Between Friends

by Debbie Macomber

  Bob Daniels asked me where Buck is. I told him his guess was as good as mine. I didn’t pursue the matter because I had the sinking feeling that Buck owes him money. Bob tried to flirt with me, but I’ve never liked him and quickly made an excuse to talk to someone else.

  A lot of people wondered about Jillian. She was missed. Unfortunately, the news about Monty isn’t good. The surgery was a success, but his colon was full of cancer and it’s spread to several of his organs. The surgeon removed what he could and as soon as Monty’s recovered his strength, he’ll undergo both chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Naturally Jillian is worried. She said she knew this was going to be bad and she was right. How I wish I could be with her.

  Despite my constant worry about them, I managed to have a good time. Several people asked me who I’m dating or if I’m available. I wasn’t sure how to answer. This whole dating scene unnerves me. There’s only been one man in my life. After Buck, I was terrified of getting involved again. I’ve definitely been scarred by my marriage. Anyway, taking care of my children is what’s most important right now. I am certainly capable of living my life without a man. I’ve proved that from the beginning. I could never rely on Buck.

  When my former classmates pressed me about the dating issue, I told them I preferred the quiet life. Quiet? Not likely! I have four children at home, three of them teenagers. People who believe my life is serene would probably fall for any outlandish sales pitch!

  If I were to get married again, I’d want a man like Jillian’s Monty. Or Jillian’s dad. Or Dr. Milton, who’s sane, sensible and happily married. Or Susan’s husband, Bill. (See? They do exist!)

  I refuse to think about Cole Greenberg. I built a fantasy around him and I have absolutely no idea what the real man is like.

  All in all, the reunion was wonderful, but I missed Jillian.

  JILLIAN LAWTON GORDON

  331 WEST END AVENUE

  APARTMENT 1020

  NEW YORK, NY 10023

  August 15, 1986

  Dear God,

  Let’s make a deal. Save my husband and I’ll start attending Mass again. I’ll sing in the choir. Become a lay minister, feed the hungry, do anything else You ask of me.

  Please Lord, let Monty’s body respond positively to all these horrible treatments. Don’t let him be this sick when there’s no hope.

  Cure him, Lord. I believe in miracles. Perform one now.

  Sincerely,

  Jillian Gordon

  September 16, 1986

  Dear Daddy,

  Mommy said I can’t go to the hospital to visit you. I think the rules are wrong. I want to see you. I hope you’re feeling lots better. Grandma took me to the Park and we saw a dog. Can I have a dog soon? I want to name him Blackie.

  Love,

  Leni Jo

  Dr. Steven Milton

  Doctors’ Clinic

  100 Spruce Avenue

  Pine Ridge, WA 98005

  October 12, 1986

  Dear Lesley,

  To celebrate your eight years of dedicated service, I’m giving you one week’s extra vacation. Gloria and I know that your friend in New York is going through a very rough period just now. As a thank-you for all you’ve done for my office, Gloria and I would also like to give you this airline ticket to New York.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Steven Milton, OB-GYN

  And Gloria Milton

  Park West Medical

  284 Central Park West, Suite 1A

  New York, NY 10024

  November 7, 1986

  Dear Judge Jillian Gordon,

  I’m sorry I haven’t been in the office to personally return your phone call. Perhaps that worked out for the best because it’s given me time to think over your difficult question.

  Although I was Montgomery’s primary physician before the cancer surgery, I am only one member of the medical team that is currently treating him. I understand the cancer hasn’t responded as we’d hoped to the chemotherapy and radiation. I’m very sorry to hear that. I was able to check with my colleagues and learned that Montgomery has refused any further treatments. I concur with his decision.

  Now to your question. No, I can’t persuade him to continue. Nor do I recommend any type of experimental treatment available in other countries. I can understand how painful this is for you. Unfortunately it is too late. Your husband wants to die with dignity. My suggestion is that you call a Hospice team and take him home.

