Megan's Way (2 page)

Megan sighed and chalked up Olivia’s attitude
to being fourteen. “Sit with me,” she said.

Olivia sat and desultorily pushed her cereal
around with her spoon. The silence hung in the air,
uncomfortable.

Megan tried to lighten the mood. “What are
you looking forward to most at the flea market?” she asked.

Olivia’s eyes lit up, but her voice remained
flat. “everything, I guess. I hope Joe is there with the wind
chimes, and I want to get another pair of wraparound pants.”
Olivia’s voice began to carry a happier tone, “Oh, and the jewelry!
I guess all of it, really. How about you?”

Megan smiled. She knew the thought of
shopping would lift Olivia’s spirits. Megan longed to be one of the
flea market vendors once again, and realized that in her current
condition, that was not likely to happen. “I’m just looking forward
to everything, you know, being with you and Holly, and seeing
everyone from last year.”

“When are you going to sell again, Mom?”

“I don’t know, Liv,” Megan’s response was
short. Her bowels rumbled with urgency. She went to the sink,
turning her back to Olivia.
What am I going to do?
“Are you
ready? We don’t want to be late.”

Olivia left her unfinished bowl of cereal on
the table and flew upstairs in search of her shoes. Megan made her
way to the bathroom, grabbing the bottle of Pepto-Bismol along the
way. The pink, peppermint liquid had become like an old friend,
soothing away her daily discomfort.

The tips of the flea market tents appeared in
the distance, and Megan’s heart beat a little faster. “There it is,
Livi!” She smiled and turned to face her daughter. “Isn’t it
exciting? I can’t believe it’s been a whole year.”

“Mm-hmm,” Olivia grunted in pure teenage
annoyance.

Megan rounded the bend into the field of
parked cars, scanned the grounds for an empty parking spot, and
glanced at her watch.
Why the hell am I always late?
She
sighed, realizing that her life had become one late appointment
after another but pleased that her stomach issues had subsided. She
hastily pulled her Corolla between a conversion van and a
Lexus.

Megan lingered for a moment, watching the
people hurry through the parking lot. A sense of loss floated
through her. The image of Lawrence walking up to her vending booth
on that steamy afternoon so many years ago flashed in her mind. Her
nerves tingled, a reminder of their immediate attraction. Quickly,
she pushed the thought deep inside.
Can’t cry over spilt
milk
.

“We have to hurry,” Megan said quickly. “Do
you see Holly anywhere?”

She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror
and scrunched her face in displeasure, oblivious to her daughter’s
silence. She twisted her hair into a loose bun with all the finesse
of a bumbling plumber and secured it with the quick stab of a
pencil.
That’ll have to do.
She grabbed her patchwork bag
and hurried Olivia out of the car.

Megan rushed across the field toward the
tents. Olivia lagged behind. “Where did we say we’d meet Holly?”
she asked, frustrated with the fogginess of her mind.

Olivia sighed heavily and spat out, “At the
scarf guy.”

Megan spun around. “What is
up
with
you, Liv?”

Olivia looked down, unable to meet her
mother’s eyes. “Nothing,” she said. A strained moment of silence
passed between them before Olivia said, in almost a whisper,
“What’s up with
you?
”

Megan froze.
Oh, God. She knows
.
“What?” she said, more than asked.

“Come on, Mom. I heard you this morning. You
were throwing up again.” Olivia turned away from her mother.

Holly’s voice cut through the tension,
“Meggie! Olivia!” Holly waved as she ran toward them, arriving out
of breath. “I’ve been looking all over for you guys!” She embraced
Megan. “Meg, have you lost weight?” She moved to hug Olivia.

Megan shot her a look that said,
Don’t go
there
. She forced a smile and put her arm around Olivia,
ignoring Olivia’s eye roll. “C’mon! Let’s go see what they have
this year!”

They joined the crowds, strolled past the
entrance and into the large tents that housed the vendors. Megan
lingered at the jewelry stands, drawn in by the bright gems and
sterling silver. She turned toward the sound of Olivia’s laughter,
and watched as Holly and Olivia tried on sunhats that were wider
than their bodies. A feeling of comfort and happiness embraced her,
immediately followed by jealousy—or was it fear? She felt
lightheaded and dizzy, and settled onto a nearby bench.

