by Amy Allgeyer
“Can’t you just tell us over the phone?”
“No, it would be better if you came in. I have some time Monday afternoon. About five thirty?”
If it were good news, he’d let us know, right? But maybe it’s just doctor rules that keep him from saying. I tell myself it means nothing that we have to go in. “Sure. Five thirty’s fine.” But I can barely hear my voice over the pounding in my head.
“I’ll have the nurse put you on the appointment calendar.”
“Okay. Thanks, Doctor.” But he’s gone.
The tray rattles and tips in my shaky hands as I take Granny her dinner. I decide not to tell her about the doctor’s call until Monday. There’s no sense in both of us worrying all weekend long.
Over breakfast Monday, I break the news.
She pauses in the stirring of her tea. “Why can’t he just tell us on the phone?” she asks.
“I don’t know, but he won’t.”
She stares into her mug for a few seconds, not moving. “He’s trying to milk us for another office fee.”
I doubt that’s the case. “I bet you’re right.” Grabbing my books, I hug her and say, “Have a good day.”
“You too, sugarplum. Drive careful.”
Granny didn’t need the car today, so I’m driving in. Saves me the two-hour tour of Plurd County after school. I scoot out the door without letting the dogs escape, toss my backpack into the back, and drive into town.
The morning is cool, but the sun is bright and the sky is cloudless. If the weather stays like this, it’ll be perfect weather for Cole’s baseball game Thursday. I’m thinking about what to wear as I pull into the parking lot and totally depressing myself. Half the things I brought are so stained from the orange water, I can’t wear them. The other half I’ve worn so often I’m sick of them. Unfortunately, there’s no money in our budget for clothes, and if there were, it’d go toward some underwear for Granny. She’s flying commando most days.
Cole and Dobber are leaning against Cole’s car. They look to be in a serious conversation, but Cole smiles when he sees me. I park next to them and lock up the car.
“Mornin’, sunshine.” Cole wraps his arms around me and kisses me hello.
“Hi, you. Hi, Dobber.”
Dobber holds out his fist. “New girl.”
I bump it with my own. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that? I’m not new anymore.”
“You seen anybody else newer?” His smile isn’t at the full hundred watts this morning.
“So that’s it?” I say. “I’m the new girl until somebody else comes along?”
“Somethin’ like that.”
Cole takes my backpack and slings it onto his shoulder. “I missed you this weekend.” The three of us start walking toward the side entrance, Cole and I holding hands.
“Missed you too,” I say. “How was family night?”
“Miserable. Hours of Monopoly. Mom got mad at Dad for charging her rent after she cut him a deal. They ended up not speaking—”
“I gotta go,” Dobber says. He veers off toward the gym.
“That was abrupt,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Nothin’. He prob’ly just knew I was going to do this.” Cole wraps his arm around me and pulls me in for a kiss. He’s all soap and orange Tic Tacs. His other hand rests against my ribs, and I remember the touch of his bare skin against mine. I feel dizzy and out of breath and I’m wishing there was a building or a tree or something to lean against because I’m having trouble remembering which way is up.
“Meet me after school?” Cole whispers.
“I can’t,” I groan. “I have to take Granny to the doctor.”
His arms loosen. “You’re killin’ me.” He grins and pulls me along, up the steps.
“Tomorrow?”
“Can’t,” he says. “I got some work.” I notice he doesn’t add “at the mine.”
We’ve been careful to avoid the subject completely.
“Bummer.” It probably shouldn’t bug me so much that he works for Peabody, but it does, more and more lately. It’s not just that he doubts the research I’ve turned up. He refuses to even look at it. That blind belief in the almighty Robert Peabody is über-creepy. “How about after work?”
“Maybe.” The bell rings and he kisses me quick. “If you’re nice.”
“I can be nice.” I’m thinking of all the nice things I’d like to do with him, some things I’ve never done before, and my cheeks feel hot.
“I bet you can.” He winks and disappears into his class. I turn into first period, brain foggy from the steam rolling off my thoughts, and run straight into Ashleigh. Our elbows smash together and her books fall to the floor.
Instead of yelling at me, she smiles. Not in a nice way—more like she’s imagining me being stuck with pins. “Nice weekend?”
“Um … okay.” Why is she talking to me?
“Hm.” She picks up her books and pushes past me. “Interesting.”
“Why?” I say to her back. Maybe it’s my imagination, but she seems like she’s in an awfully good mood. That worries me. As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about.
The waiting room is just as crowded as the last time, with the same battered magazines. We don’t wait long. Dr. Lang calls us just a few minutes after five thirty. Right away, I can tell by his face the news isn’t good.
“The results of your x-rays, Mrs. Briscoe, show a number of masses in your lungs.”
Granny smashes her lips together.
“Tumors?” I ask.
Dr. Lang looks at me and nods.
I reach for Granny’s hand. It’s balled into a fist in her lap. “Are you sure it’s cancer?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Words like radiation and chemotherapy run through my head. “Okay then. What do we do?”
