Souvenir (24 page)

Thirty-eight

S
AVANNAH RAN TO HER MOM’S CAR FROM THE SCHOOL’S FRONT OVERHANG
Tuesday after school, but she was still soaked when she climbed in. She shoved her book bag in back and reached up to twist her wet hair into a ponytail.

Her mom said, “I have to stop by and see Grandpa, all right?”

“Not Grandpa’s
again.
Drop me off first.” She’d promised Kyle she’d call at six.

“I would, but you know, I just don’t want to have to drive in this mess any longer than absolutely necessary. We won’t stay long, okay?”

She looked at her mom then, saw the bags under her eyes, her furrowed forehead. “Is Grandpa okay?”

“As far as I know. Why?”

“You look sort of worried.”

They took their turn leaving the parking lot, the car splashing out into traffic, wipers at full speed. “I’m tired,” Meg said. “I didn’t sleep well, and I had to review and finalize the report about that baby we lost last Sunday—it’s very sad, you know?”

“How can you do it?” Savannah asked. “I mean, babies that die when you deliver them—that must be horrible.”

“It is. I thought I’d give up obstetrics after the first time it happened. But what you learn is that
somebody
needs to be there for pregnant women—you can’t just quit because you’ve failed or nature is working against you. I can’t imagine a more satisfying career than the one I had.”

“‘Have,’ you mean.”

“That’s what I said.”

“No, you said ‘had.’”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did; I heard you.”

“Maybe your iPod had messed up your hearing.”

“Whatever.”

They each took an umbrella for the walk to her grandpa’s building, but the umbrellas did nothing to keep their feet dry. Savannah, in her red flip-flops, splashed right on through the puddles, but her mom went slowly in the new leather loafers she’d worn Friday, still favoring her right foot a little. From the entrance door, Savannah watched her walk and said, “If those shoes hurt so much, why are you wearing them again?”

Her mom shook out her umbrella. “They don’t—oh.” She looked up and smiled, said, “I, um, I forgot. How stupid, huh?”

Savannah wasn’t buying it. “Come on,” she said.

“What?” her mom asked, sounding innocent but looking guilty. “All right,” she conceded. “All right. I haven’t even told your dad this yet, but I may as well tell you now: I have some kind of nerve trouble going on—I aggravated something during a difficult delivery, and…well, I’m seeing a specialist about it, but, you know, it’s making my arm and leg…making them spasm, sort of. Weakness. It’s—”

“Oh,” Savannah said, sobered. “Well, that sucks—I mean, so do you have to have surgery, or—?”

“No, no. Physical therapy might help, and I have to go on leave from work for a while.”

“Why haven’t you told Dad?”

“Oh, you know how he is. Busy,” she said.

Judgmental
, Savannah thought, nodding. “Okay. So, you know, just tell me if you need help or whatever.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I will.”

The door opened then. “Hello, my girls! I thought I heard voices out here. I’m just back from seeing my doctor friend Clifford Aimes—who’s got nothing but bad news, nothing but bad news.” He ushered them inside and continued, “There’s those frappacinos you like so much, in the fridge, Vannah—help yourself.”

She did, expecting her mom to interfere, or at least caution her about spoiling her appetite, but there was no comment about the drink.

Her mom said, “What bad news?”

“Well, Meggie, your mother’s laughing at me from heaven right now, I just know it—Aimes says it’s two huge kidney stones causing my pain; and your mother, she kept saying I needed to go have it checked…’ course I was too busy to take her advice.” He sighed as he took a wineglass down from a suspended rack and a bottle from the countertop.

Savannah stood by while her mom sat down at the dining table and asked, “So what do they want to do?”

“A little surgery—it’s got a queer name, I wrote it down someplace…” He searched his shirt pocket, then his pants, finally pulling a scrap of paper from his back pocket. “Percutaneous nephrolithotomy. How many letters is that, d’you suppose?” He paused to count. “Twenty-seven—longer than the goddamn alphabet! Leave it to the medical profession to make every damn thing overcomplicated. Anyway, I’ll be back on my feet in two days. ’Course I’ll need you to pick up my mail, water the plants, bring me a shot or two of that Scotch whisky I like.”

“Maybe. Dad, you are going to have to be hypervigilant about your health from now on. You can’t just let things go until they reach a crisis point. Your diabetes complicates everything.”

“That’s what I got
you
for,” he said, moving past the dining table to the living room and his recliner, the same one he’d used for Savannah’s whole life, or for as long as she could recall, anyway. Her grandma’s favorite chair sat nearby, on the other side of the end table. She didn’t like seeing it empty; it was so…forlorn.

