She reached for a stir stick, and someone touched her elbow. She jumped, knocking over the little cup of paper-wrapped stirrers. She turned a frown on her intruder—Charlotte, whose blue eyes glowed with such assurance Marty could hardly bear to look at her.
“She’ll be all right.”
Marty sighed. “How old are you, Charlotte?”
Charlotte’s blond eyebrows pinched together. “Twenty-one. Why?”
At twenty-one, Marty had been just as naive, as starry eyed, as certain of God’s loving presence as Charlotte was now. If someone had told her then she would someday question God’s care, she would have laughed. She wasn’t laughing now. She wouldn’t say anything to rattle Charlotte’s faith, but neither would she blithely accept that Brooke would be all right. Sometimes people got better. Sometimes they didn’t. If God was really there, then He knew whether or not Brooke would conquer cancer, but Marty refused to ask Him. Or trust Him.
“I just wondered.” She gestured to the cup of milky-looking coffee. “Do you want this?” Charlotte nodded. Marty handed her the cup and poured a second one. She left it black.
A television hung on the wall, its volume off but with what seemed to be some sort of game show playing on the screen. A stack of magazines waited on an end table. Marty sipped the strong coffee and searched through the magazines for one that didn’t have a scantily clad woman on its cover. She found one about gardening, and she flopped it open on her lap. She began reading about preparing the soil for spring planting—a subject that didn’t require her to think hard.
“Marty?”
Marty barely glanced up. “Hmm?”
“Is Brooke going to let them give her chemotherapy?”
Brooke had showed Marty her “battle strategy,” as she called it, and according to the papers the doctor had given her, she would do a chemo treatment every three weeks for up to eight months. Marty nodded. “Yes.”
Charlotte made a face. “I don’t think I’d do it. Those drugs are really like poison. Why would she want to put poison in her body? Nate said when one of his relatives had breast cancer, she went on a really strict diet and took vitamins. He didn’t remember what kind. But that was three years ago and her cancer hasn’t come back. Maybe Nate should tell Brooke about his cousin’s wife.”
Marty set the magazine aside. “No, Nate should not tell Brooke about his cousin’s wife.”
“But why? She—”
“For one thing, every cancer is different. What worked for Nate’s relative might not work for Brooke.”
“But chemotherapy…isn’t it dangerous?”
Fear for her friend as well as the desire to protect her welled in Marty’s chest. She shifted slightly to look full in Charlotte’s face. “Listen, I know you mean well, but the last thing Brooke needs to hear right now is that she’s doing the wrong thing.” Marty didn’t want to hear it, either. “She’s a smart woman. She researched ovarian cancer, and she researched the different ways to treat it.” Marty’d seen pages and pages of information printed from various websites when she’d organized the desk in Brooke’s trailer. “Based on everything she read, she decided to do chemotherapy as well as change some things in her diet. It’s her choice. What she needs from us is support, not advice.”
Charlotte bit her lower lip and stared at Marty for several seconds. Then she sighed. “All right. I’ll tell Nate not to tell her about it. Unless she asks.” She leaned back and yawned. “I think I’ll take a little nap while we wait. I’m not used to getting up at four in the morning.”
Neither was Marty, but she was too tense to sleep. She wouldn’t be able to rest until the surgeon came in and let her know Brooke had come through the surgery all right. While Charlotte dozed, Marty read several magazine articles and retained nothing from any of them, drank three cups of coffee, visited the bathroom twice, and checked the clock so many times she lost count.
A little after ten, Brooke’s cell phone, somewhere in the bag one of the nurses had given Marty for safekeeping, sang and roused Charlotte. Marty dug in the bag and pulled out the phone. The screen showed a number with the title Park’s Plumbing underneath. Should she answer it? She could take a message to share with Brooke. Her finger aimed for the connect button, but before it descended, the ringing stopped. She sighed. Just as well. They would leave a message in Brooke’s voice mailbox. In Marty’s troubled state, she probably wouldn’t remember anything the plumber told her anyway.
Charlotte rose and stretched, then invited Marty to walk up and down the halls with her, but Marty stayed in the little room. She didn’t want to miss the surgeon. Charlotte returned half an hour later and settled in a chair with a magazine. Marty prowled the room, chewed her thumbnail to the quick, and watched the clock.
Finally, three and a half hours past the eight o’clock surgery time, Dr. Dickerson entered the waiting room. The room suddenly felt half its size with the tall, stately man standing in the middle of the floor. He pulled the paper hat from his graying hair, folded his arms over his blue scrubs, and flicked his gaze from Charlotte to Marty. “Mrs. Hirschler?”
“Yes.” Marty crossed to him, amazed her quaking legs held her up. “Are you done? Did you get it all?”
“Brooke underwent a radical hysterectomy, and we removed several tumors from her bladder and omentum.”
Charlotte sat forward. “What’s an omentum?”
He smiled at Charlotte. “It’s the layer of fatty tissue that supports the intestines and organs in the lower abdomen.” He turned his attention back to Marty, the smile fading. “We’d spotted tumors on her bladder in the CT scan but hadn’t realized they were also in the omentum. All very small, less than half a centimeter, but their presence makes a difference in the kind of chemotherapy we’ll use. I’ll talk with Brooke about it when she’s awake and cognizant.”
