Finally, Dolores returned. “The docs are ready for you, Claire.”
Little things got Claire through the wheelchair ride without screaming—the warm pressure of Bobby’s hand on her shoulder, the easy patter of Dolores’s monologue, the way Meghann stayed close.
“Well. Here we are.” Dolores stopped at the office door and knocked.
Someone called out, “Come in.”
Dolores patted Claire’s shoulder. “We’re praying for you, sweetie.”
“Thanks.”
Meghann took control of the wheelchair and guided Claire into the office. There were several doctors in the room. Dr. Weissman was the first to speak. “Good morning, Claire.”
“Good morning,” she answered, trying not to tense up. The men waited for Meghann to sit down. Finally they realized that she wasn’t going to.
Dr. Weissman clicked on the viewbox. There were Claire’s films. Her brain. She grabbed the wheels and rolled forward.
She studied the film, then looked up at the men. “I don’t see any tumor.”
Dr. Weissman smiled. “I don’t, either. I think we got it all, Claire.”
“Oh my God.” She’d hoped for this, prayed for it. She’d even worked to believe it, but now she saw that her belief had stood on a shaky foundation.
“Initial lab reports indicate that it was a low-grade astrocytoma,” he said.
“Not a glioblastoma multiforme? Thank God.”
“Yes, that was good news. Also, it was benign,” Dr. Weissman said.
One of the other doctors stepped forward. “You are a very lucky woman, Mrs. Austin. Dr. Weissman did an incredible job. However, as you know, most brain tumors will regenerate. Twenty-eight percent of all—”
“Stop!” Claire didn’t realize that she’d yelled out the word until she saw the startled looks on the doctors’ faces. She glanced at Meg, who nodded encouragingly. “I don’t want to hear your statistics. It was benign, right?”
“Yes,” the doctor said, “but benign in the brain is a rather misleading term. All brain tumors can ultimately be fatal, benign or not.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Limited space in the head and all that,” Claire said. “But it’s not a cancer that’s going to spread through my body, right?”
“Correct.”
“So it’s gone now and it was benign. That’s all I want to hear. You can talk to me about treatments from here on, but not about chances and survival rates. My sister immersed herself in your numbers.” She smiled at Meg. “She thought I wasn’t listening, but I was. She had a file that she kept on the kitchen counter—a file she labeled Hope. In it, there were dozens of personal accounts of people who’d been diagnosed with brain tumors more than seven years ago and were still alive. You know what they all had in common?”
Only Dr. Weissman was smiling.
“They’d all been told they’d live less than six months. You guys are like Seattle weathermen in June. All you ever predict is rain. But I’m not taking an umbrella with me. My future is sunny.”
Dr. Weissman’s smile grew. He crossed the room and bent down to her ear. “Good for you.”
She looked up at him. “There are no words to thank you.”
“Joe Wyatt is the man you should thank. Good luck to you, Claire.”
As soon as she was back in her room, Claire broke down and cried. She couldn’t seem to stop. Bobby held her tightly, kissing her bald head, until finally she looked up at him. “I love you, Bobby.”
He kissed her fiercely.
She clung to him, then whispered in his ear, “Go get our little girl. I want to tell her Mommy’s going to be okay.”
He hurried out.
“You were amazing in there,” Meg said when they were alone.
“My new motto is: Don’t screw with Baldie.”
“I won’t,” Meg grinned.
Claire reached for her sister’s hand, held it. “Thanks.”
Meg kissed Claire’s screw-marked forehead and whispered, “We’re sisters.” It was answer enough. “I’ll go get Mama now. She’ll probably bring a film crew.” With a smile, Meghann left the room.
“The tumor is gone,” Claire practiced saying aloud to the empty room.
Then she laughed.
Meghann found everyone in the cafeteria. Bobby was already there, talking to Sam. Mama was at the food line, signing autographs. The Bluesers and Alison were sitting in the corner, talking quietly among themselves. The only one missing was Joe.
“And there I was,” Mama was saying to a rapt audience, “all ready to take the stage in a dress that wouldn’t zip up. I am not,” she said, laughing prettily, “a flat-chested woman, so y’all can imagine—”
“Mama?” Meghann said, touching her arm.
Mama spun around. When she saw Meghann, her painted smile faded. For a moment, she looked smaller, vulnerable. Little Joanie Jojovitch from the wrong side of the tracks in Detroit. “Well?” she whispered.
“Go on up, Mama. It’s good news.”
Mama sighed heavily. “Of course it is. Y’all were so dramatic.” She turned back to her audience. “I hate to leave in the middle of a story, but it seems my daughter has made a miraculous recovery. I am reminded of a television movie I once did, where.…”
Meghann walked away.
