Megan's Way

by Melissa Foster

  “I’m sorry, Holly,” she said, and turned to face her friend, whose eyes welled with tears. “I’m so sorry. I just couldn’t let Olivia…let you guys, all of you, watch me fade away, piece by piece, losing my mind, my hair, my…” Her words hung in the air, not needing to be heard.

  Tears rushed down Holly’s cheeks as she pulled Megan

  Into her arms, “Oh Meggie, shh,” she said, comforting herself as much as Megan. “Meggie, I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Megan’s tears soaked Holly’s shoulder. She held on tighter, craving the embrace, letting relief wash over her, and her lies of the last few weeks be whisked away with her tears.

  “I’ve been so afraid. I just didn’t know what to do. The doctor said…” she sobbed, unable to continue.

  “I know, honey. I called in a favor, and, well, it wasn’t what the doctor told me, but what he didn’t.”

  “I’m so sorry. I should have said something but somehow I kept believing that this whole mess would go away, that it wasn’t happening to me, that if I didn’t talk about it, by some miracle, I would get better.” She turned away from Holly. “Now look at me! My god, what have I done. To Olivia? To you? To myself?”

  “Megan, can we try something else? There are all sorts of new treatments.”

  “New treatments? Didn’t the great doctor tell you? it’s in my bones, Holly—my bones for god’s sake! What are they going to do, give me new bones? This god damn disease is stealing me away piece by piece. I thought if I could just fade away quietly that it would be easier!” Megan’s voice caught in her throat. She threw her arms up toward the ceiling and cried, “Treatments—treatments give hope. There is no hope. I don’t want Olivia to watch me going through treatments again, hoping, praying that I’ll get better when I won’t.” She paced the room, stopped, turned toward Holly.

  Holly tried not to lose control, though tears flowed like a river down her cheeks. Her voice was soft, “Meg.” She reached for her, hugged her close. “Shh, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out,” Megan said quietly. “It’s already been decided.”

  They remained holding each other for what seemed like hours, until the effort was too much for Megan’s weak arms, and she let them fall to her side, allowing herself to look into Holly’s eyes. “How is Olivia?” Panic rushed through Megan’s body at the realization that Olivia knew what was happening to her. Her body began to shake.

  “She’s—” There were no words that would take away Megan’s pain. Holly missed her already although she was right there beside her. She had spent the last few hours talking with Olivia about Megan and why she thought her mother had hidden her illness. She cried with her, held her, and even absorbed much of Olivia’s anger, which surprisingly, was less than Holly had anticipated. “She’s just how you think she is, Meg,” Holly said.

  “I should have told her,” Megan said, slumping over into herself. “I just couldn’t. I didn’t want her to try and change my mind. I didn’t want her to hurt longer than she had to.” Megan sighed, looked out the window, and whispered, “I didn’t want to see her pain any longer than I needed to.” Hot tears left glistening streaks on her face.

  “What do you mean, change your mind?” Holly sat up straighter, waiting to understand.

  Megan pushed herself away, ashamed of the selfishness of her decision. Did I do this for me, or for Olivia? She summoned the will to stand, rising slowly, determinedly, but unable to pull herself fully erect. gimping past Holly to the window with her right arm holding her abdomen, she looked outside and leaned her face against the screen in front of the breeze, relishing in the coolness of it, the life in it.

  “It was my decision to stop taking the medications,” Megan admitted, turning toward Holly, ready to take her due. “The cancer came back everywhere, and there was nothing they could do. It hit me fast and hard, I guess. The lucky one, right?”

  “Oh, Meg,” Holly said empathetically.

  “The doctor said I could buy some time with meds, but Holly, it would be a slow death. It would really be just buying time, not getting better. I just…I just couldn’t do it. It was too much. I couldn’t live each day knowing I was giving everyone hope when I really just had a few months left. It was—” She couldn’t go on. The words stuck in her throat and formed an unforgiving lump.

  Holly went to her, held her again. “I know. It’s okay.” She purred, “It’s okay, Meggie.”

