The Best Medicine

by Anne Marie Rodgers

  Gideon, his elder son, sat at the claw-footed oak table with his laptop in front of him. Sometimes, James felt looking at Gid was like looking at himself at age fourteen. They shared the same wavy chestnut hair and blue eyes, though James had to admit he was definitely sprouting more and more silver of late.

  “Hey, Dad,” Gideon said.

  James clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Hey, yourself. How was school?”

  “Great. Got an A on my algebra test. And yes, I finished my history paper.” He made a show of carefully putting away his books. “The soccer coach asked me to consider trying out for the soccer team this fall. Do you think I should?”

  “That's pretty neat that he's recruiting you. But you should only consider soccer if you think you would enjoy it.”

  Gideon frowned. “I’m not sure I would. I like soccer and all, but it would take up a lot of my time.”

  “Don't rush your decision. You have the whole summer to think about it,” James counseled. He patted Gideon's shoulder once. “Way to go, son.”

  As Gideon closed his laptop and left the room, James moved to Fern's side and leaned down to kiss her, stroking Sapphire as the cat arched against his palm. “Hello,” he said. “How was your day?”

  He could see she knew what he meant. “I’ve had better,” she said quietly.

  “New symptoms?”

  Fern shook her head. “Just really exhausted all day. I’d much rather read than sit in front of the television, but my vision's too blurry right now.”

  James winced. “I’m sorry. Maybe it will clear up in a few days.”

  “Maybe.” Fern usually tried to maintain a cheerful façade, but today she seemed lethargic and depressed. “How was your day?”

  James busied himself getting a glass from the cupboard and added ice cubes and chilled water from the dispenser on the refrigerator. He grabbed one of the chairs from the table and set it near Fern's, then seated himself. “My day started out fine, and I made some very pleasant friends at lunch. But I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “Oh no. What's wrong?” Fern visibly braced herself.

  “We got a letter from the hospital board.” James went on to share the contents of the letter with her, detailing his coworkers’ reactions.

  “What are we going to do?” Tears slowly rolled down Fern's pale cheeks. “I’m so sorry I can't work. It isn't fair that the burden of supporting us falls entirely on you.”

  “Hey.” James rose from his chair. He picked Sapphire up from Fern's lap and set her on the floor. The cat went to the corner where her food and water was kept to get a drink, dipping her paw in the water first to stir it up. James knew Maine coons liked water, but the routine always made him grin.

  He tugged Fern to her feet and took her place in the chair, pulling her down onto his lap. “The world isn't fair. Stuff happens. But we’re a team, right?”

  Fern nodded. “Yes, but—”

  “Yes, but nothing.” James kissed her cheek. “Remember those vows? ‘For better or for worse, in sickness and in health’? This isn't a contest, and there are no scales to balance. This is just us, Team Bell, rolling along together with a little support from the Man Upstairs.”

  The barest hint of a smile curved Fern's lips. “Team Bell, hmm?”

  James nodded, smiling. “Yes. And teams work together, so let's talk about our options here.”

  Fern nodded. “Okay. The pity party's over. Options—seems to me there are only two. Either you stay and hope for the best; or you start looking for another job, just in case the closing does come to pass.”

  “I suppose it's time to update and polish my résumé,” James said.

  “I can help with that,” Fern offered. She was still able to use their computer on her better days. James had adjusted the font size so she could read more easily.

  “Great.” James did his best to sound cheerful and positive, even though his heart ached at the thought of leaving Hope Haven. Then again, he would only be leaving if he were forced to.

  Sapphire returned and walked across the room to her toy basket. She stared into the basket for a moment, then carefully selected a plastic ball with a small jingle bell inside. She carried it back to Fern, then jumped up to her mistress's lap, dropping the ball and looking expectantly between Fern and the ball.

  Fern began to laugh, a sweet, high lilt that warmed James's heart. “You’re not going to let us mope, are you?” she asked the cat. Then she picked up the ball and flung it across the room. Sapphire shot off like a bullet, retrieved it, and returned to drop it in Fern's lap.