  With deepest regrets,

  Dr. Larry Lyman, MD

  In Loving Memory

  Of

  Montgomery Charles Gordon

  September 22, 1932—December 23, 1986

  1989

  Jillian’s Journal

  January 1, 1989

  Mom and Leni Jo are spending the day together, and this gives me a few moments to myself. Since Monty’s death, the holidays have been especially difficult. Being alone has been a painful adjustment. I never thought I’d be a widow at thirty-eight, but then I didn’t expect Nick to die at age twenty, either. Life is full of unpleasant and unwelcome surprises.

  Even now, a little over two years after Monty died, I struggle with bitterness and self-pity. My emotions are like an undertow, and the current is deadly and silent. Just keeping my head above water is a struggle. The only one who knows how hard these past years have been is Lesley. I dare not let on to Mom or Leni Jo how I feel. For them I put on a smile and pretend.

  I’ve discovered something noteworthy about pretending. It’s a highly underrated skill. I’ve gotten quite good at it. Good enough to almost fool myself into believing I’ve adjusted to widowhood. There are days I pretend I’m happy to such a successful degree, I actually feel that way. Some days it completely slips my mind that Monty won’t be walking in the door just in time for dinner. It’s late evening before I remember that my husband and I won’t be snuggling in front of the fireplace or reading briefs together. For Leni Jo and my mom, I can pretend, but at night, when I’m alone in our bed, the reality chokes me.

  I don’t believe I’ve slept an entire night since Monty was diagnosed with cancer. Certainly not since his death. Some nights I wake and just stare at the wall. Every man I have ever loved has died. Nick, my father, my unborn son, and now my husband. But I can’t allow the losses in my life to diminish the good things. It’s times like this—when the weight of my grief nearly overwhelms me—that I pause and remember everything I do have. My daughter is my very heart, and my mother is healthy and whole. I have a satisfying career that keeps me focused and challenged. Lesley has been my best friend my entire life, and without her I don’t know what I would’ve done.

  Monty left me well enough off that I need never worry about money. I can work or not, whatever I desire. Yes, there’s been great pain in my life, but on the other hand I have much to be grateful for.

  Okay, onward and forward. This is the dawn of yet another year. Leni Jo turned eleven in November and astonishes me with her wonderful, wry sense of humor. Not surprisingly, my daughter and my mother are the very best of friends. They spend at least part of every day with each other. Often when I get home, the two of them already have dinner started. Mom is currently teaching Leni Jo to embroider tea towels and pillowcases. Their relationship is strong, bonded by love and laughter. In ways I can’t, Mom has helped Leni Jo deal with the loss of her father.

  My antidote to grief has been painting. Daddy took up oil painting after he retired, and later Mom dabbled in it for a while. When Mom moved East, she sold quite a few of Daddy’s things, rather than transport them across the country. But she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of the oils and brushes. Not knowing what to do with them, she gave the whole kit and caboodle to me. I put the equipment in a closet and completely forgot about it until just recently.

  To my surprise, I’ve discovered I enjoy painting. I don’t think I’m particularly gifted, but it calms my spirit. So far, I haven’t shown anyone my paintings (other than Leni Jo and Mom). I’ve done severa
l small canvases now and am taking classes on Saturday afternoons. It’s my one indulgence.

  I wonder what 1989 will hold. More work, of course! I’m grateful to have a demanding career, otherwise I might have allowed the tide of loss to sweep me beneath the surface. My friends are few in number, mostly peers and attorneys. My life is so hectic I can’t take the time to develop deep relationships. Lesley is and always will be my best friend.

  Soon all her children will be raised and out of the house. David’s in the Army. He enlisted last year when the military offered him a way to receive advanced computer skills. He jumped at the opportunity, certain that computers are the wave of the future. Lesley wasn’t happy, since he didn’t discuss the decision with her or anyone else. He’s stationed in California and although he misses his family, he loves the work.

