Susan had already come and gone by the time Parker and Amy arrived. Clara was doped up, but still cognizant. “I feel so silly. I’m fine now, really. I tried to talk Susan into letting me go home, but she won’t hear of it until my oncologist, Dr. Webster, examines me,” Clara said.
“They’ve been sticking her like vampires,” Mabel groused.
“The doctors learn a lot from the blood tests,” Parker said.
Mabel harrumphed. “She just needs a drink of water.” Mabel wagged her finger at Clara, adding, “Which you’ll be drinking more of. A lot more. I should’ve been paying closer attention.”
“I’m spending more time indoors and not drinking as much as I should. When I used to go outside to garden, then I was thirsty,” Clara said.
“Well, that’s gonna change,” Mabel said.
Clara chuckled. “I’m not used to being bossed around.”
“You better just get used to it because it’s my new modus operandi. And I get to talk to your doctor from now on,” Mabel said with authority.
“You have to be nice,” Clara said.
“Now, that I’d like to see,” Parker said with a wry smile.
Amy sat in the chair by the window, stifling a groan. Her ankles were swollen and her back was aching. The baby kicked and Amy groaned louder.
“How’s my hair?” Clara asked, patting her head.
“Your hair is holding up,” Mabel said dismissively. “Thank god for Aqua Net.”
“You know what I realized while in the back of that ambulance?” Clara asked.
“What?” Mabel said.
“That we’ve had a whole lot of good times together,” Clara said. “In fact, I don’t think we’ve had any bad times.”
Mabel said, “Like hell. We’ve had plenty of bad times. You just don’t remember them.”
“Like what?” Clara said.
“How about that one time you left me at the grocery store in 1967 because I was snotty about the tomato soup, and I had to walk home. And in 1974, when you threw my clothes out in the yard because you thought I was flirting with Thelma Stuart at the barn dance. She was flirting with me, not the other way around,” Mabel said.
“Says you,” Clara said. “You were smiling and giggling like a besotted school girl.”
“You remember the years?” Amy asked.
“I have a memory like a steel trap. I remember everything,” Mabel said, tapping her finger to her temple.
“Except to shut off the front porch light in the morning,” Clara said.
Mabel whipped out a small spiral notebook and a pencil. She jotted something down.
“I thought you had a mind like a steel trap,” Parker said.
“So, I have trouble with the little things. I’ve got a list going of all the things I need to remember. Clara takes care of those things because I don’t.”
“Oh, my sweet, come here. You have made me so happy,” Clara said. “That’s all you really need to remember.”
Mabel fell into her arms.
“You want help getting in the bed with her? I’m sure the powers that be will let you,” Parker said.
“I’d like that,” Mabel said. She looked at Clara. “All right by you?”
“Please. We haven’t slept apart since the night we got together. I don’t want to start now.”
Parker helped Mabel into Clara’s bed. They snuggled into each other. “This is much better. I think I’m cured already,” Clara said.
No one laughed.
“You all are going to have to lighten up or you’ll depress me to death,” Clara said.
“We’ll try,” Parker said.
“That’ll do,” Clara said. “I’m getting sleepy.” She closed her eyes. The drugs were taking effect.
“We should go,” Amy said, getting up slowly.
“Mabel, do you want us to bring you some clothes and toiletries? Parker asked.
“Millie’s already taking care of it,” Mabel said. She yawned. “I think I’ll have a little nap, too. It’s been a big day.” She closed her eyes.
Parker and Amy looked down at them. “Aren’t they adorable?” Amy said.
“I heard that,” Mabel mumbled, her eyes still closed.
***
Outside Clara’s room, Parker said to Amy, “We should stay until the rest of them get here. There’ll be a million questions and those two,” she pointed at the door, “should get some rest.”
As if summoned, Steph skidded around the corner with Rosa right behind her. “Will you slow down, you’re going to hurt someone,” Rosa called out, hobbling as fast as she could with her cane.
