by Harry Kraus
“Well, I’ve got to dictate a note for the chart. It will take a few weeks to get the results of the blood test. If you’re right, Claire, our work will just be beginning. We’ll need to contact as many relatives as we can and dig further back in this family tree.”
Claire nodded soberly. If I’m right, your work may just be getting started, but my life may as well be over. I could be doing the dance myself in a few years.
That evening, Claire headed east over North Mountain on Highway 2, which snaked from Fisher’s Retreat and the Apple Valley to Brighton. With her father’s clinical improvement, she felt free to search for a respite in the arms of John Cerelli.
For this trip, her grandmother had offered her Buick. It was a boat of a car, but luxurious, and Claire felt out of character driving a vehicle which seemed to proclaim, “I’ve arrived.” But, as her options were few, and Della needed the family car to get back and forth to Carlisle, Claire accepted the offer with graciousness. Now, as she maneuvered the massive car over the treacherous road, she longed for her aging Toyota.
Dr. V’s consultation had been a small victory, the validation of her concerns which others had scorned. But with that victory had grown her concern that she too may be facing a genetic horror.
She hadn’t talked to John since their strained conversation on Friday, when Brett had intercepted John’s call. Her life was spinning so rapidly, and John seemed to be on the outside. She wore his ring, but she knew he had no idea what her life had become. Now, as she had begun a delicate reconnection with her family, she wondered what his response would be. How would John react to knowing that she may end up just like her father? Would it change his desire to commit his life to being with her forever? Did he have the depth that Della had shown to stick with a difficult spouse in the face of serious illness?
Oh, how she prayed that the test for HD would be negative, that her fears were unfounded, and that the worst outcome would be the humiliation of stirring up her family, and Dr. V and his resident. But somehow, she knew she needed to be prepared for the worst. If she expected the worst, and it didn’t come to pass, she would have relief instead of disappointment.
She’d called John that afternoon, but declined to leave a message on his answering machine. Surprise would be the order of the day. He’d done it to her. Now it was her turn to reciprocate.
She stood on his doorstep dressed in a new skirt and blouse, a bit more formal than she would normally have chosen, but, given her options, it would have to do.
John opened the door wearing a faded pair of gym shorts, no shirt, and holding a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Claire?”
She smiled. “In the flesh.”
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“Vacation,” she said, glancing past the doorway into his front room, which was littered with pizza boxes, two-liter soda containers, and old newspapers.
“Vacation? You didn’t tell me this, did you?” He looked over his shoulder. “It’s kind of a disaster in here,” he said, moving to obstruct her view. “When did you come down? Today?”
“It’s a long story, Cerelli,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Invite me in and I’ll let you in on another disaster.”
“Disaster?”
“Yeah,” she said, moving past him into a room which smelled of old gym shorts. “My life.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
After ten minutes in John’s apartment, Claire decided that surprising him wasn’t her brightest idea. Giving him forewarning was definitely appropriate, and would have been better for her lungs.
“How do you guys stand it this way?” She picked up a pizza box in order to find room on the couch to sit down.
“Hey,” John replied, “most of this junk is Mike’s.” He pushed a hamper of dirty clothes into the front closet and shut the door.
She peered into the kitchen and frowned.
John shook his head. “You don’t want to go there. Trust me.”
“Can we go out? Someplace casual where we can talk?”
“I need a shower.” He picked up a towel from the stairway banister. “Give me ten minutes.”
As he disappeared up the stairs, Claire could hear him muttering to himself, “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe …” She giggled and braved a journey into the kitchen. There, she found plastic garbage bags beneath the sink and returned to the living room. She filled up a bag with pizza boxes, empty soda containers, and a few paper plates. Next, she returned to the kitchen and cleared the breakfast dishes, piling them into a sink of sudsy water.
She was placing the dishes in a drying rack when John appeared a few minutes later. “Ready?”
“This place wasn’t like this when I lived in Brighton. What gives?”
“You were the reason we kept it clean.”
“So, it takes a surprise visit to find out you’re a slob.”
“I’m not a—”
She halted his sentence with a flying damp dishrag.
He intercepted the cloth before it impacted his chin. “Okay, well, maybe I am a little bit of a slob. But we usually clean on weekends.”
“I won’t live with a slob, Cerelli. Surgeons don’t tolerate dirt.” She talked in jest, but knew he was getting the message. They were walking to his Mustang when she made a confession. “You want to know my secret, why my house in Lafayette is always spotless?”
John groaned. “Sure.”
“I’m never there.”
He took her to a Tex-Mex restaurant called D.C. Peppers, where she talked about her family and her experiences as an intern. When she talked about the possibility that her father may have Huntington’s, he seemed nonplused.
“Why should anyone worry about what-ifs?” He shrugged. “Just live your life and see what comes. You said yourself that there’s little to do about it.”
“John, it’s not like I’m talking about getting a flat tire on the way to the prom. This could affect my life. All my plans, everything I’ve worked for.”
“All the more reason to sit back and trust. There’s absolutely nothing you can do to change this, is there?”
