cheeks.

  They know I’m going to die. This is the moment.

  “Why are you all crying?” Audrey asked.

  “Because Simon just learned how to walk,” Jill said, wiping her own eyes and then pulling Audrey to her. Rob, Nathan, and Caye all walked over to the lounger. Rob hugged her, pulling in Audrey and Simon. Nathan patted her shoulder. Caye sat on the other side. Liam, Hudson, and Andrew all milled around their feet. Jill wished they could stay that way in the garden, all together, all connected. She imagined how they all looked—the image of love and friendship and faith. Of hanging on and letting go.

  That night a full moon rose outside the bedroom window. Jill opened the curtains so she could see it in the night sky from her bed. A pirate moon, Jill thought. A pirate moon for the boys.

  She thought about the life she thought she’d always have: the bed-and-breakfast after the kids were grown, the grandchildren, the trips. All these years she’d been determined not to get the pan-cre-at-ic can-cer. But even in her worst fears, when she remembered her mothers dire warnings, she thought, if she did get it, that she’d be in her sixties or seventies, late fifties at the earliest. By then, surely they’d have a cure. If not, her children would be raised. She’d be a grandmother.

  She and Rob had talked with Hudson and Liam as they put them to bed. They all sat on the bottom bunk and whispered because Simon was asleep. “Mommy’s really sick,” Rob said.

  “I know,” Hudson said.

  “We’re still praying God will heal her,” Rob added.

  “I know,” Hudson said. “When is God going to do that?”

  “Yeah. When?” Liam echoed.

  “We don’t know,” Jill answered. “Sometimes God heals people on earth. Sometimes he heals them by allowing them to die.”

  “To die?” Hudson asked.

  The conversation was harder than Jill thought it would be.

  “We don’t know,” Rob said. “But Mommy’s sick. Really sick. We want you to know that. She’s been getting sicker this last week.”

  “When are you going to die?” Liam asked.

  Jill looked at Rob. He looked horrified. Jill smiled. Liam started to laugh.

  Hudson began to cry. “Who will take care of us?”

  Rob pulled Hudson onto his lap. “I will.”

  “Who else?”

  “Auntie Caye will help,” Jill added.

  “Are you r
eally going to die?” Hudson was sobbing.

  “Hudson, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

  “When?” Liam asked again and started to giggle.

  “That was horrible,” Rob said after the boys finally slept.

  “It was okay,” Jill said. “They’re little kids. Liam doesn’t understand. Hudson’s starting to. It makes me so sad.”

  “I’m going for a run,” Rob said. “I need to get out of here.”

  She watched the moon climb in the sky.

  She heard Rob come in the back door and head to the bathroom. She heard the water in the shower.

  Relieved, she bade the moon good night and closed her eyes.

  She felt Rob’s hand against her arm, groping for her hand. She moved it toward him. He held it gently. Sometime in the night she was aware that he was sitting up in bed. Maybe he’s watching the moon, she thought. But she didn’t wake enough to look into his face.

  All things. She thought of the verse she’d learned so many years ago in junior high group—the first portion of Scripture that she memorized. “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

  Even die? She drifted back to sleep.

  Rob called Caye in the morning. “I’m staying home,” he said.

  “Oh,” Caye answered. What would she do all day? She wondered. Quickly she answered herself—take Andrew to school, get the house put together for Marion and Bev and Hank. Wash the sheets. Buy some groceries.

  “When will you be over?” he continued.

  She shifted her thoughts again. She’d get the sheets in the wash. “How about if I come in an hour?”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s Jill?”

  “I think she’s giving up.” Rob paused. “She thinks we should call hospice.”

  Caye walked to the kitchen window and looked out on her yard. The grass was browning. The garden looked parched. She needed to water before she left. “Then we should. She’s the one who knows.”

  “Well, I can’t do it,” Rob said. “Marion’s flying in at 11:30. I’ll go get her.”

  Caye dropped Andrew off at school, rushed back, stripped the beds, started the washer, loaded the dishwasher, and threw a few changes of clothes for the whole family in a sports bag. She thought of the baby growing inside of her. Her bittersweet blessing. Her waistband was tight. She needed to buy maternity shorts.

  The hospital bed arrived right after Rob left for the airport. They set it up against the bay window. Jill took the clipboard from the delivery man and signed her name. The man grunted and headed out the door.

  Caye made the bed and brought pillows in while Jill sat on the couch. All five of the kids piled on—even Simon, with Andrews help—and jumped up and down. Hudson pushed a button, and the bed rose. Liam squealed. Caye started to stop them. Hudson pushed the button again.

  “Don’t,” Jill said as she sat on the sofa. “They’re christening it.”

  Caye sat back down on the couch.

  Jill knew Caye thought she was being too lenient. Or would have. Maybe those things didn’t matter now. Jill looked at the bed. She thought of her father. She wondered how much he’d suffered. It was a week before Christmas, right before vacation started. Jill woke up one morning and he was gone, gone from the daybed in the living room, gone from her life.

  “They took him away during the night,” Marion had said. “He passed on.”

  For years Jill wondered if “they” would take her away some night too. It wasn’t until she was nine or ten that she understood what “passed on” meant. It wasn’t until her late teen years that she fully grieved over her father’s death.

  29

  Rob and Marion arrived just minutes after Hank and Bev pulled up. Jill raised the hospital bed to a sitting position. Hank shook Robs hand vigorously and then gave Jill a quick kiss on the forehead. “I need me some coffee,” he said and headed to the kitchen. Caye followed him, while Bev sat beside Jill and spoke softly.

  Marion stood at the foot of the bed and stared at her daughter.