  The sound of footsteps stomping down the steps reverberated through the house, distracting James from the cat's antics. Seconds later, the commotion burst into the kitchen and skidded to a stop in front of them, brown hair flying wildly. It was their second son, Nelson. His arms were raised, hands in fists as he mimed celebrating a victory. “I’m the man! I’m the man!”

  “All right, I’ll bite,” James said, chuckling. “Why are you the man?”

  The seventh grader grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. His expression so resembled his mother's that James was amused. “I finished my science fair project, and it turned out great.”

  “What topic did you end up researching?”

  “I investigated the difference between music and noise—when is a sound considered music, and when is it just noise?”

  “That's a good topic. What made you decide on that?”

  Nelson grinned. “Mom's always telling me to turn down that noise I call music. So I thought I’d see which it really is.”

  James laughed, and Fern smiled. “And what did you find out?”

  “That the noise is music! I measured waveform, amplitude and wavelength of common noises and compared them to well-known melodies to see how they differed.”

  James grinned, shaking his head, awed by his younger son's sky-high intelligence score.

  Nelson grinned. “I have to enter it in the fair tomorrow. I’m hoping to win.” Then he frowned, mimicking exaggerated disgust when he realized his parents were cuddled together in the rocker. “Blech! Yuck! Are you two kissing again?” he demanded.

  “We weren’t, but thanks for the idea,” James told his son, a twinkle in his eye. He pressed a kiss to Fern's cheek and then lifted her and set her back in the rocker as he turned to Nelson. “So where's this science project? I want to see just how great it is.”

  “So that's what the letter said.” Elena rose from the dinner table and began to clear the dishes. Over dinner, she had shared the unwelcome news about the possibility of the hospital's closing with her husband Cesar, their twenty-six-year-old son, Rafael, and Rafael's daughter Isabel who would be five years old in August.

  “So what are you going to do, Mama?” Rafael asked. As he stood, he picked up his plate and Isabel's, and his black eyes met her own across the table. “Do you think you can find another job around here? There are going to be an awful lot of nurses looking for work.”

  “I’m not looking for another job yet.” Elena carried a plate of strawberry-filled dessert enchiladas and some small dishes to the table. “I’m sure we can figure out a way to keep the hospital open.”

  “Who's ‘we’?” Cesar asked. He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “Do you have any idea how much money is needed to run a hospital? How are you going to come up with such a sum?”

  “I don't know yet. But there must be a way.” Elena's eyes shone with conviction. “I’m going to pray about it. I have faith that if I do—”

  Cesar heaved a sigh and rolled his dark eyes. “We know, we know. Your prayers will be answered.”

  Elena's own eyes flashed with ire. “You don't have to be sarcastic,” she informed him.

  Their conversation was interrupted by Isabel. “Oh, Buela, you made your special enchiladas! May I have one? I ate all my broccoli, remember?”

  Elena laughed. Her granddaughter, with her father's dark curls and sparkling black eyes, was a shining light that brighten
ed both her grandparents’ lives beyond measure. “I surely do, my busy-Izzy.” She placed an enchilada on Isabel's plate.

  “Dessert,” Isabel crowed. “Daddy, I get dessert!”

  Her father smiled. “Yes, and I’d like to see your good table manners while you eat it.”

  As the little girl dug into her sweet treat and Elena served the others, Rafael glanced up at his mother. Monday evening was his band's rehearsal night. “Mama, Izzy has a little school project after dinner.”

  “Homework?” Elena asked. “Isn't that a little excessive for preschool?”

  Rafael chuckled. “It's just a fun little art project.”

  “I have to color five bricks,” Isabel announced.

  “Color five bricks?” echoed Elena. “How on earth can you lift one brick, much less five?”

  Isabel howled with laughter, pointing to some papers sticking out of the top of her backpack, which hung on the front closet doorknob. “Paper bricks, Buela.”

  “The class is making a picture of a house on their classroom wall,” Rafael explained. “It's going to be ‘built’ with the bricks.”

  “I see,” said Elena.

