by Ace Collins
“Listen,” Nancy continued, “I have no business bothering you again. And believe me when I say that I didn’t mean to get into all of this. So I probably owe you another apology for overstepping my bounds again, and you’re right, whatever you do is your decision; still, I want you to know that I’ll be praying for you.” She paused for a moment before concluding, “If you get a chance come by and see me tomorrow. I promise, no lectures.”
“If I have time,” Meg murmured.
“Good-bye, Meg.”
“Bye.” A click and a dial tone followed.
The call had no more than concluded when tears began to stream down Meg’s face. She didn’t want anybody praying for her. She just wanted to do things her way and be left alone. Suddenly a feeling centered deep within her stomach signaled the baby was haunting her again. That feeling brought the true reality of the situation into sharp focus. She was living in a nightmare and the best way to end it was to at least rid herself of the cause of her sickness.
27
SO, YOU CAN DO IT NEXT MONDAY?” THERE WAS A FIRM RESOLVE IN Meg’s tone. “Good, I’ll come in around ten o’clock. Thanks.”
Meg slipped the phone back into her pocket and turned around. She was shocked to see Heather behind her. When had she come in and what had she overheard?
“Who was that, Meg?” Heather asked.
Why did everyone in the world want to know her business? Her mother, Nancy, and Heather all seemed ready to gang up on her. Well, that wasn’t right. They were concerned and that was understandable, but they couldn’t live her life for her and they had no right to either.
Lowering her chin and shooting a hostile glance across the room was all it took for Heather to avert her gaze and mumble, “Can you cover the station? I think I’ll go down and check in on Mrs. Burlson.”
Meg nodded. Heather was only twenty steps down the hall when a patient’s voice over the intercom claimed Meg’s attention.
“I need some help, please.”
Meg immediately recognized Nancy’s voice. Great. Just when she got rid of one of the tormentors, another showed up. She’d somehow managed to avoid Nancy for five days and she didn’t want or need to have to deal with her now, but it appeared Lady Luck had run out. Stalling for over a minute, hoping all the while that Heather would return, Meg finally leaned over the microphone, pushed button number 211 and said, “I’ll be right there.”
Forty steps to the next lecture—oh, how she dreaded it. Why couldn’t she just get rid of the baby and put the guilt trips behind her. She paused at the door, took a deep breath in order to shore up her resolve, and marched in. She was once again greeted by gospel music. While the music hadn’t changed, the woman playing it had changed a great deal since the one other time Meg had seen her.
Although she had done a thorough job of making herself up, Nancy looked nearly a decade older than she had just a week ago. Her eyes, the same ones that had so brightly sparkled, now were dull and watery. Even though she smiled when Meg walked in, the smile was weak. It was as if it took all her strength just to lift the corners of her mouth for a few seconds.
“I’m sorry to have to bother you,” Nancy said sincerely.
“That’s why I’m here,” a suddenly concerned Meg answered.
“I thought that I could get by without any pain meds, but the last couple of days,” she paused and took a labored breath, “I mean, it has been getting to me.” She stopped talking, probably not because she was finished saying what was on her mind, but likely due to the fact she was too tired to go on.
“I’ll get you something,” Meg gently whispered. “Don’t worry now, I won’t be long.”
Leaving the room, Meg hurriedly walked back to her station, pulled the Kardex, found Nancy’s name, and noted the kind of medication that had been prescribed. Getting the pill, she checked the time on the card, and started to leave the desk. The desk phone caught her just as she rounded the station’s counter. She retraced her steps and answered.
“Nurse Richards, here.”
“Meg,” the operator replied, “I have an outside line call for you on four.”
“Okay.” Putting the pill into a paper cup and placing both on the counter, Meg punched line four.
“Hello.”
“Meg, this is Cheryl Bednarz in the district attorney’s office. We have a trial date. You got something to write with?”
Reaching into her pocket for her pen, Meg grabbed a notepad from the other side of the counter. “Go ahead.”
