Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  Then she was there, standing by Peter, and he was still the wrong color. She felt dizzy and plopped onto a hard stool. Nurse David was talking, but his words did not make it through the spinning in her head. Her vision began to darken, and she swayed. Just before she tipped sideways, she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and she attempted to look up. She failed. A strong arm pushed her head between her knees, and she gradually felt her ears settle. Harsh sobs raked against them. They were hers—she was crying.

  “Keep your head down for a few minutes, Mrs. Bannock,” Nurse David said calmly. “The faint will pass soon.” Gradually, it did.

  “Sienna?” Peter whispered.

  “Here.” She drew a deep breath at last and leaned toward him, grabbing his hand. It was warm, and that was the first and best good news she’d had, in her whole life, it seemed.

  Nurse David explained that the doctor would be around in a few minutes, that Peter could have water if he wanted it, and how to call for assistance. He left them alone.

  “Goodness, Peter!” Sienna said, helpless under her husband’s anxious gaze. “Next time you need this much attention, let’s just go to a spa.”

  He smiled at her attempt at levity and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and kissed his knuckles. She watched him quietly as his gaze pulled in and out of focus. Nurse David had said something about a sedative wearing off, hadn’t he? It didn’t matter. She and Peter were together.

  The doctor walked in and shook Sienna’s free hand.

  “I’ll be direct. The news is not as bad as it could have been. Peter has stage three cancer. We’re working on treatment options now, but in brief, you’ll be considering additional surgery and radiation down the road, and starting soon, chemotherapy. The usual prognosis for this type of cancer is four to six months with no treatment, six years to a normal life with treatment. About two-thirds of patients with these cancers make a full remission.”

  Numbers swam in the air around them, and Sienna, even with all her business acumen, found that they made no sense at all. Two questions climbed to the surface. She asked the one that seemed polite, but held back her fear. “Can Peter come home while he’s on chemo, or will he stay here?”

  She listened as the doctor explained the necessity for rapid action, the probable stay of several weeks so that recovery could be closely monitored, and the invitation to bring in items from home if desired. The room would be Peter’s own for his stay. When they had gone, she bent to Peter’s face. His eyes fluttered a little, but they focused on her. She kissed him and waited until he slept.

  Then she got up and started towards home. Peter would want his old afghan and his laptop. And an orchid, and some decent tea, and the iPod he used when he was painting. She closed the front door to their home behind her and let her eyes roam the room, asking the second question as they lit on the couch, the candles, the fireplace, and the stairs leading to their bedroom. Would they be able to have children?

  Notes from Sienna’s tea files

  Tovah Rosen, 36, teashop owner, stationer, mother to 3, friend: Black tea blended with cocoa nibs and toasted coconut, hot with coconut milk and honey. Smells like a bakery and a mother’s love.

  Cleotis Reed, 74, retired mechanic, chess grandmaster: lapsang souchong with lump brown sugar. Do not oversteep. Serve with spicy cheesestraws. Or strongly flavored cookies.

  A.C. Whitmer, 88, retired banker, Cleotis Reed’s oldest friend: dark roasted pressed coffee, very hot. Serve in carafe to maintain temperature, black and strong.

  Chapter Three

  Sienna woke to the buzz of her cellphone on her neck. She must have fallen asleep on the bedroom chair covered in Peter’s afghan. Wrapped in his favorite blanket, Peter read there every night to overcome insomnia. The chair smelled like him—the heady blend of cedar and mountain mint and the sweet overtones of honey-sweet Assam tea—and she curled into it, missing this healthy fragrance. She yawned a waking breath and answered the phone.

  “Hello. Sienna Bannock.” She wondered if she sounded as sleepy as she felt.

  “Sienna! Oh, I woke you. Sorry.” Marnie’s voice was clearer than before. “I was just having tea, and I thought of you, and lo! We have cell reception here. How are things?”

  “Horrible. No, not all horrible. Peter has stage three. But the shop opened without a hitch. I haven’t seen the dogs in a few days. I have hardly slept. And before you ask, I don’t know my right hand from my left right now, so no, I haven’t really prayed much. Unless, ‘please, please, please,’ counts.”

