Barefoot: A Novel

by Elin Hilderbrand

  “I see her.”

  She was al decked out for power walking—the stretchy shorts, the white sneakers. Her hair was in a ponytail, but she’d been sweating and curls fel around her face. Her cheeks were hot and pink. She took up stride alongside of them and reached for the handle of the cooler.

  “Let me help.”

  “I’ve got it.” Josh’s voice sounded angry, so he said, “You’re carrying your own load.”

  “Josh?”

  He stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “What?”

  Blaine stopped, too, and looked up. “What?”

  They both looked at Blaine and continued walking.

  “I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I had no idea. It came as a total shock. You have to believe me.”

  “What about last night?” he said. “Where were you?”

  “I fel asleep.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Where did he stay? With you?”

  “He said he was getting a hotel, but he couldn’t find a room, so he came back—this was after I fel asleep—and crashed on the sofa. When I woke up this morning, he was there. No one was more surprised than me . . .”

  “Are you guys talking about Peter?” Blaine asked.

  “No,” Josh and Melanie said together. The parking lot of the public beach was up ahead. “The beach is crowded today,” Josh said to Blaine. “Do you want to run ahead and save our spot before someone else takes it?”

  “Takes our spot?” Blaine said, clearly worried. “Okay.” He dashed off.

  “Be careful!” Josh cal ed out.

  Be careful. To Melanie, Josh said, “I think we should end things.”

  “No,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said. His voice was thick; his throat felt like it was coated with a film or mucus. “It’s going to be over in a couple of weeks anyway.”

  “But that’s a couple of weeks . . .”

  “Melanie,” he said. “You’re going back to Peter. He came to take you back.”

  “He came to take me back,” she said. “But I said no. I’m staying here until . . .”

  “But you wil go back to him eventual y. When you leave.”

  She was quiet.

  “Right?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “You’re going back to him. Just say it.”

  “I don’t want to say it.”

  Girls, women, Josh thought. They were the same. Lure you in, trample your heart, but instead of letting you break away clean, there was al this muddling confusion, al this talking.

  “I have feelings for you, Josh.”

  “I have feelings for you, too,” he said. “Obviously.” He had cal ed it love to his father and he might have used the word with Melanie if it hadn’t been for this morning.

  “It’s only two more weeks,” Melanie said. “What’s the point of ending it now?”

  What was the point in ending it now? Wel , for one thing, Josh felt in control right now. Sort of. Peter’s visit was a blessing in disguise, maybe; it gave Josh the impetus to get out while his head was stil above water—because the possibility of drowning in Melanie, in his feelings, his love for her, was very real.

  Suddenly, Melanie screamed.

  Up ahead, Blaine was running through the parking lot toward the sandy entrance of the beach. A car, a behemoth green Suburban with a Thule car carrier and tinted windows, was backing up. There was no way the driver could see Blaine.

  Josh yel ed, “Blaine!” He dropped his load and handed Porter to Melanie.

  Blaine stopped, turned around. The Suburban was stil backing up. Josh ran, yel ing, “Stop! Get out of the way! Stop! Stop!”

  The Suburban bucked to a stop a few feet shy of mowing Blaine over. Josh raced to Blaine, scooped him up. The window of the Suburban went down, and a woman who looked sort of like Vicki poked her head out, her hand to her chest.

  “I didn’t see him,” she said. “Thank God you yel ed. I just didn’t see him at al .”

  Josh was too keyed up to speak. He clung to Blaine for a second, while the vision of Blaine struck in the head by the Suburban’s bumper and Blaine crumpling to the ground before being flattened under the Suburban’s crushing weight played its course, then evaporated with a shudder.

  Thank God, he thought. Thank God. There was bad like he was going through with Melanie, and then there was really bad.

  “You have to be careful, buddy,” Josh said. Relief flowed through him so fast, it made him dizzy. “Jesus God, Lord Almighty, thank you. Holy shit.

  Oh, man, you have to watch. You could have been kil ed. Geez.”

  Melanie hurried over to them; Porter’s legs were straddling her. “Thank God you’re okay,” she said. “Thank God you didn’t get hit.”