  Rafael glanced at his watch and stood. He had wolfed down his dessert so fast that Elena was certain he couldn't have tasted it. “I’d better get going.” He bent to kiss his daughter's cheek. “’Night, mi bonita,” he murmured. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He had been calling Isabel his “pretty one” in Spanish since the day she was born, Elena recalled.

  “Come kiss me when you get home, Daddy,” ordered the little girl.

  Elena watched them with a smile, enjoying the clear affection between the pair. Isabel's mother, Sarah, had vanished without a word shortly after Isabel's birth, leaving Rafael to raise his daughter alone. While Elena didn't know all the details, she was pretty sure that drug addiction had been at least part of Sarah's problem.

  Still, how a woman could walk away from her baby…Stop, Elena. She wasn't going to judge, Elena reminded herself. But, oh, living that conviction sometimes took a great deal of willpower!

  Rafael smiled and tugged on Isabel's long ponytail. “I always kiss you good night,” he assured her.

  Elena helped Izzy get into bed every Monday night and on some weekends, although Rafael was a devoted father and cared for the child himself as much as possible.

  “Good night,” Elena murmured as Rafael kissed her brow.

  “’Night, Dad. See you in the morning, Mama. Thanks again.” Her son never took his parents’ assistance for granted.

  “Good night,” Cesar replied. He had finished his dessert and rose to place his dishes in the sink. “I want to check the weather,” he said to Elena, going to the computer desk in the living room.

  “Buela, I’m done with my enchilada. Can I color my bricks now?” Isabel asked.

  Elena nodded. “Take your dishes to the sink, please.”

  The little girl did as she was told before turning to the closet to get her homework.

  While Elena cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, her thoughts returned to the disturbing events of the day. Lord, she prayed silently, give me inspiration. There has to be a way to keep Hope Haven from closing. I’m placing this in Your hands.

  “Buela, look at my bricks,” Isabel said, interrupting Elena's prayer as she tapped her crayon on her paper. “Did I make them pretty?”

  “They’re beautiful,” Elena said, filling her voice with admiration. “You did a very nice job. Now. Guess what time it is?”

  “Bath time,” Isabel said. She hopped down from her chair and skipped to the hallway of the small ranch-style house. “I wanna run the water!”

  “I’ll be there in a moment,” Elena called after the child. “Do not turn that water on until I get there!” She smiled at the crayons still scattered across the table. Isabel tended to forget the cleanup part of her activities. Usually, Elena asked her to help; but tonight, she absently began to gather up the crayons and paper as she thought about the hospital. There had to be some way to get the employees involved in saving Hope Haven.

  In Candace Crenshaw's spacious, four-bedroom home, the bustle of dinner and homework was over. Howie had taken his bath. His stories and prayers were done, and he had been put to bed. Brooke had gotten into the shower while Candace was reading to Howie.

  Candace walked down the half flight of stairs from the bedrooms to the main level where the kitchen, dining room, and living room were located. Then she walked down a second half flight to the family room. Entering the room, she quietly took a seat on the couch and smiled at her mother. “Howie's in bed looking at a book. I read his story and we said prayers, and he asked if he could ‘read’ a book by himself.”

  Candace's mother, Janet, had taken a seat in her favorite recliner. She was still a very slim and attractive woman. If it wasn't for her silver hair, Candace often thought they might look more like sisters than mother and daughter.

  As Janet crocheted a baby blanket with fast, efficient motions, she watched Jeopardy! and guessed the questions aloud right along with the contestants. She turned down the volume of the large, flat-screen television when Candace entered. “He was so cute at dinner talking about how starting kindergarten will make him a big kid.”

  Candace chuckled. “He's raring to go, isn't he?”

  Her mother nodded. “Yes. He still enjoys preschool, but says he's getting ‘too grown-up’ for it.”

  The two women shared a smile. Then Candace's expression sobered. “Oh, Mom, I still can hardly believe that letter.” Candace had shared the letter about the hospital closing with her mother when she arrived home. “I hate the thought of looking for another job.”

