by Delia Parr
If she could finish the six weeks of treatments before she told her family, she would stand a better chance of convincing them that her chemotherapy treatment was different from the treatments Sandra had endured—or Daddy or Kathleen or Mother, for that matter. Andrea would be able to convince them that she was going to be a survivor, because they’d be able to see it for themselves.
And by then, she would have a better sense of just how taxing the next year was going to be.
Now that was a plan!
Whether inspired through prayer or her own sense of independence, Andrea liked it—a lot. Her mind raced ahead to the schedule of doctor’s appointments she had set up for the next five weeks. All were early-morning appointments, so she could continue to work, showing homes or attending settlements in the afternoons. Nothing unusual there. She always talked to her children at night, when they were finished with their work for the day. No problem there, either. Since Jenny worked nights and normally slept most of the day, and Madge was usually busy with her volunteer activities, Andrea was convinced she had hit on the perfect plan.
There were some adjustments she would have to make. Getting extra rest, instead of the usual five or six hours of sleep each night, was a given. She also wanted to make an appointment with a nutritionist. Dr. Newton had been quick to respond to Andrea’s question about diet with honesty. Other than suggesting a low-fat diet, she could only second Andrea’s suggestion to consult a nutritionist. Andrea could search the Web, too. Other cancer survivors often offered tips that doctors may have overlooked or dismissed. Tips of that kind had helped to make Sandra more comfortable, and Andrea made a mental note to spend some time searching the Web tonight. She also decided to hire an additional real-estate agent for the office and scale back on her hours. Her children and her sisters had been asking her to do that for a number of years now, so they wouldn’t be unduly suspicious if she hired someone to help her at the agency, with “help” being the operative word.
Andrea had no intention of letting the reins go slack when it came to her business, or any other part of her life, for that matter. She was in control now and she would be in control of her life for the next year—she was determined to keep her life so normal no one in town would suspect a thing.
Twenty minutes after she had made her final roll to her back, a knock at her front door made her freeze in place. The sound was followed almost immediately by the door opening, which set off the security alarm.
“Yoo-hoo! Andrea? It’s just me. I can’t believe I caught you at home. Wait till I show you what I found for your kitchen! Wait a second until I turn off your alarm. I can’t believe you set that alarm during the day!”
Andrea groaned and closed her eyes, but try as she might, she could not come up with a single plausible reason she could give Madge for not getting out of bed…except the truth.
So much for her plan.
Trouble was, she had less than sixty seconds to come up with another one.
Chapter Three
Madge tapped the code, 1919, into the pad to deactivate the house alarm. She turned and glanced around the living room that crossed the front of Andrea’s five-room bungalow and headed straight for the kitchen, clutching her “find.” Her heels tapped on the gleaming red oak floors. “I didn’t bother to wrap it. I was going to—”
She took two steps into the antiques-filled kitchen, paused and pursed her lips. No Andrea. If she was in her home office, she could have met Madge in the living room. Must be in the bathroom? Madge set her pocketbook down, unwrapped the newspaper from the pitcher she had found at the thrift store, and set it in the center of the black-and-white enamel table. “A perfect match,” she whispered, quickly tucking the newspaper into the old enamel slop pail Andrea used as a trash can. “Filled that right up, didn’t I?” Frowning, she made a mental note to find a decent-sized trash can for Andrea, one that would match the rest of the black-and-white enamelware that served a dual purpose in Andrea’s kitchen.
All of the pieces her sister had collected over the years, from the small antique stove to the washstand and the enamelware hanging on the walls, were both decorative and functional, unlike the appliances in the ultramodern kitchen that Madge claimed was her favorite room in her house. How Andrea could manage without a dishwasher or a refrigerator with an ice dispenser in the door was no mystery. She barely cooked for herself and rarely entertained. She was not home long enough, not with running that real-estate agency of hers.
Madge shrugged. To each her own. Tapping her foot, she checked her watch. She had half an hour before her meeting with the Welleswood Beautification Committee, to plan the fall plantings for the avenue. She had hoped to spend that time with her sister. She grabbed her pocketbook, turned, walked back into the living room and gazed toward the small hallway that led to the bathroom, two small bedrooms and the office. The bathroom door was open.
Maybe Andrea was on the phone. Madge had taken only a few steps toward the hallway on her way to the office when she finally got a response from her sister.
“I’m in here. In my bedroom. Come on in.”
Madge smiled with relief and hurried her steps. “Finally redecorating? I warned you that you’d get tired of that dark green paint.” She stopped just inside the doorway of Andrea’s bedroom. The light in the room itself was far too dim, with the shades pulled tight behind the white lace curtains. Andrea was not checking new paint colors or hanging new curtains or even changing the sheets on the bed. She was lying flat on her back in bed with her cats settled beside her.
All three cats looked up at Madge, stretched or yawned and settled back down with Andrea, who offered a weak smile and patted the bed next to her. “It’s just a headache. I was trying to nap. Here. Come sit and talk to me while I wait for the aspirin to kick in.”
Madge narrowed her eyes. Her heart began to race the moment she remembered that Andrea had been waiting for the results of her biopsy. “You don’t get headaches. You never sleep on your back. And you…you haven’t taken a nap since you were six months old.”
