The Faded Photo

by Sarah Price

  “Frances.” He spoke her name in such a soft, low voice that she looked up. He gave her a reassuring smile. “It’ll be different, Frances. She’s older and this is her daughter, not some neighbor living down the street. People can change, you know. Trust me on that. She will see the error of her ways, and everything will be all right. As for now, you just rest up. Let us take care of you, the way we should have been all along.”

  She watched as he slowly backed out of the room and then, turning, disappeared down the hallway toward his office. He shut the door gently and locked it, most likely so that neither Andy nor Carrie would bother him.

  The silence in the room—no, the house—was so loud that it was deafening. Even the dogs seemed on high alert to be extra quiet. They hadn’t even greeted her when she came home. Most likely, Andy had locked them in his room so that they wouldn’t jump on her.

  When she had checked out of the hospital earlier that day, the nurse had reviewed a list of follow-up procedures, including visiting Dr. Graham for a review before returning to the chemo center for treatment. Nicholas had listened intently, taking notes on a pad of paper. This new, nurturing side of her husband would take some getting used to. But over the past nine days she had noticed that he had thrown himself, full force, into this new responsibility. It was almost as if his addiction to work had been transferred to a new role: being a husband to a sick wife.

  The doorbell rang, and Frances was about to get up when she heard a voice.

  “Hello?”

  Frances smiled to herself and called out, “In here, Charlotte.”

  The sound of high heels and the crinkling of a bag grew louder as Charlotte walked to the family room. She set down the bag. “Well now! Look who is home!” She leaned down and kissed Frances’s cheek. “How’s it feel?”

  “Odd.”

  “I bet.” Charlotte glanced around the room. “Where is everybody?”

  “The kids are upstairs, and Nicholas is making some phone calls.”

  Charlotte frowned but said nothing.

  “I think they’re trying to give me some space, Char. Everyone is acting as if I’m so fragile,” she said, a hint of displeasure in her voice. “Andy was pale as a ghost with worry.”

  “Of course he is! They all are. This was a bolt from the blue for them, Frances. But it was also a rude awakening. Nothing in life is guaranteed. Any one of us could be gone tomorrow.” She moved over to sit in a chair, crossing her legs as she leaned forward. “I didn’t tell you, but I took Carrie out to dinner two nights ago.”

  “Again?”

  Charlotte nodded. “She was so upset the first time I took her that I promised to take her out again. Besides, the kid has to eat! She was living on macaroni and cheese.”

  “I really appreciate that, Charlotte.” She had heard about Charlotte helping with the children, bringing meals to the house and spending time in the evenings with both Andy and Carrie while Nicholas had been with her at the hospital. There was great comfort in knowing that Charlotte was such a support during her time of crisis. Unlike others who could have stepped up after her diagnosis was known by all. She felt that tightening in her chest as she thought of Ellen and Dan. “I would’ve thought that Nicholas’s parents might have stuck around to help with their grandchildren.”

  At this comment, Charlotte performed the old eye roll. “Please, girl. It’s better that they hightailed it home.”

  Frances nodded. There was some truth to that.

  “You know,” Charlotte continued. “I still don’t agree with how you handled this, but some unexpected good may come out of it anyway.”

  Frances hadn’t expected such an admission from her friend, especially since Charlotte had always been far too outspoken against Nicholas and even her children. “How so?”

  “Carrie.” She leaned back in the chair, a thoughtful look on her face. “She recognized that she doesn’t always treat you with the respect you deserve. She cried to me, Fran, that she always thought you were weak because of how her father treats you. And her. She resented that.”

  A gasp escaped Frances’s lips. “She said that?”

  “She did, indeed.” Charlotte tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. “You think that your children don’t see things, but they are more astute than you’d imagine. She observed the neglect, and rather than comfort you, she struck out. Sometimes, when pushed into a corner, we lash out at those we love the most.”

  Charlotte’s words were bittersweet. On the one hand, she was telling Frances that Carrie loved her, despite being rebellious and passive-aggressive. Yet, on the other hand, her heart broke for the weight of suffering that she had unknowingly placed upon her daughter’s shoulders. All of those years, she had thought she was shielding them from the problems in her marriage. But Carrie had seen through that. Her reaction was one of self-preservation in order to survive.

  And that thought troubled Frances.

  What if Nicholas’s new attempts to comfort and support her were too little too late? What if he reverted to his ways after a few weeks or even months? While she knew that, in the face of crisis, people often amended their behavior, she also knew that a tiger’s stripes rarely changed, even if they faded for a while.

  “I think you’ll find a new Carrie in the house,” Charlotte said with a satisfied sigh. “She wants a relationship with you, but just isn’t certain how to go about it. I think she fears rejection.”

  “She’s had too much of that from her grandparents and her father,” Frances said in a soft voice. “But I would never reject my children.”

  “She’ll come around—trust me on that one.” Charlotte stood up and looked around the room. “They told me they were going to clean the house when I stopped by last night.”

  Frances had noticed how everything was tidied up and there was the faint scent of oranges in the air. “That was definitely a nice surprise.”