  “But it’s not okay!” Megan blurted out, loud and strong. Her body was driven by anger. “It’s not okay! I shouldn’t die before Olivia is even out of high school! I shouldn’t die before she is an adult! She shouldn’t have to watch me die at all! it’s not okay, Holly! it’s not!” Megan yelled. Adrenaline pumped through her body as she paced around the bedroom on her frail legs. She came to the edge of the bed, sat, and wept into her hands, spitting her words out between the tears, “It’s not okay!”

  Megan jumped when she heard Olivia’s voice, “Mom?” “Livi.” The word sounded unexpected as it left Megan’s lips.

  Olivia hurried to her mother’s side, wishing she could burrow a hole into her mother’s skin and crawl inside her. She held her tight, their grief commingled and came out as large salty tears. Olivia clung to Megan as she had the night at the police station. “Mama, I love you,” she said.

  “I know, baby. I love you, too,” Megan said, understanding the growing pain in the pit of her stomach as Olivia’s. “Olivia, I love you so much, baby, so much.”

  “Mom,” Olivia said again, barely able to speak, unable to form other words through her sadness.

  Holly snuck out of the room and downstairs to phone Jack.

  When the air around them settled, they released their grips and eased their hands into one another’s. Megan felt consumed by Olivia’s emotions: confusion, love, hurt.

  “Mama, why didn’t you tell me?” Olivia asked, her tears morphing into sniffles.

  Megan regained her composure, “Oh, Livi,” she looked sadly into her eyes, “how could I tell you that you weren’t going to have a mom anymore? I just couldn’t.” She shook her head, brought her hand up to cup Olivia’s cheek. “My baby girl—i love you so much. I didn’t want you to suffer longer than you had to.”

  “But what about you, Mom? Aren’t you…suffering?” she asked quietly.

  “Only in my heart, baby,” Megan said. “What happened?” Olivia asked.

  Megan explained about the cancer and the speed with which it had taken over her body. She told Olivia about her prognosis and the great pain that she took in making her decision to stop taking the medication and to forgo further treatment. While she relayed her battle to her daughter, she couldn’t help but second guess every decision she had ever made throughout her life. Should she have told Olivia who her father was? Should she have taken the medication? Should she have ended things with Lawrence?

  Olivia listened intently, trying to imagine her mother actually making the final decision to let herself die. She couldn’t put the picture together in her mind. She knew her mother had been sick, and it was obvious by her size and demeanor that she was not going to get better, but the thought that her mother had made that choice was too much for her to bear. She tried not to hear the rest of what Megan had to say, staring out the window and filling her head with thoughts of the previous summer instead.

  Megan continued, noticing Olivia’s vacant stare. She explained to Olivia that if she were to continue medications and try surgery, it would be weeks of hospitalizations and months of chemo and radiation, and in the end, she still wouldn’t live. As she spoke, Olivia’s facial expression didn’t waiver. Her eyes didn’t shift, her breathing didn’t hitch. She was no longer there. She’s found a safe place to hide.

  A single lonely tear slipped silently down Olivia’s cheek.

  “I’m so sorry, Olivia,” Megan said, her own eyes turning to liquid. Her voice became a whisper, “The idea of you watching me deteriorate, all th
e while hoping that I would live longer, it just—”

  Olivia leaned into her mother, resting her forehead on her chest, or what was left of it. She whispered, “Stop, Mom. I get it. I know. I can’t hear anymore.”

  Megan stroked her daughter’s head.

  “What will I do without you?” Olivia asked, the words, muffled by Megan’s chest and shirt, filled with fear.

  “You will go on, baby. You will live your life, and love your life. You will live as if I am still here.” She leaned back and put her hands on Olivia’s wet cheeks, wiping her tears with her thumbs. “Baby, I’ll still be here.” She placed her hand on Olivia’s heart. “I’ll always be here. You just won’t be able to see me.”

  “Or maybe I will,” Olivia said, and tried to force a smile. “I mean, how many other mothers feel their children’s pain, right? Maybe I will be able to see you.” Olivia had hope in her eyes.

