Gaining Visibility

“Cross
How Stella Got Her Groove Back
with
Under the Tuscan Sun,
and you've got
Gaining Visibility,
a novel that is at times beautiful, at times heartbreaking, and ultimately uplifting. Pour a Chianti and savor the story of how Julia found her place in the sun.”

 

—Wendy Webb

 

 

“
Gaining Visibility
is a moving tale of reawakening, as Julia transcends the traumas from her past to embrace the exciting possibilities life has laid before her.”

 

—Barbara Longley, bestselling author of the Love from the Heartland series

 

 

“A beautiful story, eloquently written and full of heart. Pamela's best book yet.”

 

—Kimberly Lang

 

 

“Pamela Hearon brings a new and powerful voice to women's fiction with her poignant story of rebuilding life after breast cancer and divorce. From page one, the reader is drawn into a passionate journey that doesn't let up until the emotionally satisfying final page. Hearon's ability to blend substance and texture with moments of humor makes this one delicious read.”

 

—Cynthia D'Alba

Pamela Hearon

KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com

All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

Table of Contents

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

 

KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

 

Copyright © 2016 by Pamela Hearon Hodges

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

 

Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

 

eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0429-0
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0429-0
First Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2016

ISBN: 978-1-4967-0428-3

First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: October 2016

 

To Heather and Andy,
who've only just begun the journey
toward your happily-ever-after.
May you always travel it side by side and hand in hand.

Although writing this book has been an extremely personal journey for me, there have been far too many companions along the way for me to ever feel alone. I'd like to recognize a few.

First and foremost, the Pink Warriors—those who have fought the battle against breast cancer, those who are currently fighting, and those who have been touched by the disease through someone they care for. Be strong. Stay courageous. Keep the faith, and never give up hope. A cure is out there.

My fabulous agent, Jennifer Weltz of the Jean V. Naggar Literary Agency, whose keen vision recognized the potential for this book, even in its earliest stages. Thanks for making me stretch on tiptoe until I could see it, too.

My amazing editor, Esi Sogah, who knew exactly what the story needed and set me on the correct path to find it. I couldn't have found my way without your guidance.

Kensington Publishing, a publishing house that feels like family. Thanks for the warm welcome and the wonderful support.

My longtime critique partner and friend, Kimberly Lang, who has seen this book through more rewrites than she could've ever imagined—and somehow loved them all.

My critique partners at WriteRomance: Sandra Jones, Angela Campbell, and Maggie Van Well. You all have extraordinary, yet different, critiquing skills—and I get the benefit of them all.

My precious, loving, and supportive husband, Dick, who stood valiantly beside me through every second of the battle . . . and who never makes me feel invisible.

C
HAPTER
1

S
he was invisible.

She'd first noticed that she was fading from view four years ago, about the same time she'd noticed the first gray hairs. The signs were subtle. No heads turning as she walked through the gym. No catcalls or whistles at construction sites. No compliments from then-husband Frank when they got gussied up for some formal affair. Alarms should probably have gone off more frantically in her head, but the changes were so gradual they remained inconspicuous and certainly nonthreatening.

And the gray was easily covered.

But the phenomenon had increased exponentially in an equation of Einsteinian proportion two years ago.
E
=
mc
²
plus total loss of breasts equaled total loss of visibility.

Scientific equations could prove how the laws of nature literally make the world go round; no equation could show why her world had been thrown into a tailspin she was still trying to gain control of.

Looking back, it seemed more like a combination of science and magic than science alone. Five hours of surgery and—poof! She'd vanished . . . at least to the male half of the world's population.

Which is why it came as no surprise to Julia Berkwith that, at that exact moment, it wasn't one of the male doctors working on her but rather a female nurse who asked the question.

“You doing okay?”

“Fine,” Julia answered, although she wasn't. The next item on her self-improvement list was to quit saying she was fine when she wasn't.

Lying flat on her back with her arms stretched out as wide as possible gave the doctors behind the white curtain of sheets plenty of room to work, but they seemed to have forgotten there was a beating heart and strained muscles below the mounds of silicone sacs.

During preparation, when they'd asked if she wanted her arms restrained, she'd promised she could keep them still without the bands. That had been over an hour ago when the surgery was ahead of her and exciting. Now, retaliating because of their awkward position, both arms were snoozing but sending telepathic messages to the muscles in her back and shoulders, demanding they redouble their efforts to bring pain in memory of their sleeping comrades. Adding to her discomfort, the temperature in the OR had been set to
morgue,
which worried her more than a little.