“Five weeks from today,” Cheryl sounded like a horse tugging at the reins. “We will be ready for that day, too. Circle April 26. It’d be good for our case if you show up for all the sessions.”
“I’ll definitely arrange to be there,” Meg assured the assistant district attorney.
“I’ve got a few more things that I want to share with you about the case,” Cheryl continued. “In spite of our losses and our pain, I really did have a wonderful time getting to know you the other night. Have you got an evening free so that we could have supper again?”
“Yeah, just a minute,” Meg answered. “Let me check the schedule.” She pulled out her iPhone, called up the calendar, and looked at her week. “How about Sunday?”
“Okay with me. I’ll pick you up around six.”
“I’ll be ready,” Meg answered while loading the trial date onto her phone’s calendar.
As she hung up a special rush covered her. She suddenly felt very sure that in a little more than five weeks she would have some personal satisfaction. Then maybe she could get on with her life.
“Who are the meds for?” Heather asked, pointing to the small paper cup in Meg’s hand.
“Nancy in 211.”
“You want me to take it back to her?”
Meg almost handed the cup to Heather, but then, changing her mind, shook her head and walked down the hall. This was a job she really needed to complete.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” she announced apologetically as she entered the room. “I had a call.”
Nancy reached out, took the pill cup from Meg’s hand and placed it in front of her on the bed table. Simply by routine, Meg got a glass, filled it with water from the pitcher on the nightstand, and handed it to the woman.
“Would you take it?” Nancy asked.
“Take what?” came Meg’s puzzled reply.
“The pill.”
“Sure, I guess,” a now confused Meg shrugged. “Why not?”
“I’ve never taken them in the past.” Nancy explained. “I wanted to feel every bit of life I had left. I didn’t want to miss any of it, not even if it hurt. I’m just afraid that if I start this, then I’ll not really ever experience . . . well, you know, clear thoughts and feelings. I’m probably not making any sense, am I?”
As she watched Nancy stare intently at the pill, Meg could see not only pain but also fear written on the woman’s face. A week ago, she hadn’t looked sick even to a nurse’s trained eye, but now anyone could guess that there was something terribly wrong. She had no color. Her skin appeared drawn. But more than anything else, there was a look in her eyes—a frightened, tortured look.
“Could you change the song for me?”
Nancy’s voice brought Meg to immediate action. As she shuffled through the play list menu she asked, “What do you want?”
“Why not Barbara Mandrell’s ‘He Set My Life to Music’? I used to listen to that on a cassette tape back when I was a teenager. Things have sure changed a lot since that time. Back then, it was a big deal to hang out at a music store where they had CDs, tapes, and even albums. Those places are all gone now.” She paused, took a deep breath, and sadly added, “Yeah, a lot of things have changed.”
Meg scanned the album list on the menu and finally discovered the number Nancy had requested. After selecting it, she pushed play, and then as the music began, she pulled up a chair and took a seat beside the bed.
“It’s nice,” Meg said referring to first song. When Nancy didn’t respond
, she continued. “My husband liked Barbara Mandrell, but I’ve never heard this one.”
Raising her head on the pillow in such a way that their eyes met, Nancy smiled and said, “She won a Grammy for this album. The songs, especially the words, meant a lot to me when I was a teen. It was kind of like my journey of faith, I guess. This was about a year after a friend of mine took me to church for the very first time. You see my family never went. Did yours?”
“Every Sunday,” Meg assured her, “and often a couple of more times a week. It was my second home.”
“I missed that part of my youth,” Nancy sadly replied.
“There were some good times,” Meg admitted. “I especially enjoyed our youth group. There was a mission trip to a slum. . . . I’m sorry, no reason to talk about it now. In fact, there is no reason to look back.”
Meg didn’t want to look back to anything that reminded her of the good feelings of the life she’d once led or the faith she’d once embraced. When she did, the old Meg gained control. That Meg forgave easily and loved even more easily. That Meg wasn’t welcome, at least not yet.
