“I have this feeling, this gut feeling that won’t go away. I…I haven’t said anything to Lucas or Chantelle or anyone else. I can’t. I won’t. But that doesn’t change what I know in my gut…in my heart.”
“You can tell me,” I whispered.
Just then Doug burst into the café. “You ready?” he demanded, eager to return to our camp before we lost daylight.
“Give me a minute,” I pleaded.
Naturally, Willa heard the exchange. “You need to go.”
“Tell me what you want to say,” I urged.
“Sean,” she said, her voice full of tears. “I’m getting a vibe from the nurses…no one has come right out and said it aloud, but I’ve heard whispers. John is worried. He hasn’t said it. It’s a feeling…The nurses, even John…they don’t think Harper will be well enough to leave the hospital between her chemo sessions. I’m afraid they don’t believe Harper will ever go home again.”
“You don’t know that,” I countered.
“I refuse to believe it. I can’t. We need to remain positive. She beat cancer once. She can again…only it feels much different this time. Worse, somehow, and I didn’t think that was possible.”
CHAPTER 22
Willa
Ten days after hearing from Sean, it was exactly as I’d feared. When the chemotherapy was completed, Harper remained too sick to leave the hospital. The short break between chemotherapy sessions, when we’d hoped she would build up her strength and white blood cells while staying at Lucas’s apartment, wasn’t possible. Harper was far too sick. I’d prayed that once the infusions stopped, her appetite would return. It didn’t. She ate less and less.
Chantelle thought if she brought Harper her favorite pizza that would be incentive enough for her to eat. She did her best, nibbling at a single slice, but couldn’t manage more than what a bird would peck at. It said much more than any of us could bear to say aloud. She was going downhill quickly, far faster than we ever dared dream.
“Stop looking at me like I’m on my deathbed,” Harper insisted. “I’m getting better; be patient. This stuff takes time. Ask John…You’re all looking so gloomy. You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am not,” I muttered.
“Are too,” Harper countered in banter, like we were children. Then, as if she was eager to change the subject, she asked me about Sean. “Have you heard from him lately?”
I shook my head.
“You know he’d contact you if he could.”
“I know.” Everything would be easier for me if he was here. I needed him, if for nothing more than to rest my head against his shoulder and let him hold me. He would absorb my fears, comfort me, and help me maintain a positive attitude.
“John’s been wonderful,” Harper whispered, already weakened by our short conversation. “I could love a man as caring and gentle as he is.”
I strongly suspected Harper was already in love with the physician. She held her feelings close to her heart and never spoke of her feelings for him to me before now.
“Did you know his mother died from breast cancer when he was in his teens? It was because of her that he chose a career in medicine.”
“He certainly has the heart for it.”
“He does.” Her words were a mere whisper, as she was already tired out from the effort to carry even a short conversation. Squeezing her hand, I left the room, fearing I would make everything worse if I allowed her to witness my tears.
Chantelle joined me a few minutes later. “She’s doing her best to put on a brave face through this.”
Leaning heavily against the wall, I exhaled, trying to forestall the tears. Emotion was close to the surface and had been ever since Harper had entered the hospital.
Wouldn’t you know it, the brief time I was out of the room the physician in charge of Harper’s case along with John came in to discuss the latest round of test results with her. This was how our day went: We hung on the hope that her bone marrow would produce the necessary white blood cells to ignite Harper’s immune system and fight off the leukemia.
Despite our prayers, every day the results were disappointing. It was hard to hold on when it was bad news followed by more bad news. We were left to watch Harper grow weaker and sicker every day.
It shocked me how quickly my sister had declined. She was bald now and wore a cute lilac-colored bow on the side of her hairless head.
“Leesa and Carrie are coming on Saturday,” I remembered. Their visit was sure to raise Harper’s spirits, and mine, too.
“Any more word from Sean?” Chantelle asked.
I shook my head. Although our conversation had been brief, Sean and I were fortunate to have had those few minutes. Remote as he was, I didn’t expect to hear from him again. I kept my phone tucked away on silent at the bottom of my purse, checking intermittently. If Sean had phoned during the day, I would have missed his call. Because it came in the middle of the night, we’d been able to talk.
“Did you hear back from the hotel?” I asked, knowing Chantelle had been waiting to hear about the possibility of changing the wedding date. It would be difficult at this point, seeing that the invitations had already been mailed out. That Lucas and Chantelle were willing to consider rescheduling their wedding said a lot about the kind of people they were.
Chantelle’s eyes immediately skirted away from mine. “The hotel is booked solid. I’ve checked every other venue in Oceanside and there’s not one available. I’ve looked in Seattle, too. Unfortunately, this late in the game, it’s impossible.”
After much discussion in the end it was decided that it would be best to keep the original early-December date.
As hard as I tried, I couldn’t make myself entertain the notion that Harper wouldn’t be alive come December. The words nearly stuck in my throat; nevertheless, they needed to be said. “I don’t know if Harper will be up to participating as a bridesmaid.”