“No.” Claire sighed. There was a fundamental difference between John Cerelli and Claire McCall. His ability to just sit back and take life’s bumps without getting upset had her puzzled. “But maybe you aren’t understanding this. I’m talking about a disease that stays quiet until you’re in your prime. Then it strikes, causing a slow deterioration until you die. And you die young, John, with your dreams shattered and unfulfilled.”
“Bummer.” He sipped on his Coke.
“Don’t be cavalier about this, Cerelli. This would affect whether we could have a family. You’ve told me how you’ve always dreamed of a son to take under your wing. Think about how this would affect those plans.”
“Claire, you don’t even know that your father has this disease, right? And already you’re worried about our children?”
“How can you not?”
John’s face became serious. He leaned forward and took her hand in his. “Trust.”
She was expecting more. “Trust. That’s it?”
“Yes. Only trust.”
“So I just sit back and live my life, trusting that everything will be okay? I’m not built that way.”
“It’s not trust that life will always be rosy. It’s trust that when you encounter the thorns, that you’re not alone, that you’re not in control. You never have been.”
She dipped a tortilla chip in a fiery salsa. “I’m not wired the way you are. You’re type B.”
“Even type A’s need to learn to trust. Do you believe that God is sovereign?”
“He’s all-powerful. All-knowing. I believe that.”
“Do you think he’s in control of your life?”
The discussion was making Claire uncomfortable. She wanted John’s empathy, not a theology lesson. She looked down. “Look, John, I’m not sure. I want him to be in control. But I seem to have trouble letting him. I’ve made plans for my
life. I’ve known what I’ve wanted to do for a long time. It just seemed right. And God seemed to be opening the doors. So is he in control?”
“Ultimately? Yes. We can choose to go our own way and sin. God’s control isn’t exerted in our life to make us do evil. But he allows us to go our own way. And he allows evil to touch our lives to accomplish his purposes. And regardless of our circumstances, our job is to trust. And it’s trust based on knowing his character, his love toward us that never changes. It’s a trust that believes, even in our darkest hour, God’s love is just the same.”
It all sounded nice, but Claire wasn’t used to sitting back passively and letting someone else lead. Everything about her personality screamed, “do something,” “take control,” “make a goal and go for it.” “I don’t know, John. Maybe I just don’t get it. I’ve heard words like this ever since I was a kid. But maybe I’m just not a good Christian like you. I have trouble trusting when things are looking bleak.”
“Don’t call me a good Christian. I’ve made plenty of mistakes.” He looked up, and captured her eyes. “Some of them with you.”
She nodded.
“Everyone struggles with doubt.”
She watched him for a moment, wondering about the maturity she saw. When did everyone around her grow up? Why did everyone seem to have more depth than she’d credited them with? Her mother, now John. Had she just been so preoccupied with her own life not to appreciate it?
“It’s funny, John.”
“What?”
“Why is it that we never talked about this stuff before?”
“We’ve talked about God, Claire. And faith. Remember our Wednesday night study with Pastor George?”
“This feels different somehow. A Sunday school discussion is one thing. Applying this stuff in the thick of life is another.”
John looked up. She followed his eyes to the waitress who was about to deliver their sizzling fajitas.
The portions looked huge. She raised her eyebrows in suspicion. “How much pizza did you eat before I came?”
“Only two pieces,” he said, eyeing the feast. “I’ve still got room.”
While they ate, Claire urged John to do something that she had successfully avoided all during their dating relationship. She asked him to come to Carlisle to visit her father.
“When are you leaving?”
“I fly back to Boston Sunday.”
“I could come down to Stoney Creek Friday after work. Maybe we could go hiking or something.”
It sounded wonderful. Except Claire didn’t have any casual clothes. The next time she left Lafayette for a week it would be nice to have more than thirty minutes to prepare.
After an hour, Claire looked at her watch. “I need to be leaving.”
John frowned. “I thought you were staying over.”
“I feel like I should be in Stoney Creek while my dad is in the hospital.” She sipped at the last of a diet soda.
“You can leave in the morning.” His eyes were tender. “I’ll sleep on the couch. You can have my bed.”
“You know as well as I do that staying under one roof is asking for trouble.”
“Claire, we did it at your place.”
“That was different. You had no place to go. I have my home just an hour away.” She pushed her lips into a pout. “Besides, having you in my house at night was pure torture. I’m not sure I should put myself through that again.”
“Let me get this straight. It’s okay for you to sleep in your house with a male resident, but not to stay in the same house with me?”
“Under the circumstances, I’d have been happy to have you stay. In fact,” she added soberly, “I’m not sure what I’m going to do when I’m back in Lafayette.”
He sighed. “I still wish you’d stay. An hour with you is so rare. We’ll be good.”
She shook her head. “I told my mother I’d be home, John. I’ll see you Friday. I’ll call you with directions.”
He gave up his argument. “So I finally get to spend some time with the McCall family. I was beginning to think that Stoney Creek was a fairy tale, something you made up, but would never let me see.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I think it’s time.”