“Your friend, Heather,” Nancy said. “She was right. You really are nice. You aren’t cold at all. I wish I could have known you before.”
Meg didn’t react because she didn’t really know how to respond. She just let the remark drift away, much like a leaf falls from a tree to the ground. After a few minutes of listening quietly to the music, she glanced back at Nancy. “You’d better take that pill so I can get back to work.”
“No, I’ve changed my mind,” Nancy announced, her eyes now showing signs of a sparkle. “I don’t think I need it yet. I was scared for a few minutes. You know, I kind of doubted my faith. I felt really alone. When that happens, well . . . you just feel the pain. I guess I was just trying to handle it all by myself. Now I know that I’m not alone. You made me realize that. Just having a friend beside me helped ease my pain and restored my thankfulness for having another day. And I don’t want to sleep through it, I want to experience it!”
Meg got up from the chair, reached over, and picked up the pill. As she held it in her hands, her eyes flashing from the patient to the pill, she asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, if you change your mind, just give us a call.”
“Meg,” Nancy gently breathed, as the nurse left the room. Catching the door, Meg responded, “Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Meg just nodded her head.
“How is she?” Heather inquired when Meg got back to the station.
“Not good. I’ve seen that look before. She doesn’t have much time. But she decided she didn’t need the pill after all.”
Meg put the pill back and changed her notation on the chart.
“I wouldn’t let myself go through that kind of pain.” Heather’s words were blunt and matter-of-fact. Still, there was a note of admiration in them. “I’d demand my pill every time I got a chance.”
“She wants to experience life, even if it’s painful,” Meg explained. The comparison between Nancy’s situation and her own suddenly hit Meg full force. She didn’t want to feel anything, but Nancy did. Pain was a part of life and women with cancer knew that. So why did Meg want to run from it? Why did she want to erase all memories of Steve and everything else she had lost from her mind?
“Am I selling out?” Meg whispered.
“Did you say something?” Heather asked.
“Not really,” Meg replied, “just thinking out loud.”
Speaking her thoughts was dangerous. She had to watch that. She couldn’t afford to even look into her heart right now, much less expose it to anyone else. She couldn’t show weakness
“I haven’t looked at the case in detail. What kind of cancer does she have?”
Heather looked up from a file and asked, “What?”
“Nancy,” Meg inquired. “What kind of cancer does she have and why aren’t they treating it?”
“Beyond treatment. Started out as breast cancer. As I understand, she beat it a couple of times, but now it is pretty much everywhere.”
Meg nodded. “But why is she here? Why not in hospice?”
“Something about the insurance. They cover us but not hospice care. And, as her husband has to keep working to keep the insurance, she can’t stay at home. She has no other family. She’s kind of alone. Really sad!”
Meg nodded. It was more than sad—a lot more—it was tragic. Yet that is the way life is. Tragedy was everywhere and you just had to deal with it. Like she was. And while Nancy didn’t have anyone to lash out at, anyone to punish for what happened to her, Meg did. And when she was given the chance to extract a measure of personal justice, surely she would feel good again.
28
WHEN SHE LEFT THE HOSPITAL, IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON. THE WARM SUN had melted what little snow that was left. April seemed to be coming in like a lamb. Winter was giving up. Its cold winds had now been chased away by the promise of new life. There were even hints of green in the grass and a few buds on the trees. If Steve had been here, it would have been a perfect day.
As she drove home, she passed Corely’s flower shop. Steve had often stopped there just to buy her a single yellow rose. She had no idea how many yellow roses he had brought her over the years, and all of them for no reason at all, that is, except to tell her he loved her. It had just been one of the many little ways he had always showed his devotion. Quickly making a sharp right on Franklin Street, she drove around the block and parked in front of the shop. Unbuckling her seat belt, she opened the car door of her Mustang and strolled into the quaint, little store.