“Well …” He sits down on his little rolling stool. “We could try to attempt treatment. But I’m afraid with this type of cancer the rate of success is very slim. And the treatments are so hard on the body, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
“So …” I raise my shoulders.
“You have to understand, this cancer has been growing for some time.”
“Then take it out,” I say. “Get rid of it and do chemotherapy or whatever.”
“Surgery isn’t really an option. There isn’t one tumor, but lots of little ones, spread all through the lung tissue.”
“What are our options then?”
“Let’s back up a little.” Dr. Lang rubs at the dark circles under his eyes. “Your grandmother has what we call stage four lymphoma.”
“How many stages are there?”
For the first time, he can’t look me in the eye. “Four.”
A tremor runs through Granny. She hasn’t said anything since we sat down. I put my arm around her, wishing there were somebody else here. I feel like I’m falling, literally falling, down a deep hole and there’s nothing to grab on to. Granny sits rigid, barely breathing.
“What do we do?” I ask.
He hands me a sheet of paper from his notebook. “Contact information for hospice.”
“Hopsice? But don’t they come in when people are …”
“She could have months,” he says to me. “Or possibly just weeks.”
I choke. Weeks. Weeks! A week is no time. She could be dead before my next report card. I think I’m holding Granny, but I can hardly tell. My whole body is numb and buzzing. Granny must be crying because Dr. Lang hands her a box of tissues. The lameness of that strikes me as ridiculously funny. She’s dying and all medical science can do is help her wipe her nose.
I fold the hospice information and tuck it into my pocket. I’m not ready to make decisions about my grandmother’s life or death. But it appears she isn’t either. She’s staring mutely at the ner
vous system chart on the wall, tears seeping into the wrinkles on her face.
Dr. Lang looks at me and says, “Call them right away. I know they have a lot of patients in your area so they may have to work you in.”
I think of Ashleigh’s granddad. And Dobber’s dad. And all the people on the church sick list. The two-headed crawdad. The foam in the creek. The orange water in the sink. And I begin to wonder what’s going on in my own lungs. Are the little tumors starting already?
Granny’s settled back into what’s become her mantra the past two days. “Goddam Peabody.” Her voice is clogged with tears.
The doctor stares at the floor, not knowing what to do for us.
I start to shake … with fear or grief or rage, maybe all three. In a perfect world, I’d have a parent or two to deal with this. But my world’s far from perfect and my one parent went AWOL, taking all my money and, with it, our only chance to escape this fucking toxic mountain. My fight-or-flight mechanism tries to kick in, but we can’t afford to run, and as much as I’d love to kick somebody’s ass right now, I can’t battle Granny’s cancer. There’s no one to fight.
“Goddam Peabody,” says Granny.
Then again … maybe there is.
Eighteen
I call in to school in the morning, pretending to be Granny, and tell them I’m sick. I have a lot to get done. In addition to calling hospice, I have a list of people Dr. Lang thought I could contact about getting the mine shut down.
A voice in my head keeps whispering to me that taking down Peabody won’t fix anything. Granny’s already sick, after all, and so are a bunch of other people. But I can’t sit around watching her waste away without doing something.
I make Granny a bowl of oatmeal, which she doesn’t eat. Then I sit down with the phone and start dialing. The meeting with hospice is easy to set up. Mrs. Blanchard says she’ll stop by this afternoon for her first visit.
Next I call the EPA office in Tolesbridge to ask how to lodge a complaint against Peabody Mining. It takes a while to determine whether I’m reporting an environmental emergency or a violation. I get transferred to three different people until they decide the mine is not causing a sudden threat, and classify my complaint as a violation. Since I don’t have Internet access at the house, they transfer me to a fourth person who gives me the number of the Southeast Regional EPA office where I can call and request the complaint form.
“How long does this all take?” I ask.
“The form isn’t long, but it can take a while for it to be reviewed.” I get the impression she has this same conversation thirty times a day.
“How long would it be before the mine can be closed down?”
Silence. Then, “What?”
“How long?” I repeat. “Just a ballpark guess is fine.”
There’s silence from the other end. “Look …” Her voice is softer now. “I understand you’re concerned. And obviously the EPA will want to check into this. But I have to tell you, the likelihood of a mine’s permit being revoked is very slim.”
“Like how slim?”
“It’s only happened once.”
“Once? You mean, ever?”
“Yes.”
I’m speechless.
“You would probably have better luck attacking this at the local level.”
“Meaning?”
“Your city or county government might have more leverage in this situation. I’m sure they’d want to know about any health issues facing your community.”
“Would they have the power to close the mine?”
“I wouldn’t know. It’s difficult to determine who has final say in cases like this. Sometimes, it’s the state, but local ordinances and federal laws govern certain infractions. And every jurisdiction is different.”
It sounds like nobody knows who’s regulating what. “How do I find out which department is in charge?”
“It sort of depends on who’s in charge.”
I stare out the window. “Wait … what?”
She sighs. “Start with the county. You’ll have to figure it out as you go along.”
“Um … Okay.” Dr. Lang did give me the name of the chairman of the county commissioners. “I’ll try that. Thanks.”
