Somehow, that simple statement turned into me tearfully listing all the things I missed about Liz. My parents couldn’t pretend to misunderstand when I said I missed lazy Saturday mornings cuddling and kissing her in bed.
Dad threw me out before we even got the turkey carved.
Now he was in a hospital waiting for details about his treatment options. If I ever wanted Liz back—and I didn’t, not after she left me for her boss—it would be now. I just wanted a little… sympathy while I got my head around all this.
Fortunately, Samwise, our Siamese mix, was still with me. He had always preferred my company, even though Liz claimed he was her cat because she found him.
Before I put my stuff down, he was reaching his front paws up my thighs and meowing to be held. I obliged and buried my face in his fur while he placed his front paws on my shoulder, snuggled in, and purred. We cuddled for several minutes, and then he moved away from me and leaned over my arms. That was my cue to set him down.
“Thanks, buddy. You ready for dinner?” He pranced and arched his way to the mat where I fed him. I grabbed a can of cat food from the cupboard, along with a clean bowl, and dished out his dinner.
While Samwise ate, I changed into sweats and a comfortable T-shirt. He twined himself around my ankles while I mixed the Caesar salad dressing, washed lettuce, and grilled the chicken. I chatted at him, telling him about Stephen’s call and the misbehaving spreadsheet. I imagined that his pale blue eyes showed signs of understanding and sympathy for my rotten day.
Although I hadn’t thought I was hungry, I wolfed down my salad and wished I had grilled a second chicken breast. One breast was plenty, but I craved more.
To distract myself, I headed for what had once been Liz’s bedroom, which was where I kept my guitar and music stand. Stephen was the real talent in the family, but Stacy and I both played instruments and sang. Growing up as preacher’s kids, we were expected to participate in Sunday services. The Southern Baptists were conservative, and they loved when a pastor’s family was active in the church’s activities.
That was especially true of Dad’s congregation. Every summer, they held a week-long tent revival. During that time, each member of our family would be forced to spend time huddled over the vaporizer and sucking on throat lozenges to baby our tired vocal cords.
I wasn’t planning to play anything in particular, maybe run through a few scales. But as my memories of those tent revivals came back, I found myself playing and humming the hymns I used to perform. I hadn’t played most of them in years, and I fumbled with the chords from time to time, but something about playing those old songs made me feel calmer.
When I set my guitar back on its stand, the clock said I’d been playing for over ninety minutes, and I couldn’t have listed the names of all the pieces I’d played. Bemused, I decided an early bedtime was wise. I had a lot to do before driving up to my old hometown on Saturday, and something told me I’d be making that drive.
Stephen’s call on Friday put me on the road early Saturday morning. Dad had stage IV lung cancer, and the doctors thought he might need part of a lung removed. I pondered that, along with the host of treatment options Stephen had mentioned, while I drove the nearly 300 miles from my home to my parents’.
Stephen and Renee were between shows, but both expected callbacks at any moment. Stephen had auditioned for a Broadway musical before Dad’s collapse, and he couldn’t turn that opportunity down if offered the role. He’d been trying to get a Broadway show for the past five years. Renee’s show was a short, off-off-Broadway run, but it would give her additional New York connections. As much as they both wanted to be home helping Mom and Dad, we all knew it wasn’t an option for them.
Stacy was the baby and quite a bit younger than Steve and me, so she was eyeball-deep in her senior year of college. She couldn’t take time off to be home with Mom and Dad, not if she didn’t want to postpone enrolling in law school. She had been accepted to her top choice school, but they didn’t seem willing to hold her slot. I couldn’t ask her to sacrifice that.
Whether or not my parents wanted any help remained to be seen. I knew they wouldn’t want me there, but none of us had many options. Mom would soon be overwhelmed by the errands and stress, and we couldn’t let her do this alone. I hadn’t planned on an extended leave from work, but the greenhouse’s owner understood the situation.
I heard Dwayne’s comforting words again as I drove: “You take all the time you need to care for your parents. I’ll muddle through here, with the help of the team you’ve assembled. I was planning to offer you part ownership in this place after the first of the year, but we can work out those details later.”
So, I was homeward bound with Heart blasting on the car’s stereo and Samwise grumbling from his carrier in the backseat. And Christmas was ten days away. It really was a weird ol’ world.
Samwise and I made good time, and I pulled up to the Living Inn a few blocks from my parents’ house about five hours after hitting the road. I was home to help out, but Dad didn’t like cats, and really, after Thanksgiving, I wouldn’t presume I could stay in the family home. And this hotel allowed guests to have pets.
I didn’t like the extra expense, but it couldn’t be helped.
After settling my cat into the room and hanging up the Do Not Disturb sign, I drove to the parsonage where my parents lived; time for the face-off. I was relieved Stephen’s car was in the drive when I pulled in.
I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel and listened to the engine ticking as it cooled, looking over the house’s façade. Dad wasn’t a fan of gaudy Christmas decorations, believing they detracted from the true meaning of the season, but for her part, Mom insisted on lights hung along the eaves. Given Dad’s diagnosis, I hadn’t been sure if she would browbeat him into hanging them this year. But her beloved lights lined the edge of the roof, waiting for evening so they could shine forth in a modest demonstration of holiday cheer.
