Darkness Before Dawn (17 page)

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.

W
HEN SHE LEFT THE HOSPITAL, IT WAS MID-AFTERNOON
. T
HE 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.