“Good luck,” she says. Judging by her sigh, I can tell she’s thinking, You’ll need it.
I call the regional EPA office and request the complaint form. It’s supposed to arrive in week or so. In two weeks, Granny could be gone. I try to ignore my brain as it whispers, Where will I be?
That’s about all the good news I can handle for the moment, so I go check on Granny. I’m sure it’s my imagination, but she seems smaller and weaker today. It’s hard to believe she could make it to the dining room for lunch, much less down to the creek like she did yesterday.
I must have made a sound, because her eyes pop open. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, just dandy.”
I don’t know how to deal with her sarcasm now. The possibility that she could go at anytime puts a different spin on things.
“I’m sorry, sugarplum,” she says. “Come sit with me.”
I perch on the edge of the bed. “Do you need anything?”
“Naw.”
I push her red curls off her forehead. There’s a stripe of white roots running down her part. Red and white. It reminds me of those round candy mints. “Does it hurt?”
She pushes herself up and settles into the pillows. “Not too terrible bad.”
“But some?”
“Some, yeah.”
“Do you want anything for the pain? The doctor gave you a prescription.”
“Naw,” she says. “I prefer not to take them chemicals.”
“Right. They might give you cancer or something.”
She smiles and shakes her finger at me. “I hear what you’re saying, smart-ass. I’ll take ’em if I’m hurting.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I kiss her forehead, trying to get my mind around the idea that she could be gone next week while at the same time trying not to think about it. My brain’s playing tug-of-war with itself. “I’m going to make some calls. You okay in here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Think I might read a little.” She reaches for her Bible. As I close the door, she’s opening the book to random pages and reading whatever her finger lands on. I hope whatever she finds brings her some comfort.
The county commissioner chair doesn’t answer his phone, so I leave a message. “I’d like to talk to you about some health issues facing our community.” I hope that’s vague enough to pique his interest without setting off his “mine” alarm.
I spend an hour tidying up. Then I stare at my phone. The next thing I have to do is the hardest on the list.
I have to tell MFM about Granny’s cancer.
Aside from the fact that I don’t want anything to do with that woman, there’s the whole issue of telling someone her mom is dying. Whatever our differences, I know MFM loves Granny. Granny stood by her when she got pregnant with me and helped her through it all. And the sad truth is, barring some miracle, Granny will be gone before MFM gets out of prison.
But nobody else is going to do it and while part of me might like to punish MFM by not telling her until it’s too late, that’s just too wrong.
Leaving Granny napping, I climb the ridge trail so I can get a signal and pull up one of her unopened emails. I promise myself I won’t read it. That after a month and a half of me ignoring her, it’ll be full of her telling me I’m a horrible person and explaining everything that’s wrong with my behavior. I’m just going to open it and hit “reply” and then “delete all,” so I don’t have to read a single word.
But as I hit “select all,” I see my name. And a few other words—miss you … sorry … love you …
And then I’m reading the whole letter. She misses
me. Hopes I’m well. Her lawyers found a solid witness for her alibi and have scored some important meeting with the federal DA. I couldn’t care less about the trial stuff, but I am surprised she isn’t angry or hurt that I’ve been ignoring her. And it’s kind of ironic, her ignoring the fact that I’m ignoring her existence.
But it doesn’t change anything. It’s too late for a second (or a third or a millionth) chance. She no longer exists, and if it wasn’t for Granny, I wouldn’t be contacting her at all. So, I delete her words and start composing my own. I try to be as brief and factual as possible.
“Granny’s been sick since I got here. They ran some tests and the results came back that she has stage four lung cancer. They’ve given her only weeks, maybe a couple months, to live. I thought you should know.”
I contemplate how to sign it and decide that emails don’t really need signatures. I click “send” and off it goes.
Amazingly, a text from Iris comes in while I’m standing there. It feels like I haven’t talked to her in weeks.
I have big news! Call me!
Biting my cheek, I stare at the letters. Big news. Something great, obviously. Maybe that internship she mentioned before. I should be happy. I should be dialing her number now, anxious to hear whatever wonderful thing happened. But I can’t. My fingers won’t move. They’re bloodless, squeezing the phone.
I tell myself I’m just drained from writing to MFM. Still kicked in the gut from the news about Granny’s cancer. But deep down I know—I don’t want to hear Iris’s news. My life sucks, hers is full of awesome, and I’m totally jealous. I suck as a friend.
Glancing across the valley at the mine, I mumble a “goddam Peabody” for Granny and start back down the trail. Silkie and Beethoven come crashing out of the woods and escort me back to the house. I stop on the porch to scratch a dozing Goldie between the ears and go in to check on Granny.
She’s asleep. I get her a new bottle of water and consider going to the library, but since I’m technically supposed to be in school, it seems like a dicey plan. Besides, I’m not sure more research is going to help me tackle the mine. Definitive proof that the water is dangerous and the mine is the cause—that’s what I need. And that’s not in the library. In fact, I’m not even sure it exists. I stare at the numbers on the water report, looking for something I might have missed. Something like “all numbers were completely fabricated by the testing company.” But there’s nothing.
