by Lesley Kagen
Tess thanked her four times for the cards, told her how much she loved the pictures of Punxsutawney Phil she’d included, but what about the other photo she’d sent? She asked, “Who’s the old lady sitting on the sofa?” The woman was kind of turned away from the camera, but Tess thought it might be the gal who lived downstairs from her sister. They’d struck up a friendship over their mutual love for cards and anise cookies. “Is that Esther?”
“No!” Birdie replied with glee. “Surprise! Surprise! Surprise! Surprise! It’s Gammy! I found her just like I told you I would!”
Tess’s heart tanked. Unable to ask her outright because she didn’t know when she was suffering from a delusion, she did what she always did to shut down her sister’s troubled brain. She leaned back in her sunroom chair and said with a sigh, “Really? Wow! Gammy? What’s her address?”
“Seventy-five-fifteen Nash Street. Apartment two.”
And then Birdie babbled on about how she’d found their grandmother in the phone book only a few days after she’d set forth to look for her, and how over the last month she’d spent time with ninety-three-year-old Gammy in Milwaukee, but not Boppa, who had died of a heart attack at the bank years ago and…and she’d met their Uncle Raymond and they’d had a big party with balloons and liver sausage and…played charades.
Tess, thinking that her sister’s desire to replace their dead mother was so profound that she’d taken the delusion one step beyond, quickly composed another question. She was just about to ask aviophobic Birdie how she’d gotten to Milwaukee when her sister said, “I can fly now!” And then she went on to explain how she’d been hypnotized, which didn’t surprise Tess. Birdie had that wild streak, and had always been the more adventurous in seeking out fringe cures, like astrology, psychic visits, and past-life regression therapy.
As Tessie listened to her sister prattle on, she slowly realized that not once during the conversation had Birdie referred to herself in the third person, which was an absolute, without a doubt, delusion indicator. Which was why, as far-fetched as the story was, she grew more and more convinced of two things. Birdie really had found their gammy alive and not dead. And she’d withheld that vital information from her for over a month.
How could she?
“But…why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found her?” a wounded Tess asked.
Birdie crowed, “Because I wanted to keep her to myself for a while. You like to garden and you don’t have scars on your wrists and….” She was unremorseful and wound up tighter than usual. “You got a husband, children, a nice house, and what do I have after you let Daddy and Louise die?”
Tess wanted to say, Me, you got me, Bird, but it was at that moment that she realized that her sister hadn’t nudged her off the pedestal she’d placed her on so many years ago, she’d knocked her clean off.
Bewildered, but still somewhat hopeful that Birdie really had made it all up, Tess hung up and raced over to the address on Nash Street in Milwaukee. She was familiar with the neighborhood. Their old house and Holy Cross Cemetery were just three blocks down.
The apartment building their grandmother was purportedly living in was four units up, four down, sandwiched on a block between a savings and loan and a Shell station. The usual stale smells rose out of the matted gold carpet that ran in front of apartment number two. Tess knocked hard, but it took some repeating to be heard above parakeet chirping and a TV commercial selling the quicker picker upper. It seemed like forever before she heard rustling on the other side of the apartment door and a voice tentatively asking, “Yes? Who’s there?”
She sounded different, shakier, but the pit of Tess’s stomach had no difficulty identifying her. When she answered, “Lily of the Valley stands for returning happiness,” her gammy cried out, “Tessie?” and fumbled with the lock. “Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What are you doing here? Birdie told us you were dead!”
Bottoms Up
Bulky black-and-gray medical machines hover in the shadows of Room #121 like subversives devising an end-of-the-world plan.
Jill is sitting on a three-wheeled stool across from recently biopsied Tess, who is studying her facial expressions for a hint of things to come. Did the nurse look happy? Sad? Concerned? She had learned how to mood-read early on in life because if she could figure out the way her mother was feeling, she and Birdie could get running starts because Louise was fast. Real fast.
