I stopped at the counter. Nick stayed beside me, silent.
Cecilia finished, noticed me, and hurried over.
“Donna here?” I quipped, knowing it wasn’t true.
“It’s Andy.” Her voice dropped.
“No.”
“He was admitted yesterday, and Courtney called a little while ago. Barring a miracle . . .” She pressed her lips together.
My eyes stung. I glanced toward the cake and hated it. Hated its optimism, its naïveté, its sugar. Hated that I’d baked it thinking it would bring joy, bring a form of healing. Hated even that I’d enjoyed baking it and had felt true delight in guiding Matt and flirting with Nick. It was so trite. A cake is just a cake. I looked at Tyler’s potpies and felt no better about them.
Cecilia pulled me into a hug. It took me a moment to lift my arms; then I grabbed her tight.
“It’s so sudden,” I whispered.
“Not really.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know that one.”
“I should go.” I gestured to the food. “Please give Tyler these pies. They’re for him, but the cake was for everyone. I’m embarrassed it’s here. Can you take it to a staff room somewhere?”
“Of course.”
I turned to go when I caught Herb Griffin in the corner of my eye. He waved me over.
“I’ll be just a sec.” I brushed Nick’s arm. “You can come.” I crossed the room as Herb motioned to two chairs.
“Pull those over.”
We did and sat. I introduced him to Nick and then sat without more words.
“Cecilia told you about Andy?”
I nodded.
“Are you all right, dear?” Ruth leaned forward.
“He’s so young.” I rubbed at my eyes.
Herb tapped my hand. “Don’t do that. It’s okay to cry. It’s good.”
I snorted and flashed a look at Nick, who gave a slight nod. A tear plopped down my cheek. “And poor Courtney . . . I think of Jane. She said that as mad as she was to be here”—I motioned around the room and dropped my voice—“that watching your child suffer would be infinitely worse.”
“It is.” Ruth nodded slowly, and I sensed she understood from firsthand experience.
“Please.” A beat of sarcasm stopped our conversation.
We turned our heads as Tyler jabbed his brother. “Brian, don’t.”
“You people know nothing about that family or what they feel about any of this.” Brian didn’t look up from his magazine, as if addressing us directly wasn’t worth his effort.
“Stop.” Tyler gripped his upper arm.
Brian shrugged free. “Get off me.”
I cringed away from his anger, but could say nothing. It was like watching a train wreck. Cecilia hovered on the edge, fully suited to administer Tyler’s chemo, but she stood frozen too. Others around the room looked up, and the whispering grew louder as people turned to Brian. I remembered that he’d had outbursts before—ones that upset people, caused harm.
Brian glanced around, savoring his audience. “Don’t presume to know that family. You have no idea what they feel—or don’t feel.”
“Son.” Herb cut him off with such an authoritative tone the entire room paused midbreath. “Andy’s family is in a lot of pain.” Herb held Brian’s stare. “And while you’re right, there’s a lot we don’t know, we do know they love their son and this is hard.”
“No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.”
“I’m sorry your family isn’t here. I’m sorry if they hurt you . . . or Tyler.”
Herb’s words felt so real and so clear. It was about love and our definition of it, our striving for it. And it was about how that love gets accepted, returned, or rejected. Or even the pain loved ones, our families, can cause.
It felt as if in that moment, no matter the outcome between life and death, it was love that mattered and the only thing that could bridge a link between the two. For Andy. For Brian. For me. There were my shallow waters. The cakes? The potpies? Those came from my heart. The clothes, the face creams, and even Feast? None of it bad, but none of it worthy of defining me or worthy of defining love. And yet those were the objects of my affection, my time, my work, and my life. I felt Nick’s hand slip into mine.