Andrea closed her eyes. “How would you know I stopped napping when I was six months old? You weren’t even born yet,” she teased.
“Mother told me. And don’t try to change the subject. What’s really wrong?”
Andrea let out a sigh. “I told you. I have a headache. Maybe it’s…it’s my first.”
Madge tiptoed to the bed, set her pocketbook down on the mattress and eased herself to sit beside her sister. Gently, she stroked the top of Andrea’s head, and she knew—she just knew—that the results of the biopsy were not good. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Emotion choked her throat. “You’re sick. You’re sick again, aren’t you?”
Andrea moistened her lips, opened her eyes and took hold of Madge’s hand. “I feel fine. I’ll be fine. The nodules they removed…well, I have to have a few treatments and then I’ll be good as new again. I had my first one this morning. That’s why I’m in bed. I have to lie in four different positions for half an hour each to coat the inside of my bladder. I set the alarm—”
The alarm in the bedside clock went off, interrupting Andrea but startling Madge. As Andrea sat up, all three cats scattered. One knocked Madge’s pocketbook to the floor and the contents spilled out. Her keys hit the floor with a clang and something, presumably her lipstick, rolled away, but all Madge could think about was the fear that wrapped around her heart.
Andrea had cancer.
Again.
“Why? Why does this have to happen again?” Madge cried, and dissolved into tears as Andrea’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“Hush now. It’s not so bad. Really,” Andrea crooned.
When Madge’s tears were spent, she sat back, hiccuped and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a baby.”
“Yes, you are,” Andrea teased. “But you’re a lovable baby.”
Madge hiccuped again and swiped at her cheeks. “Jenny’s supposed to be the baby. She’s the youngest. I’m
older. I should be…more in control.”
“You’re younger than I am.”
Madge chuckled. When it came to age, she had no desire to be a single day older than she really was.
“And you certainly look a lot younger than me,” Andrea said.
Madge ruffled her sister’s hair. “You could look younger, too,” she whispered, then realized Andrea had done it again. “You’re changing the subject. Just like you always do.”
“You’re not crying anymore, are you?” Andrea countered.
For some unknown reason, fresh tears welled and Madge tugged on her sister’s hand. “It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair. We just lost Sandra. We can’t lose you, too. We just can’t!”
“God has His plan for each of us, and with His grace, I’ll make a full recovery,” Andrea responded.
Madge listened attentively while Andrea explained what the course of the next year would be like. Doubt tugged at her spirit even as her heart grew hopeful. “Your doctor does sound more positive than Sandra’s did,” she ventured.
“She is. All cancers are not the same. I’m blessed to have a good one.”
Madge leaned back, pulled her hand away and stared at Andrea as a chill raced up and down her spine. “A good one? There’s no good cancer, Andrea. There’s awful cancer. Horrid cancer. Debilitating cancer. Disfiguring cancer…”
“And curable cancer. Mine’s curable. Or it should be. And it will be,” Andrea added. She took a deep breath and her expression grew serious. “I’ll…I’ll need a little help.”
Madge brightened, hiccuped again and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did I hear you right? Did you say ‘help’? You’ll need a little help?”
Andrea sighed. “Yes, I did. A little. Only a little help.”
“Caretaker duty is all mine,” Madge insisted.
Andrea rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to drive me back and forth to the doctor’s office for treatments. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. I told you. These treatments are different. I was thinking maybe—”
“Sandra let me take her for her treatments.”
Memories. Bittersweet, but precious memories of the months she had spent with Sandra washed over Madge. “I can’t take the cancer away. If I could, I would give anything to make that happen. But I can be there with you. Keep you company when you have to wait at the doctor’s office. Take care of your referrals and insurance forms. I can take you home, tell you stories to help pass the ‘rolling time.’ Let me do something. Anything,” Madge pleaded.
She watched Andrea carefully. First, she saw her sister’s backbone stiffen as if her spine had been laced to a broomstick. Andrea’s dark brown eyes hardened. Her lips pursed. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and when they opened, she looked at Madge with soft and misty eyes.
“You win. I hereby appoint you Chief Caretaker, in charge of transportation, but you can never, ever be late. Ever.”
Madge frowned, even as her heart began to fill with hope.
“All right.” Andrea gave in further. “You can handle the doctor’s referrals and the insurance forms, too.”
Half a smile.
Andrea narrowed her gaze, but Madge knew her sister was very close to a line she would not cross. “And my gardens. You can tend to them. Such as they are. But that’s all. That’s my final offer.”
Madge grinned from ear to ear. “I’m a much better gardener than I am a storyteller anyway.” She got off the bed, scoured around the floor to retrieve her keys and the rest of the junk she kept in her pocketbook and straightened her outfit, a lovely purple dress and matching bolero sweater she had bought only last week. “Speaking of gardening, I’m late for a meeting. We’re planning the fall flowers for the avenue.”