The fresh scent of carnations greeted her as she strolled through the door, and after she closed the door, a hundred different arrangements filled her eyes with all the beauty of a spring day in the country. Smiling, she noticed a small African violet, heartily growing in a vase decorated with a Norman Rockwell painting of two lovers sitting on a park bench. The plant brought back memories of her grandmother. For the first time in years, she thought about the rows of violets sitting in the old woman’s spare bedroom. She had died before Meg had even started school, and at this moment, she couldn’t even remember what her grandma looked like, but the violets in that bedroom seemed as clear as if she were standing in front of them now.
As her gaze wandered from the plant to the vase, she couldn’t help but remember the many times she and Steve sat on a bench just outside the university library enjoying the sun, watching other students stroll across campus, and speaking of dreams of a wonderful future. Just like Rockwell’s painting, those times had been simple, well defined, and idyllic. The memories of those days caused an unexpected warm feeling to surge through Meg’s heart.
“May I help you?” a middle-aged woman’s voice startled Meg back to reality.
Turning, Meg nodded and answered, “Yes. I need to buy a single yellow rose.”
“That shouldn’t be any problem,” the woman replied. “Would you like it in a vase or in some type of arrangement?”
“No, I don’t need an arrangement,” Meg answered, shaking her head. “And I don’t need a vase. I just want a rose.”
“It will be just a moment.” The clerk exited the showroom through a curtain, leaving Meg once again alone. Turning back to the African violet, she checked the price. 9.95. Too much to pay for something she would kill in a matter of weeks, but the plant was beautiful.
“We’ve got a special on roses today,” the clerk announced as soon as she reappeared. Presenting the white box to Meg, she added, “This one will only cost you 2.75 plus tax. Let me see, the total is 2.93.”
Meg dug through her purse, found three one-dollar bills, paid the clerk, picked up the rose, exited the store, and walked back to her car. Laying the rose box on the passenger seat, she backed out of her spot and headed the Mustang in the direction of the city cemetery.
“Well, Steve,” she whispered. “It has been a while, but I think it’s time I start returning
a few gifts to you. This should look nice on your grave. And it is such a beautiful day.”
Suddenly her train of thought was interrupted as a car pulled out of a parking lot directly into her path. Jerking her wheel to one side, she slammed on the brakes and managed to miss the other vehicle by inches.
What in the world? Meg thought as she straightened her wheel and passed the now stalled sports car. A stern look on her face, she stared at the other driver. Sheepishly, he returned her stare then shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands as if to say, “Sorry, I didn’t see you.” When his right hand became visible just above the dashboard of his car, Meg noticed the man was holding an open can of beer.
A sudden rage burned through Meg. Shaking her fist, she hit the gas and rushed from the scene. First Steve and now her! Forgetting all about the rose and the cemetery, she turned her car around and headed home. By the time she got there she felt very alone, very abused, and had little patience for people of any age, description, or size. She just wanted the world to leave her alone.
After parking her car in its place, she reached over, picked up the box containing the yellow rose, and then, walking by an empty trashcan, pitched the box in with scores of other things that now meant nothing. This act seemed to calm her nerves and as she quickly mounted the steps to her apartment, her temper slowly began to burn out. Digging the keys from her purse, she managed to unlock the apartment door just in time to answer the phone.
“What is it?” she demanded as she picked up her landline on the second ring.
“Hello, is this the Richards’s?” a man’s voice asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Comet Cleaners. We’ve had some clothes down here and if you don’t get them soon we’ll have to sell them or give them to the Goodwill or something. They’ve been here a very long time.”
“I’ve still got my coat on,” Meg assured him. “I’ll run down right now.”
Comet was only five blocks away and the drive took about two minutes. As she drove, she mentally inventoried her closest. She was sure she’d picked up her good coat. Hadn’t she worn it last month? Or was that the month before? And almost everything else she owned didn’t need to be dry cleaned. Maybe it was the blue, wool suit. She remembered dropping it off in February and perhaps she hadn’t picked it up. Pulling up to the shop, she parked her car, got out, and hurried in.
