Just Once

by Lori Handeland

  ‘Oh.’ Charley’s face, which had lit up on the word Lisa, now fell. He didn’t seem to think it odd that yesterday he’d thought she was at school and now she was at camp. But, again, he’d never known their daughter’s schedule beyond what Frankie had told him.

  ‘I miss her, Fancy,’ he whispered.

  Frankie’s chest suddenly hurt so badly she couldn’t breathe. Maybe she’d have a heart attack and she wouldn’t have to do this any more.

  ‘Quit calling her that!’

  ‘Quit breathing my air.’

  ‘You need to—’

  If they had a throw down in the middle of her foyer …

  ‘Charley, Hannah is a …’ Her mouth twisted; she could barely get the rest out. ‘A friend of mine. I asked her for help. She’s been telling people she’s your wife to avoid issues with privacy and security.’

  Charley’s forehead creased.

  So did Hannah’s.

  Frankie barreled on while they were both still confused. ‘I’m not flying to Rochester.’ The idea of being locked on a plane with the two of them for a few hours was more than she could take. ‘But Charley still has the appointment with Dr Lanier. We can go to that.’

  ‘But he isn’t the b—’ Hannah began.

  ‘He’ll do for now,’ Frankie interrupted.

  Charley sat on the staircase. He was pale, and he rubbed his fingertips along his temple.

  ‘Headache?’ Hannah asked.

  Charley grunted.

  Hannah pulled a pill bottle out of her purse, started toward him, then hesitated and handed it to Frankie. ‘These should help.’ She went to the door and Frankie followed. Hannah stepped on to the stoop before turning back. ‘I’ll meet you at Lanier’s office. What time?’

  ‘Ten. He’s at Froedtert Hospital. You know where it—?’

  ‘I have GPS; that’ll get me there.’ She headed for a shiny black rent-a-Cadillac as she pulled her phone out of her purse and began to answer texts.

  When Frankie returned to the house, Charley no longer sat on the steps. The bathroom was empty, as was the living room and the kitchen. She hurried upstairs, flicking a gaze at the pill bottle.

  Hannah Blackwell. For migraine headache. One tab at onset. May take a second after two hours.

  Frankie wasn’t giving them to Charley even if they did help. How long had he been having headaches that they’d masked with meds? If they’d gone right to a neurologist would this all have been solved before he showed up on her doorstep lost in the eighties?

  They’d never know.

  Two hours later, they were on their way to see Dr Lanier. Located on the same campus as the Children’s Hospital of Wisconsin and the Medical College of Wisconsin, the place, inside and out, was a madhouse.

  The oncology department had been remodeled recently. Everything appeared glossy and new. The reception desk was a light shade of faux wood, which matched the faux wood floor. The walls were a soothing gray, decorated with photographs depicting Wisconsin – fall foliage, Lake Michigan, the capitol building at dawn.

  Charley studied them for a long time before he sat in one of the well-cushioned plastic chairs.

  Frankie placed herself between Charley and Hannah, who’d been waiting when they arrived. The two griped at each other like a pre-teen brother and sister. She nearly ordered them to opposite corners of the room. She would not have been a good mother of more than one child. Something she knew all too well. She hadn’t managed to be a good mother to the one she had.

  When the receptionist finally said, ‘You and your daughter can take him in now, Mrs Blackwell,’ Frankie couldn’t stifle the burble of hysterical laughter.

  ‘Ha ha,’ Hannah said.

  Thankfully Dr Lanier appeared to have been briefed on the entire situation as he greeted Hannah by her first name and Frankie by hers and did not try and determine who was Mrs Blackwell or who wasn’t, or even if they might both be.

  Lanier’s office decor matched that of the waiting room with a desk of pale wood, perhaps maple or faux maple; the floors were the same, complemented by pale gray walls.

  ‘Mr Blackwell.’ Dr Lanier stood and leaned over his pristine desk to shake Charley’s hand. ‘I’ve reviewed your tests.’

  He sat once more and motioned for them to take the three guest chairs.

  Again Frankie wound up in the middle.

  ‘Are you old enough to be doing this?’ Charley asked.

