The Mother's Promise

by Sally Hepworth

  It had brought the house down. So true, Alice had thought. A hair off your head was not a good thing. It was gross. Disgusting. Yet here was Zoe, on the couch beside her, holding a chunk of her hair like it was the most precious gem. It undid Alice.

  “You were sick, Mom. I didn’t want to worry you with my problems.”

  Alice closed her eyes. “Honey. I shouldn’t have got so upset with Kate. But when you confided in her, I … I was jealous.”

  “You were?”

  “I can see how much you like her. And I … understand why you like her.”

  Zoe went quiet for a moment.

  “I do like her,” she said. “She’s really nice and easy to talk to.”

  “All right, all right.” Alice smiled.

  “But I like you more,” Zoe said. It was downright juvenile how silly that comment was. And it was even more juvenile how much Alice enjoyed hearing it. “Kate doesn’t know the way I like to loop my Cheerios on a straw and suck them off.”

  Alice smiled. “That is quite weird.”

  “She doesn’t know how I can only watch TV on the floor while folding laundry.”

  Alice saw the direction this was headed and she felt her eyes fill. “Yes, I never really understood that.”

  “I can’t crawl into bed with Kate and sleep beside her because she’d probably think that was creepy.”

  “True,” Alice agreed. That was definitely only something a fifteen-year-old girl could do with her mother. The tears began to slide, unchecked, down Alice’s cheeks, and Zoe’s. Zoe leaned over and laid her head against Alice’s chest.

  “I still need you, Mom,” Zoe said.

  “You have me, Mouse,” Alice said, and at least for now, the words felt true.

  THREE

  The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.

  —MARK TWAIN

  53

  “I made a comment in class this week,” Zoe said. It felt childish, reporting back her success to Dr. Sanders, but Zoe couldn’t deny it felt good. It almost made the horrors of putting up her hand worth it. She’d done it in English, of all classes. They’d been having a class discussion about The Outsiders. When she’d raised her hand, Mrs. Patterson had done a double take.

  “Do you … have some thoughts on this, Zoe?”

  “Uh, well … I think S. E. Hinton did a good job of looking at life as an outsider,” she muttered. “Ponyboy felt like an outsider in his own town, he didn’t feel safe walking the streets in his own neighborhood because he was a greaser. He felt angry about that, and that it wasn’t fair. But he came to realize that, in a way, everyone is an outsider and he needed to change his outlook.”

  It had come out fast, in a long line without pause or inflection. By the time she finished, she was breathless and her heart was a drum in her ears. But the important thing was that she’d done it. There was something to be said for little wins. It almost made her want to do it again.

  “I’m impressed,” Dr. Sanders told Zoe. “How did it feel?”

  “It felt uncomfortable,” she said. “But … it could have been worse.”

  Dr. Sanders didn’t smile exactly, but he seemed pleased. It made Zoe feel like punching the sky. Mrs. Hunt had made her promise she’d meet with Dr. Sanders at least three times, and she’d been dreading it, but now she realized it had some upsides. It was actually pretty nice, having someone to talk to.

  The truth was, her week back at school had been brutal. For the first few days while Harry still had been suspended, Cameron had continued to spill water every time Zoe walked into the room. On top of Cameron’s antics, there were the expected whispers and stares. Then there were those who felt bad for her, and Zoe suffered equally under their gaze. In fact, in a way, kindness was worse than cruelty because the pressure to respond graciously could be crippling, and she inevitably failed at it.

  Still, things weren’t all bad. She and Jessie Lee and Emily had taken to sitting with Harry and a few of his friends at lunchtime, which Emily, of course, loved. Most of the time Zoe sat in silence, worrying that everyone thought she was the weird mute chick, but she managed to follow along with the conversation, even laugh a little.

  She hadn’t seen Kate since that day at her house. She thought about her sometimes, hated the way they’d left things. But she couldn’t do it to her mom.

  “Well, I think we can consider that a successful first week, don’t you?” Dr. Sanders said.