Their presence loosened the tightness in my chest, and a smile made my cheeks ache. Maybe Dad wasn’t as sick as we feared. If he was out of the hospital and felt well enough to hang the lights, that was good news.
I opened my car door and climbed out. As I closed it, Stephen came around the side of the house, carrying a ladder. My brief moment of hope faded. He had hung them.
Steve jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “How do the lights look?”
I swallowed. “Good. You just get them up?”
He nodded. “Yeah, Dad hates hanging them. But it looked weird without them. So, I decided to get them up. Just so something’s normal, you know?”
I smiled, but it must have been a weak one, because he set down the ladder and pulled me into a crushing hug. We held one another, and I fought back tears.
“This looks interesting,” a familiar voice said.
“Stacy?” I asked.
Before I could pull away from Steve, her weight collided against my back, and her arms reached around me to grasp his shoulders.
Someone else cleared her throat with a fake cough before saying, “You wenches shall unhand my espoused love now, else I’ll snatch thy hair from thy noggins.”
“Noggins?” Stephen said. “Really, Renee? All the Bard’s great insults, and that’s what my actress-wife cobbles together?” Laughing, I let go of Stephen and tried to turn to Stacy.
She wasn’t letting go, so I finally relaxed in her arms and let my younger sister lean against me. From the way we shook, she was either laughing or crying. I assumed the latter, since she wouldn’t let me see her face.
Eventually, Stacy released her death grip around my shoulders, and I could finally turn to look at her. Her eyes were red, but a huge smile made her face light up. She grabbed me for another hug.
“Good to see you, Brandy.” She squeezed me hard.
I squeezed back just as hard. “You too.”
We s
tayed that way for a few moments, and then she eased her grip. I followed her lead, and we both took a step back. She looked me up and down.
“You’ve lost weight since Thanksgi… since I last saw you.” I fidgeted under her scrutiny. “It doesn’t suit you. We should make an ice cream run.”
We shared an addiction for Dairy Maid’s Butter Crunch blended ice cream. It was Dad’s special treat whenever one of us celebrated a good report card or needed comforting after a fight with a friend. Once I got my driver’s license, we snuck out for those treats a lot, even without Dad along. We hadn’t made that run since she graduated high school.
“Think we could smuggle one in for Dad?” Stephen asked.
“We can try,” said Stacy.
Renee and I just exchanged glances. We both knew the nurses wouldn’t let him have it. More importantly, would he throw me out again?
But Stephen and Stacy were jazzed about smuggling Dad a treat, so I went along with it. On the drive, I learned Mom was already at the hospital with Dad.
Renee called the hospital while we waited for our order, asking if Mom needed anything and letting her know I had arrived. With Dad listening in, Mom probably couldn’t say much in response. Renee insisted that Mom sounded relieved to hear I was coming with them to the hospital, though.
Stephen and Renee took the backseat and held the stuff for our parents. Stacy rode shotgun and alternated between eating her ice cream and feeding me bites of mine. She’d perfected her technique about six months after I got my driver’s license, and the memory of those earlier good times calmed some of my fears.
Before it seemed humanly possible, we pulled into an empty space in the hospital’s parking lot. My appetite vanished when I saw its front entrance, and my half-eaten treat got tossed into the trash.
Stacy grimaced and followed my lead. A sign on the door said no outside food or drink could be brought in, but Stephen ignored it as he strode past. His left hand held Dad’s blended ice cream, and a chocolate-dipped cone for Mom was in his right. He ignored the guard’s expression and startled, “hey!” and marched to an elevator.
The elevator doors opened on cue as he approached, leaving the rest of us scrambling to catch up.
“Showoff,” Stacy muttered, giving him a half-admiring, half-annoyed look. He always pulled crap like that off.
“It’s his gift,” Renee said. “He’s an actor who can make people forget what they know. It’s like your dad in the pulpit. He can convince a congregation of anything.”
A frisson of unease ran down my spine when she said that. Dad was charismatic, but Renee’s comments didn’t seem to be a compliment. Instead, I took them as a warning of trouble to come. The elevator’s walls closed in around me, and I had to force myself to take slow, deep breaths to fight my rising fear. Given how little oxygen that box held, I wasn’t sure it would work.
When it chimed for our floor and the doors opened, I swear a blast of sweet air hit my face. I inhaled, and the stench of antiseptic and sickness made me choke.
“Panic attack?” Stephen asked.
“Yeah. I’m good, though.” I wiped away tears caused by the coughing. Then, to prove I was fine, I marched off the elevator first. Realizing I didn’t know where to go, I paused and let the others get ahead of me. I couldn’t remember Dad’s room number. Besides, I was afraid to be the first one through the door. I wanted to slip in while Dad was preoccupied with his ice cream.
Of course, I failed to account for my twin’s flair for the dramatic. He handed Mom and Dad their surprises before turning to the door. “See who I found when I finished hanging the Christmas lights?”
“Brandy!” Mom gasped as though she hadn’t known I was coming.
My gaze cut to Dad, who froze with his spoon in his mouth.