She thought of her previous years as a flea
market vendor, the excitement of building her career and meeting
the locals. She smiled at the memory of Olivia, toddling around the
grounds, wrapped in a sweatshirt and gloves until the brisk Cape
air settled and the sun rose. The end of the day would find them
bundled back up as the sun set and they headed out to their usual
dinner at Arnold’s Clam Bar.
The years have passed so
quickly
, Megan thought.
It’s as if just yesterday Olivia was
four years old and bursting with joy over new sights that only a
four-year-old could recognize
. Even two years ago, at her last
flea market as a vendor, Olivia had still delighted in the novelty
of the staggering array of wares. Megan sighed, if only she had
known then that she would not be a vendor again, she wondered what
she might have done differently. She might have enjoyed each moment
a little more, said goodbye to her regular visitors.

The flea market patrons hustled past. A stab
of pain seared into her lower right abdomen, bringing with it the
anxious memories of the long hard battle that she thought she had
won—beaten, erased, never to rear its ugly head again. She
remembered the fear and sadness that Olivia and Holly had worn like
winter coats during that hot and hectic summer, the fatigue she had
waded through as her treatments had ravaged her body. Her face
tightened in anger.
Remission. Remission my ass! All remission
really means is that the disease still lurks in your body
somewhere, waiting to steal your life away
. She hated illness.
She hated the silence of illness, the way it slithered inside of
you, eating away your fortitude without so much as a hint that your
body, your life, was about to morph into a weakened shadow of its
former self, or be taken away completely. She hated the way she
felt like a marionette, with no control over her own body.
Sometimes, she even hated god.

Holly hooked her arm in the crook of Olivia’s
elbow and walked toward Megan, where she rested on a wooden bench.
“C’mon, Olivia,” she said conspiratorially, “let’s go check out the
clothes!” She winked at Megan, flashing her a friendly smile as she
and Olivia walked away. “Your mom takes forever when she looks at
jewelry.” Holly yelled over her shoulder to Megan, “We’ll meet you
at the concession stands in forty minutes.”

They faded seamlessly into the crowd, passing
mothers and daughters that other women may not have noticed, but
Holly desperately yearned for such a relationship. She watched the
women’s carefree glances, the confidence of knowing their daughters
were right there beside them. Some women smiled at Holly—private
smiles that spoke volumes about the shared secret pleasures of
motherhood. Holly knew it was wrong to pretend as she did, but it
made her happy. She was proud of Olivia, and she liked to feel like
Olivia’s mother, if even for a moment. At times like these, she was
ashamed of her feelings. As effortlessly as happiness had enveloped
her, her fraudulence tore it away.

“Holly!” Olivia said for the second time.

“What?” Holly said, pulled abruptly from her
reverie. Olivia cocked her head in question.

“I’m sorry,” Holly said quickly, “I was just
thinking about something.”

Olivia shrugged and continued talking.

Holly remained silent. The sun beat down on
her shoulders, bringing warmth and what should have been
relaxation. Instead, her heart began to race and her hands tingled.
A familiar anxiety coursed through her—the feeling that all eyes
were upon her, as if every stranger saw into the recesses of her
haunted mind, and they knew what she had done.

Just look at her
, Holly thought.
How could anyone not see it?
How could I have done such a
thing to Megan, to Olivia. Then, swallowing the desire to cry out
and run, she asked herself,
How could I have done this to
myself?

Olivia tugged on Holly’s arm, pulling her
mind out of its panicked state. Holly breathed deeply and willed
herself to believe that it was only her own fingers doing the
pointing. The strangers were just that—strangers. They could not
know the depth of the deceit that lay within her soul.

Olivia chatted on the ride home as if their
earlier discord had never happened. She talked about her new scarf,
and how it looked just like one that Megan owned. She wore her sun
hat and inspected her new shirts and earrings. “Holly loved this on
me. Do you like it, Mom?” she asked.

Megan glanced beside her and was astonished
at how old Olivia looked with her hair swept back off of her face
and held in place by the peach-colored hat. She fought hard to keep
the tears that threatened at bay. She focused on the road and
cleared her throat, willing herself to remain unemotional. “I love
it, Livi. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks!” Olivia took off the hat. “Hey,” she
said, “who is Lawrence?”