“When will that be?” Marty wrung her hands. She wanted to see Brooke, to assure herself her friend had come through the surgery, to be there as a support when the doctor gave her the unexpected news.
“She’ll be in recovery for an hour or so. When we move her to a room, a nurse’s aide will come get you and you’ll be able to sit with her for as long as you want to. There’s even a chair that folds out into a bed if one of you would like to spend the night.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his loose scrub pants. “Do you have any other questions?”
Is she going to die? hovered on the tip of Marty’s tongue, but she held the query inside. She didn’t want to hear the honest answer. “Not right now. Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome. The cafeteria is in the lowest level of the hospital. I suggest you go down, get a little something to eat. If the aide comes in and you aren’t here, she’ll page you.” He shook Marty’s and Charlotte’s hands and left.
Charlotte picked up her purse and started for the door. “Well, let’s go find the cafeteria.”
Marty sat. “You go ahead.”
Charlotte stopped. “You don’t want anything to eat?”
“Not until I’ve seen Brooke.” Her stomach would probably give back anything she tried to put in it. She shouldn’t have had so many cups of coffee. She glanced at the clock again. The men were probably gathered in her trailer, eating the sandwiches and fruit salad she’d left in the fridge for them. “I’ve got the prepaid phone Anthony got for me. I’ll call and let him know the surgery is done. You can go if you want to.”
Charlotte worried her lower lip between her teeth. “I don’t like to eat by myself. But maybe…”
Marty waited, but she didn’t finish her sentence.
Charlotte waved her hand, stirring her cap’s black ribbons into a gentle dance. “Go ahead and call Anthony. I’ll be back in a little bit.” She stepped into the hallway, looked both ways, and then disappeared to the right.
Anthony answered on the first ring, and Marty told him everything the s
urgeon had said. Her voice quavered when she mentioned the tumors found in the fatty tissue, but she commended herself for not breaking down. Brooke was tough. Marty could be tough for her.
“Will you be back before suppertime?”
Marty stifled a sigh. She hadn’t left enough prepared food to carry the men through supper. Could they fend for themselves for one meal? “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to stay with Brooke. The doctor said there’s a fold-out bed in her room and I could even sleep there if I wanted to.”
“All night?” She didn’t need to see his face to know he was frowning. “What about Charlotte? She’d have to drive back here all by herself.”
Marty hadn’t wanted to drive Brooke’s fancy car, and three adults didn’t fit well in Anthony’s pickup, so Charlotte had used Nate’s car and driven her and Brooke to the hospital. If she’d made it to the hospital all right, Marty didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t make it back to the worksite without trouble.
A second masculine voice muttered something, and Anthony said, “Just a minute, Marty. Nate wants something.” He must have covered the speaker, because she couldn’t hear a thing they were saying.
“Marty?” Anthony’s voice crackled through the phone’s speaker again. “Kansas City is a big city. Lots bigger than Pine Hill. Nate doesn’t want her driving through it all by herself.”
“Then maybe she can stay here, too.” Marty blinked back tears. “The doctor is going to give Brooke some bad news, Anthony, and she’s going to need me.”
She heard a click, the sound of a door latch, and then a sigh. “Marty…” She pictured him sitting on the edge of their bed, his head in his hand, the way he sat when he was upset or needed to think something through. “You’re there for her now. You’ll be there for her when she gets out of the hospital. You’ll be taking her to her appointments and helping her for the next several months. Do you really have to stay overnight?”
How many times had he left her overnight because of his business? Even when she’d begged him to come home for nights, he’d found reasons why he couldn’t. “No, I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s one night. You can’t make it one night without me? Heaven knows I survived lots of nights without you.” The resentment she’d managed to hold at bay came out in the sharpness of her tone.
Silence fell on the other end. Marty’s heart thudded hard. Had she really spoken so harshly to her husband? She cringed, yet she didn’t regret the words. He needed to understand how it had felt for her to be left alone.
After what felt like an eternity, Anthony finally spoke. “All right. Stay. I’ll let Nate quit early and borrow my pickup to drive in to get Charlotte. You can stay at the hospital and use the Schrocks’ car to get back again when you’re ready.”
He’d conceded. Shouldn’t she feel more victorious? She swallowed. “Are you sure?”
“No, but I don’t want to argue with you. I need to get back to work. Call me when you’re leaving Kansas City so I know when to expect you. Bye, Martha.”
She dropped her phone into her purse and hung her head.
“Ta-da!”
Marty jolted. Charlotte stood framed in the doorway. In one hand she held a bright red ribbon tied to a floating Mylar balloon emblazoned with Get Well, and she cradled a good-sized fuzzy teddy bear against her rib cage. Her smile was as bright as the yellow letters on the balloon.
“I got these for Brooke. To brighten up her room.”
Marty crossed the floor and fingered one of the teddy bear’s soft ears. She blinked back tears. “That’s really nice of you, Charlotte.”
Charlotte shrugged, blushing. “I wanted to do something to help her—and you—feel better.”