  “Maybe, I hope so, and if there is a way, I will try, but Olivia, you must know that I want you to continue on with your life. Have a wonderful life! Do it for me.”

  “Where will I go, Mom? I mean, who will want me to live with them?” Olivia asked, letting her sad gaze drop toward the bedspread.

  They both turned at the sound of Holly’s voice. “Why, Olivia, how could you not think I would want you? I adore you. Jack adores you.”

  Olivia looked at her mother with a question in her eyes, but remained silent.

  Megan nodded her head. “Holly has always been like your mom, right? She’s been here for us always.”

  “Yeah, but—” Olivia said.

  “But what, honey?” Megan asked.

  “But they don’t have kids. I’ll be a pain to them, a burden,” Olivia said.

  Holly walked to the bed and knelt in front of Olivia. “Livi, how could you ever be a burden to me? I cherish you. I love you. We both do.”

  “Livi, we decided this long ago when you were just a little girl. Holly has always wanted you. She’s your godmother. She and Jack love you.”

  “Yeah, but—” Olivia said again. “What is it, honey?” Megan asked.

  “Do I have a dad, Mom? What if after you—you know—

  what if he comes and wants me?” Olivia asked.

  “Livi, I know that I haven’t told you much about your father—” Megan started.

  “Much? How about anything,” Olivia interrupted.

  “Okay, that’s fair. I promise you, your father will not…interrupt your life. That’s a guarantee,” Megan said.

  “But how can you know? What if I want to meet him, and I can’t because I don’t know who he is?” she asked.

  Megan eyed Holly, hoping she would catch on to the look, “When you are eighteen, Holly will tell you everything. Until then, I just think this is better. Even though you think you should know, there’s a lot of confusion that goes with things like this, a lot of responsibility. You may not be ready for it. On this, Olivia, you have to trust me.”

  Olivia relented with a sigh, not wanting to upset her mother any more than she already had.

  Holly gave Megan a look that said, What? I don’t even know who he is.

  Chapter Four

  Megan’s heart filled with pride as she watched Olivia set out candles and put up decorations, bringing their little cottage to life for her birthday ritual. Olivia’s actions were soft, her arms and legs flowed like the delicate branches of a willow tree, and her fine hair brushed her shoulders in soft, swift movements. Real life hadn’t yet marred her skin; innocence and tenderness remained on the surface. From her perch on the couch, Megan could feel the angst that Olivia was swallowing and watched as she tucked it behind the lump in her narrow throat. Megan’s pride was replaced with guilt which simmered just below the surface of her skin.

  “Livi,” she said gently. “I know you want to be there tonight, but you understand, don’t you? This is something that I do with them every year. It’s…” she gazed out the window and watched the trees blow in the gentle breeze, “It’s our thing.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes, turned to her mother, and sighed. She planted her hands on her hips. “I know! okay? I hear it every year,” her voice rose. “Your friends, your thing. When do I get to be part of it, Mom? When is it my turn to be part of your world?”

  Megan cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as if taking a stance. When her mother’s silence grew too thick to bear, Olivia turned her back and stormed upstairs. Her words, “That’s what I thought,” wound their way through the air and stung as they settled roughly in Megan’s ears.

  Megan hunkered down beneath her chenille afghan and waited for her daughter’s storm to pass.

  The chime of the doorbell woke Megan from her light nap. She climbed off of the couch, adjusted her long cotton patchwork skirt of pale and muted pastels, and straightened her watery green crushed cotton top. Just as she reached the door, Olivia bounded down the stairs, “I’ve got it!” she yelled, barely missing barreling into her mother, who simply smiled and stepped aside.

  The heavy oak door swung open. Standing on the front porch in her comfortable black wispy skirt, matching vest, buttoned only halfway up, her white cotton shirt open to reveal a hint of cleavage, was Holly. She thrust a large red box beautifully adorned with a fat gold ribbon toward Megan with a smile.

  Megan reached for the box. “Thank you!”

  “Olivia!” Holly exclaimed as she pulled the young girl into her arms and shot Megan a look that said, Another teenage mood? “Ready for the big night?”