Jill slides closer. Their knees are touching. Tess can smell her perfume, something rosy. “It’s cancer,” the nurse says fast, like she’s pulling off a Band-Aid. “But the good news is that the tumor doesn’t look very angry.”
My friend is saddened, but not unduly shocked by the verdict because she’s always prepared for the worst. She is perplexed by the way Jill described it though. “Angry?”
“That means—” she glances down at the folder in her lap. “How much do you know about the disease? I noticed on your questionnaire that no one in your family—”
“Ahhh….” Since Tess hadn’t really taken what she’d been told by her gammy or her uncle seriously, considering the circumstances, she kinda forgot about the whole thing until just this very moment. It might be important information for these people to have. “I just remembered that my aunt might’ve had….”
It was only a few months after they’d reconnected that Gammy was admitted into the burn unit in the same hospital that her granddaughter was currently receiving her life-changing diagnosis. A doctor had called to inform her that Caroline’s polyester house dress had caught fire while cooking bacon and she’d been engulfed in flames. Tess rushed to the hospital, where she was directed to the intensive care unit on the fourth floor. She found Gammy crying into her bandages, but not because of the pain of the burns for she’d been well sedated. “Please don’t leave me here,” she begged. “My Alice died in this hospital of brain cancer.”
More information on her aunt’s illness didn’t surface until the afternoon her father’s brother set the record straight during their first meeting to discuss Gammy’s future. Tess had seen a few black-and-white pictures of him in her grandmother’s scrapbook during her growing-up years, but Raymond Finley was quite a bit older than her daddy and hadn’t played any part in her childhood. Even though he lived in Milwaukee, he never expressed interest in spending time with his brother’s daughters. Tess didn’t think of him as part of her family either until he stepped in to handle Gammy’s hospitalization because he was her closest next of kin.
Professor Raymond, as he corrected his niece on the call she’d made to his office at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, offered a Chaucer caveat when he considered her lunch invitation. “There’s no workman, whatsoever he be, that may both work well and hastily,” he said with a lousy British accent he’d acquired during his recent sabbatical in Stratford-upon-Avon. “I suppose I could fit you in between my upper-level English classes, but it’d have to be somewhere close. The Wurst Haus.”
The Finleys were a short-in-stature family. Tess’s father was five-feet-seven, and Gammy and Boppa, when they stood side by side, reminded her of imported salt and pepper shakers. Same went for Aunt Alice, who topped out at five feet. But Uncle Raymond? Fee fie fo fum! Tess marveled at genetics, and was gratified that she’d finally figured out who Henry had inherited his height from when she sat down across from him at the German pub across the street from the campus.
The Professor monopolized the conversation. Went on about the academic success he’d achieved…his tenure…his visit to Mr. Shakespeare’s hometown. It wasn’t until he paused to take a bite out of his knockwurst that Tess had the chance to jump in and ask a few questions. She’d never brought up the subject again after the first time she’d asked Gammy about Alice’s demise, but the mysterious aunt who had passed so young had piqued Tess’s interest for many years. “Your sister was a librarian before she died of brain cancer?” she asked.
He answered with a mouthful, “Alice worked at the downtown library in the reference secti
on for many years, yes, but who told you that she died of brain cancer?”
“Gammy.”
“Alice died of breast cancer, not brain cancer.” He burped. “That’s so typical of my goddamn mother. She has a tendency to screw things.” The Professor lifted his glass of beer to his lips. “Bottoms up,” he said, laughing bitterly at some private joke.
Tess was appalled by his anger. Sure, she wasn’t nuts about her mother, but she thought she had some pretty good reasons to hold a grudge against Louise. But…how could Raymond be so ticked-off at sweet Gammy?
She didn’t receive the answer to that head-scratcher until months later during one of her last visits to the St. Francis Catholic Home for the Aged, the spot her uncle had determined was the most appropriate place for his religious mother to reside after her release from the burn unit, and as much as my friend disliked the Professor, she couldn’t disagree with his choice.