A white sheet draped from the overhead rod fell to below her chin, blocking off her view and allowing her no audience participation to her own procedure. The sheet started to sag, and now folds gathered in her mouth and nose region. In a normal setting, she would push them out of the way with a flick of the fingers, but she'd promised not to move her arms, so she blew puffs of air at them when suffocation seemed imminent.

An angel of mercy appeared at her head and gave the sheet a quick flick, sending the material away. The ensuing gust of cold air filled Julia's nostrils with the antiseptic scent she'd grown used to over the past two years.

“They look great.” The young woman's smile was reassuring, even viewed upside down. “How long since your mastectomy?”

“Two years.” The buzzing started again along with the odd vibration that seemed detached, though Julia knew it was occurring to her body. “Are they tattooing again?”

The nurse nodded. “They're finishing the second areola. It won't be too much longer.”

The conversation diverted Julia's attention from her phantom arms and the frosty operating room. “I never realized how much design work went into building breasts,” she said. “First-stage saline sacs. Injecting solution every two weeks to stretch the skin. Implant surgery. And now this. I could've had a house built in this length of time.”

Her companion pulled up a stool and perched beside Julia's head. “Can you talk about it? The cancer, I mean. I know some people don't like to.”

Julia shook her head as much as she dared, unwilling to risk jiggling anything that might make the doctors miss and result in a third areola. “I don't mind. I've been told talking about it is therapeutic. Is there something you'd like to know?”

The strange vantage point gave her a clear view of the woman's neck muscles, and Julia watched them tighten.

Talking about cancer wasn't a mission she would've chosen, nor was it one she totally accepted. But the subject was frightening to women, so guilt gnawed at her if she didn't answer questions when they asked.

“Did you have chemo?”

There it was—the nearly imperceptible cringe on the last word. Julia had learned to watch for it. Fear of chemo was greater than fear of cancer for many.

“No, I'm one of the fortunate ones.” The badge of guilt she wore pricked her. She'd gotten off easy when others suffered so much. “We caught it early, so no chemo or radiation, and no hair loss. I only lost my breasts.” She never added
and my husband,
though she always thought it, and ignored the tendril of pain that accompanied the silent admission.

“Well, the reconstruction looks fantastic.” The nurse gave a tug on the cloth shower cap working its way down past Julia's eyebrows. “How do they feel?”

Julia stifled the shrug that would've moved her arms. “Honestly? Like two aliens have taken up residence in my chest.” Her companion grinned. “I have no sensation on the outside. No feeling because of the nerves they cut. Today's procedure could've been done without the numbing shots, I think.” The buzzing stopped, and Julia noted pressure like she was being wiped down. A stronger medicinal scent invaded the area between her and the sheet.

“Sometimes nerves regenerate, though, so don't give up on that yet.”

Two years and not even a twinge. Regeneration wasn't going to happen. But nobody touched them anyway, so fretting about it seemed silly.

The nurse started to get up, then hesitated. “I have a biopsy scheduled for Friday.” Her bottom lip, which had curved up earlier, now had teeth dug into it, which still couldn't control the tremble.

If her arms had been free, Julia would've pulled the new member of the sisterhood into a hug. As it was, she could only embrace her with words. “You're doing the right thing, staying on top of it. Early detection's the key. We didn't even know it was in my left breast, too, until the post-op report came back.”

The young woman's eyes widened. “You were brave, going with the bilateral when you didn't know for sure.”

“No, honey, I was terrified, so don't try to make me into a hero. I just didn't want to live in fear the rest of my life.”

The woman's chest rose and fell with what Julia hoped was a steadier breath as she tilted her head toward the sheet. “Sounds like they're getting finished. You've done great.” She patted Julia's cheek before sliding off the stool and scurrying away to take care of some post-op business.

Finished.
Fabulous word, that.

Julia's fingers curled into triumphant fists. She couldn't clap her hands, but she hadn't promised not to move her feet. Gleefully, she smacked her big toes together in applause.

As the doctors completed their work, she turned up the volume on the
Fond Memories
playlist in her mind. Listening to the music had become so habitual, she no longer needed a device—simply switched it on and off at will.

She pressed the rewind button until she was once again in the backseat of her parents' powder blue convertible, racing down the highway on a summer night. A hot wind slapped her cheeks while a gazillion stars danced in her view, and her voice blended with her mom's and dad's and The Crew-Cuts on the cassette player in a rousing rendition of “Sh-Boom.”

Three repeat plays and the doctors were done.

An hour later, she stepped into the sunlight with the playlist
Survivor
running through her head along with a new mantra:

For the first time since being diagnosed, after five million tears, four panic attacks, three surgeries, two years, and one divorce, Julia left the hospital with her designer breasts and her head held high . . . in that order.

