by Nancy Thayer
“Mrs. Lodge?” A nurse, clipboard in hand, approached. “Will you come with me?”
Claudia slipped her book into her purse and rose.
Polly smiled at up her mother-in-law. “Good luck.”
Claudia arched a brow. “Come along, Polly, don’t dawdle.”
Polly blinked. “Um, what?” As a flush reddened her face, she sensed others looking over at her.
“I said,” Claudia said in a voice edged with ice, “come along.”
Confused, Polly half-rose. “You want me to accompany you?”
Claudia nearly snorted with exasperation. “Of course.” Abruptly she turned away, head high, striding along on her elegant heels after the nurse.
“Well, all-righty then,” Polly muttered under her breath as she hurried to follow.
The waiting room had been spacious. Back here, physicians in scrubs and stethoscopes surged through a warren of cubicles and offices. The nurse ushered Claudia and Polly into what seemed like a cupboard and helped Claudia up onto the examination table. Claudia allowed Polly to help her remove her mink. In her teal blue suit with the diamond pin on the collar, Claudia looked as if she were on a throne.
“I’m Jane,” the nurse announced with a friendly smile as she unrolled the blood-pressure cuff and fit it over Claudia’s arm.
“Hello, Jane, I’m Polly.” Polly’s voice came out high and squeaky. Damn! She was hyperventilating. She hadn’t told Claudia she was terrified of doctors and all things medical. This common phobia, called the white-coat syndrome, caused Polly to gulp down a glass of red wine before her own annual physical. The best she could do now was squeeze herself into the farthest corner of the tiny room, where she stood surreptitiously stroking the mink as if she were reassuring a pet.
The door flew open and in strode a handsome, robust man in a white lab coat. He extended his hand.
“Mrs. Lodge. Nice to see you again.”
Claudia briefly touched her perfectly manicured claw to his large hand. “And you, Hugh.”
Dr. Monroe turned. “And this is?” He smiled at Polly. He had beautiful blue eyes, a clear and intelligent gaze.
Claudia announced, “Polly Lodge. She’ll be assisting me.”
As if Claudia were preparing to perform surgery on Hugh Monroe, Polly thought, with a slight touch of hysteria. Polly moved to meet Dr. Monroe’s outstretched hand and tripped over her mother-in-law’s purse. Fortunately, the physician caught her by the elbow.
“Steady as you go,” he said, smiling.
Aware her skin was now a radiant crimson, Polly murmured, “Thanks,” and shrank back into her corner, feeling as suave as Jane Eyre on her first day at the orphanage. Claudia glared at her, indignant at Polly’s clumsiness. At times like this, Polly was flooded with sensations so powerful she was sure they were engraved into her DNA: embarrassment at being the descendant of Irish peasants who fled, starving, from their green country to the wild Boston shore where they scrubbed the floors and waited on people who looked like Claudia. So potent, so compelling, were these emotions, they were almost like memories, paralyzing her. She reminded herself that Tucker had found her beautiful, that her generous curves had brought him joy.
“Now, Mrs. Lodge.” Dr. Monroe set his blue-eyed gaze on the older woman. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine.” Claudia spoke it as a challenge.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Nurse Jane folded up her blood-pressure cuff and scribbled in a folder.
“I’ll just have a peek at your abdomen,” Dr. Monroe said.
Nurse Jane pulled the curtain on its track, shutting Polly out for a few moments of blissful solitude.
The curtain opened. Dr. Monroe stationed himself on a stool while Claudia sat on the edge of the table and the nurse waited at her elbow.
“Blood pressure’s great, Mrs. Lodge,” the doctor announced. “Your heart’s in good shape, your lungs are clear, you’re generally a fit, healthy woman, which is all for the good.” The nurse handed him a folder. Setting glasses on his nose, he scanned some papers, then peered over them. “However, as we said at your last visit, the CA125 blood tests indicated ovarian cancer. Now we have the results of the ultrasound and the biopsy. You do have a malignant tumor.”
“Oh, dear,” Polly whispered. Those had to be the ugliest words in the English language. She felt her own body shrinking back from the doctor’s words, but Claudia sat with majestic, implacable rigidity.
“The ultrasound and biopsy indicate that the tumor began in an area in a cul-de-sac between the vagina and the rectum known as the pouch of Douglas.”
“Ridiculous,” Claudia sniffed. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
She’s never heard of the vagina or rectum, either, Polly thought giddily.
Dr. Monroe nodded. “No, not many of us have. It’s a spot rarely mentioned. I haven’t encountered it since medical school.”
“Since Claudia has it, perhaps it should be named the evening bag of Douglas,” Polly offered. To her surprise, Claudia’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.
Dr. Monroe laughed. “Not a bad idea.” He gave Polly an appreciative smile. Turning back to Claudia, he said, “You and I have discussed the possibility of surgery, which you say you do not want.”
“Absolutely not. I have no intention of letting some idiot nurse turn me into a vegetable.”
“Well, that probably wouldn’t be the result,” Dr. Monroe informed her evenly. “But your tumor is wrapped around your organs in such a way that it would make an operation impossible, anyway. You could have a few rounds of chemotherapy to shrink the tumor. This might provide several more months of good-quality life for you—”
Claudia interrupted. “But would it also have negative effects?”