  Lanier didn’t look a day over twenty-five, though Frankie found it difficult to determine ages any more. She’d meet someone she thought was older than her only to discover they were younger. Of course, whenever she peeked in the mirror and saw her graying hair and well-lined face she experienced a tinge of surprise. She still felt twenty-five herself most days.

  ‘Yes, sir. I have the school loans to prove it.’

  ‘How long have you been out of school?’ Hannah asked.

  Dr Lanier didn’t appear insulted by their questions. He probably got them all the time.

  He was tall, gangly, with a prominent Adam’s apple and nose. His hands were large, his knuckles too. His hair was short, brown and pin-straight. His eyes, also brown, seemed the oldest thing about him. He’d seen a lot of sad with those eyes. Unless he changed professions, he was going to see a lot more.

  ‘I started here five years ago.’

  Which put him in his mid to late thirties depending on how long he’d interned and if he’d done any fellowships.

  ‘We had an appointment with Arnold Kettering at the Mayo Clinic,’ Hannah said.

  Lanier’s heavy eyebrows lifted. ‘You saw Arnie?’

  ‘We did not.’ Hannah’s voice was clipped.

  ‘Charley didn’t want to travel,’ Frankie said. ‘You know Dr Kettering?’

  ‘He was my supervisor. I interned at Mayo.’

  ‘I heard he’s the best,’ Hannah said.

  ‘He was until me.’

  Silence fell over the room, unbroken until Charley laughed. ‘I like a man with confidence. Especially one who’s going to be messing around with my brain.’

  ‘I’m really very good.’ Lanier turned his attention to Hannah. ‘You can ask Dr Kettering.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Why is she here again?’ Charley asked.

  ‘I’d be happy to have Arnie consult,’ the doctor continued. ‘In a case like this, I usually get his opinion anyway.’

  ‘A case like what?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘I see you served in Vietnam, Mr Blackwell.’

  ‘Call me Charley. I did, yes. What does that matter?’

  ‘I wanted to point out that there’s been a lot of research into cancers that are a result of Agent Orange. The most prevalent ones are multiple myeloma, leukemia, non-Hodgkin lymphoma, sarcomas, respiratory cancers.’

  ‘You’re saying Charley got this in Vietnam?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘Not necessarily. Though some studies are leaning toward including brain tumors and cancers on the list of diseases that are accelerated by exposure to Agent Orange, a definite link has not been made.’

  ‘Yet,’ Frankie said.

  ‘Yet,’ Lanier agreed. ‘However, we are coming to a time where the veterans of Vietnam might be getting illnesses just because of their age rather than their service.’

  ‘I’m not that old,’ Charley muttered.

  Sixty-three wasn’t that old. Of course Charley thought he was in his thirties, regardless of the evidence to the contrary.

  ‘Do you know if any of the men in your unit from Vietnam were diagnosed with cancer?’

  Charley frowned. ‘I … uh …’

  ‘One,’ Frankie said. ‘He had bone cancer.’

  ‘Multiple myeloma?’ Lanier asked.

  ‘That sounds familiar. Maybe.’

  ‘Was he African American?’

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘Multiple myeloma is more common in that population.’

  ‘Jim Colby?’ Charley asked.

  Charley had b
een the one to tell Frankie. She’d barely registered the news as it had come in the months after Lisa died, which explained why Charley didn’t remember.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He’s gone?’ Charley sounded lost again.

  Frankie could only nod.

  ‘Anyone else?’ Lanier asked.

  Frankie glanced at Hannah, who shrugged. She didn’t know anything.

  ‘Do I have a tumor or is it cancer?’ Charley asked.

  ‘A benign brain tumor is considered non-cancerous. A malignant tumor is cancerous. Most malignant brain tumors are secondary cancers, which means they’ve traveled to the brain from a primary cancer, such as breast, lung, skin or blood cancer. The PET scan you had after you were admitted to the hospital revealed no primary cancer.’

  ‘Then his tumor isn’t malignant?’ Frankie asked, getting pretty excited. A non-malignant tumor might have him on a plane and out of her life this week.

  ‘I didn’t say that. There are primary brain cancers. They’re just rare.’