* * *

“Hold on a second, sweetie. Mosquitoes are eating me alive.”

Julia lit the citronella candle, hoping it would keep away the pests long enough to finish the telephone conversation with Melissa without having to move inside. The temperature on the deck was balmy and perfect, but the pesky insects seemed more plentiful than usual for western Kentucky in late May.

“You ought to see them up here, Mom. They're like the size of bats.”

“I've heard Alaska grows them big, but that's sort of an advantage, isn't it?” Julia pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to smash one of the creatures who'd chosen her right pinkie for his dining option. “They can't sneak up on you.” Wondering if perhaps the mosquitoes were coming up through the cracks between the wooden slats of the decking, she set the candle down by her feet. “Anyway . . . where was I?”

“Your tats, which, I might add, is totally weird for me to say.”

That brought a chuckle. “I'll bet.” Julia waved her hand to direct the smoke from the candle toward her legs. “So, no, like I was saying, the tattooing didn't hurt at all. I could feel vibration but no pain.”

Her daughter's snort was draped in sarcasm. “Wish I could say that. The one on my lower back wasn't too bad—”

“You mean the freedom banner you rushed out to get the day after your dad and I left you at college?”

“Yeah, that one.” A little sheepishness accompanied the tone, but Julia could still hear the smile that hung on the fringes. “It wasn't bad at all, but the one on my ankle—
ghah!
Halfway through, I seriously considered stopping him. But I figured it would look stupid to have a charm bracelet that only went part of the way around.”

“Well, it is pretty.” Julia admitted that only grudgingly. “But two's enough, don't you think?”

“Yes, Mom. Two's enough. Or it was until today.” The laugh that came over the line was throaty and mature, reminding Julia that her precious daughter was an adult now—all grown up and living three time zones away. “Since you have two, I may have to get another one. Can't be bested on tats by my mom.”

“To the world, you'll always be ahead by two because nobody but me will ever see mine.”

“You don't know that.” Before Julia could wonder if her child was making commentary about her nonexistent sex life, Melissa added, “The doctor might want to use photos of you on his Web site. You know . . . to show how good he is.”

“I can't see that happening.” Julia cringed at the thought of her scars bared to the world. Frank's reaction to them still haunted her.

“Well, you never know.”

A long, uncharacteristic pause ensued, and Julia kept quiet . . . waiting. Conversation came easily between them, so pauses were signals. Whatever was on her daughter's tongue right then bore some weight.

A sigh. Julia braced herself.

“Dad came for a visit last week.”

The apologetic tone took a swipe at Julia's gut. She and Frank worked hard to keep their daughter from feeling that she had to take sides. Julia forced a smile onto her lips, hoping it would give a lift to her voice—or, at least, take the bite out of it. “Was it a surprise? I didn't know he was planning a visit.”

“We'd talked about
him
coming, but, yeah, there was a surprise.” Another weighty pause. “He brought Dawn with him.”

“Oh.” Julia swallowed the retort that appeared on her tongue—the one that would confirm Frank's insensitivity. It left a bitter trail going down. “Was that . . . okay . . . with you, I mean?”

“It was okay.” Julia sensed the shrug that accompanied the answer. “He looked good. Brown as a biscuit. And I could tell he's been working out.”

“Good for him.” A shallow answer, but it would suffice.

Another pause and then Melissa changed the subject, obviously not wanting to discuss her dad and his young girlfriend, which was fine with Julia. Preferable, even. “I went ahead and accepted that three-year offer, by the way.”

Julia's breath left her in a rush.
Three years.
She tilted the phone up so Melissa wouldn't hear the shocked gasp. “You did? That . . . that was quick. You were still just considering it the last time we talked.”

“Yeah, I know. But Michael's got some cool stuff in the works, and Dad thought it sounded like a good deal, so I decided to grab it before somebody else did.”

The excitement in her daughter's voice caused a tug-of-war in Julia's conscience. She wanted Melissa to be happy—wanted her to be confident in her decision making—hoped the impetuous decision to follow Michael into the wild was the right one.

But committing to three years?

The nagging fear she was too far away to care for her daughter's broken heart should the relationship go south never completely went away.

The remainder of their time was taken up with Melissa's ongoing saga of life in Alaska with Michael, and Julia's recently added details about her upcoming trip to Italy in July.

By the time the conversation ended and Julia sat alone with only the mosquitoes for company, the Far North seemed more familiar and real to her than ever . . . and farther from Paducah, Kentucky, than she could've ever imagined.