The doctor nodded. “It might.”
“I’d experience nausea? I’d lose my hair?”
“Not necessarily. We have medications to control nausea, and the kind of chemo I’m thinking of for you would be very mild.”
“Then why bother?”
Patiently, Hugh Monroe explained, “Because, as I said, it might provide you with a few more months of good-quality life—”
“Or it might not, correct?”
“We never can be absolutely certain about the results of chemo, but statistics are on the side—”
Claudia shook her head. “No. No chemotherapy.”
“You don’t have to decide right this moment,” Dr. Monroe reminded her. “Think about it for a few days.”
Claudia shrugged. “With or without the chemo, what can I expect to happen?”
“Over the next few months, you will probably experience weakness, constipation, and loss of appetite. But you shouldn’t worry about pain. We have medications that will take care of that. The tumor is quite advanced. You must have experienced some symptoms, Mrs. Lodge. I’m surprised you haven’t been to see me before now.”
“I don’t believe in making a fuss over matters.”
“Yes, that’s the good old Yankee way.” The physician moved closer, putting his hand on Claudia’s. “Fairly soon, I’d like you to get in touch with Martha Wright, who’s in charge of hospice—”
Claudia withdrew her hand. “I won’t need hospice.”
“Perhaps not for a while, no. But you will need someone to get your groceries and perform other errands—”
Claudia shrugged. “Polly can do that.”
Polly can? Polly thought with surprise. Okay, but how about asking Polly?
“Now, Mrs. Lodge, tell me, how are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you eating?”
“Of course.”
“Yet you’ve lost weight.” When Claudia didn’t reply, the doctor continued, “Are you living alone?”
“I have a housekeeper.”
“And she lives with you?”
“No,” Claudia admitted sullenly.
“You might want to consider having her move in with you. S
ince you don’t want hospice. I don’t mean immediately, but eventually. And now is the time for you to get your legal affairs in order.”
“My legal affairs are already in order.”
“Excellent.” Dr. Monroe stepped away from the bedside. “Do you have any questions?”
Claudia nodded. “Are you planning to attend the Clarks’ cocktail party?”
“Oh!” His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Um, I’m not sure.”
“You ought to, you know. It’s probably the best party of the fall. Phyllis Clark told me they’re having the Guarrancia Quartet play.”
“Well, perhaps I’ll see you there. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Lodge. Great to meet you, Polly.” With a swift smile all around, he left the room.
The nurse helped Claudia from the table. Claudia gathered her things, and they returned to the reception area to schedule her next appointment. Claudia’s back was straight and her head high, but Polly noticed how the older woman seemed to sway slightly with each step, as if working hard to keep her balance.
As they walked back through the corridors, Polly racked her brain: What would Claudia like right now? Could anything provide momentary pleasure? “Why don’t we have some tea before I drive you home?” Polly asked.
“Here?” Claudia looked as if Polly had just spit on the floor.
“Sure. They’ve got some great little restaurants in the basement. I ate there when my friend—”
“I have no intention of eating in a hospital.”
“Okay, then, let’s go to the Ritz. My treat.”
“No, thank you, Polly. I’d prefer to go home.”
Polly knew better than to discuss private matters in the public corridors of the hospital, but once they were settled in the car, she turned to her mother-in-law. “Claudia. I’m really upset about this diagnosis and your decision. I think you should reconsider having chemotherapy—”
“Please do not tell me what to do, Polly,” Claudia snapped. “And would you be good enough to stop dawdling and drive me home? I’m tired.”
To placate her, Polly put her key in the ignition and started the car. Then she tried again. “I know you’re a private and independent person, Claudia. But I do want you to know I’m more than ready to do anything I can to help you.”
“I’m sure you are,” Claudia replied, sounding bored.
“I have a friend who’s a nurse—”
“I have every confidence in Dr. Monroe.”
“Of course. That’s good. But this is such an enormous matter, Claudia. I could find you some books on the subject—”
“Polly, you’re becoming tiresome. Let’s have no more discussion of my so-called imminent death, please. In fact, I’d appreciate some silence right now.”
Polly nodded and didn’t speak again until they reached Claudia’s house. “Would you like me to come in with you now?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I intend to take a nap.”
“Very well. But Dr. Monroe said you’ll need someone to fetch groceries and do errands for you.”
“True. But I’m perfectly capable of dialing the phone to ask you when I need something, Polly. I’m not that far gone.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
“And another thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this information to yourself. I don’t want anyone gossiping about me.”
“Of course, I won’t say a word—”
“Not that you run in the same crowd I do, of course, but rumors always spread somehow.” Claudia opened her car door.
“Claudia, let me help you up the steps,” Polly volunteered.
“Don’t fuss so!” Claudia shot Polly such a venomous glance, Polly cringed.
——————————
When Polly entered her own home just after five, she was tired and a bit freaked-out. She wanted a good stiff drink. She wanted a pint of chocolate ice cream. She wanted to kick something. She felt so sorry for Claudia, and so trapped by her—
The phone rang.