  As for computers, I swear they’re taking over the world. Monty claimed that by the end of the century there’d be one in every home and I’m beginning to believe he is (was) right.

  Lindy’s a sophomore, attending Pine Ridge Community College. Her note at Christmas mentioned that she’s considering medicine, but she enjoys her drama classes, too, and joined a community theater group. It wouldn’t surprise me if she went into nursing, like her mother and her aunt Susan; perhaps she’ll even become a doctor. I’m sure Lindy could accomplish anything she set her mind to. For years Lesley said that her daughter was the one most like Buck and in some ways she’s right. But Lindy has a lot of her mother in her, too, and no one should discount her ambition and drive.

  Doug graduates from high school this year and is already talking about joining the military like his older brother. He sounds pretty determined. I doubt Lesley will be able to dissuade him.

  Christopher is in his last year of junior high and making quite a name for himself as a cross-country runner. He’s good enough to run varsity for the high school, although technically he’s still in junior high. Last spring he was eligible to compete in the state tournament. Lesley derives a lot of pleasure from attending his meets. Dr. Milton has always been very flexible and accommodating, so there’s no problem about leaving the office early to watch Christopher run.

  It won’t be long now before all the kids are gone and Lesley will be alone. I wonder if she’ll think about dating then. I hope she does—but if not, I’ll understand. I’ve been a widow for just over two years, and the thought of another relationship has no appeal. I can’t imagine that it ever will.

  Brad Lincoln

  30 Market Street

  St. Simons Island, GA 31522

  February 8, 1989

  Dear James Murphy,

  This address came from an old telephone book, so I don’t know if you’ll ever actually see my letter. I’m looking for the brother of Nicholas Patrick Murphy. The Nick I knew died in Vietnam in 1968. He often talked about his little brother, and I’m hoping you’re him.

  Let me start by introducing myself. My name is Brad Lincoln. I don’t know if you remember Nick mentioning me, but I suspect he wrote home about me the same way I did him. After all these years you’ve probably forgotten my name. I’m hoping your memory will kick in, though. Your brother was the best friend I ever had. He saved my life and died doing it. I took his death hard. The only thing that kept me sane for the next few years was the knowledge that I would’ve done the same for him had the situation been reversed.

  In the twenty-one years since Nam, I’ve married, had a couple of kids and made a decent life for myself. For the most part, I buried the experiences of war as deep inside me as I could. In other words, I did my damnedest to forget. But I want you to know I never forgot Nick. Not one day in all those years.

  Last summer I visited the Vietnam War Memorial with my wife and kids, and made a point of looking up Nick’s name while I was there. I have to tell you I got pretty broken up when I saw it. You don’t need me to tell you that your brother was a good man. An honorable man. Plenty of guys cheated on their wives and girlfriends while they were in Nam, but not Nick. He loved his Jillian heart and soul. That’s what he always used to say—heart and soul—and it was true.

  This brings me to the reason for my letter. I think Nick must’ve had an intuition about what was going to happen because he gave me something that belonged to Jillian and asked me to return it to her. He wrote a letter to go along with it. I’ve never opened the envelope.

  When I got out of the hospital and home from the war, I tried to contact her, but her mother wrote and asked that I leave her alone. It’d only been a couple of years and Jillian was just beginning to get on with her life. Her mother didn’t want me disrupting whatever peace she’d found. I understood. I always intended to deliver this to her, but set it aside and waited for the right time.

  She’s had more than twenty years to heal and so have I. At the Wall in Washington, D.C., Nick reminded me that I still hadn’t done the one thing he asked of me.

  I wrote Jillian at the address I had for her, but the letter was returned. Apparently she doesn’t have any family left in Pine Ridge. Do you know where she is and how I might reach her?

  Your help would be greatly appreciated.