  Zoe nodded.

  “So,” he said, glancing down at the folder in front of him. “I thought today we could talk a little about your parents.” He looked up, expectant.

  “Er … okay.” It seemed like a strange thing to talk about; then again, maybe it wasn’t. On TV everyone seemed to talk about their parents in therapy.

  “Why don’t you start by telling me about your childhood?”

  He watched her carefully. Zoe felt uncomfortable under his gaze.

  “Well … I guess, there’s not much to tell. I’ve spent my whole life in Atherton. I lived with my mom and my great-great-grandma until I was two, when she died. Since then, it’s just been Mom and me.”

  “And your dad?”

  Zoe shook her head. “He’s not in my life. I don’t even know who he is.”

  Dr. Sanders was quiet for a moment. “It must have been strange, growing up without a father.”

  “It wasn’t strange. You don’t miss what you don’t have. And my mom more than made up for him not being around.”

  “You didn’t feel cheated, not having a father figure in your life?”

  “No,” Zoe said. “Although … I do think about him sometimes. You know, just wonder what he’s like.”

  The truth was, Zoe had been thinking of her dad more lately. Maybe it was because of Kate’s husband, David, the perfect, friendly nice-guy dad, or maybe it was because her mom was sick? In those moments—those horrible moments—when she entertained the idea that her mom might actually die, she couldn’t help but think of him. Up until now, she’d been happy not to know anything about him. The thing about having social anxiety was that you weren’t too interested in knowing someone who didn’t want to know you. But things were … changing.

  She’d started imagining seeing him on the street. The fantasy was almost always the same. He’d be at the gas station, or walking his dog, and she’d feel it—a zing of electricity in the air. He’d glance up and he would know, of course, that it was her. They’d run all the way home, together, to tell her mom. Look, she would say. It’s him! They’d all squeal and have a revolting three-way hug.

  It would be a turning point in their lives. The missing piece for both of them. They’d start spending time together—occasionally at first, and then more often. After a while she’d start texting him “Happy Father’s Day” and then they’d become friends on Facebook, and he would write all those dorky comments on her posts that her friends were always mortified by. And she’d text him and say “Daaaaad!” And he would send back about ten emojis, because dads always overused those things.

  But it was just a fantasy.

  “I mean … it’s stupid,” she said. “If he was a good guy and he, you know, wanted me … he’d already be in my life. So I shouldn’t even think about it.”

  Dr. Sanders’s expression was doing something with his face, sucking at the inside of his mouth or something, that made him look really tense.

  “I don’t think it’s stupid to think about it,” he said. “The biological pull is strong. Studies show that children are nearly always better off with both biological parents in their lives. Even just knowing who your father is has the potential to bring you a lot of peace.”

  It was the first time Zoe had seen him be anything more forceful than neutral. But there was something in his tone that was stronger. It gave her a funny feeling.

  The bell went.

  “Zoe—”

  “I need to get to class,” she said, jumping up. But afterwar
d, at her locker, she was still thinking about something Dr. Sanders had said. Even just knowing who he is has the potential to bring you a lot of peace. She wondered about this. And it occurred to her that maybe she should find him.

  54

  “Hungover but still here,” Paul announced, when Alice opened the door. Indeed he did look worse for wear. His eyes were bloodshot and his plaid shirt was buttoned so badly Alice couldn’t understand how he’d managed it. Also, she caught the faint whiff of alcohol. The strangest thing was, instead of feeling angry, she felt grateful that he’d shown up at all.

  Paul had been more dependable than Alice expected. Apart from twice, when he was drunk and uncontactable (Alice had had to call Sonja for a last-minute ride), he’d managed to show up when required, and even sometimes when he wasn’t. Truth be told, Alice had started to enjoy having the company, and, she suspected, so did Paul. After a while it occurred to Alice that she hadn’t been the only one alone all these years.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Do turkeys stampede at dawn?”

  Paul’s expression said he was too hungover to process humor.

