CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MALLORY
I TRY TO HIDE MY horrified reaction when I walk into Sheila’s room. Unfortunately, I’m not a very good actress and she catches on quickly.
“It’s all right. I know I’m dying. It’s not a newsflash. After all, I’m in hospice. That’s what you’re supposed to do here,” she says with a weak smile.
I set down the gift bag and reach over to give her a hug. Sheila is nothing but skin and bones. She has dark circles under her eyes and she’s ghostly pale. “Hey, whatever happened to the plan of eating nothing but junk food? I thought you were planning to binge on homemade macaroni and cheese and lasagna.”
Sheila coughs and struggles to catch her breath. “Yeah, that was the plan — but it turns out pain medication makes me almost as sick as chemo did. Of course, it doesn’t help when the cancer decides to spread everywhere.”
My stomach rolls from sensory memory. I will never forget the hours I spent throwing up. “Is there anything I can do?” I ask, but I can’t help but feel my question is incredibly lame, given the circumstances.
“There isn’t a lot anyone can do. Basically, they have me on as much anti-nausea medicine as I can tolerate. They’ve offered me a feeding tube but that kind of defeats the purpose since I’m here to die. When I get too tired of coping with it, I ask for more pain medication so I sleep through the nausea.”
Sheila tries to smile brightly as she picks up the gift bag. “Did you bring me presents?”
I nod as I blink back tears. “I did. I figured you were probably bored with TV. A friend of a friend, Haley, who had Ewing’s sarcoma, swears coloring makes everything better.”
“That’s awesome. I’ll have to try it — because if I have to watch any more reality TV, I think I will go insane.”
Sheila takes a look at the coloring book and the pens. “Look at these pictures! They even have your favorite cherry blossoms. How did you know to get me metallic pens?”
I shrug. “I guess I figured it was a natural match. You’ve always shone a little brighter than the rest of us.”
“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me,” Sheila says, choking back tears.
I dig through my purse and pull out an envelope. “I’m glad you like it, but it’s not the coolest thing I brought you today.”
I can’t hold back my emotion as I hand her the envelope.
With shaking hands, Sheila pulls out the single sheet of paper and reads it. She starts to cry and reads it again.
“Does this say what I think it says?” she asks as she looks up at me.
“Yes, this is the statement from the new District Attorney asking for Marshall Todd’s conviction to be overturned and that he not be retried. Both sides have met with the judge in the case and he is expected to honor the request.”
“Are you saying this will be over?”
“It looks like it. Of course, we won’t know for sure until all the paperwork is signed and Marshall Todd walks out of jail — but all indications are this fight is over. You did it!”
Sheila slumps back against her pillow. Tears are flowing out of the corners of her eyes and down onto the pillow. She struggles to set the bed up and take a drink of water. She looks at me directly and asks, “How is your battle going?”
“I had a scare a while back from something as stupid as a cold. But things are looking fantastic now. My blood work is normal, all the pathology looks great. My mammography and ultrasound were as good as they could be under the circumstances. Of course, they can’t declare me to be cancer free for several more years — I seem to have beaten breast cancer into submission.”
“And things with your pretend husband?” She asks as she starts to fall to the side.
Scooting closer to the bed I prop up her pillows before I hold up my engagement ring. “I decided I liked his job performance so well, I wanted him to apply for the job permanently,” I tease.
“Was his proposal totally romantic?”
“You could say that, I guess. We asked each other at the same time. He was going to give me a ring, but I beat him to the punch.”
Sheila laughs. “How thoroughly modern of you! How did your knight in shining armor deal with that little development?”
“He waited his turn like the gentleman he is,” I answer with a grin.
Sheila coughs so hard, she begins to throw up in the little blue bag she was holding in her lap. The sound of her retching brings back so many painful memories for me I have to look away. When she’s done, she calls for the nurse. The exertion leaves her breathless.
The nurse silently gives her a wet washcloth and her toothbrush. When Sheila is finished, she looks at me with the most anguished expression I’ve ever seen. “Mallory, I’m so tired.”
“I understand. I remember how exhausting all of that is,” I comment as I gently squeeze her hand.
She closes her eyes and takes a shallow breath. “No, I’m just tired of it all.”
“I don’t think anybody blames you, Sheila. Everyone understands you’ve fought an incredible battle.”
“No more battles to fight, thanks to you,” Sheila says as she exhales.
“I didn’t do much. You are the hero,” I whisper as I rub my thumb across the back of her hand.
“Only because you let me.” Sheila’s speech fades away. Her eyes close and everything is still.
I watch for a moment, hoping against hope what I know is true is somehow a figment of my imagination. But, even as I pray, I know it’s too late. My friend is gone. Cancer won this round.
Carefully, I remove the letter from the District Attorney from beside Sheila and tuck it back in my purse. It is a tangible reminder of why Sheila fought as long as she did.