Steph breathlessly asked Parker and Amy, “Is she all right? Did they stabilize her?”
“She’s in there with Mabel and they’re both resting,” Amy said.
Steph let out a long sigh of relief. “I’m not ready for this.”
“None of us are,” Parker said.
Rosa took a chair next to Amy. She was breathing heavily. “I can’t keep up with her when she’s like this.”
“I feel the same way with Parker. I just waddle behind her,” Amy whispered back.
Rosa leaned her cane against the empty chair next to her.
“You’re back to the cane?” Amy asked.
Rosa shrugged. “Some days I need it, some I don’t. This is a need-it day.”
Susan walked down the hall towards them. Steph met her halfway. “Is Clara going to be all right?” Steph asked.
“For now,” Susan said. “You know about the cancer, right?”
Steph nodded. “Yeah, I found out as Clara was lying on the floor.” Steph glared at Parker.
Parker shrugged. “It was Clara’s decision to keep quiet for the time being. She wanted to have a normal life for as long as she could.”
Steph pouted. “I suppose it is her right.”
“She would’ve told us eventually. I’m sure Clara didn’t mean for us to find out like this,” Rosa soothed her. “Do you have any idea what Dr. Webster has planned?” Rosa asked.
“Hospice or palliative care depending on what Clara wants,” Susan said. She took a seat next to Amy. She looked tired.
“We heard about the auto accident,” Amy said.
“Yes. Those kids got off lucky. Aside from a few stitches, some broken ribs, and a broken leg. One of the girls in front was sitting with one leg tucked under her other leg. It broke when the air bag inflated.”
“Ouch,” Amy said.
“When driving in a car, you’re supposed to sit straight up and facing forward with both feet on the floor. Driving in a car is not a place for yoga,” Steph said. “I told them that.”
“I’m sure you did, honey,” Rosa said.
“Should I call Millie and tell them not to come?” Amy said. “They can see her in the morning. They had a long drive back from the city.”
“That’s a good idea. Clara’s going to sleep the rest of the night. We gave her a sedative and a good dose of morphine.”
“When does she start chemo?” Steph asked.
No one said anything. They all avoided her eyes. After a lengthy pause, it dawned on Steph what the silence meant. “She’s not having chemo, is she?”
“I’m not for it, but all chemo would do is buy her some time, and she’d be miserable,” Susan said.
Steph took a deep breath and nodded. “I respect that.”
Amy was impressed with Steph’s attitude. She’d have thought she would be the one to fight hardest for treatment, but apparently, Steph understood the dance between life and death better than the others had. Maybe it was because Steph had seen so many broken bodies and experienced the deaths of those she couldn’t save.
Rosa leaned back in her chair and covered her eyes. Her shoulders shook as she silently cried.
“Dr. Webster will make sure she’s not in pain and, if possible, that she gets to stay at home,” Susan said.
“It’ll get hard toward the end,” Steph said. “It won’t be pretty.”
> Parker didn’t mince words. She said flatly, “That’s the other thing you need to know. Clara is going to check out before it gets too bad. She’s already made the decision and can’t be talked out of it.”
There was heavy silence as Steph and Rosa digested this piece of news.
“Well, that about sums it up,” Steph said. Her voice sounded strained. “I have to get back to work. I’ve still got two more days of my rotation, then maybe we can all get together to talk strategy? You all come for dinner and we’ll talk about the next steps and how we can help Clara and Mabel. Sound good?”
Amy looked around the waiting room at all the people who would be helping Clara and Mabel get through this. Everyone should be so fortunate, she thought, to be surrounded by people who loved you. She put her hand on her belly and silently told her baby that she was coming into the world surrounded by loving and caring people who would always be there for her. Parker put her hand over Amy’s, seeming to think the same thing.
Chapter Twelve
Parker peered over Amy’s shoulder at the wedding catalog. Millie had a selection of them spread out over her kitchen table. “We’ve got to get this done,” Millie said. She nodded towards Amy’s protruding belly. She was now eight months pregnant and suffering through the worst August on record for heat and humidity.