Megan’s eyes flew open wide, and for a
moment, she sat in stunned silence.

Before she could form an answer, Olivia said,
“Mom! Who is Lawrence?”

Megan feigned ignorance, “Who?”

“Some guy named Lawrence. Holly said he
helped you start your career or something before I was born.”

“He was a very kind man.” Megan hoped that
would be enough to satisfy Olivia.

“Oh, I thought he was your boyfriend or
something,” Olivia said. “Holly said something about you missing
the boat with that guy or something.”

Megan remained silent.

“Hey! I’ve always wondered, Mom, why
don’t
you have a boyfriend?” Olivia asked.

Megan laughed, “A boyfriend?” she said. “Who
has time for
that?
” she winked at Olivia.

Olivia shrugged, “Yeah, I guess, but you know
I wouldn’t mind if you had one.”

“Yeah,” Megan said, thinking about how she
hadn’t felt as though she’d missed out on much by not having a
boyfriend, or boyfriends, for that matter. She’d been happy with
her life with Olivia. “I wouldn’t mind if you did, either,” she
quipped back at her.

They were almost home when Megan was
enveloped by another rush of nausea. “Olivia, I need to use the
bathroom. We’ll stop at the farmer’s market.”

“Mom, I really want to get home. Can’t you
wait?”

“No, I can’t!” Megan snapped. “It’ll just
take a minute.”

“But, Mom, we’re almost home,” Olivia’s
annoyance was clear.

Bile rose in Megan’s throat and she began to
gag. She swerved to the shoulder of the neighborhood road and threw
open her door.

“Mom! Are you okay?” Olivia was right behind
her, caught between embarrassment and worry. She held her mother’s
hair back as Megan threw up on the hot pavement. “Mom?”

Megan’s stomached emptied itself of the salad
she’d had for lunch and the toast and jam that had been breakfast.
She swallowed the acidic remains. “Kleenex, please, honey.”

Olivia rummaged through the front seat of the
car, tossing her mother’s books and paints to the side until she
found a clean rag. “Here, use this,” her voice shook. “I can’t find
the Kleenex.”

Olivia grew angry as she watched her mother.
“You’re sick again, aren’t you?” she accused.

Megan looked at her through tear-streaked
eyes and shook her head,
No
.

“Yes, you are! Why else would you be throwing
up so much? I heard you this morning!” Olivia stomped to the car,
her back to Megan. “I’m not a baby. You can tell me, you know.”

“Olivia, I am
not
sick again.” She
looked at the pavement, her lie tasted as bad as the vomit. “I just
ate something bad, that’s all.” She settled her shaking body into
the front seat, avoiding Olivia’s stare.

The car ride home was silent. Olivia’s face
was ridden with anger and mistrust, and Megan wallowed in her own
miserable thoughts. The doctor’s words played in her mind like a
bad rerun, “We can try chemo again, but it’s already metastasized
to your bones. It will delay things a bit, give you a few more
months, maybe.”
Months? I need years, not months! Olivia needs
me here. Olivia can’t go through this again. It’s not fair! God
damn you!

Olivia disappeared into her room and ignored
Megan’s calls to the dinner table, leaving Megan alone with her
sorrow and confusion. Megan pushed her food around on the plate.
Salmon, she sighed to herself. She had made Olivia’s favorite meal
with hopes of smoothing things over. She hated to waste food and
forced herself to take a bite. She winced in disgust. Her
medications made everything she ate taste like metal. She spat the
salmon into her napkin. Her heart hung heavily in her chest. She
hadn’t realized that loneliness could cause such weight.

Megan endured a constant mental battle to
make a decision about her treatments, and the angst with Olivia
brought the battle full-on like a loud drum beating in her head.
Her doctor had made it crystal clear that treatments needed to
begin immediately in order to buy her any extra time, and yet, she
remained undecided. Should she suffer through the harsh treatments
that would slowly and certainly deteriorate her body and spirit,
and ultimately end in her death? or should she simply let her body
go; allow her body to leave the earth in the manner god had chosen
for her, without delay, forgoing the interfering medications that
would make her sick and unable to care for herself?