“Auntie Meg!” Alison said, jumping up, throwing herself at Meg, who scooped her up and gave her a kiss. “My mommy is all better!”
At that, another whoop went up from the Bluesers. “Come on,” Gina said to her friends. “Let’s go see Claire.”
Bobby walked up to Meghann. “Come on, Ali Gator,” he said, pulling the little girl into his arms. “Let’s go kiss Mommy.” He started to walk away, then paused and turned back. Very gently, he kissed Meghann’s cheek, whispered, “Thank you.”
Meghann closed her eyes, surprised by the depth of her emotion. When she looked up again, through a blur of tears, Sam was coming toward her.
He moved slowly, as if he were afraid his legs would give out. He reached out, touched her cheek.
It was a long moment before he said softly, “I’ll expect you at the house this Thanksgiving. None of your lame-ass excuses. We’re family.”
Meg thought of all the years she’d declined Claire’s offer, and all the years one hadn’t been extended. Then she thought of last Thanksgiving, when she’d eaten Raisin Bran for dinner by herself. All that time, she’d pretended that she wasn’t lonely. No more pretending for her, and no more being alone when she had a family to be with. “Just try and keep me away.”
Sam nodded and kept walking. She saw that he looped over by the food line and grabbed Mama’s arm, dragging her away from the crowd. She blew air-kisses as she stumbled along beside him.
Meghann stood there a minute longer, uncertain of where she should go.
Joe.
She ran through the hallways, smiling and giving thumbs-ups to the nurses and aides who had become more than friends in the past few weeks.
In the waiting room, she skidded to a stop.
It was empty. The magazine he’d been reading lay, still open, on the table.
She glanced back down the corridor, but Claire didn’t need her right now. There would be time for them later, when the excitement had dimmed and real life returned. There was a lifetime left for them. Right now, what Claire needed was clothes to wear home from the hospital.
Meghann went to the elevators and rode down to the lobby, then headed outside. She couldn’t wait to call Elizabeth with the news.
It was a glorious, sunny day. Everything about the city felt sharper, cleaner. The distant Sound shone silvery blue between the gray high-rises. She walked downhill, thinking about so many things—her life, her job, her family.
Maybe she’d change her career, practice a different kind of law. Or maybe she’d start a business, sort of an informational clearinghouse for people with brain tumors; maybe she could find a disillusioned doctor to partner with her. Or maybe a charitable company, one that helped finan
ce the best of care in the worst of times. The world seemed wide-open to her now, full of new possibilities.
It took her less than a half an hour to walk home. She was just about to cross the street when she saw him, standing outside the front door of her building.
When he saw her, Joe pulled away from the wall he’d been leaning against and crossed the street. “Gina told me where you lived.”
“Stu told you about the MRI?”
“I spent the last hour with him. It looks good for Claire.”
“Yeah.”
He moved toward her. “I’m tired of not caring, Meg,” he said softly. “And I’m tired of pretending I died when Diana did.”
She looked up at him. They were close now, close enough so that he could kiss her if he chose. “What chance do we have, a couple like us?”
“We have a chance. It’s all any of us gets.”
“We could get hurt.”
“We’ve survived it before.” He touched her face tenderly; it made her want to cry. No man had ever been so gentle with her. “And maybe we could fall in love.”
She gazed up into his eyes and saw a hope for the future. More than that, even. She saw a little of the love he was talking about and, for the first time, she believed in it. If Claire could get well, anything was possible. She put her arms around him and pressed onto her toes. Just before she kissed him she dared to whisper, “Maybe we already have.”
EPILOGUE
One Year Later
The noise was deafening—the fairgrounds were jammed with people; kids screaming from the carnival rides, parents yelling after them, carnies barking out enticements to play the games, the musical cadence of the calliope.
Alison was up ahead, dragging Joe from ride to ride. Meghann and Claire walked along behind, talking softly, carrying the collection of cheesy stuffed animals and cheap glass trinkets that Joe had won. Claire’s limp was the only physical reminder of her ordeal, and it was getting less pronounced each day. Her hair had grown out; it was curlier and blonder than before.
“It’s time,” Claire said, signaling to Joe. The four of them fell in line together, walking past the refreshment stand and turning left toward the fairgrounds’ bleachers.
“There’s a crowd already,” Claire said. She sounded nervous.
“Of course there is,” Meghann said.
“Hurry, Mommy, hurry!” Alison was bouncing up and down. At the special side door, Claire showed her backstage pass. They made their way through the staging area, past the musicians and singers who were warming up.
Bobby saw them coming and waved. Alison ran for him. He scooped her into his arms and twirled her around. “My daddy’s gonna sing tonight,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear.
“I sure am.” Bobby looped an arm around Claire and pulled her in for a kiss. “Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it.”