As they always are, Sheila Taylor’s celebration of life is a profoundly sad affair mixed with bursts of happiness and moments of levity. I’m profoundly moved by the number of people from the center where we received our chemotherapy treatments. There are dozens and dozens of patients, nurses, administrators and even doctors here to pay their respects to Sheila. Some of them brought copies of her favorite magazines and movie posters. Others brought decks of cards and her favorite slippers.
Rocco is quietly rubbing my lower back as I sit in the pew of the church nervously waiting my turn. I turn and whisper in his ear, “I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can,” he replies. “Stella asked you to, and it’s what Sheila would’ve wanted.”
“I don’t do this kind of thing,” I hiss under my breath.
“I know you don’t, but today you can. It’s for Sheila.”
The minister nods at me. I stand up and smooth my black dress down. I run my hand through my short pixie hairstyle. I swallow hard as I struggle to find my voice in front of all these people. But then I realize most of these people are my friends. Friends I never imagined I would make — but friends, nonetheless.
I clear my throat before I adjust the microphone down to my height. “I thought I knew who Sheila Taylor was long before I met her. I had read hundreds of pages of news stories, school records and court transcripts. I thought I knew who she was. Honestly, I had pegged her as a coward. Someone who had wrongly accused someone of a crime. I wasn’t sure why — I thought maybe she was looking to get famous or maybe she wanted to extort money from his family. Either way, I was pretty certain I didn’t like Sheila Taylor.”
Sheila’s father stands up in the back of the room and shouts, “How dare you say any of that stuff about my daughter. Don’t you respect the dead?”
Stella stands up and pulls her father back down into his seat. “Oh shut up, Dad! It’s not like you haven’t said that and tons of other things that were a million times worse about Sheila. You know there’s more to the story. Let her tell it!”
I smile gratefully at Stella. “You’re right, there is more to the story — much more. As Sheila and I both learned the hard way, life has a way of surprising you when you least expect it. I was d
iagnosed with breast cancer. Unlike Sheila, I was lucky. I was diagnosed incredibly early because I did a favor for a friend.”
“Lucky you,” grouses Sheila’s dad.
“Shh!” Stella whispers.
“No, if I were in your shoes, I would feel the same way. In fact, as Sheila’s friend, some days I wonder why I am cancer free and she lost her battle. Anyway, my very first day of chemotherapy, Sheila reached out to me to help teach me the ropes. Of course, then I didn’t know who she was. But after she introduced herself, I had to reconcile who I thought she was with the person sitting in the chair across from me fighting the same battle.”
I swallow hard and take a drink of water from the bottle sitting on the podium.
“At first, I wondered if I should even tell her who I was or that I knew anything about her past. Yet, I decided ethically I had a duty to say something. So I did. I was afraid she wouldn’t talk to me anymore. I was surprised when she not only talked to me, but she was brutally honest about her role in the imprisonment of Marshall Todd. She made it her mission to set the record straight and try to get his conviction overturned before she passed away.”
I draw in a deep breath and wipe my eyes before I continue. “Unfortunately, we’re not quite there yet. But I was able to unearth enough evidence to convince the DA to recommend that the conviction be set aside and Marshall Todd not be retried. At this point, it looks like the judge’s signature is a mere formality. So, the young woman I thought was a coward who didn’t care about justice fought until the very end to do the right thing, fix a miscarriage of justice, and set a man free. I am honored to have called Sheila Taylor my friend and I will miss her as I know all of you will.”
As I turn to leave the stage, Stella runs up on stage and gives me a hug. “Thank you, thank you so much. You don’t know the gift you gave my sister. You may not have been able to cure her cancer or make her pain go away, but you gave her a voice — a voice she hadn’t had in almost a decade. Even though she was ravaged by cancer, exercising her voice gave her a sense of freedom no words can explain. Thank you for believing in my sister.”
I hold Stella close as I whisper, “That belief went both ways. Sheila believed that together we could change the world, so we did. She believes in you too.”
“I know. I’m going to go to law school to help people like Marshall Todd. I think Sheila would really like that.”
“I know she would. She was so proud of you.”
EPILOGUE
ROCCO
MY MOM ALWAYS USED TO say she was bursting her buttons with pride whenever Remy or I did something noteworthy in school or on the athletic field. Until tonight, I never understood the meaning of the phrase. Yet, looking at Mallory all dressed up on stage with other journalists from all around the world, I get it now.
Marshall leans over and asks, “You think she’s nervous?”
Before I get a chance to say a word, Andre chuckles and says, “I hope she’s wearing an adult diaper. If I know my boss, she’s getting ready to pee her pants. She hates this kind of stuff.”
“Maybe so, but without her writing, I don’t think I would be sitting here beside you. I owe that woman my life,” Marshall insists.
“Yeah, she’s a heckuva writer. But, if you ask her, she’ll tell you she’s not winning this award because of her journalism skills, she’ll say it’s all the work of Sheila and she was just the vessel to make sure justice is done in a case where it was overlooked before,” Andre replies.
“All I can say is I met with a lot of reporters over the years and nobody cared enough to find out the real truth. Mallory is the only one who dug to the bottom of the case, even before she met Sheila, to find out what was really going on. I guess you can say I’m grateful to both of them. I wish I could have told Sheila in person before she passed away.”