  “Hi, Holly!” Olivia replied, as she embraced the woman who one day would be her new mother. “Holly,” she said as she eyed her mother, “can you please talk to Mom about me coming to the bonfire tonight? Please?”

  Holly patted Olivia’s shoulder as she brushed past her and reached out to Megan. “Oh Meg,” she said. Her breath left her with a whoosh as she took in her best friend’s frail frame and dark circles under her eyes. Hugging her tightly, she said, “You look wonderful, honey.” She stepped back and rubbed her hands together, the unsettling feel of Megan’s fine back bones lingered on their surface.

  Megan smiled, “Thanks, Hol.” She glanced down at her outfit which hung loosely around her body and felt a wave of shame. She remembered how she used to torture herself, wishing that someday she would be thin enough to look beautiful in any clothes she put on, like the young models in fashion magazines, tall and lanky with smoky eyes and tiny little waists. Now, though, she didn’t find the look so appealing, and she would have gladly welcomed back the extra ten pounds she used to wear around her middle.

  Olivia bounced on her toes as she took the package from her mother and placed it on the table in the foyer. “Holly?” Motioning with her hands for Holly to hurry up, she put forth her saddest look, pleading her case.

  Holly looked from Olivia to Megan, “Oh, Livi, that’s a decision of your mom’s. I’m not sure I want to be in the middle of that battle.”

  “Whatever!” Olivia stormed out of the room.

  Megan and Holly shared a laugh as they followed Olivia. Candles illuminated the rich textures and warm dark hues of the cozy living room. The stone fireplace threw just enough heat to take the chill out of the evening—and an occasional spark. Holly poured herself a glass of wine. “Meg, would you like a glass?”

  Megan took the glass slowly and sipped the White Zinfandel, reveling in the sweet floral taste as it wound its way down her throat. She closed her eyes, and tried to memorize the feel of the soft liquid, the swell of the cool glass in her hand.

  “So, Holly, what’s new in the life of the world’s best editor?” she asked, lifting her glass to her lips again.

  Just as Holly started to answer, the doorbell chimed through the hall. Olivia rushed toward it. “I’ve got it!” she hollered.

  Holly turned to Megan and spoke quietly, “What’s up with her, Meg?”

  “Oh, she hates that she isn’t included in our little ritual.”

  “Well,” Holly said as
she placed her hand on Megan’s shoulder, and took it back quickly as the feel of her bones made her too sad to let it remain, “maybe it is time. I mean, she’s fourteen, that’s old enough to join us.”

  “I know, Holly. It’s just that…well…” Threatened by a veil of tears, she closed her eyes tightly and walked away.

  She hesitated by the French doors and looked out at the dune grass in the distance. “I need one more time. For me, you know? I know that sounds selfish, but I do. I need it.” Megan placed her hand flat against the cool glass. As she committed the feeling to memory, she realized there were many little details of life that she wanted to hold on to; the smell of the fireplace after the fire had died down; and the sound of Olivia in the bathroom after her shower, humming and dancing around as Megan knew that she did; the angelic look of Olivia’s face when she was fast asleep, and the smell of her breath in the morning; the soothing sound of the dishwasher at night, and the wintry gust of the winds across the beach; the sound of that crazy cardinal running beak first into her window. Her heart skipped a beat when she realized that the bird had not appeared that morning.

  “I just always thought,” Megan said as she turned to face Holly, “that I would have more time, that she would grow up doing the ritual with us, with me. Now I just feel…rushed, like I have to make a choice, like it’s either my time or hers.”

  Olivia popped back into the living room, “One of your men has arrived, Madam,” she smirked, smiling at her mother.

  “Livi, come here,” Megan said, motioning to Olivia with open arms.

  Sighing, Olivia fell into the familiar safety of her mother’s thin arms, taking in the smell of her body lotion, lavender and coconut, and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you, too, muffin,” Megan whispered in return, holding back the wave of tears that vied to be set free. She moved Olivia’s hair to the side and kissed her daughter’s cheek.

  “Then can I join you?” Olivia asked excitedly. “For the ritual?” She held her mother tighter, hoping for a positive answer.