  “I’ve brought some dinner for the family,” she said as she retrieved the shopping bag.

  But Carrie had told her mother that she had made dinner.

  “I believe they already have something planned.”

  Untroubled, Charlotte walked into the kitchen and set the shopping bag on the counter. “Then in the fridge it goes!” She began taking food out of the bag, placing each item on the counter. “And you also have some frozen dinners that people dropped off.” She paused and glanced over her shoulder at Frances. “Imagine the surprise on that Debbie Weaver’s face when she stopped by with a lasagna and I answered the door.”

  Frances couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, do tell!”

  “I’m sure she was expecting Nicholas. Well, you should have heard her gush over with concern, wondering if she could do anything. She even offered to take Carrie to a holiday party at the country club with her own daughter and friends. Can you imagine?”

  Frances shut her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. How could anyone possibly think that a twelve-year-old girl who just found out that her mother has cancer would want to go to a holiday party with another family she barely knew?

  “Carrie doesn’t even know her children.”

  Charlotte waved her hand before her. “My thoughts exactly.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Oh, I’m sure Debbie wanted to paint herself the hero, helping you out. A change to make herself the center of the story, not you. Typical.” Charlotte folded the bag, the crinkling noise loud in the otherwise silent room. “Sometimes even the best of intentions on the surface carry deeper non-altruistic designs. But there’s good ole Debbie, wanting to parade your daughter around at some hoity-toity country club holiday party, just to show off what a great friend she is.”

  “She’s not my friend.”

  Charlotte laughed. “I thanked her for the offer and declined on Carrie’s behalf. My finesse would have impressed you.”

  Frances could barely imagine Charlotte having any finesse with someone like Debbie Weaver, especially after the abrupt postdivorce dissolution of their own fri
endship. “I suppose I should be appreciative of the offer, no matter how self-serving it might have been. After all, she was kind enough to bring some food.”

  But Charlotte held up her hand. “Oh, trust me, my dear, that lasagna was not homemade. I’m certain it was pulled from her own freezer; there was an inch of ice on it! She dug it out and dropped it off so that she could tell everyone the gossip while touting how charitable she is. Why, I bet that lasagna she brought over was recycled from when she had those twins four years ago! Can you imagine her actually making lasagna? For someone else? Ha!”

  That made Frances laugh.

  Laughing made her feel better, even though she felt a minute sense of guilt that it was at the expense of another. Still, it was a relief to realize that all families had problems, a river of dysfunction running through their lives despite their best attempts to display a public facade of perfection. What mattered was how people chose to handle those obstacles that kept them from crossing the hills and mountains to get to the valleys.

  She only hoped that she was now in a valley, for the mountain she had just climbed had been far too long and high. It was time for peace in her life. If her family was ready to tackle the challenge of working together instead of in isolation, Frances knew she could face anything.

  CHAPTER 21

  An overwhelming sense of peculiarity washed over her as she walked into the chemotherapy center with Nicholas at her side. Something felt strange. Very strange.

  For starters, over the past eight weeks, she had dealt with her cancer on her own. Without any support, at least not from her family, she had become self-sufficient and, in her own mind, stronger. Now, however, she couldn’t seem to shake them from her side. Especially her husband.

  As soon as they walked into the main waiting room and Frances checked in at the desk, Nicholas thrust his hands into his pockets and began jingling his spare change.

  “Where do we go?” Nicholas asked in a way that sounded like he was nervous. He wore freshly pressed khaki pants and a pristine pink shirt that he, not Frances, had picked up from the dry cleaner’s. She wondered if he had worn pink on purpose, and rather than ask him, she decided to believe the gesture was symbolic of what she was going through. “Do you see the doctor or . . . ?”

  “Not today. I just get blood work and then go into that room back there.” She pointed toward the long row of recliners. “It’s really nothing, Nicholas. I told you that you . . . you didn’t need to come.”

  He appeared to cringe at her words and pressed his lips together. She wasn’t certain if it was because she had mentioned blood or because she had said he didn’t need to be there. Either way, he looked unhappy but didn’t respond. Instead, he merely looked away.

  “Mrs. Snyder?”

  She smiled at the man in the white coat who opened the door and called out her name.

  “Ready for your blood work?”

  She nodded and followed him into the back, pausing to see if Nicholas was behind her. When she saw him hesitate, she motioned for him to come.

  In a way, his timid approach to dealing with her cancer was endearing. For once, he had to defer to her experience and knowledge. She had two months’ head start on him in regard to researching, questioning, and living with her diagnosis. He, however, was still in shock and trying to come to grips with everything.

  “Did you have a nice holiday?” the man asked as she sat in the chair.

  Without being asked, she laid her arm down so that he could take her hand and stick her finger to draw blood.

  “It seems so long ago,” she commented. Almost two weeks to be exact. She had missed her chemotherapy appointment the week after Thanksgiving because she had still been in the hospital. The doctor had rescheduled it for the following Tuesday to get her back on track.

  “And Christmas will be here before you know it!” He smiled at her as he pressed a bandage against her fingertip.