“Are you suggesting I make contingency plans?” Chantelle asked.
I bit into my lip so hard I was afraid I’d drawn blood. “I…think that might be best.” Although Lucas and Chantelle did their part to support Harper, I was the one who’d spent the most time with her. Seeing her decline a little more each day, I feared the worst while doing my utmost to remain positive.
“We need a meeting with Dr. Carroll and John,” Chantelle announced, wanting to hear for herself what we should expect.
My mind was stuck on the fact that the lab results had showed no improvement. Harper seemed to be losing ground, when we’d fully expected her to be gaining. After the first chemotherapy session, we all accepted that Harper was far too weak to endure another round. Everything that could traditionally be done to help had already been tried.
Chantelle walked over to the nurses’ station and spoke to the supervisor. When she returned, she said, “Dr. Carroll has asked to meet with all of us tomorrow afternoon. John will be with him.”
By “all of us,” I knew she meant that Harper would be in on the meeting. That made sense, although I’d prefer to keep her in the dark for as long as possible. If the news was debilitating, then I’d rather she not hear it. I felt it was my duty to protect my sister from as much of the negative as I could. She’d hate it if she knew that was what I was doing. She’d insist I was mothering her again, and I was. I couldn’t help myself.
* * *
—
Wednesday afternoon, Lucas got off work early and met Chantelle and me in Harper’s hospital room. She had a private room, which was decorated with cards and gifts from family and friends. Our father had found a stuffed white kitten so Harper would have Snowball by her side. It sat by her head, next to her pillow.
As we awaited the two physicians’ arrival, Harper’s phone rang. When she answered, a smile came to her.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Our father had talked to H
arper only a few times. He checked in with me every night to ask for an update. When it came to Harper, he found it painfully difficult. I knew this was hard for him, and I loved him even more for making the effort.
“Better, I think.” She listened for several moments while Dad spoke.
She was still on the phone when John and Dr. Carroll came into the room.
“Sorry, Dad, I need to go. The doctors are here. Thanks for calling. Love you, too.” She disconnected and set the phone aside. Seeing that she was sitting up in bed was a good sign. It seemed a bit of her strength had returned. That was an encouragement when we badly needed one.
Dr. Carroll, unlike John, was middle-aged, probably early fifties, tall, slim, with warm blue eyes. Over the course of the time Harper had been hospitalized I’d had numerous conversations with him, and even more with John, as he was closely following Harper’s treatment strategy. Although Dr. Carroll was in charge of Harper, it was John who spent most of the time caring for her, although he wasn’t the physician in charge.
Ignoring the rest of us, John’s gaze immediately went to Harper, and he smiled. As I watched the two, I realized how strong his feelings were for my sister. It showed in the way he looked at her, as if he didn’t notice that she was bald and shockingly thin; he saw her as the beautiful woman she was. In that instant I fell a little in love with him myself.
“Dr. Carroll, this is my family. You’ve met Willa.” Harper motioned toward me. “This is Lucas. He’s usually here after you’ve left for the day. And this is his fiancée, Chantelle. You’ve probably seen her around now and again.”
The men exchanged handshakes. We all returned to our seats. Dr. Carroll stood next to Harper’s bed, his expression kind but serious. A knot formed in my throat, fearing what we were about to learn.
Lucas led the conversation. “Doctor, from what I’ve been hearing, the lab results aren’t showing the improvement in Harper’s white blood cells we’d hoped to see.”
“To this point, that’s true,” he agreed.
“You mean you believe they will?” Lucas’s voice rose marginally with hope.
I sat up a bit straighter myself.
“I’m optimistic. Her body is fighting hard and we’re doing everything humanly possible to give Harper every chance available. Hopefully, with a bit more time, we’ll see better results.”
Lucas reached for Chantelle’s hand. “Our wedding is coming up soon and Harper is a bridesmaid. We’re wondering if we should”—he hesitated and glanced at Harper—“if we should arrange to be married earlier than originally planned.”
“Harper is an important part of our wedding, so we really want her to be there.” Chantelle paused and looked at my sister. “Even if she needs to be in a wheelchair.”
“Do you think that’s possible?” Lucas asked.
The question hung in the air like a bomb ready to explode. The silence was eerie, filled with expectation. Dread. Fear. It seemed we all leaned forward, anticipating his response.
The two physicians exchanged a look. Dr. Carroll took his time answering. John looked at Harper and his eyes gentled.
“Of course I can’t make any guarantee; no medical professional would in good conscience,” Dr. Carroll said. “However, our hope is that Harper will be able to be part of your wedding, but I can’t say that one way or the other.”
“What needs to happen?”
For the next fifteen minutes, Dr. Carroll updated us on the next steps planned to build up Harper’s immune system. In the three years since her first battle with cancer, the advancements in treatments were truly astonishing. Although much of what he explained was lost on me, his words offered hope, and that was something we all desperately needed at this point.
“Told you,” Harper said with a hint of triumph in her voice. “You’re all so full of gloom and doom.”