  “It counts,” Marnie replied somberly. “I am so sorry about Peter’s diagnosis. Don’t you worry about the praying. We’ve got your back here. The blessing and curse of the Church, you know. You’re never alone.”

  “Thanks, Marnie.” Sienna sighed. “What do I do? I mean, there’s nothing to do. They are going to keep Peter in the hospital for a few weeks because of the effects of surgery and meds and so he doesn’t reinjure his leg.”

  Marnie waited a few beats before answering, to make sure Sienna was finished. Her ability to pay attention was what had drawn Sienna to Marnie at church. They were in the same prayer group for a while, and they stayed friends and prayer partners when the group had run its course.

  “Go get the dogs and let them be crazy with you. Eat, drink tea and water, get some sleep, bathe, and go see Peter after you’ve had a refresh. Is Tovah up to speed?”

  “You know Tovah. I could fall off the planet, and the shop would suffer about as much as if I took a restroom break.”

  “But you will go back to the shop soon?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. The busy work will help you stay calm. It can be part of your prayer.”

  “Right.” Sienna smiled. “You know, I found a prayer rhythm in the cups—last week, before all this started. I can wash a teacup to the Jesus prayer. I almost worked out a rhythm for the tea prep, but not quite. It works for two reps of the short version, ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us,’ but not for one longer one.”

  “And you said you weren’t praying.” Marnie’s smile came over the line.

  “You know what I mean. The Prayer Book I’m not, but I understand from a trusted source that God understands the prayer in clattering dishes.” Marnie had told her as much more than once when Sienna showed up for a visit frazzled from the brute quantity of work in setting up a commercial kitchen and dining area.

  “If not dishes, then paperwork or laundry. It’s not like God leaves us alone until we come up with poetry.”

  “Amen.” Sienna yawned.

  “What will you do now?” Marnie was quiet, and Sienna thought she heard a cup settling back into a saucer, the soundtrack of friendship broadcasting to her from somewhere in Wales.

  “Well, since you can tell I need a shower from across the ocean, I think I’ll start with hygiene. Then I’ll go see those crazy dogs. They’ve been boarding at the doggie day care at the vet since the accident. I can tell Peter how they’re doing when I take him his blanket.”

  “Then the shop?”

  “Yes. I’m on afternoon duty today. Tovah insisted.” Sienna glanced at the bedside clock. It was 9:30 in the morning. “Wisely, I see.”

  “Well, I won’t keep you, except in my prayers.”

  “Thank you, Marnie. And listen, if you find a miracle shrine over there in the hills, put in a word for Peter, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  They ended the call, and Sienna uncurled herself from the chair. She would have to rush her shower in order to get in a visit to the dogs before she stopped by to see Peter.

  “But first, tea.” A gentle smile touched her face at the thought of the ritual. Tea was Peter and her, their honeymoon teapots, the mugs and cups that did not match a thing but their personalities. Putting on the kettle was as good a salve to her weariness as a week of sleep. She pulled a thick red mug from the cabinet and placed it on the counter. Not for the first time, the solidness of a good mug made her t
hink of the Holy Grail.

  She looked in the fridge for a loaf of bread. It was a little stale—nothing toasting couldn’t cure. The butter was on the counter in a special dish that Marnie had brought back from a shrine gift shop in France. When the tea was poured and the toast buttered, Sienna brought her breakfast to the seat at the table that afforded the best view of the garden.

  Improbably, the bee balms had survived the hot summer to flower again in the sheltered nook by the shed. They were her favorite plants, purchased two seasons before to fill out a niche in her herb garden. Her eyes had nearly ached with joy when she saw the bright red and pink blossoms, so flagrant among all the green and subtleties of the rest of the herbs. She had been unable to resist buying a wagon full of the plants when she heard that they were also called wild bergamot.

  “Just like you,” Peter had laughed. “Refined, but not really domesticated.”

  “Thanks,” she said aloud, alone at the table, repeating her response from that day. It seemed longer ago than spring. Her belly had been swollen then, just a little grapefruit under her waist. Everything was happier when they expected the baby.