“We know, we know,” Parker said. The wedding had gotten even more complicated now that Millie had taken over. Bernie had taken a step back. She’d been overwhelmed by the choices and decisions that a wedding required. She was now the official armchair commentator.
“I vote for the fairy wedding. You all will look cute with flowing dresses, fairy wings, and flowers in your hair,” Bernie called out from the living room. She was sitting in her recently purchased leather recliner with built-in cupholders. It’d been her birthday present from all the gals. They’d chipped in to get her the top of the line.
They’d had a small party because Bernie disliked being the center of attention. Actually she suffered stage fright. Despite being a large woman, she did not enjoy being in the spotlight. They’d had a delicious red velvet cake made by Molly herself. No one made better cakes and pies than Molly’s Bakery and Café.
The wedding stressed Bernie out so much that it had raised her blood pressure. Millie insisted that Bernie step away, telling her, “I can’t have you dying on me.” She’d put her hand over her mouth after she said it.
Millie blinked away sudden tears. “I just wish we didn’t have a shadow hanging over such happy events. We don’t know how much longer we’ll have Clara.”
It was true. Clara had completely lost the use of her legs and lying flat in bed was the most comfort she had. Sitting hurt, and she did it as little as possible. The cancer had eaten away at her spine and it was deteriorating rapidly. Rosa gave Clara the wheelchair she’d used when she had her accident. Parker had built ramps, allowing Clara to leave the house.
At that moment, the back door flew open and Mabel entered the kitchen. She was dressed all in black, complete with black leather chaps and cowboy hat. The hat was so big it rested on her ears, making them stick out. She had a holster with two pistols slung low on her hips like a gunfighter ready for a shootout.
Mabel looked down at the brochure-strewn kitchen table. “For crissakes, decide already!”
“We have to decide on a theme first,” Millie said.
“I vote for cowboy-style,” Mabel said. “I heard on NPR that tourists are clambering all over each other to have a cowboy wedding in Wyoming. Maybe we should move the whole affair to Jackson Hole and be done with it.”
“Your black outfits are depressing,” Parker said, “And I do not trust that the people in Wyoming would welcome a lesbian wedding with a pregnant bride.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mabel grumped.
“Is Edna with Clara?” Millie asked.
Bernie came in from the living room. “Howdy, Mabel. I thought I heard your sweet voice,” Bernie said sarcastically.
“They still got you banned from wedding plans because of your blood pressure?” Mabel said.
Bernie blushed.
“And to answer your question, yes. Edna is there. She’s reading a book by Mary Roach called Stiff.”
“That sounds interesting,” Amy said.
“It’s about what happens to bodies, you know, after they’re dead. Clara says it’s enlightening,” Mabel said. She peered into Millie’s Porky Pig cookie jar and snatched two peanut butter cookies.
“That sounds morbid,” Parker said.
Mabel stuffed a cookie in her mouth, and when she’d swallowed half of it, she said, “She’s weighing her options, burial or cremation. I’m voting for cremation. I can’t think about the deterioration of her body. The upside is that I’d get to keep her on the mantel in a nice vase. I’ll just have to be careful when I dust. Speaking of which, did you know that dust is actually dead skin? Ninety percent dead skin cells, that’s all dust is. We’re surrounded by dead bodies all the time.” She took another bite of cookie, unaware of the effect her words were having on the others.
Amy stared at Mabel. She couldn’t help thinking that Clara’s imminent death was taking a strange turn. Would Mabel crack at some point? And what would the cracking look like?
Parker said what they all were thinking, “You two are getting really weird about this whole thing.”
“It’s how we’re dealing with it,” Mabel said brusquely.
“Point taken,” Parker said.
“I’m on my way over to Top Gun. Going to get some extra practice in before the match. You all gonna be there for the shooting competition?” Mabel said.