  “It will,” she said, although she didn’t want to think about the upcoming holiday. Was she expected to decorate? Organize presents?

  “Now hold that for a minute, all right?”

  He turned his back to organize the tubes of blood. Frances caught a glimpse of Nicholas’s face, which blanched at the sight. For a moment she almost found it comical, given the amount of blood work, poking, and prodding that she had gone through. But this was all new to him.

  “You’re all set. Have a great rest of your day!” he said.

  Nicholas walked beside her to the back room. He leaned over and whispered, “Have a great day? You have cancer, for crying out loud!”

  “It’s not a reason to be miserable, Nicholas.” She wasn’t certain that allowing him to accompany her to her chemo treatment was the greatest idea after all. At first she had said no, but he had insisted. Reluctantly, Frances had given in.

  He stood at the nurses’ station and looked around the room at the chairs that lined the back wall. She could read his thoughts, far too apparent in his expression and probably not too far from what she had thought on her first day there: every one of those chairs was occupied by someone fighting a battle for their life. Not all of them would make it. She wondered which ones were going to lose.

  Ignoring her husband’s reluctance, Frances moved forward.

  “Hi, Eddie,” she said and sat down in a chair, extending her arm for him to take her blood pressure. “I think you’ll be happy today with my blood pressure,” she said.

  Eddie glanced over at Nicholas and back to Frances. “Oh?”

  “This is my husband,” she said, trying to keep her voice cheerful. Still, something dark crossed Eddie’s eyes, and she knew exactly what he was thinking: Where have you been, Mr. Snyder?

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Snyder,” Eddie said as the two men shook hands, but Frances could still see the quizzical look in his eyes.

  Just as she had during her other visits to the center, Frances sat down and waited for the thermometer. Sure enough, as Eddie popped it into her mouth, he began talking to her.

  “We missed seeing you last week,” he said. “I was surprised to not see your name on the list for Thursday.” He paused as he began wrapping the blood pressure band around her arm. He waited a few seconds for the temperature machine to beep, and then he removed the thermometer. “Your temp is a perfect 98.7.” He popped the protective covering off the thermometer. Only then did he begin pressing buttons on the blood pressure machine. “Now, let’s see how you surprise me today, hmm?”

  Nicholas shifted his weight on his feet as he stood beside her. “Has there been a problem with her blood pressure? She was just in the hospital for hypertension and low white blood cells.”

  Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Did they put you on more medicine?”

  Frances nodded. “Blood pressure medicine and a water pill.”

  He nodded and looked at the machine. “Looks like it’s working: 140 over 100. Still high, but much better.”

  “Maybe we should alert the doctor,” Nicholas said. “I mean, 140 is above normal.”

  Frances reached out her hand and touched his arm. “It’s all right, Nicholas. Chemotherapy increases the blood pressure, anyway.”

  He glanced away, either from nerves or irritation that she had corrected him; she couldn’t be certain which. Having him so involved in her treatment made her feel as if she were walking on eggshells. But she wasn’t about to let him become a hysterical husband. She had gone through enough to know that she had a voice, and unlike before, she wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “All set,” Eddie said as he removed the armband and handed her a white slip of paper. “Just take an empty seat, and one of the nurses will be right over to get you situated.”

  She thanked him as she stood up and started walking around the nurses’ station toward the back corner of the center. Nicholas followed her and paused at an empty chair.

  “Here, Frances.”

  But she shook her head. “I always sit with Madeline. She’s here on Tuesdays and Thursdays,
too.”

  “Who’s Madeline?”

  “She’s a friend,” she explained as she continued heading past a few more empty chairs.

  But when she got to the back corner, Madeline’s chair was occupied by another patient.

  Nicholas leaned over and whispered, “I hope that’s not Madeline, because if it is, he has more problems than just cancer.”

  She swatted at his arm and hushed him.

  “She probably doesn’t come on Tuesdays after all,” she said as she sat down. But something was missing. Madeline was her companion in this journey, the one person who had been there to cheer her on during each chemo session. Now Frances had Nicholas, but from the way he reached into his pocket for his smartphone, she wasn’t certain how much support he would provide.

  She cleared her throat and waited for him to look up.

  “Maybe you might go to the cafeteria and get me a Diet Coke? The bubbles help my throat.”

  He looked relieved to be given something to do. He never had been one for sitting around and waiting. “Sure thing. Anything else?”

  “Maybe two Diet Cokes?”

  He laughed and leaned over, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. His face brushed against the scarf that she wore and he quickly backed away as if afraid he might knock it off her head.

  She raised her hand and straightened it. “All good.”

  He looked relieved and started toward the door marked with a red “EXIT” sign. “I’ll be right back.”

  Once he was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Where’s Madeline?” she asked when Laura started to sterilize her port. She was used to having her friend next to her, but the seat by the window was empty and the bird feeder unfilled. “She’s always here.”

  “Oh!” Laura looked at her with wide eyes that immediately filled with tears.

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “I . . . um . . . Didn’t you . . . ?”