  Rare in the same sentence as brain cancer could not be good.

  Frankie’s hope withered and died.

  ‘I have a rare, primary brain cancer?’ Charley asked.

  ‘I believe so. Yes.’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Without a biopsy, we can’t be sure.’

  ‘Give him a biopsy,’ Hannah ordered.

  ‘You first,’ Charley said.

  Dr Lanier shook his head. ‘No biopsy. Your tumor is in a difficult place for surgery. Removing it could cause more harm than good.’

  ‘What kind of harm?’

  ‘Vegetative state.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Charley said.

  ‘What, exactly, does he have?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘From the images we took, I recognize a tumor of the glioma group called a Glioblastoma-multiforme.’ He paused, took a deep breath and wrung his large hands together. Several knuckles popped. ‘It’s the most lethal of the glioma tumors, I’m afraid.’

  ‘How long does he have?’ Hannah’s voice was hoarse; her face now matched the gray wall behind her.

  ‘I don’t like to give life expectancies,’ Lanier said. ‘That can be pre-determinative.’

  In other words, by saying someone had three months to live, they died in three months because they, and everyone around them, expected them to.

  ‘We’ll do more tests today,’ the doctor continued. ‘Then we’ll get started on radiation, followed by chemotherapy.’

  Hannah grabbed the arms of her chair. She appeared as if she might face-plant on to the floor. She wasn’t taking this well. Not that she should, but how was she going to deal with Charley if she could barely function herself?

  ‘Are you all—?’ Lanier began.

  ‘You’re certain about this?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Even without the results of the scan, which very clearly shows the mass in the limbic system, his memory issues would make me think he had a tumor of the glioma group.’

  ‘Hold on a sec.’ Charley was rubbing his forehead again. ‘What memory issues?’

  Everyone went silent.

  Frankie sat back and flipped her hands upward. Let the supremely confident doc handle that one.

  Dr Lanier stood. ‘Why don’t you go into the exam room, Charley, and my nurse will get you set up for those tests?’

  Charley allowed Lanier to urge him toward a door that connected the office to an exam room. That Charley went without argument was almost as disturbing as his being here in the first place. The room beyond was white and chrome – electric clean – a stark contrast to the almost homey atmosphere of the office.

  Lanier handed him off to a nurse who appeared about Charley’s age, but who knew?

  The door closed behind him and Lanier returned to his seat. ‘Did you want me to finish what I was saying or did you have specific questions?’

  ‘Both.’ Frankie waved for him to continue.

  Hannah seemed dumbstruck. Had she not believed Frankie when she said Charley had a mass? Had she been expecting a specialist to say it had all been a mistake? If so, Frankie could almost feel sorry for the death of her optimism. As Frankie recalled, that really hurt.

  ‘The limbic system processes memory,’ Lanier went on. ‘The hippocampus, located in the limbic system, is responsible for the transfer of memories from short to long term.’

  ‘Could a tumor there cause someone to remember long term as short term?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Apparently, though I’ve never seen it before.’

  ‘You’ve never seen memory loss like Charley’s?’

  ‘No. It’s intriguing. The reason I’d suspect a tumor of the glioma group, even before further testing, is that those types of tumors spread along white matter pathways, resembling multiple tumors, putting pressure in multiple places and causing myriad symptoms. For instance, the temporal lobe processes faces. I suspect a spread of Charley’s tumor there, though I didn’t see it on the CT scan, which is common for small tumors. If we did an MRI, it might be visible.’

  ‘Should you do one?’

  ‘Considering Charley’s difficulty with such tests, I don’t think so. Knowing that the tumor has spread isn’t going to affect what we’ll do for it.’

  ‘Why do you think it’s spread to the temporal lobe?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘He recognizes you, but he sees you as you were, not as you are. He sees himself the same. He doesn’t recognize his wife at all. It’s fascinating.’

  ‘He’s not a lab rat,’ Hannah snapped.

  This was the most emotion Frankie had seen from her, and it was about time. The wan, pale, scared Hannah wasn’t working for her.

  ‘Of course not,’ Lanier agreed.