When Andrea moved as if to get out of bed, Madge waved her back. “No. Don’t get up. I can see myself out. I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow at The Diner. Twelve o’clock. No. Better make that at one o’clock. I have a meeting at church at eleven. Eleanor Hadley has an idea for a new women’s ministry she heard about from her cousin in Connecticut. I’ll bring my calendar and we’ll set up our schedule,” she insisted, and got out of the room before Andrea could argue with her.
When Madge got to the front door, she turned and went back to the bedroom. Andrea was restoring the bedclothes back to order. “What about Jenny?”
Andrea glanced down at the bed. “I suppose I’ll have to stop by to see her tonight before she goes to work.”
“And Rachel and David?”
Andrea turned and faced Madge, wearing an expression that invited no discussion. “I’m going to wait a few weeks. That way I’ll have a better sense of just how good I’m going to feel…and I can reassure them….”
Madge nodded. “Okay. Then it’s just us. Just the sisters for now. You and me and Jenny.”
Andrea nodded. “Just us. And all the angels He can spare,” she whispered.
Madge swallowed hard. She managed to get outside to her convertible and drive halfway up the block before she pulled over and parked under the shade of one of the ancient oak trees that lined both sides of the street. She hit the switch and got the top up, turned the air-conditioning to full blast and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Her sobs came in heavy waves, and she gripped the wheel so hard the bones in each of her hands ached.
Not again.
She could not do this again.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.
For eighteen long months, she had stayed by Sandra’s side and watched helplessly as cancer gnawed away and destroyed all the beauty with which Sandra had been blessed since birth. Short gray, unruly spikes of hair had replaced the golden waves that had been Sandra’s glory for all of her life, although she had helped Mother Nature along by lightening her hair, which had darkened with age. Pain had doused the sparkle in her dark blue eyes, and her full figure had grown gaunt, even skeletal, by the time death had offered sweet release and the Lord had come to take Sandra Home, silencing her infectious laughter forever, at least in this world.
Cancer.
Cancer had turned everything Sandra was into something…ugly and grotesque, even inhuman. A scrapbook of memories opened and images flashed through Madge’s mind. She caught her breath and held it for a moment to try to silence the sobs that tore through her throat.
When she finally regained control, when her body was limp with exhaustion, when the well of her tears had gone dry, only then was she able to hear the whisper that cried out only loud enough for her heart to hear. As insidious and evil and destructive as cancer had been for Sandra or Kathleen or Mother or Dad, nothing had been able to destroy the beauty of their spirits. Nothing.
And it was that thought that gave Madge the courage to help her sister Andrea now.
Chapter Four
What on earth had possessed Andrea to give in to Madge? What had she been thinking?
In all honesty, she had been unable to think beyond the increasing pressure in her bladder or the relief that Dr. Newton had been right. Andrea had felt no pain from the chemo, although she had been a little frustrated at being forced to lie down for two hours in the middle of the day. But most of all, she had been thinking how she simply could not hurt Madge’s feelings.
Still, by the time she got back to her office, she had kicked herself twice over for agreeing to let her sister take her for treatments, figuratively speaking, of course. Unless Andrea wanted to be late for her appointments or carry the stress that she might be late, she had to think of a way to either change Madge’s habit of losing track of time or tell her sister that she had changed her mind.
Andrea opened the rear door to the agency, slipped inside and bolted the door behind her, even though she routinely left her car unlocked only a few feet from the back door. Located in the heart of the business district, her one-woman office occupied one of the old storefronts that had been carefully restored after she had purchased it over ten years ago. Not remodeled—restored, at least at the st
reet level. She rarely went to the second floor. The upstairs, once the living quarters for the original owners, was a disaster, having been being used as a storage area for a short-lived pharmacy, wallpaper outlet and a news agency over the years. With rents at an all-time high, Andrea wondered if she really should do something about the wasted space overhead.
“Someday,” she mumbled, and made her way along the narrow hallway that ran down the center of the main office. Wide-planked floorboards beneath her feet carried the scars inflicted by years of use, but shone beneath several coats of polyurethane. Bead-board paneling, stripped of half a dozen coats of paint, lined the lower half of the office walls, below pale blue, freshly-plastered walls.
She passed by the restroom and two conference rooms on either side of the hallway and went straight to the front office. Her office—her home away from home—held memories that swelled and washed over her. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Cancer threatened her life, true. But it also threatened the quality of her life, both present and future, and she was not going to see all that she had worked so hard to achieve fall by the wayside because of an…an illness.
She paused and glanced around. The picture window showcased photographs of properties she had listed for sale, both residential and commercial, for pedestrians. Nearly half had a “Sold” banner tacked on top of the photograph, and she needed to update the display as soon as the new photographs were ready.
To her left, five wing chairs, upholstered in a blue-striped fabric, were grouped around an old mahogany coffee table. A stickler for neatness and order, Andrea refused to allow the table to become littered with piles of brochures or pamphlets; instead, she kept a bowl of fresh fruit in the center, along with several milk-glass dishes filled with hard candy. The brochures and pamphlets were neatly stacked on shelves on the wall, below framed photos of the local girls’ T-ball and softball teams, which Andrea’s business had sponsored over the years. The photos reminded her that she still had to inform Carol Watson about whether or not the realty would sponsor the newest sports endeavor in town, a girls’ crew team.