They talked to him for a few more minutes, then left him to get ready.
They climbed the bleachers and found their seats in the fourth row. Meghann helped Claire sit down; her sister was still unsteady sometimes.
“Kent Ames called last week,” Claire said. “Mama ripped him a new one for canceling Bobby’s contract.”
“She’s been cussing him out for months.”
“I know. Last week she told him she’d gotten Bobby an audition at Mercury Records. Kent Ames threw a fit. It seems he wants to give Bobby another chance, after all. Said he hopes Bobby’s priorities are straight this time.” Claire smiled.
A man took the stage and announced, “Bob-by Jack Austin!”
The crowd applauded politely.
Alison jumped up and down, screaming, “Yay, Daddy!”
Bobby leaped up onstage with his guitar. He scanned the audience, found Claire, and blew her a kiss. “This song is for my wife, who taught me about love and courage. I love you, baby.” He strummed the guitar and started to sing. His clear, beautiful voice wrapped around the music and mesmerized the crowd. He sang about finding the woman of his dreams and falling in love with her, about standing by her side in dark times. In the final stanza, his voice fell to a throaty whisper; the crowd leaned forward to hear the words.
When I saw you stumble
over rocks along the way
I learned the truth of real love
and the gift of one more day.
The applause this time was explosive. Half the women in the audience were weeping.
Meghann put an arm around her sister. “I told you he’d make a great husband. I liked that guy from the first moment I saw him.”
Claire laughed. “Yeah, right. And what about you and Joe? You guys are practically living together. It looks to me like maybe there’s a prenuptial agreement in your future.”
Meghann looked at Joe, who was on his feet, clapping. Alison was in his arms. Since he’d started practicing medicine again, he said anything was possible. They’d taught each other to believe in love again. “A prenup? Me? No way. We were thinking about a small wedding. Outside—”
“Where it rains? Where bugs breed? That outside?”
“Maybe with hamburgers and hot dogs and—”
“Gina’s potato salad.”
They both said it at the same time and laughed.
“Yeah,” Meghann said, leaning against her sister. “That kind of wedding.”
For my sister, Laura.
And for my father, Laurence.
And, as always, for Benjamin and Tucker.
I love you all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Dr. Barbara Snyder and Katherine Stone … again; thanks to Diane VanDerbeek, attorney extraordinaire, for her help with legal matters; and finally, to John and Diane and the wonderful crew of the Olympus: Thanks for a fun-filled and memorable boat trip.
The Things We Do for Love is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Kristin Hannah
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of
The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random
House, Inc., New York.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random
House, Inc.
eISBN: 978-0-307-54802-3
www.ballantinebooks.com
v3.0
Contents
Master - Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Dedication
Things do not change; we change.
—HENRY DAVID THOREAU
ONE
The streets of West End were crowded on this unexpectedly sunny day. All across town mothers stood in open doorways, with hands tented acr
oss their eyes, watching their children play. Everyone knew that soon—probably tomorrow—a soapy haze would creep across the sky, covering the blue, obliterating the delicate sun, and once more the rain would fall.
It was May, after all, in the Pacific Northwest. Rain came to this month as surely as ghosts took to the streets on the thirty-first of October and salmon came home from the sea.
“It sure is hot,” Conlan said from the driver’s seat of the sleek black BMW convertible. It was the first thing he’d said in almost an hour.
He was trying to make conversation; that was all. Angie should return the volley, perhaps mention the beautiful hawthorn trees that were in bloom. But even as she had the thought, she was exhausted by it. In a few short months, those tiny green leaves would curl and blacken; the color would be drawn out of them by cold nights, and they would fall to the ground, unnoticed.
When you looked at it that way, what was the point in noticing so fleeting a moment?
She stared out the window at her hometown. It was the first time she’d been back in months. Although West End was only one hundred twenty miles from Seattle, that distance had seemed to swell lately in her mind. As much as she loved her family, she’d found it difficult to leave her own house. Out in the world, there were babies everywhere.
They drove into the old part of town, where Victorian houses had been built one after another on tiny patches of lawn. Huge, leafy maple trees shaded the street, cast an intricate lacework pattern of light on the asphalt. In the seventies, this neighborhood had been the town’s heart. Kids had been everywhere back then, riding their Big Wheels and Schwinn bicycles from one house to the next. There had been block parties every Sunday after church, and games of Red Rover played in every backyard.
In the years between then and now, this part of the state had changed, and the old neighborhoods had fallen into silence and disrepair. Salmon runs had diminished and the timber industry had been hit hard. People who had once made their living from the land and the sea had been pushed aside, forgotten; new residents built their houses in clusters, in subdivisions named after the very trees they cut down.
Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour Page 64