  Hannah’s hands, still clenched on the arms of her chair, tightened and the faux wood crunched. ‘How long does he have?’ she repeated.

  The doctor opened his mouth and Hannah continued, ‘I won’t tell him, but I need to know.’

  ‘Median survival rate of fifteen months.’

  Hannah flinched.

  ‘Four per cent survival at five years.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can do this again,’ she said.

  ‘Again?’ Lanier glanced at Frankie.

  Frankie didn’t explain about Hannah’s twin. Wasn’t her place.

  ‘He’s going to die.’ Hannah’s pupils had dilated until she looked like she was on something, and her voice seemed to have reverted two decades to the soft, shy timbre Frankie remembered.

  Frankie had thought she wanted that Hannah back, but now she wasn’t so sure. This Hannah – or was she that Hannah – seemed more like a child and Frankie had already had, and lost, the only child she ever wanted.

  ‘I’ll do everything I can to postpone that,’ Dr Lanier said.

  ‘But, eventually, he’ll die.’

  ‘Eventually, we all die. Despite every medical advance, life is still terminal.’ He stood. ‘I’m going to examine your …’ he paused, glancing back and forth between the two of them, then settling on: ‘Charley.’

  Hannah snorted.

  ‘He and I will come back in when we’re done and discuss a timetable.’

  The doctor went through the connecting door. He locked it and the click split the silence between them like a gunshot in the dead of night.

  ‘I’m sure you can get a referral from Lanier for an equally gung-ho oncologist in DC,’ Frankie said.

  ‘You think Charley’s going to get on a plane to DC any easier than he got on one to Rochester?’

  Frankie had been trying not to think about it.

  ‘He’ll have to stay here.’ Hannah’s eyes seemed less drugged; her voice had reverted to its clipped, businesslike tones.

  ‘I suppose you can work anywhere,’ Frankie said.

  ‘You suppose wrong.’

  Frankie didn’t like the way this conversation seemed headed.

  ‘Private nurses are very good these days, I hear.’ She’d heard nothing of the sort.<
br />
  ‘Be that as it may,’ Hannah murmured, and Frankie couldn’t help it, she laughed.

  Then Hannah laughed too.

  They both stopped pretty fast, but for a minute there Frankie almost liked her. It didn’t last.

  ‘Charley isn’t going to come with me; he doesn’t know me. Despite your fairy tale to explain why I’m here, he still doesn’t like me. No matter who I leave him with, he’s going to keep running back to you.’

  ‘Well, he’s not staying with me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because – well, no!’

  ‘Not a reason.’ Hannah’s hand lay atop her phone where it rested in a pouch on the side of her purse. She hadn’t taken it out yet, though she obviously wanted to.

  ‘I don’t need a reason! I am not babysitting my ex-husband.’

  ‘He thinks he’s your husband.’

  ‘That’s his problem.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes! And yours.’

  ‘I’m trying to solve it the best way I can for everyone.’

  Charley living with Frankie was definitely not the best for Frankie. If she wasn’t remembering the good times – a spontaneous Christmas day, their dinners at DelMonicos, the sex – she was remembering the bad – no example necessary. She’d started to wonder if the lure of the good times was somehow worse. She’d learned to steel herself against memories of Lisa and the child’s loss, but she’d never had to fight her fond memories of Charley. Once he’d left, he’d been Hannah’s Charley. Another man. Not her man. And she’d definitely not been fond of him.

  Now he was behaving like the love of her life again – he thought he was. What if he convinced her to think it too?

  ‘No,’ Frankie murmured, a general negation for pretty much everything that had been happening since Charley showed up at her door.

  Hannah ignored her, stroking her phone with fingernails that should have been manicured, but weren’t. ‘My magazine isn’t doing well.’

  ‘I heard.’

  Hannah’s clipped, bare, short fingernails clicked against her cell phone once. ‘Where?’ Then understanding filled her eyes. ‘Irene Pasternak.’

  Frankie shrugged. She doubted Irene was the only one who knew.

  ‘I can’t stay here.’ Hannah began to pace. ‘Even if I brought him back with me, I’d only be hiring people to deal with him, because I can’t.’