  “Forget it,” Alice said. “Let’s go.”

  Alice was more than ready. It had been a rough few weeks. Not just the chemo, but the complications. She’d had infections. Low white-cell count. A blood transfusion. She’d had to delay chemo twice. Before she knew it, two months had passed.

  As sick as it made her, Alice wanted to have chemo. There was power in the knowledge that she was fighting the disease. Sometimes, when she was stuck in that chair with the tube going into her arm, she’d visualize the poison flowing through her veins, attacking the cancer cells. Stopping it in its tracks. It was, if not a good feeling, the only thing that gave her hope.

  Today, she was optimistic. She’d had a blood transfusion a few days before and her blood exam had shown that her white-cell count was up. Yesterday Dr. Brookes had given her the go-ahead for chemo. She was all set. Unlikely as it was, somewhere along the way she’d started to enjoy chemo. She’d trundle in there with Paul and watch a movie or have a cup of tea and chat. The nurses were so upbeat and happy. Last time the young girl and her mother had been there again, and they’d passed two whole hours talking and exchanging magazines.

  Paul dropped her off out in front of the hospital, as was their routine, and she went on up while he parked the car. In the elevator she saw Iris, her favorite nurse, who asked about Zoe, and Alice asked her about Russell, the man Iris had met online and was planning to go on a date with. At her last chemo session Iris had shown Alice a photo of him and Alice had commented on his large muscles.

  “His profile picture was quite deceiving.” Iris chuckled. “Then again, so is mine.”

  By the time Alice got to the chemotherapy room, she was feeling quite chipper. It was nice, being surrounded by people. It was, she suspected, the kind of community most people would have if they worked in an office, or were members of a club. Alice found her community at chemo.

  Alice went to her usual station. There were no rules about where to sit, but she always seemed to end up at the same spot. Remarkably, it was always free. “People are creatures of habit,” Iris had said, when Alice had asked about it. “They sit somewhere once, it becomes their spot.”

  The spot beside her, typically, belonged to the young girl and her mother, but today it was taken by a woman who looked to be in her seventies, and a support person who must have been her son. They nodded hello, and Alice tried not to be disappointed. She didn’t see any familiar faces. No patients she knew.

  Suddenly Alice noticed Kate at the desk. Kate glanced up at the same moment, then quickly looked away again. It was the first time Alice had seen her since her verbal reprimanding a few weeks ago. Since then, as far as Alice knew, Zoe hadn’t seen Kate again. These last few weeks, Alice felt like she had her daughter back. At night, Zoe slept by her side. In the morning, before she went to school, Zoe made her a breakfast that she wouldn’t eat. Still, she felt thoroughly cared for. It was nice.

  Paul came up, then promptly disappeared—presumably to the bar across the road for a little hair of the dog.

  After a time, the woman next to her drifted off to sleep. Her son, Alice noticed, was about Alice’s age, with a crop of thick, sandy hair and blue eyes made bluer by his thin, periwinkle V-neck sweater. All of this Alice happily registered from her seat, comfortably aware that as a bald, forty-year-old cancer patient, she was hardly going to attract his attention.

  But then, he looked up and said, “Oh, hello.” His smile was as earnest as it was lovely. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Alice said. “I think I was staring. You start to lose social graces in here. Like being in an old folks’ home. Or at a kindergarten.”

  He laughed.

  “Is this your mom’s first session?” she asked.

  “My aunt,” he corrected. “And yes. You?”

  “Oh, I’m an old hand,” she said with faux pride. “Anything you want to know, ask me.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So what do I need to know?”

  Alice was in a good mood. It had been a while since she’d chatted with anyone socially except Paul. She told the man—Andrew was his name—about the good nurses and the bad nurses, the secret parking spaces across the road (free!), the coffee carts to avoid. Andrew, as it turned out, was a doctor in the hospital—a hand surgeon—so he didn’t need her tips (he had his own parking space) but he was very polite. Alice told him not to mention that he was a doctor when her brother arrived because he would probably try and get him to write out a prescription for morphine for him. Andrew laughed. Alice told him not to laugh, she was serious. He laughed more. He was one of those people who laughed easily. A lovely trait, Alice had always thought.