  Blaine looked like he was about to dissolve into tears. He grabbed Josh around the waist. “I was trying to save a spot at the beach, like you told me to.”

  “Right,” Josh said. “I know. It’s not your fault. But you have to watch.”

  “I’m sorry,” Blaine said.

  “I shouldn’t have told you to run ahead.” Josh took Porter out of Melanie’s arms. He’d been lucky, this time. He felt like that was some kind of sign.

  “Okay.” He corral ed Blaine into the space beside him. “Stay with me.”

  Melanie touched Josh’s arm. “We’l talk about things . . . later?” she said.

  “No,” Josh said. “I don’t think so.”

  “What?”

  “Good-bye, Melanie.” And without turning back, he headed up over the sand dune with the kids, to the beach.

  Vicki’s last dose of chemo should have been cause for celebration. She had seen other patients show up on the day of their final treatment with roses for Mamie or banana bread for Dr. Alcott. But Vicki was too anxious to feel relief about the end of her regimen, and hence, she did nothing to mark it. She was used to doing things correctly, completely, and in a timely fashion—however, in regard to her chemo, she had failed. There was the day she’d skipped, fol owed by the five days of fever, and the subsequent lower dosage. The most important protocol of her thirty-two years, short of giving birth, and she’d gone at it half-assed. If she went for her CT scan and they found cancer al through her lungs, she shouldn’t be surprised. She would deserve it.

  The CT scan was scheduled for Tuesday, and Ted would be there. He had arrived on Friday, as usual, but this time with greater fanfare because he was staying. He was staying for the rest of the summer, until it was time to pack up the Yukon and drive it back home to Connecticut. He seemed different—happier, giddy even, at times. He was in vacation mode. Vicki could only guess how good it felt to leave the pressure of the market and Wal Street behind, along with the concrete blocks of Manhattan baking in the sun, the drudgery of the commute on the train, the confines of summer-weight suits, and, in Ted’s case, the big, empty house. He reveled in being cut loose from al of that; he would final y be able to enjoy summer without the pal of Sunday evening hanging over his head. He walked around the cottage in his bathing trunks and a polo shirt and his flip-flops. He sang in the outdoor shower, he roughhoused with the boys, he suggested they go for ice cream every night after dinner. Vicki enjoyed his good mood, but she was worried by it, too. Because it was evident that part of Ted’s gleeful demeanor was due to his unflagging belief that Vicki was getting better.

  You look great, he kept saying. God, you look wonderful. You’ve beat it, Vick. You’ve beat it.

  Ever since Vicki was diagnosed, she’d been hearing about the power of visualization and positive thinking. But Vicki’s mind had never worked that way. She was afraid to imagine herself clean of cancer—because what if she tempted fate? Jinxed herself? What if the CT scan showed her lungs riddled with diseased cel s, worse than ever? Or what if the tumor was exactly as it had been back in the spring—stubborn, immovable, straddling the line of surgical feasibility?

  Ted’s good moo
d would not be deterred. He kissed Vicki’s scalp where her hair was slowly but surely growing back in—though the color was darker than Vicki’s original blond, and it was tinged with gray. Ted’s sexual appetite had returned with a vengeance; he basical y bribed Brenda with cash to take the kids on Saturday and Sunday mornings so he could lounge in bed with Vicki. You look great, he said. You look beautiful.

  You’re yourself again. You’ve beat it.

  “I haven’t beat it,” Vicki said angrily to Ted on Monday. In fact, when she woke up that morning, her breathing was labored, her chest was tight; she had to suck air in and squeeze it out. The mere fact that she had to think about her breathing was a very bad indicator. “Even if the tumor has shrunk, they stil have to operate.”

  Ted looked at her like she’d insulted him. “I know,” he said. “Baby, I know.”

  As the hour of her appointment on Tuesday approached, Vicki grew more and more tense. Her hands shook as she flipped pancakes and turned bacon for Ted’s breakfast. Josh came and took the kids. Josh had been quieter than usual over the past week. He seemed withdrawn, though Vicki didn’t have the time or wherewithal to ask him if everything was al right. Stil , Josh made a point of giving Vicki a hug and a kiss before he left with the kids for the beach.

  “Good luck today,” he whispered.

  “Thanks,” she whispered back.