  Sincerely,

  Brad Lincoln

  LESLEY KNOWLES

  March 5, 1989

  Dear David,

  It was great to hear your voice yesterday. You sounded so excited—although I have to tell you I don’t have a clue what you were talking about. I’m sorry, but the announcement of a million-transistor microchip doesn’t mean much to me. Thank you for explaining that a million transistors can fit on a surface half the size of a postage stamp, but I don’t see how that’s going to affect my life. Still, if you’re excited about this, it must mean good news for all of us.

  I know it’s more than the news from Intel that prompted your phone call. You might not think I picked up on the fact that you mentioned your girlfriend. Meagan, you said her name was? It sounds as if this is more than a casual relationship. I’d love to meet her. You like this girl, don’t you? I’ve waited a long time for you to mention someone special. We’re very much alike, David. You’re careful and deliberate in your choices, which is the same way I approach relationships. Life has taught me that. And yet…there are chances worth taking. I don’t have a great deal of experience with falling in love, but I know you didn’t come to me for advice. You’ll have to trust your own emotions. Protect yourself—but not too much.

  If Meagan’s the one to bring that smile to your voice, then I love her already. I want for you what every mother wants for her son—your happiness.

  We’re all doing fine. There’s no need to rehash the news, but I will tell you that Lindy applied for the summer session at the University of Washington in the premed program.

  Doug talked to a Navy recruiter yesterday. He’d enlist right now if it didn’t require my signature. I hope to God we don’t go to war any time soon with two of my sons in the military.

  Christopher sends his love and says he wishes you were home again. So do I.

  Some sad news. Dr. Milton’s wife was recently diagnosed with a brain tumor. Please pray for her. Both Dr. Milton and Gloria have been very good to all of us. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, since Dr. Milton isn’t one to bring his personal problems to the office, but her condition is obviously serious.

  Take care of yourself and write when you can.

  Love,

  Mom

  Leni Jo Gordon

  April 3, 1989

  Dear Exxon Company,

  The pictures on television showed what happened when your tanker spilled 11 million gallons of oil in Prince William Sound in Alaska. You should be ashamed of yourself. My mother is a judge. You’re lucky you won’t appear in her court because she’s as angry with you as I am.

  Sincerely,

  Leni Jo Gordon

  Age 11

  LESLEY KNOWLES

  May 14, 1989

  Dearest Jillian,

  Help, I’m in a panic! I just got word that t
he Army is transferring David to Panama. My son’s going to be down there with those rebels! From what the evening news said, we already have ten thousand troops in place. This is sounding scary.

  David’s work so far has been with computers, but now he’s in the field and not behind some desk. You can understand why I’m freaking out. The kids think I worry too much. How can I not?

  I’m still a little shell-shocked over David’s transfer, but your news was just as unsettling. So Brad Lincoln contacted you after all these years. Incredible! You’re going to meet him, aren’t you? Promise me you won’t let whatever he says upset you. It goes without saying that if you need to talk you can phone me anytime, day or night.

  I have an idea. Last year we both turned 40—without any fanfare. It occurred to me that it’s been ages since the two of us had any serious time together. I’m thinking white sandy beaches, piña coladas and lots of sunshine. I generally take my vacation in October, but I’m game to go whenever you can fit me into your busy schedule.

  Dr. Milton has been preoccupied with his wife’s condition and I don’t think he’ll care when I take my vacation. However, I do feel it’s important for me to be here during the next few months. Unfortunately things aren’t going well with Mrs. Milton. The tumor is inoperable and growing. I don’t need to tell you how devastating this is to their family. No one’s saying very much here at the office.

  Get back to me about a “We’re 40 Getaway” vacation as soon as possible. Let’s kick up our heels and enjoy life while we can. The one truth I’ve learned is that life is both precious and fragile and needs to be grasped with all the passion we have inside us.

  What’s that old saying? Life Begins at 40? Are you ready? Because I am!

  Love,

  Lesley

  Outside Khe Sanh in South Vietnam

  September 15, 1968