  A rush of medical terms filled her mind in the wake of sudden grief. “Almost a still birth,” was the worst of them. They had lost their daughter at nineteen weeks gestation and buried her in the churchyard near Peter’s ancestors. Her name was Susan Rose, and she rested near her namesakes. Sienna’s eyes stung at the unused name. In better moments, the name was empty like a row of teapots on the shelf, not less beautiful for being unfilled. But now, with all that had happened, all she could do was ache for the child she wanted to hold. They had planned to take her baby portraits in this garden. She might have liked the bee balm. She might have liked the sun.

  Sienna left her plate with the half-finished toast at the table. She hugged the hot mug to her chest and walked out the back door. In the herb garden, she sat and stared until the variety of greens faded to a soft blur. Gradually, the tea cooled, and the scent of lemon and mint overcame her. The day was growing warm. She needed to go bathe and go see the dogs and Peter.

  Standing, Sienna tipped the cold tea onto the plant bed and walked back toward the house. Sitting in the garden had made her feel more alive, and she noticed the coolness of thyme on her bare feet before she reached the stone path. She tried at first not to think of tiny toes sinking into the fragrant groundcover, but the thought was too lovely not to wish for. Of all the plants in the garden, only the thyme that made up the lawn would have leaves smaller than a newborn’s toenails.

  Showered, dressed in a linen big shirt, jeans, and leather sandals, hair down to air dry, lipstick applied, Sienna thought she could pass for pulled together. She patted her pocket to make sure her hair clip had not gone astray. Long hair was easy because of the invention of hair clips. Pick the right one, and it would look as though you had thought about your hair. Sienna glanced in the mirror and tried not to start at the pain in her eyes. She added a pair of gold earrings and took a deep breath.

  “You’ll be okay,” she said to her reflection, and the truth of it hurt.

  The dogs were happy to see her. Pogo jumped as high as her head, his midair squirm all joy. Jonquil, whom Peter had named when the yellow fluff of puppy fell over the flowers as it ran to them the first time they met her, rubbed her big golden head under Sienna’s palm. Jonquil always knew the right thing to say.

  She knelt and greeted the dogs. Jonquil laid her head on Sienna’s shoulder. She was a hugger. Pogo tried to lick Sienna’s entire face in three greedy kisses. Then he nearly knocked her over in his excitement, causing Jonquil to bark softly, calling the pup to heel. The dogs sat side by side, the golden retriever dwarfing the black Labrador who was, if one interpreted dog faces correctly, Jonquil’s life’s cross to bear. Sienna rubbed them both behind their ears, then hugged them tightly. Pogo yapped.

  “I know, boy. I missed you, too.”

  “Ayaragh?” Jonquil questioned, placing a large paw on her arm. Jonquil was Peter’s dog, really, and Sienna suspected, rightly, that she wanted to know where her master had gone.

  “Peter is at the hospital. You won’t be able to see him today,” Sienna answered.

  Jonquil whimpered and laid her big head on her paws.

  “I know, honey. I want him to come home, too.”

  She played with the dogs for a while in the yard of the doggie day care, then arranged with the keepers for an extended stay. The doggie day care workers were sympathetic. One of them, a large crag of a young man named Jon, looked especially taken with the situation. Sienna was not sure if he was more concerned for Peter or the dogs, and the uncertainty comforted her.

  “I’ll take real good care of them, Ms. Sienna,” Jon said in his quiet, deep voice.

  “Thank you. I know you will.”

  She took the knowledge that the dogs were well looked after with her to the hospital room, where Peter was awake and glad to see her. He smiled and nodded when she told him about Jon.

  “Oh, good. He loves them,” Peter said. His voice was weary, but alert. Sienna liked the change from the drugged Peter she had encountered the past couple of days.

  “The bee balm is still blooming,” Sienna said by way of spinning her morning as positively as she could.

  Peter squeezed her hand gently, understanding her feelings without her saying them. “I miss her, too.”

  Sienna nodded. The lacuna had opened up before them, the lid off the pot. Who would fill it? “Peter, do you think we can—?” she began, but Peter had started talking as well.