  “If you think that’s funny, get this! He drops me off here, then goes to the pub on the corner and gets loaded. We usually share a cab home!”

  Now he looked like he wasn’t sure if he was meant to laugh or not. But Alice was laughing so much, he joined in. “Family,” she said. “Who’d have ’em.”

  “So what kind of cancer does your aunt have?” she asked when the laughter died down.

  “Breast,” he said, after glancing at her quickly and finding her still dozing. “But they caught it early. Her prognosis is good. Yourself?”

  “Ovarian. Stage three.”

  A cloud passed over his face.

  “No, it’s not great,” Alice admitted. “But it could be worse. I could be … trampled by a herd of elephants. Or dragged through a town square by my feet.”

  He chuckled.

  “Hung, drawn and quartered,” she continued. “Tarred and feathered!”

  By the time she was finished he was laughing helplessly and so was Alice. It felt fantastic to laugh with another adult. A normal non-drunk male adult.

  She kept talking.

  * * *

  After what only seemed like minutes, Iris came over and unhooked her IV bag.

  “You’re good to go now, Alice,” she said.

  “Already?”

  “Can you call Paul and tell him to come up?”

  “Paul doesn’t have a phone. But it’s all right. I know where to find him.”

  “Well,” Iris said, shaking her head. “I really don’t know what to do. I need to release you to a person.”

  This was a first. Alice had never had to be released to a person before. Besides, Iris knew all about Paul. She had an uncle, she’d told Alice last time, who was the same way. At previous sessions she’d been happy for Alice to head on downstairs to find him.

  “Perhaps if someone could take you to him?” Iris said, glancing around.

  “Can I help at all?” Andrew said.

  “Oh, Andrew, would you?” Iris exclaimed. “Alice just needs someone to deliver her to her brother.”

  She met Alice’s eye. Oh, Iris. You naughty, naughty thing.<
br />
  “I’d be happy to,” Andrew said. Which was exactly what Iris was banking on.

  Iris waved a little too brightly as they walked away. Alice made a mental note to thank her later. But in the elevator, alongside a couple of nurses and an old lady in a hospital-issue dressing gown, conversation suddenly dried up between Alice and Andrew. A few potential topics crossed Alice’s mind but she couldn’t seem to project any. She, as Zoe would have said, literally choked. (A stupid saying, Alice thought, because if she literally choked, she’d be dead. If they had to specify, why not say figuratively choked?) The elevator stopped on every floor—one person off, one on. Alice became very aware that soon this lovely little encounter would be over.

  With one floor to go, they were alone. Alice knew she had to act fast. But to do what? All she knew was that she had enjoyed today. And she didn’t want it to end.

  “Andrew?” Alice said, and when he turned to her, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him, quickly, on the lips. She didn’t know who was more startled—she or Andrew. Mercifully, in the very next moment, the doors opened.

  “Thanks for escorting me down,” Alice said, and burst through the doors.

  “Wait!” Andrew called.

  Reluctantly, Alice turned.

  “I … promised Iris I’d hand you over to your brother,” he said.

  Alice scanned the foyer. Through the glass she saw the back of Paul’s oval head as he slumped against the wall outside. Always a class act, her brother.

  “There he is.” Alice pointed vaguely. “Anyway, nice to meet you. You’d better get back to your aunt.”

  He nodded uncertainly. Alice had well and truly bewildered him.

  “Sorry,” she said. “About that. I needed to know that I still had it in me.”

  He smiled. “You do.”

  They looked at each other for a moment. Then finally, he turned and walked away.

  Alice watched as he headed back to the elevator. When he turned to face her he was still smiling. And when Alice skipped out of the foyer toward her drunk brother, so was she.