  “Hi, Mother,” Jill said quietly. “I’m glad you came.”

  “It’s like night and day, how she looks,” Hank said to Caye. “When were all of you over? Three weeks ago?”

  “Two weeks ago, Daddy,” Caye answered pulling a mug out of the cupboard. “All I have is decaf.”

  “You’re drinking decaf?”

  She poured the coffee and handed it to her dad.

  “Oh, that’s right, because of the baby. Your mama told me. Congratulations.”

  Caye had called Bev the night before and told her the news, asking her mom not to make a big deal about it when they came.

  Caye poured another cup of coffee for herself and sat down beside her father. She missed the caffeine. She’d had headaches all week, but she figured she’d already ingested more than she should have for the entire pregnancy. She was limiting herself to just one cup of regular each morning.

  She’d fed the kids macaroni and cheese for lunch. She had no idea what she’d feed the grownups. Summer had called yesterday evening and backed out of the meal she’d promised to bring. Rita hadn’t called in two days. Caye hadn’t heard from Joya since Sunday.

  To Caye’s surprise, Gwen had called and asked what she could do. Caye said the grocery shopping needed to be done. Gwen said she’d be by for the list early in the afternoon.

  There wasn’t much food in the house—just a little bit of leftover salmon and rice from the night before.

  “Did you and Mom have lunch?” Caye asked her dad.

  “You know your mom,” Hank said. “She packed a lunch for all of us to eat here—enough for everyone. Even made those Jell-O things for the kids. That’s why we were late.” He took a swallow of coffee. “This is pretty good for decaf.”

  Rob walked into the kitchen. “That bed looks pretty fancy,” he said to Caye. “I hate it.”

  “Why don’t you take Marion over to our house?” Caye said to her mother after lunch. “To rest.”

  “I want to go,” Audrey whined. “I want to go with Grandma.”

  Bev and Hank ended up taking Andrew and Hudson, too. They all piled into the Suburban. Hank drove. He had a big smile on his face. “I could get used to this,” he said. “This is quite a rig.”

  Rob took the little boys upstairs for their naps and then went into his office to make some business calls.

  Jill patted the side of the bed. “Sit down,” she said to Caye. “You’re on your feet too much.”

  Caye sat. Jill scooted over. Caye leaned back on the bed. Jill had it tilted just slightly.

  “Thanks for everything you’re doing. You’ve been more than a sister to me.”

  “Thanks,” Caye said as sadness flowed through her. “And ditto.” Please, don’t say any more.

  Jill took a deep, ragged breath. There was a faint knock on the door.

  Caye swung her feet off the bed. She peered through the lace curtain as she walked to the door. It was Gwen.

  Jill heard Caye say, “Hello, Gwen.” Had Gwen come to confront her for her sin, for her lack of faith, for her cancer? For getting worse?

  “Have you come to chastise me?” Jill asked Gwen, who stood at the side of the bed.

  “For what?” Gwen asked. “For not getting better.”

  “No,” she said slowly, “I came to do your grocery shopping.” Caye pulled the list out of her pocket.

  “I don’t believe you’re going to keep getting worse,” Gwen said, turning toward Jill. Gwen took a deep breath. “I still believe you’re going to get better, but if you don’t, I want you to know that I’ve been blessed by you. I really have.”

  “Thanks,” Jill said and reached out and squeezed Gwen’s hand. She suppressed a giggle as she thought of Gwen’s face covered with the dots from the permanent red marker. What if she got better? Would Gwen still want her to know that she’d b
een a blessing?

  The giggle turned into a choke. She missed Joya; she wished it were Joya saying those words to her.

  Gwen bent down and kissed Jill’s cheek. “I’d better go,” she said. Caye walked out on the front porch with Gwen.

  There had been other times when Joya chose not to come around. She kept her distance after both Liam and Simon were born. Thomas had visited right away, bringing Louise, but not Joya.

  None of them had come for Jill’s traditional New Year’s Eve party last year, for the big millennium party. It was another time Jill felt that Joya had drifted away from them. “I think she really expects something catastrophic to happen,” Rob said.

  Jill understood Joya’s fears. Jill was a little embarrassed to admit, and had only told Caye, that she had a drum of water in the basement and enough food to last several weeks. There was no reason not to plan for a disaster. It could be an earthquake as easily as a worldwide economic crash, she told herself. But no kind of fear would keep her away from her friends, from the people she loved.

  The evening of the New Year’s Eve party, Summer joked that if anything bad happened they could all move in with Jill and Rob. Jill, honestly, was warmed by the thought.

  Rob was tense about the possible ramifications of Y2K on his work. He was anxious to know if all the programs he’d updated over the last year would come through intact. He breathed easier as 9 P.M., 10 P.M., and 11 P.M. passed. The East Coast, Midwest, and Mountain Time accounts were all secure. Only the West Coast clients remained.

  Jill poured champagne for the toast. As midnight struck they all raised their glasses in a communal toast. “Kiss the person you love the most—,” Jill said as Robs cell phone rang. Rob snatched it up and headed to his office, taking the stairs two at a time. I must have been off a minute or two on the toast, Jill thought, as she stood alone without a husband to kiss, as the group greeted the New Year.

  The call was from a Sacramento insurance company whose software had crashed. Rob had it fixed, via phone calls, by the next morning. “It wasn’t that big a deal,” he said. “They had a backup. I almost felt like their systems guy was trying to make me look bad.” Even though he said it wasn’t a big deal, Rob took it to heart. It added to his discontentment with his job. He started talking about moving back to Argentina, saying he wanted more adventure in his life.