  “They don’t know if I can father children afterwards. It’s about fifty-fifty. They just don’t know.” He rubbed her hand in the silence while they both swallowed back fears. “I am so grateful for Susan’s life, even though it was too short. But I want her to have siblings.”

  Sienna met Peter’s eyes, saw the mixture of grief and anticipated pain there. “I know, Beloved. Me, too. I miss her so badly right now. I don’t even want to think about the what-ifs, but I can’t help it. It’s like having leaves caught in my hair. I can’t get one of them out without the others rustling.”

  Peter nodded. “Sienna, we’ll get through this. And we will have children—somehow. And we will remember Susan. Those things are all going to happen.” His certainty soothed her.

  “I wish I could hold you.”

  “Okay. Let’s call the nurse. They aren’t going to need to poke and prod me for another hour yet. I bet we can get you in here under these wires.”

  After some maneuvering and the long-suffering condescension of a nurse with a slow drawl and a twinkle in her eye, Sienna was arranged next to Peter on the narrow bed. She had to hold her hips back against the railing so as not to pressure any of the broken places, but she could tuck her head under his chin. She listened to his heartbeat and let it be her prayer rhythm. When the door opened for the next round of medications and monitoring, Sienna kissed the prickly hollow on Peter’s neck.

  She stayed by him until he was sedated again to relieve nausea. His afghan tucked as closely as the nurses and tubing would allow, Sienna kissed her husband’s forehead. She felt better about Peter than she had in days. Maybe their conversation had helped, or the holding one another, or the reunion of Peter and his proper smells on the blanket. Whatever the reason, Sienna was hopeful when she made her way downtown to the teashop.

  Lettye was explaining afternoon tea to a group of middle-aged women in linen and silks. Sienna sighed relief as she watched her manager sail confidently through the encounter. Tovah bustled up alongside her behind the counter and nodded in Lettye’s direction.

  “She’s perfect. Marc deserves a medal for sending her to us.” Tovah’s husband had redirected Lettye toward them when she had applied for a department administration position. The young woman had a master’s degree and a failed marriage to a bigwig pastor, and she needed a place to use her gifts of putting people at ease, hospitality, and organizing crowds.

  “I hate her rea
son for needing this job, but I sure am glad she’s here.” Sienna turned and smiled at her friend with tired eyes. “I’m glad you’re here, too. You have no idea how much it’s eased my mind, having y’all taking care of the shop while I looked after Peter.”

  “You know I have your back,” Tovah patted Sienna’s shoulder. “Are you up for business talk now? We have a few interesting emails I’d like you to see.”

  “Sure.” Sienna gave the tea bar a once over and nodded. “Let me just check the cups in back and I’ll meet you in the office.”

  Nina was removing the last of about a dozen cups from the sanitizing sink when Sienna walked in.

  “Hey, Miss.” Nina smiled and efficiently began to transfer cups onto a tray. “Business is good. I’ve washed, like, fifty cups already since breakfast, and that’s not counting the to-go cups.”

  “Great,” Sienna smiled brightly, glad that the girl answered her question without her having to ask. “Are we keeping up pretty well? Do you think the cup wall works okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, Miss. All the little old ladies love picking a cup, and even the guys take their time finding the one that they like. Keeping up with the dishes is no problem. Lettye and Jessie do all the other work, and Tovah keeps making tea faster than anyone else, anyway. That gives me plenty of time to take care of things back here.”

  “Thank you, Nina. And thanks for coming in so much more than you had originally planned. It’s been a lifesaver for me.”

  “No problem, Miss. I need the hours.” Nina placed a container of clean forks and spoons on the tray and walked toward the shop.

  Sienna watched her go. She noted the threadbare edges of the girl’s clean, neatly pressed chinos and cotton button down, the worn look of the rubber soles on her chunky shoes, the cheap, but tasteful, bow that held back the long, dark hair. Nina reminded Sienna of herself as a teen: hardworking, poor, too bright for her station in life. Sienna hoped that the shop took off. She wanted to be able to give Nina leadership opportunities down the road, raises, and maybe a flexible enough schedule to allow the girl to go to college.