“Can I come with you today?” Amy said. “I’d like to write a piece on it.”
“Sure. The tourney is next weekend, you know. The competition is coming from all over the country, but I intend on winning it. It’ll be a grand send off for Clara, knowing she’s got a winner for a wife.”
Amy looked over at Parker. “Do you mind? I’ll be home for dinner.”
“Of course not,” Parker said. She kissed Amy on the cheek.
“I’ll drive,” Mabel said. “I need the practice. Clara did most of the driving all these years. She gets carsick when I drive.”
“How about Amy drives?” Parker said.
“Don’t trust my driving?” Mabel said, raising her eyebrows, daring Parker to speak the truth.
“You could say that,” Parker said.
***
It was a pleasant drive out to the shooting range. Everything was so green. The flowers around town were suffering from the heat and some had gone to seed, but out here the trees and some heat-tolerant wildflowers of purple and yellow still lined the highway leading out of town. Mabel sat back in the passenger seat listening to a Pink Floyd CD that she’d brought with her.
“This is the music Clara wants to listen to when she goes to permanent sleep. I think it’s rather soothing and it reminds us of those wild times smoking pot and dropping LSD. Damn, those were enlightening years. If it hadn’t been for the Vietnam War, life would have been psychedelic bliss,” Mabel said.
Amy glanced over at Mabel. “You took LSD?”
“Everyone did in those days. It was like a rite of passage.”
And she thought her misspent youth was colorful. Another thing to add to all the stuff Clara and Mabel had experienced, Amy thought.
Mabel burst her bubble. “Don’t put that in her obituary.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“People always remember those tidbits instead of the person’s good works.”
Amy nodded. Unfortunately, that was true. Look at poor Bill Clinton.
Allen Spencer, the proprietor of Top Gun, was delighted to see Mabel and Amy. Press coverage was always good for business. He told Amy so. “I’d like a good crowd from the town since we’ve got outsiders coming in, trying for the prize money. We want to support our local shooters. And this one,” he put a hand on Mabel’s shoulder, “stan
ds a damn good chance of winning. We call her the Bull’s-Eye Bomber.”
Mabel kicked the dirt with the toe of her cowboy boot in a rare display of humility. “I’ll do my best.”
Allen supplied Mabel with a box of ammunition and took them out behind the clubhouse to the most elaborate shooting gallery Amy had ever seen. This was no stand-in-place-and-shoot-paper-targets kind of thing. This was full-on Quantico training. Barrels, walls with windows, hallways, and a section of standing human-cutout targets covered the shooting range.
Mabel chuckled at Amy’s surprised face. “Impressive, huh?” Mabel said. “It’s all timed and you have to draw first between each stand. You can’t move on to the next section until you hit all the targets. And see those barrels tipped on their sides? You have to roll over to them and use them for ground cover, then shoot the targets, and race for the end. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Then she added, “In the sporting arena.”
Amy hoped Mabel wouldn’t blow out a hip, dislocate a shoulder, or sprain an ankle. She doubted Steph or Ruth could pull this off and they were super fit and much younger. “Goodness, Mabel, this is truly amazing.”
Mabel puffed up proudly. “Just wait until you see me do it.”
“I wish I’d brought a camera,” Amy pined.
“I video every time she makes a run. That way we can study and work on improving her technique. I’ll email it to you,” Allen offered. He went back into the clubhouse and came out with a tripod, a video camera, and a stopwatch. Amy and Allen watched as Mabel closed her eyes and deeply breathed in and out.
“She’s getting into the zone,” Allen whispered.
This was so much bigger than Amy had envisioned. She thought the competitors would stand still and shoot at targets and whoever did the best, won. Tomorrow, she’d do more research on women in shooting tournaments—beginning with legendary sharpshooter Annie Oakley. That was one of the things she enjoyed about her job—she learned things all the time. Curiosity and the need for cash had gotten her into the magazine freelance world where research was paramount.
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