“Are there any other questions I can answer for you?” Dr. Carroll asked, ever the professional.
Lucas and Chantelle held hands and I watched as Chantelle brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. “We’re good.”
“Thank you, Dr. Carroll,” I said as I stood. “This means everything to my family.”
“Absolutely. Don’t hesitate to call me anytime.”
“Thank you, we will.”
The atmosphere was much lighter than it had been before his arrival. Chantelle hugged Harper and then she hugged me. Lucas did the same. “This calls for a celebration,” my brother declared. “A big one, with champagne and—”
“Naked male dancers,” Harper inserted, and then grinned at the shocked look that came over me.
“Honestly, Willa, you can be such a stick in the mud sometimes. I was only joking.”
“Maybe so, but I think John might object to you being around a lot of naked men.”
To my surprise, Harper’s face filled with color. “He probably would. He’s been wonderful. Did you know he comes and sits with me every morning before he goes on shift? He gives me strength and encouragement. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
I didn’t know about his early-morning visits, but it didn’t surprise me. John gave my sister all the incentive she needed to fight, and for that I would be forever grateful.
* * *
—
Over the next few days Harper and I had long talks. She slept a lot of the time but when she was awake, she told me about her and John’s conversations. He thought of himself as an introvert who worked hard and didn’t have time to date. His mother’s death changed him. He was determined to do everything within his power to heal cancer patients.
Although Harper tired quickly, she encouraged me to talk about Sean and the possibility of our future together. Not being able to communicate with him was hard, although he was never far from my thoughts.
* * *
—
On the weekend Leesa and Carrie arrived, bubbling over with news. They brought coloring books and fancy pens and sat and colored with Harper. It was a bit awkward for me, so I went to the hospital cafeteria for a bite to eat. Seeing that most of my meals came from the cafeteria, I was on a first-name basis with the staff.
It was hard for me to stay away from Harper’s room, knowing that while well-intentioned, the arrival of her two BFFs was sure to quickly tire my sister. Sure enough, when I returned, Harper was sound asleep, a coloring pen in her hand. The book lay open in her lap. I noticed very little on either page had been colored in.
Leesa and Carrie sat silently at her bedside, coloring away, as if nothing was amiss.
“How long did she last?” I whispered, not wanting to wake Harper.
“Only a few minutes,” Leesa whispered back.
Seeing the question in their eyes, I asked, “Are you okay?” I knew Harper’s appearance had shocked them. She was a shell of the vibrant, outgoing, fun young woman she’d once been.
Tears filled Leesa’s eyes and I noticed that Carrie struggled to hold back her own.
Leesa nodded. “I barely recognized her when we arrived. At first I thought we had the wrong room.” She wiped her hand across her face, her mascara raining black streaks down her cheeks. “How could this happen so quickly?”
“It was like this when she first got leukemia,” I assured both friends. “I should have better prepared you. It’s bad before it gets better. She’s sick now, but the turning point is coming. Think positively. That’s my mantra. Believe. Hold on to hope.”
I understood what Leesa and Carrie were saying. It had all come on so quickly. It shocked me that my sister had functioned so well for as long as she had, teaching yoga and fitness classes while ignoring any symptom she might have had.
I accepted part of the blame myself. I should have paid closer attention, should have watched for the signs. In thinking back, I speculated that deep down, Harper must have somehow known. I remembered the phone
call I’d had with my brother earlier that summer, mentioning all the crazy things Harper had been doing: bungee-jumping and everything else. This sudden desire to climb the largest mountain of the entire Cascade mountain range. All of that had come out of the blue. It was as if my little sister’s subconscious had told her to squeeze in as many life experiences as she could manage.
“She’s getting better,” I said again, wanting desperately to believe it myself. Dr. Carroll had given us hope and I was holding on to the thin thread with both hands, refusing to let go.
Leesa and Carrie left shortly after our conversation and I returned to my e-reader. Harper slept most of the afternoon.
Drained from her friends’ visit, my sister remained asleep when Chantelle arrived. Lucas followed a short while later.
“How’d it go?” Lucas asked.
He didn’t need to explain the question. Harper had talked about Leesa and Carrie driving all the way from Oceanside from the minute she’d learned they were coming. It meant a great deal to her that her friends were willing to take the long drive through heavy Seattle traffic to see her.
“I should have prepared them for the changes in Harper,” I admitted, regretting that I hadn’t.
“Have the test results come in for today?” Lucas asked.
Come to think of it, I hadn’t heard, which was unusual. I stepped out of the room, prepared to ask the nurses, when I saw Dr. Carroll. He acknowledged me, and then came over to where I stood.
“Did I see your brother and his fiancée arrive?”
“Yes, they’re here. We didn’t get the test results back today.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, sadly. “I’m wondering if it would be possible to speak to you and your family privately?”
I swallowed down the shock of his question and nodded. “Of course.”
I raced back to Harper’s room to get Lucas and Chantelle.
A Walk Along the Beach Page 18