Cecilia started Tyler’s treatment, then stepped back. She looked at Brian with soft eyes, an expression of empathy and acceptance. She’d seen him clearly from the start. I was the one who wanted him to change and be different, be brought down a peg or punished for his arrogance—all so that I wouldn’t look at myself too closely. She stripped off her gloves and lowered her mask, dropping into the chair next to him. She reached for his hand; he tried unsuccessfully to pull away.
Brian stared at her. “What?”
“It’s okay to be angry, even scared.”
He wrenched his arm free.
“We’re all scared, and we should be. Angry too. We should be stunned and shaken when something so fundamentally wrong happens. And it’s hard, especially if family isn’t there to shoulder it with us. And worse when they contribute to it.”
“Don’t—” He stopped, as if he’d run out of words.
“Please, Brian.” The steady peace in Cecilia’s voice and eyes stunned me. I’d classified her as a sidekick—a quirky, amazing nurse, but one with growing up yet to do, not ready to lead the show. Now I saw the true Cecilia, and she was spectacular—completely comfortable with who she was, to whom she belonged, and what she was called to do. She was a heroine.
“You know, I had to forgive my parents for not being who I needed them to be. I’m sure my situation was different from yours, but I got hurt and I needed them and they weren’t there.”
“This isn’t about my family.” Brian’s face twisted. “It’s about Andy . . . It’s about . . .” He shut his mouth and nodded slowly, not to us, but as if to some thought or understanding.
“She never came,” Tyler whispered.
Brian looked at his brother, and the slow nod morphed to a slow shake. I saw them in that moment, and I saw them in the past—the older brother always trying to carry the burden, lift the load, protect the younger, and having all efforts rain down on him useless and futile because the younger still shouldered the load, recognized the hurt, and now carried a burden that could kill him.
“I’m at peace with that, Brian,” Tyler whispered.
“No. No.” Brian turned and held out his hand to his brother, his palm pushing forward with each word. “This isn’t peace.” He turned and raced from the room.
Tyler closed his eyes, and Cecilia went to pull off her protective gown. I sat still and felt the pressure of Nick’s hand within mine. I looked down. My knuckles were white. “I’m so sorry.” I let go, embarrassed by how hard I’d been gripping him.
He reached again. “Don’t be,” he whispered.
“Are you okay?” Herb addressed Tyler.
“I’m not his responsibility. I can’t be his burden anymore.”
I jumped from my seat. “Stop it, Tyler. Stop it. He loves you. He doesn’t know what to do, and he’s scared. We all act badly when we’re scared. At least I do, so I know what it looks like. And he loves you.” I hugged him close. “You aren’t a burden. Please don’t ever think that.”
I stood up, completely embarrassed by my outburst. I swiped my sleeve across my nose, laughing a sobby, choked noise at how ridiculous I must have looked. “I brought you potpies. Helping you made me so happy because you’re important.” I pointed to the counter. “They feel really stupid now, but they’re there. At least take them when you go today.”
Tyler laughed, in a similarly wet fashion. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes. The left was tender, but the sting felt right. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for Andy and his family and I’m sorry, Tyler. I hope Brian’s okay.” I turned to Ruth, then to Herb and hugged him. “Thank you. You’ve t
aught me so much, and I bet you don’t even know it. I’ve so loved meeting you.”
I turned to go as Ruth reached out for Tyler’s hand. I knew they’d keep talking and that somehow Ruth and Herb would now be involved, would help Tyler and even find a way to reach Brian. It was simply love.
As I headed for the elevators, with Nick silently trailing me, I realized how unique that room was and how unlikely it was that I’d ever pass this way again. In my “dystopian library” we were at our most basic, stripped of inhibitions, and we exposed our very selves—be they scared, angry, peaceful, faith-filled, or despairing. True emotions shone out of each one of us, sometimes many emotions conflicting at once. There was no hiding. I understood Brian’s anger, I felt Tyler’s vulnerability and burden, but I wanted Herb and Ruth’s conviction. I wanted Cecilia’s peace.