Mom glanced at him and rushed to hug me before he could swallow down his ice cream and throw me out. “He’s been just sick with guilt,” she whispered as she held me close. We rocked back and forth for a moment but broke apart when he spoke.
“I told you not to come back until your heart and mind were right with God.”
I stepped away from Mom and looked him in the eye. “I remember what you said.”
“So, you’ve repented?”
I took a deep breath. “I never had anything to repent, Dad.”
His mouth twisted in disgust. “So, you’re still a…”
“Dad,” Stephen’s voice was firm. “We aren’t discussing that now.” When our father tried to interrupt him, Steve raised a commanding hand. “I mean it. That topic is off-limits during this family crisis. All of us need to work together through this. You always taught us our family is strong together.”
“We are.” I could see Dad hated to say it, but he wouldn’t contradict one of the mantras he’d taught us.
“So, Brandy is here for as long as you and Mom need a hand. Renee, Stacy, and I will help but…”
“I know you all have other demands on your time,” said Mom. “I’m grateful you’ve been here as long as you have.” She made eye contact with each of them before turning to me. “Honey, will this be a problem for you at work?”
“No, Mom. Dwayne said I can take as much time as needed. He said I’ll become a part owner after New Year’s.”
Mom hugged me again, and my family’s congratulations rang in my ears. Finally, Mom let go, and I could see Dad’s face. He looked both proud and angry. It gave him an expression akin to indigestion. A nurse picked that moment to walk in. After one glance at his expression, she took his ice cream away.
After lecturing us about his diet, the nurse marched from the room. I found myself staring at the door, trying to figure out why she looked familiar. Stephen and Stacy, giggling at the embarrassment on Dad’s face, interrupted my musings. He hated to be fussed at. Before he could scold them, the nurse marched back in.
“I need to see to this patient.” She glared at each of us in turn, and I noticed her eyes widen when our gazes met. Something about making eye contact with her caused my pulse to race. I swallowed hard, but my mouth was dry.
Mom cleared her throat, and the connection I felt with the nurse was broken. “All right, my children. We need to let Monica do her job.” She gave Dad a kiss on the cheek and gestured us toward the door. I glanced back, but Dad wouldn’t look at me. I rolled my eyes, knowing another sermon awaited me.
The next day started my new routine. Early each morning, I drove Mom to the hospital, where she held Dad’s hand through his chemotherapy and radiation treatments. He didn’t speak to me much and seemed to prefer when I waited out of sight.
At first, I stayed behind in his room while he was taken for treatment. By the second day, I lurked in the sitting area near the nurses’ station. The nurses chatted with me, and I soon knew their names.
It turned out the reason Monica looked familiar was because we did know one another. She was a freshman when I was a senior, and we had performed in our high school’s chorus together.
During the long hours of Dad’s treatment, Monica and I found a few minutes here and there to chat about old times. We reminisced about shows and songs from our chorus days. She caught me up on the latest news regarding old classmates, but her duties kept our conversations short. About five days into Dad’s treatment, I found myself wishing Monica and I could find time to talk without interruption.
I hadn’t found any woman interesting since Liz left. Nothing about Monica suggested she might be a lesbian, but she was easy to talk to. And I often struggled to make friends.
A few days later, I dug deep for some courage. “Hey Monica, when is your lunch break today?” It was Christmas Eve, and I wasn’t sure how I would spend tonight or tomorrow. Dad and I hadn’t fully reconciled yet. Mom ran hot and cold, depending on whether or not Dad was in the room. Perhaps eating lunch with a friendly face could help make today feel a bit more like a holiday.
“I was wondering, could we maybe have lunch together? In the cafeteria?”
She seemed surprised by the question, and I noticed a slight blush on her face and throat. “Um, sure.” She glanced at her two colleagues, both of whom wore smirks but pretended not to be listening to us. “I’ll find you,” she said.
I don’t think I was supposed to see her smack the other nurses before she headed down the hall to a patient’s room. I pretended not to notice how they kept glancing at me and whispering after she left. Instead, I just tried to settle my roiling stomach and wondered why her answer mattered so much. And what did that blush mean?
A few hours later, we were both picking at our lunches. “What kept you in our old hometown?” She had just told me she went to college out of state, and I was surprised she’d come home.
She gave me a sad smile. “My parents. Really, my mom.” She didn’t say anything for a few moments, and I wasn’t sure if she intended to tell me anything more. We sat in silence while I tried to find another topic to bring up.
Before I found one, she said, “My sophomore year of high school, my dad had an argument with our parish priest.” Monica fingered a saint’s medallion she wore on a chain. It was so worn that I couldn’t tell which saint it depicted. “After that argument, Dad started trying other churches in the area. We would attend one for four or six months, and then Papa would pick another to try.” She met my gaze and smiled. “We even attended your dad’s church. That was the last semester of my senior year.”
“Your dad tried a Protestant church?” I knew Monica’s older brother slightly. The Echado family was staunchly Catholic, and Jose had been an altar boy.
“Papa tried a lot of denominations, but he either wouldn’t or couldn’t tell us what he was looking for.”
Do You Feel What I Feel. a Holiday Anthology Page 12