“Mom?” David’s young voice was like balm to her soul. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, darling, how’s Jehoshaphat?”
“Fat and happy. Amy thought you might like to come out for a visit.”
“Oh, I’d love it!” Polly felt like a wallflower being asked to the senior prom. “You have no idea how I’d love to see that little baby, David! I’ve just been driving Claudia to the doctor’s. She’s got ovarian cancer!”
“That’s terrible! Poor Claudia,” David said. “I’ll send her some flowers.”
“That’s sweet of you, David. Oh, I’m so glad I’m going to see the baby. It makes me feel like the sun’s about to shine!”
“Look, I’ve got to go, Jehoshaphat needs changing. Can you come tomorrow about eleven?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away!” Polly hung up the phone, her exhaustion forgotten. David’s loving voice, the promise of seeing her grandson tomorrow morning, oh, how this made her soul soar!
The phone rang again.
“Mom?” David’s voice was apologetic. “Listen, I’ve just been talking with Amy.”
Polly could hear Amy in the background, chirping away. “Yes?”
“Amy feels”—chirp chirp chirp!—“and I do, too, we both feel, that while you’re taking care of Claudia, it would be better if you didn’t come near the baby. He’s so vulnerable, you know, and germs are so easily transmitted—”
“But, David!” Polly gasped. “Honey, I won’t be coming to you right from Claudia’s! And of course I’ll shower and change clothes—”
“Sorry, Mom. Amy just doesn’t”—chirp chirp chirp!—“Amy and I just don’t want to take the chance. Let’s wait until things are resolved with Claudia before you see Jehoshaphat again, okay?”
“Resolved?” In spite of herself, Polly’s voice became shrill. “You mean, wait till Claudia dies?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” David answered meekly.
“But David, that could be months,” Polly protested. “It could be a year!”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve got to think about my family’s health. I just don’t want to take any chances.”
“I’m so disappointed, David,” Polly said, hating herself as she spoke those words. She had never wanted to be a disappointed kind of mother. Rallying, she forced cheer into her voice. “But I do understand, and of course I want your son to be healthy and free from any kind of possible threat.”
“We’ll send you photos,” David promised.
“Oh, lovely,” Polly gushed. “And give him a kiss for me.”
She said good-bye, hung up the phone, and burst into tears.
12
To say that Sonny had relatives was like saying lasagna had calories, Beth thought, as she and Sonny arrived at his cousin’s home for the annual Halloween party. The driveway and street on both sides were crammed with sports cars, trucks, and motorcycles. A double row of jack-o’-lanterns, each carved with a ghastly grimace from which candlelight flickered, lined the sidewalk to the ranch house, which was hung with enough bats, cobwebs, witches, and ghouls to frighten Dracula.
Holding Sonny’s arm, Beth stepped with care over the curb and along the walk. Her white, plastic, four-inch high-heeled boots were not only uncomfortable, they were hell to walk in. She prayed she wouldn’t turn her ankle and fall.
Was she a fool to try to look glamorous? Last year, Beth had gone to a Halloween party at another grad student’s house, where her costume had been a great success. She’d put rocks in the pockets of an old raincoat, woven twigs into her hair, and gone as Virginia Woolf after she was dragged out of the river. That wouldn’t work with this bunch, she knew. When she’d tried to get suggestions from Sonny, he’d been hopeless.
Then she’d mentioned her dilemma to Sonny’s mother. Even now, the memory of her premarriage bonding moment with her incipient mother-in-law warmed Beth like a cup of hot cocoa.
It had been a weekday night at the Youngs’. Sonny was in the den,
watching a baseball game with his father. Bobbie was in the kitchen, making cupcakes for the community bake sale, and Beth was there in the heart of the family, helping. It was her job to ice the chocolate cupcakes with silly faces. Beth was so thrilled to be included in a family production and so nervous about doing it right that every mouth on every face had a wavery squiggle. Fortunately, Bobbie thought that was deliberate.
“What are you wearing to the Halloween party?” Bobbie asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth answered. She’d thought of Cinderella and Prince Charming, but that was way too gooey. Heathcliff and Catherine? Anthony and Cleopatra? Beth couldn’t help thinking of famous lovers, but she was too timid to suggest them. She and Sonny were lovers, though, and she did want something cute and clever and also something that made it clear as sun on snow that she and Sonny were a couple. “Sonny says he hates dressing up.”
“How about Sonny and Cher?” Bobbie suggested. “That way, Sonny can come as himself.” She’d laughed her wonderful laugh. “All my other children loved wearing costumes for Halloween, but not Sonny. When he was a little kid, he’d insist on sticking a paper bag with three holes in it on his head.”
Beth forced herself to ask, “What about when he was a teenager?” She might as well bring up the days when Sonny had dated the peerless Robin, since it was Sonny’s mother’s favorite topic in the entire universe.
Sure enough, Bobbie beamed. “Oh, Robin made him dress up, that’s for sure. Let’s see, one year they went as Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe . . .”
Just kill me now, Beth thought, intimidated by any woman who had the self-esteem to impersonate Marilyn Monroe.