“Why the change?”
She laughed. “Because I have your diamond now. It’s too late for you to back out.”
“Come on.”
“I made a promise, that’s all. A promise that I’d be a better daughter than I have in the past.” She looked down. “Maybe it’s time I let my family back in my life.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Claire and Margo were on pleasant terms, not confidantes, but sisters separated by a silence that stemmed from pursuing separate dreams, and a desire to distance themselves from the stigma which surrounded being Wally’s girls. Growing up, Claire resisted her sister’s shadow, chose academics over boyfriends, athletics over Margo’s choice of an after-school job, and college savings over following the latest trend in high school fashion.
Margo McCall Stevens lived with her husband, Kyle, just outside Carlisle. Margo eloped at eighteen with the twenty-eight-year-old manager of the McDonald’s where she worked. She had married for love, thankful for an escape from an alcoholic father and the dysfunction that surrounded him. In the past twelve years, Margo and Kyle had had three daughters, Kelly, now eleven, Casey, eight, and an infant, Kristin, born just after Claire’s graduation from medical school. They had forged a good life together. Hard work and long hours had brought Kyle a Wendy’s franchise, a three-acre tract of land overlooking the Blue Ridge, two ponies, a minivan, a Cherokee Wagoneer, a four-bedroom house, and a membership at a fitness center.
By Thursday, Wally had improved enough to be moved out of the ICU, but he was still weak, and he tired easily after only brief visits by Claire or Della. And so, after her afternoon hospital visit, Claire headed for Margo’s to see her new niece and reconnect with a sister she’d lost in the search of her own life.
Claire stood on the expansive deck listening to Margo complain of her husband’s schedule and their incredible mortgage payment. Margo had given Claire a tour of her home, giving her a blow-by-blow account of the budget overruns on their house.
Claire sipped pink lemonade and smiled pleasantly, the smile she gave to strangers in the grocery store. Margo droned on. And on.
“I had to have the granite countertops in the kitchen.
“Kyle had to have the hot tub.
“The tile around the bath cost a fortune!
“Each of the girls have cable TV hookups in their rooms.
“We’re getting a Kinkade canvas lithograph for over the fireplace. But of course you probably collect original oils, since you’re a doctor.”
Claire held up her hand. “You don’t seem to understand. I’m a doctor, yes. But I make less than minimum wage when you consider my hours. My tastes are simple. It’s good they are, because I couldn’t afford one-tenth of the things you’re enjoying.”
Margo raised her eyebrows. “I’ll bet your house is big.”
“I rent a house. It’s too big for just me, but I didn’t want to live in the housing close to the hospital because it’s too expensive, and I’d rather have a little yard. I’ve done very little decorating. I’d love to have the time to do what you’ve done so well, but …” She sighed before continuing, “I’m only there for a few hours every other evening, so I don’t really care. There’s too much else in my life to be concerned over my house.”
Margo shifted in her seat. “There are other things in my life too, of course. Casey’s in the Apple Valley children’s choir. I have to cart her all over creation to sing. And with Kelly’s traveling soccer team, Kyle is gone to a tournament almost every weekend. And if Kristin ever takes a nap, I like to work on my quilting.”
“I don’t see how you do it. I have trouble just keeping up with me. I don’t think I’m ready to be responsible for children.”
Margo shrugged. “You do what you have to
do.”
Claire nodded and looked out at the mountains. She was tired of polite, superficial chitchat. She felt like a stranger to her own sister. She sipped at her lemonade and cleared her throat. “I was hoping that our family could get together when John comes over this weekend.”
Margo elevated her eyebrows. “Everyone?”
“Well, Daddy will probably still be in the hospital, but at least Mom, Clay, and your family could come. We could have a cookout in our old backyard.”
Margo wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know.”
“It could be fun. I’d like you to meet John.”
Margo shook her head. “Oh, I’d like to meet John, it’s just that …”
“Just that what?”
Her sister stood up and began to pace. “It just that it seems so artificial. Like we’re pretending to be something we’re not.”
“We don’t have to pretend, Margo. It’s okay for our family to get back together. It would be good for us.”
Margo laughed. “Good for us?” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t remember the last pleasant time I’ve had with Daddy and Mom. They’ve got their life.” She turned and stared out at the mountains. “And I’ve got mine now. I don’t really care to have a cozy little reunion with Daddy. I went to the hospital when they thought he was dying. I bet he wouldn’t come if you or I were in the hospital.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that things might change? That our father might actually like it if you’d come around and visit him?” Claire threw up her hands. “Did you know that Mom brought in pictures of your girls and taped them to the wall next to his hospital bed?”
Margo shook her head. “That’s a joke. It’s been a year since they visited. They’ve never even seen my new house.”
Claire’s hand went to her mouth. “No.”
“Why should that surprise you? It’s not like you’ve spent any time relating to our parents either. When did you leave home? Sixteen?”
Claire nodded.
“Well, don’t act so surprised that the rest of us don’t act any different than you. You left home and barely looked back, except to remind us of how great things were since you left us behind.”