The pain in Marshall’s face hits me hard in the gut. I could easily be in his shoes if Mallory’s cancer hadn’t been found early or if I hadn’t been able to locate her, or even if the screw-up hadn’t happened and no one had notified her of her cancer.
“Mallory spent a lot of time talking to Sheila. I’m sure she told her how grateful you were she came forward and did the right thing. That’s just the kind of person Mallory is.”
“She told me how the two of you met. Did you guys ever think about suing the hospital? Seems to me somebody should be held responsible for something like that,” Marshall suggests.
Andre reaches out and gives Marshall a high five. “I told her the same thing! She told me to mind my own business!”
I chuckle. “At first, I was upset. After all, how could they be so negligent? After a while, I decided maybe it wasn’t negligence after all. Maybe it was simply a flat-out miracle that brought Mallory and I together. There is no logical explanation for what happened, so I have to chalk it up to the hand of fate, God, or a miracle — and just be thankful I was the one to get those records and find the love of my life.”
Jaxson taps me on the shoulder “I hate to break up this mush fest, but you all might want to pay attention to what’s happening on stage —”
“… and this year’s Impact Award for Outstanding Achievement in Online Journalism goes to Mallory Yoshida. She is being recognized for her in-depth reporting on a case that had disappeared from social media and the front pages of the news. The people in the story could’ve easily been forgotten were it not for the efforts of Ms. Yoshida. Because of her excellent reporting, a wrongful conviction was overturned, and the defendant was released and reunited with his family. The real story was told and to the extent possible, a wrong was made right. The editorial board for this award had a chance to meet with Ms. Yoshida. I have to tell you, she is one of the most reluctant winners we have ever had. Not because she is ashamed of the work she did. She is not. She is proud to have helped restore some justice in a case where there was very little. But she wants the credit to go where it belongs — to a witness who at the time of the trial had very few choices and felt that her voice was being ignored. That witness chose to come forward and push for the truth to be told. Ms. Yoshida insists her role was quite minimal. We’ll let you decide. I present to you Mallory Yoshida, winner of the Impact Award for Outstanding Achievement in Online Journalism.”
Mallory steps forward and tucks her hair behind her ear. “First, I’d like to thank my fellow journalists for this award. It means the world to me. You’ll all be very thankful that this speech is quite short. The last time I had to give a speech I rambled on for what seemed like forever. I just want to thank my colleagues at Word Soup, PNW for sticking beside me when things got dicey there for a while. Cancer is no joke. I want to thank Andre for being the best assistant ever.”
Andre fist pumps in the audience. “Woot, I got a shout out!” he exclaims under his breath.
“Even though she’s no longer here, I want to thank Sheila Taylor for sticking to her guns and telling the truth even when it was hard. I want to thank Marshall Todd for being gracious under circumstances under which most of us would be anything but.”
Marshall scrunches down in his seat hoping no one will notice.
“Last, I’d like to thank my fiancé and all of his phenomenal friends for being there for me in countless ways. Without your support, I’m not sure this story would’ve ever come together. Rocco Pierce, I thank God every day for the letter — even though it contained the scariest news of my life.”
I grin like a fool and give her a huge thumbs up sign as I mouth the words, ‘I love you too!’
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
Thanks for giving my book a read. If you liked reading about people who are not so stereotypical, then I’ve got good news…
More stories are coming.
Cody Erickson is tired of losing people he loves
First, it was his partner. Now, at risk kids he works with seem to be disappearing off the street.
Where do you go when you’re a police detective and no one wants to he
ar your theories about missing kids?
Cody knows one prosecutor who is tougher than anyone he’s ever met. She doesn’t take any flack from anyone. Would she be willing to listen when no one else seems to care?
Love and Injustice will be released in early 2019.
~Mary
Because love matters, differences don’t.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book like this is emotionally, physically and mentally challenging. Cancer is not an easy subject. Neither is wrongful conviction. Not every story has a happy ending. I tried my best to honor the real struggle people with cancer face while being honest about the emotions and the physical pain and suffering which accompanies such a battle. It’s also difficult to be in the caretaker role of someone who is ill. It’s important to recognize those people as well.
I want to thank all the brave people who shared their cancer stories with me — especially Patsy Brock Williams. Thank you for stepping forward and sharing information and encouraging us all to be proactive with our breast care.
I also want to thank fellow author, Tori Madison. I was about halfway through my book when I had a specific question about breast cancer treatment. During my research, I ran across Tori Madison’s gripping books Beneath It All and Beneath, You’re Beautiful. I highly recommend these phenomenal books. I binge read both of them in a single afternoon when I should’ve been writing. But beyond that, Tori took the time to answer my questions to make sure my book was as accurate as possible. I appreciate the support from another author — especially one who writes in my own genre.
My family has been incredibly helpful. My oldest son is a doctor and he no longer even blinks when I ask him for imaginary diagnoses and treatment plans for characters which only exist in my head.
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