  “Could you go back to Princeton?” her mother asked. Before coming to Hope Haven ten years ago, Candace had worked at Perry Memorial in the nearby community.

  “If I can't find something here in town, that's really my only other choice,” Candace responded. “Tiskilwa and Wyanet don't have hospitals, and Peoria is just too far. We’d have to move, and I really don't want to do that. Brooke loves her school, and the last thing she needs is any more upheaval in her life.”

  Janet nodded, her expression thoughtful. Brooke had been eight years old when her father had died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm, and the little girl had taken it very hard. Candace was mindful of the counselor's recommendations that she try to provide as much constancy and stability as possible for Brooke. Surely staying in the same home in the same school district fell into that category.

  “I don't want to work in a doctor's office,” Candace went on. “But if that's my only option, I’d do it.”

  “What about an OB practice?” Janet asked. “I know you love working with pregnant mothers and newborns.”

  Candace smiled. “I really do. I guess I’ll get some résumés together when I get a chance.” Then her smile faded. “I had some bad news today. One of the ladies in my new prenatal class found a lump in her breast. I went with her for her biopsy, and even though the results aren't back yet, the doctor believes it's malignant.” Her mother would have recognized the name instantly, but patient confidentiality laws prevented Candace from offering any information that might identify the patient. She could discuss the case, but revealing any personal information that would identify a patient was strictly out-of-bounds.

  “Oh no.” Janet's eyes, greener than her daughter's, filled with distress. “That's awful news. What can they do when a woman is pregnant?”

  “She still has options,” Candace assured her mother. “Surgery, certainly, and I imagine some other treatments as well. I’m not a doctor, so I can't say for certain, but I’m going to stay hopeful. Breast cancer, especially if it's still in stage I, is quite treatable.”

  “So it was caught early?”

  “The doctor thought it was,” Candace admitted. “But we don't know yet if it's metastasized.” She stopped herself. “And I’m getting ahead of myself. We don't even know for sure that it's a cancer diagnosis yet.
”

  Janet sucked in a dismayed breath. “I know you can't tell me her name, but I’ll pray for her.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I will too.”

  “Mommy?”

  Candace turned with a start. Brooke stood in the entry from the hallway, dressed in her robe with her long blonde curls anchored atop her head by a large barrette. Her lower lip trembled, and her wide blue eyes, so like her father's, were far too serious for a young girl.

  “Hi, honey. That was fast.” Candace held out her arms. Her spirits sank as she took in her daughter's distress. “What's the matter?”

  “I heard you talking about the lady with cancer. Is she going to die like Daddy did?” Brooke rushed toward Candace, flinging herself into her mother's embrace.

  “Oh, honey, I don't think my patient is going to die,” Candace said, rubbing the child's back in comforting circles. “You know I work with some terrific doctors at Hope Haven, and they’ll take good care of her.”

  Brooke pulled back, and her eyes were earnest as she said, “But she could die. And who would take care of her baby?”

  “She has—” Candace began, but Brooke spoke over her, her little voice soft and determined.

  “I’m never going to have a baby. Just in case.”

  “I really believe she's going to live and be just fine,” Candace said firmly, although her heart felt as if an iron fist was squeezing it without mercy. “She and her husband will be taking care of their baby together.”

  The little girl appeared to think it over for a moment. Finally, she said, “That's good.” As if the subject was settled now, she grabbed her mother's hand and tugged. “I’m ready for bed. Let's go read and say prayers.”

  Then she released Candace's hand and rushed across the room to her grandmother. “’Night, Grammy. See you in the morning.”

  “See you in the morning, honey.” Janet hugged the child and received a good-night kiss before Brooke skipped back down the hallway, her good spirits apparently restored. Candace met her mother's concerned gaze. “I had no idea she was thinking like that.”

  Candace sighed. “I suppose it shouldn't be a complete shock.” She hesitated. “She had a difficult experience Friday when her friend Carla's cat died. That could be what has brought these fears to light. Maybe I should call Tony and set up an appointment to take her to counseling again.”