Such a kind gesture. Marty forced a smile. “I’m sure these will lift Brooke’s spirits.” But it would take more than a balloon and a furry stuffed bear to make Marty feel better.
23
Eagle Creek
Brooke
Brooke eased back, supported by Marty’s arm, until her spine and head nestled against the stack of pillows on her own bed. She released a long, contentment-filled sigh. So soft. So comfortable. And so much better smelling than the disinfectant-scented hospital room, thanks to the candle burning on the corner of the dresser.
She turned a lazy smile on Marty, who remained beside the bed, the teddy bear Charlotte had bought in her arms. “Now I’ll be able to regain my strength. How can anyone rest in a hospital with all the people coming and going twenty-four hours a day?” Brooke’s conscience pricked when she looked at the dark circles under Marty’s eyes and the tiredness etched into her friend’s features. Staying two nights on the stiff makeshift recliner bed in the corner of the hospital room had taken its toll. “Now that we’re out of there, you deserve a long soak in a tub and about twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.”
Marty smiled and laid the bear next to Brooke. “I’m fine.”
“Well, you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.” Brooke touched the tender incision on her abdomen. Shouldn’t her stomach be concave? After all, the doctor had taken out several of her original parts. Since she’d emerged fully from under the anesthesia, she’d had an uneasy feeling of emptiness, yet there seemed to be no outward change. The lack of evidence stirred an anger she couldn’t explain. “Seriously, Marty, the pain pill I took before we left the hospital is kicking in. I won’t stay awake much longer.” Sleep was a good escape. She’d come to appreciate hours of blissful unconsciousness compliments of a Percocet. “Go to your trailer and rest, too.”
Marty ran her hands down the front of her rumpled dress. The same one she’d worn Tuesday morning for the drive to the hospital. Since she’d come unprepared for an overnight stay, a hospital rep had loaned her a set of scrubs and given her a bag of basic hygiene items. Brooke wished she’d taken some pics on her cell phone of Marty in those faded, too-big blue scrubs, but Marty had kept the phone under house arrest, insistent that Brooke not think about work. So she’d have to rely on her memory to hold the image of Marty’s white cap and trailing black ribbons paired, so very incompatibly, with the baggy scrubs. The hospital laundry had put her dress through the wash for her, but obviously they hadn’t ironed it. Brooke had never seen Marty so disheveled.
“I’ll wait until you fall asleep.” Marty covered a yawn with her hand. “Then I’ll change clothes, let Anthony know we’re here, and be right back.”
Brooke battled her own yawn, thanks to Marty’s example. Why were those things so contagious? “What did I tell you about hovering? Nothing’s going to happen to me while I’m asleep. Go. Get out of here.” She forced a crabbiness she didn’t really feel. “Let me rest in peace.” Marty’s face went white, and Brooke recognized her poor choice of words. She winced. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it that way. But really, I won’t rest well if you’re prowling around in here. Please just…leave me alone for a while?”
She hoped Marty would concede defeat and go. She hadn’t had a minute to herself to process the surgeon finding additional tumors and changing the chemo protocol—the same number of treatments but using a more powerful combination that would likely be harder on her system than the one originally planned. Not to mention trying to adjust to constant company after living alone for so many years. She appreciated Marty’s concern. Of course she did. But she needed some space. To think. To accept. To grieve.
Marty sighed and hung her head. “All right. I’ll blow out the candle. I don’t feel good about it burning when you’re sleeping and no one else is around. I’ll put your cell phone where you can reach it and go put mine on its charger. Call if you need me.”
Fuzziness crept through Brooke’s brain—the pill was definitely taking effect. “Yeah, recharge that thing. And the next time you leave home for more than a day, take your charger with you.” What was the sense of carrying a cell phone with a dead battery? She yawned again and weakly waved her hand. �
�Go.”
Brooke’s eyelids slid until she viewed the room through mere slits. Marty’s frame seemed to float to the dresser. A poof of breath extinguished the flame, and a hint of smoke smell reached Brooke’s nose. Marty straightened and then stood still, her pale face aimed in Brooke’s direction.
Brooke whispered, “Go.” Her eyelids drooped shut before she witnessed Marty leave the room.
Anthony
“Hey, look who’s back.”
Anthony kept hold of the piece of drywall Nate was securing to the furring strips with screws and glanced over his shoulder. His pulse gave a little hop when he spotted Marty standing in the doorway of the old bank building. He waited until Nate applied the power drill to the last screw, then ambled toward his wife, brushing the dust from his clothes as he went.
Part of him wanted to rush over, grab her up in a hug. But his men were looking on, and underneath he was still a little aggravated with her for staying at the hospital so long. His lips quirked, caught between a welcome-home smile and an it’s-about-time scowl. He got close enough to reach her, but his hands were so dirty. He jammed them in his pockets instead.
“Hi. When did you get back?” Behind him, the power drill rat-a-tat-tatted a screw into place. He cringed and gestured to the porch. They stepped outside, and he pulled the door closed behind him. The noise was muffled enough for them to hear each other. He repeated the question.
Ours for a Season Page 18