Religious statues and biblical pictures lined the hallways of the turn-of-the-century, three-story building. The body and blood of Christ was served every morning, and old-style Milwaukee fish fries—beer-battered cod, cole slaw, rye bread, and potato pancakes—were on Friday’s dinner menu. Flower gardens clustered about a generous stretch of back lawn. From a branch of a glorious oak tree not far from the wraparound porch, a worn wooden swing hung. That’s where the two of them would sit on their twice-weekly visits, weather permitting. The years had made it Tess’s turn to rock.
Perhaps sensing that her end was near, Gammy was not as reserved as she’d once been. Same as Will’s mother had, she appeared to delight in not only revealing, but reveling in the darkest of family secrets. Tess had gotten an earful about Louise during the visits. “I warned Eddie that he shouldn’t marry that self-centered trollop,” is what Caroline said. Many times. She also had a few choice words to say about her remaining son. “Poor Raymond. He works so hard to think so highly of himself,” she said with a proper tut-tut. “You ever wonder why he’s so much taller than the rest of us, dear?” She took a sip of her proper afternoon tea that Tess’d brought in a thermos. “A bit of a sticky wicket that.” Caroline then went on to describe the affair of which her uncle was the bastard outcome as, “My fun with Gus the milkman.” Of the lanky, delivery fella who left cream in the box outside her backdoor every morning, she admitted with a vixen smile, “I never have been able to resist a man in uniform.”
Tess is debating if she should continue telling Jill about Aunt Alice’s confusing health history. Better to error on the side of caution, she decides. Always. “My father’s sister might’ve had cancer,” she says. “I’m a little fuzzy on the details, but it could’ve been brain or…,” she almost says bellow—that’s how bad she wants to make the nurse quit looking at her with pity eyes—“breast.”
Jill says, “Okay. I’ll add that to your chart, but I doubt that it will make any difference at this point.”
“Hello?” Dr. Fred waltzes in after what looks like a visit to the little boy’s room looking damp, but relieved. “Any questions?” he asks Tess.
“What happens next?”
“You have to hope that it hasn’t spread.”
Tess had tried her hardest to know as little as possible about the disease and she’d thoroughly succeeded. She didn’t know that cancer could travel. She looks to Jill for confirmation because even though the doctor appeared to be a good sort, men on the whole didn’t seem that smart to her. Just about every morning Will or Henry had to be told not to leave the house without zipping up their barn doors.
The nurse nods. “It’s called metastasizing.”
Tess says, “Oh,” then asks the doctor, “Well, how do we know if it has metas…mesat…what Jill said?”
“During the operation to excise the tumor, your surgeon will also remove a few lymph nodes for testing. If cancer is found, the prognosis can be, well, more complicated.” He slides something out of the pocket of his lab coat and offers it to her like a parting gift. It’s a holy card. She’d once had quite the collection of God’s All-Star Team. Traded them with the other Catholic kids on the block, and Mr. McGinty, the caretaker at Holy Cross Cemetery. “Are you devout?” the crucifix-wearing doctor asks her.
Make a joke. Ask him…does the Pope shit in the woods? Louise heckles.
Despite her lack of faith, Tess doesn’t want to turn down the gift card. The doc might take offense and retaliate. He might even inform her that he suspects that her breast cancer has journeyed to somewhere else in her body because why else would he be offering her a picture of Jude, the patron saint of lost causes? What if she only has days to live? That wouldn’t give her enough time to get done what she’s gotta get done.
TO-DO LIST
Buy broccoli.
Make sure Haddie gets the help she needs from a better therapist.
Set up a vocational counseling appointment for Henry.
Convince Will to love me again.
Get Birdie to talk to me.
Bury Louise once and for all.
Have a religious epiphany so #8 is going to be okay with me.
Die.
Tess thanks the doctor, reaches for the saint picture, and slides into the little compartment in her wallet where she keeps her credit cards, and he, satisfied with a job well done, stands and says, “God bless you,” and is out the door and on to his next patient.
Jill rifles through a manila folder. There are a few more items to cover. “The pathology results will be sent to your surgeon. Who do you see?”