  Later, she spent a long minute locked in an embrace with Melanie, who looked dangerously close to weeping. There should be a handbook, Vicki thought, for the friends and relatives of people with cancer, and in this handbook it should be mandated that the friend/relative be neither too upbeat (Ted) nor too gloomy (Melanie) about one’s chance of survival. The friend/relative, Vicki thought as Melanie clung to her, should act like Josh. Josh had wished her luck. Luck was useful. Luck, perhaps more than anything else, was what she would need.

  “I’m going to be okay,” Vicki said. “I’m going to be fine.” This is just great, Vicki thought . I’m the one whose head is on the chopping block and I’m comforting Melanie.

  “Oh, I know,” Melanie said quickly, wiping at her eyes. “It’s just al this stuff. The summer. Peter, the pregnancy. You. It’s a lot, you know?”

  “I know,” Vicki said.

  Brenda insisted on coming along with Ted and Vicki. “I’ve been with you al summer,” she said. “And I am not missing today. Today is the big day.”

  Yes, the big day. There had been any number of big days in Vicki’s life: her first day of kindergarten; the opening night of the school play with Vicki in the lead; the night of her first school dance, where she received her first kiss. There were Christmases, graduations, first days on the job, there was the day Duke won the NCAA Tournament, there was her wedding day, the nine perfect days of her honeymoon in Hawaii, there was the day she found out she was pregnant, the day she gave birth, the day she and Ted closed on the house in Darien, there were nights of charity benefits, three of which she had co-chaired, there were nights in New York City at restaurants and Broadway shows. There were days cluttered with commitments (the Yukon serviced, root canal, a field trip with Blaine’s preschool, free box tickets for the Yankees–Red Sox game). Al of these were big days, but none as big as today. Today would be the day Vicki looked at her cancer a second time and heard Dr. Alcott, or Dr. Garcia on a conference cal from Fairfield Hospital, say, Better? Worse? Live? Die?

  Nothing prepared a person for this, Vicki thought as she fastened her seat belt. Ted was driving; Brenda was in the backseat. When Vicki checked on Brenda in the rearview mirror, she saw Brenda’s lips moving.

  Nothing.

  As they pul ed into the hospital parking lot, Brenda’s cel phone rang.

  “That would be our mother,” Brenda said.

  “I can’t talk to her,” Vicki said. “I’m nervous enough as it is. Can you talk to her?”

  “She doesn’t want me,” Brenda said. “She wants you.”

  “Give her to Ted,” Vicki said.

  Ted swung into a parking spot and took the phone from Brenda. That was for the best. El en Lyndon would be reassured by Ted’s optimism.

  Brenda took Vicki’s hand as they headed for the door. She patted her bag. “I brought the book.”

  Vicki raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “The Innocent Impostor. My good luck charm. My talisman.”

  “Oh,” Vicki said. “Thanks.”

  “And I’ve been praying for you,” Brenda said. “Real y praying.”

  “Praying?” Vicki said. And that reminded her. “You know, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Yeah?” Brenda said. “What is it?”

  Ted strode up alongside them. “Your mother wants us to cal her as soon as we know anything.”

  “Okay,” Vicki said.

  “I don’t get it,” Brenda said. “Does she think we’l forget about her?”

  “She’s a mother,” Ted said.

  “What did you want to ask me, Vick?” Brenda said.

  Vicki shook her head. “Later,” she said. Though she was running out of time.

  “Later for what?” Ted said.

  “Nothing,” Vicki said.

  Brenda narrowed her eyes at the front of the hospital, the gray shingles, the white trim, the blue-and-white quarterboard that said NANTUCKET

  COTTAGE HOSPITAL. “Do you realize this is the last time we’re coming here?” she said. “Strange, but I think I’m going to miss this place.”

  For al the anticipation and al the worry, for every strained breath and the eight fitful hours of sleep the night before, Vicki found that the actual CT

  scan itself wasn’t that bad. The hospital was short-staffed, it seemed, because the person who administered the CT scan was . . . Amelia, from oncology.

  “Yeah,” Amelia said in a bored response to Vicki’s excitement about seeing a familiar face. “I cover in radiology when they need me. What can I say? I’m multitalented. Now, everything above the waist comes off, including your . . . necklace.”