The elevator doors opened. “That was more than you signed up for.” I entered and leaned back against the wall. Nick’s expression was tight and closed. He reached for my hand and squeezed it tight.
“How old is Andy?”
“Probably fifteen. Hard to tell because he’s smaller than Kate, but I suspect he’s older. I think he has leukemia. He’s the one I played cards with.”
“I figured that.” Nick clenched his eyes shut until the door opened onto the ground floor.
“Where to now?” I asked.
“Do you mind if I take you home? There’s some . . . I need to get some stuff done.” He lifted our hands to his lips and kissed the back of mine.
“Not at all.”
We drove home with few words. Our lightness and banter were gone. My stitches were gone. And I missed Jane’s family.
THE DAY TURNED CLOUDY AND CHILLY. IT FIT MY MOOD. I thought a walk would help, but my thoughts only turned in on themselves and made everything feel worse. After about an hour of wandering Madison Park, I turned the corner to Jane’s house to find Cecilia rocking on the porch swing. “Have you been here long?”
“I just arrived. I was about to call you, but I got sucked in by this thing. It’s relaxing.” She tapped her foot to the ground, perpetuating the gentle sway.
“Then I should be out here daily.” I plopped next to her, sending the swing in a sideways rock. “I went for a walk.”
She didn’t answer.
“You okay?”
She sighed and glanced at me. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I was a mess, wasn’t I? I can’t believe I leapt on Tyler like that . . . I saw Jane and me and our mess and their misunderstandings and how we all screw everything up and how I’m still screwed up, but I don’t want to be . . . and poor Andy and Courtney and his siblings and how they’re handling this . . .”
I looked over. Cecilia stared straight ahead. I’d never noticed how pale her eyes were under all that black eyeliner. I poked her arm. “Hey . . . I’m not a patient, Cecilia. Talk to me.”
She sucked in a huge, halting breath. “Thank you.” She pressed her fists into her eyes and screamed, “Agghhh . . .” Her yell filled the moment with more power and emotion than I could scoop out of a decade.
I looked around, but no one was outside to witness or listen.
“Sorry about that.” She lowered her fists. “It’s just that I have to hold it together there, and usually I can. Then something like this happens.” We rocked for a few moments. “And you were fine today. Honestly, you helped Tyler more than you know.
“When I was young,” she continued, “everything felt so real, so final, scary even . . . That’s part of the reason I started using. Emotions ballooned into big, black demons that bit and overwhelmed me. That’s how it felt today. In rehab I learned I was wired that way. I feel things deeply—too deeply. It’s even got a name beyond high sensitivity . . .” She glanced over at me and shrugged.
“Anyway, an amazing counselor taught me to watch others, but to create borders and protect myself while still being able to give. He helped me make my world bigger, forgive myself, my parents, too, and to be thankful—to believe that God gave me these odd sympathies, empathies, and emotions that are always in me, to be a blessing and even a gift. It was a shift in perspective, and it’s good, but on days like today I’m falling again . . . and it’s too hard.”
I reached my arm around her. “Your counselor was right about perspective. I learned that from you. You have a beautiful one. Hope is a good perspective. Faith, a good lens.”
“I don’t feel it right now.”
“But isn’t that the point? That God is still there, reality is still there, no matter how you feel?”
She turned to me and sighed. “You’ve reminded me of a lot I’d forgotten.”
I shrugged and we swayed. Back and forth. Back and forth.
“I’m going to miss you.” She spoke into the silence.
“New York isn’t that far away.”
“It is, but thanks for saying that. We can keep in touch. Are you on Facebook?”
I chuckled. “I will be.”
She leaned back and pushed us harder. “What about you and Nick?”
“Will we stay in touch? No, I don’t think relationships work over long distances, and our lives are on opposite coasts.”
“That’s a shame.” She smiled at me. “In the Infusion Center you’re stiff, and you’re stiff with Jane. You get this tight expression in your eyes.” She narrowed her eyes in an unflattering imitation. “But when you cook, you’re funny and you’re part of your work, not separate; you’re almost bubbly. When I walked in and saw you with Nick the other day, you were lit up to a whole new level.”