The check-out girls at Olsen’s Market. The old folks at Horizons. Garbo’s vet. The customers and staff at the diner. Will and Henry. Haddie, when she’s home.
Tess is about to ask Jill for a referral, when the man who coached Ruby Falls High varsity cross-country team pops into her mind. “What about Rob Whaley?” In the hostile territory she finds herself in, it’s important that she surround herself with as much familiarity as possible to keep her panic at bay. She didn’t know how good Rob was at his job, but he’d been great with Haddie and her teammates, his family regularly frequented the diner, and they were also parishioners of St. Lucy’s. She knew he was affiliated with St. Mary’s North Hospital, but she wasn’t sure what kind of surgeon he was. “Does he do this type of thing?”
“Yes, and I’d highly recommend him. Dr. Whaley is wonderful,” Jill says with a schoolgirl blush that Tess understands. (The surgeon is easy on the eyes going in both directions.)
“What will he…will he cut it off?” my friend asks.
“Not necessarily. You might be a candidate for a lumpectomy. He’d remove only the tumor and leave the rest of your breast intact, but a mastectomy would be safer.”
As much as Tess wanted to be safe, her breasts were important to her. She loved her good old girls, and so did Will, no matter how little attention he was currently paying them. She wasn’t going to let the right one end up looking like it belonged on her twelve-year-old flat-as-an-ironing-board self. The one who would walk to Dalinsky’s Drugstore to peruse the large periodicals section every chance she got. She’d open an issue of Look magazine and place it beneath a Playboy or True Detective, so she’d look smart instead of perverted, in case somebody from the neighborhood wandered in. As she turned the pages, she’d pray that her bellows would grow as large as Miss August’s, or that she’d be given the opportunity someday to be one of those “knock-out broads” in a form-fitting sweater who turns up in a gumshoe’s office offering to pay for his services with anything but cash. These protuberances had power over men! The more shade they cast, the better!
Jill says, “After the tumor has been removed, the next step will be to make an appointment with an oncologist to talk about your radiation treatments.”
Tess figures that bit might not be too bad, other than the fact that it would bring up memories of her sunbathing mother.
Speaking of…when are you going to scatter my ashes the way you promised your sister you would?
“And after radiation, you�
��ll receive a course of chemotherapy,” Jill says, “if it’s called for.”
Which it won’t be. Not only is Tess terrified of chemicals of any kind, she’s quite fond of her unruly red hair that even self-occupied Henry would notice was no longer on her head. She’d have no choice but to tell him about the cancer. He’d put on a good show, maybe even make a few jokes, but her sensitive boy would be devastated. Sure, sure, she could wear a wig during the treatments, but since she can spot fake hair a mile off, she assumes her son and everyone else can as well. Ruby Falls is a small town. Word would get back to Haddie.
“I know this is a shock and a lot to take in,” Jill says. “If you think of any other questions, here’s my card, and Dr. Whaley’s too.”
Tess thanks her, and after delivering a clumsy pat on the nurse’s back, she bolts to the hospital parking lot and the relative safety of her Volvo. Woozy and weak, overwhelmed emotionally and physically, she wishes again that she’d eaten Will’s eggs Benedict this morning.
As she fires up the car, she remembers that she’d told him that she’d call right after she got the biopsy results, but on a chilly exhale, she says, “Fuck it,” because she’s still angry with him for not making a bigger deal out of today. For not being what she needs. For changing. For maybe having an affair with Connie Lushman. And the thought of he who she holds most dear saying, Egbok—everything’s going to be okay. I’ll have a slice of lemon meringue pie waiting for you when you get home, after she tells him that she’s got cancer, is more than she and her stomach can bear.
She stops at the corner of Downer Avenue and Edgewood and looks east through the black-forked trees toward Lighthouse Point Park. Considering what she’s going through, it seems only right to pay homage to the site where’d she relinquished another part of herself long ago.
She turns into the park lot, switches the car’s engine off, and plods through the snow toward Picnic Area 7. She knows what she’ll find.