  The necklace was a piece of blue yarn strung with dried rigatoni that had been colored with Magic Marker, a present from Blaine on Mother’s Day that he’d made in preschool. Vicki didn’t have a good luck charm like Brenda did; the necklace would have to suffice. Vicki removed her clothes, put on the paper robe that Amelia handed her, and clenched the necklace.

  Amelia spoke formal y, like an operator from a catalog, the ones whose cal s were being monitored for customer service purposes. “Would you please lie on the examining table?” she said, indicating the narrow table with a Vanna White–like flourish of her hands.

  Vicki complied, adjusting her paper robe. Amelia manipulated the machine into place. “I suggest you take four to five deep breaths in preparation.”

  “In preparation for what?” Vicki said.

  “I’m going to ask you to hold your breath for twenty seconds,” Amelia said. “Some patients find they like to exercise their lungs before commencing this process.”

  “Okay,” Vicki said. She sucked air in and squeezed it out; her lungs felt like faulty bel ows.

  “In those twenty seconds, this machine wil take nearly five hundred pictures of your lungs.” Now, Amelia’s voice was smug; she was obviously proud of the machine.

  Could Vicki hold her breath for twenty seconds? She took one look at the ebony and silver stud protruding from Amelia’s lower lip, and closed her eyes. Last night, in bed, Vicki had promised herself that she wouldn’t think about Blaine and Porter, but as she silently counted out twenty Mississippis, they came to her anyway, only they weren’t little boys; they had transmogrified into insects with gossamer wings. They flew, they dove, they hovered over Vicki as she lay on the table. They were dragonflies.

  Nothing prepared a person for this. The five hundred pictures from the CT scan were loaded onto Dr. Alcott’s computer, but he said he wouldn’t have a conclusive answer for Vicki until later in the day. He wanted to look the results over; he wanted to think about th
em. Dr. Garcia would be examining the scan simultaneously in Connecticut, and the two of them would confer by telephone. Discuss the next step.

  “How long do you think that wil take?” Vicki asked. She had expected the answer to be clear-cut; she had expected an immediate verdict. She wasn’t sure she could wait any longer than a few minutes.

  “I real y can’t say. Depending on what we see, a few hours to a day or so.”

  “Another day?” Vicki said. “So we just can’t . . . go out into the waiting room?”

  “I’l cal you at home,” Dr. Alcott said. His voice was serious, businesslike. He was not his usual chummy, fisherman self. Vicki’s spirit cracked and oozed like an egg.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Ted said. They shook hands.

  Vicki couldn’t bring herself to say anything, not even good-bye. The delay disheartened her. It’s over, she thought. Palliative care.

  They filed out into the hal way, and Dr. Alcott closed his door. Brenda groaned.

  “Here comes that girl,” she said.

  Vicki was so racked with anxiety that she didn’t ask which girl Brenda was talking about. But then she saw a girl walking toward them, scowling.

  She was blond and disheveled-looking. Vicki remembered her now, though only vaguely, from their first visit here. The port instal ation.

  “She stopped me in the ladies’ room one day,” Brenda whispered. “And accused me of al kinds of nonsense. I guess she knows Josh.”

  Vicki nodded. She could not have cared less. She sucked air in and squeezed air out. Breathing was so difficult, she thought she might flatline right there. And her hand hurt. She gazed down. Ted was squeezing her hand so hard her fingers were turning white. He sensed bad news, too.

  Pal iative care. Hospice. Outside, an ambulance whined, there was a flurry of activity as they walked past emergency. In one of the waiting rooms, the TV news was on : The president was cracking down along the Mexican border.

  Vicki closed her eyes. Everything around her, absolutely everything, fel on her List of Things That No Longer Matter. Everything except her life, everything except her children. Blaine and Porter would be at the beach with Josh, digging in the sand, enjoying their snack, playing with their summer friends. But when Vicki tried to picture them ensconced in this idyl ic scene, nothing came. Her mind was black. She thought about the boys as dragonflies. (To see them as dragonflies had been comforting, but why?) Again, nothing. She opened her eyes and turned to Ted. “Do you have a picture of the boys?”