“Yikes. Am I really that transparent?”
Cecilia quirked an eyebrow and nodded. I interpreted it to say, Sucks to be you. And she was right. On so many levels, that is exactly how I felt, and it didn’t help that the whole world seemed to know it before I did.
“Nick and I were a blip, and while it was nice . . .”
She pinned me with a glare and raised the eyebrow again—so much more daunting when dyed jet black and firing twice in a moment.
“Fine, it was more than nice, but still just a blip. He’s got a lot going on in his life right now, and I’ll go home, get back to work, and, I hope, keep that bubbly feeling you described. That’s all I need.”
I told her about Paul, Chef Dimples, and trying to recapture my “gift” for cooking. As I told my story, I began to believe that I’d done it, that I’d regained what was lost and that I’d even found something new. After all, we created the magic that day in the kitchen for Tyler, even for Jane. And I had created food that meant something to each of them and to Nick—the chicken salad, the potpie, the ice cream. All these gifts were relevant, and they mattered. I kept telling her more and more, with a generated eagerness, until I believed it myself. And I rested there. Feast would be mine again.
An hour later, as she headed down the steps, Cecilia blew it away with a single question. “What if it was never about the food?”
Chapter 36
NICK CALLED THE NEXT MORNING. I CURLED UP ON THE couch, expecting a warm chat.
“I’m sorry I basically dumped you at Jane’s yesterday. I needed to call Rebecca.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What about?”
Nick sighed over the line. “I think . . . I realized . . . I’m making it all too hard. She’s not what I expected, but she is Matt’s mom and she wants to be in his life. She talked about moving here and finding a job. I was pretty hard on her and . . . I needed to call and apologize.”
“You want her to move here?”
“I want my son to have his mother. That’s more important than what I want.”
I wanted to keep the conversation on Matt, but I couldn’t help myself. “Do you find her attractive?”
“What?”
“She’s the mother of your son, Nick. You clearly found her attractive once, and if you two got together, you’d have a family. Matt’s family would be complete.”
“That’s not on the table right now
. I doubt she’s even thought about it. I certainly haven’t.” When I didn’t reply, Nick’s voice took on an edge. “What’s going on here?”
“Absolutely nothing. Just thinking aloud.” I took a breath and remembered, I’m going home. “I think it’s great if she moves here. Mothers should be with their kids. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Nick, I lost mine at seventeen. It’s a big deal. This is good . . . Listen, I gotta go. Jane and family will be home at three, and I haven’t exactly kept this place clean. I also want to make some soup. Will you be around later?”
“Sure, but I—”
I cut him off. “I’ll give you a call.” I hung up. There wasn’t much to clean, but there wasn’t much to say either . . .
And at three p.m. on the dot, the front door slammed. My family was back.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth?” Peter called into the house.
“Up here.” I laid down the laundry on my bed and headed toward the stairs.
“It was so much fun.” Kate grinned up at me.
“You should’ve come,” Danny joined in. “Hey, your hand.”
I held it up. “All fixed.” He bounded up the stairs and grabbed for it. “Tender,” I squeaked.
The kids raced through every moment at the water park with Jane and Peter chirping in. It sounded full and fun and bright. Exactly what they needed. And Jane looked lighter and softer—the version I always imagined at Peter’s side. There were moments that pain, emotional or physical, flittered across her face, but she chased them away. I recognized it in her because I was engaged in the same exercise.
Jane caught my expression during one of those moments and widened her eyes at me. “Later,” I whispered. She nodded.
Later never came, so I knew the next morning we needed to talk. Peter walked into the kitchen right as I finished making coffee. “I’m heading to work, but I wanted to warn you, Jane took her Decadron tablets for tomorrow.”
A Katherine Reay Collection Page 49