Her mom was shaking her head. “No, you can’t count on me to watch out for you—you’re going to have to be a grown-up and either manage things independently or let the staff here help. You just can’t—I mean, it’s
your
job, don’t you think?”

“My, you’re cranky today! Is it that husband of yours, or has the weather got you down? They say the rain’s not going to quit till the weekend. Guess that’ll mess up softball, eh, Vannah?”

“I guess,” she said, wondering why her mom didn’t explain about her nerve problem. She went and sat in her grandma’s chair, pulling a bit of hair from her ponytail, to braid. “I don’t mind the rain, though. I’m pretty tired of playing softball anyway.” Now that she had Kyle, she didn’t have time for ball. Everything in her old life seemed pointless; she wanted to move on,
do
something with her life besides regurgitate facts for exams and waste hours on a ball diamond with a bunch of overprivileged teenagers. She wanted to help Kyle get back on his feet, maybe back into school.

To that end, she’d cut class yesterday afternoon, gone to the bank, and wired him five hundred dollars from her savings. He’d asked her to send it to him through his brother’s bank in Miami, just to be sure it didn’t get lost while he was away from home. He called as soon as he got it and said, “Babe, you are like truly incredible. This means
so
much. I will love you forever!”

Love! Forever! “Not for your money,” he’d added. “It’s, like, your generous spirit. Beautiful.”

She pulled her mind back to the present, to catch the details on her grandpa’s surgery. He’d scheduled it for two days from now, on Thursday.

“Why don’t you call the girls, let ’em know I’ll be laid up?” he said as he took a prescription bottle from the end table.

“What’s in there?” her mom asked.

“Something for pain.”

“When did you last take one?” She got up and went over to him.

“I haven’t taken any just yet.”

Her mom took the bottle, read the label, and poured the pills into her hand. She counted them, then poured them back. “Okay, now you have to choose: the wine or the pills.”

He grabbed the pills. “Oh come on, you sound like a goddamn doctor!”

Taking the wineglass, her mom went toward the kitchen, her limp more apparent than it had been earlier. “I wonder why that is? Now I mean it—no alcohol with the pain pills. And write down the time you take them so you don’t forget.”

“What’s with the leg?” he asked.

“Never mind—did you hear what I said?”

“I heard, I heard. Bring me some water, then, for chrissake, so I can take one of these horse pills.”

Savannah jumped up. “I’ll get it.” She wanted to save her mom from having to limp back and forth.

“Thanks, honey. Okay, Dad, listen, I’ll call you later. Stay out of trouble, all right? Because I’m done for the day.”

He got up, hand to his left side, and said, “Grab that box there on the counter, Meggie. That’s pictures of you girls when you were small. It’s a hodgepodge; found ’em in the old hall closet. No idea why she stuck ’em there.”

Her mom peered into the box. “She must’ve meant to organize them sometime.”

“I s’pect. Oh, hold on—I got something else for you to take.” He went into his bedroom and came back out with a white plastic shopping bag, which he gave to Savannah.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Coupla romance novels, some socks.”

“Oh, okay, well, thanks.”

He followed them to the door as they left, saying, “Don’t say I never gave you nothin’.”

Savannah smiled. He wasn’t so bad. Kind of funny, in fact. She hadn’t much noticed before, when her grandma was still alive. And it was nice of him to buy the drinks she liked, that her grandma had always kept around just for her. Especially the heavily caffeinated ones; she’d been up so late talking to Kyle these past couple nights that she needed the energy boost. Caffeine had gotten her through last Sunday evening too, after her dad woke her from her nap and reminded her to get her homework done.

Outside, the rain had eased up, so her mom let her drive them home. They rode in silence; she figured her mom was preoccupied with her grandpa’s surgery and all that nerve-damage stuff, or whatever it was. Hopefully that would heal fast. Didn’t it figure, though, that just when her mom was going to have some extra time to maybe
do
something with her, she, Savannah, wanted anything
but
that? Now that she had Kyle, she had everything she needed.

How
good
it felt to be fully appreciated by someone. To be loved for
who she was
, not just because of blood ties or obligations. She smiled to herself and thought,
I could get used to this.

Thirty-nine

M
EG INTENDED TO TELL
B
RIAN ABOUT HER DIAGNOSIS
T
UESDAY NIGHT
while Savannah was at her music lesson, but spent most of the time on the phone with her sisters instead, giving all the details on their father’s condition.

“The stones aren’t anything serious,” she told Beth. “They’ll do laser surgery, and he’ll be out in a couple of days.”

Beth sighed. “That’s a relief. I think I’ll come out anyway—we can have some girl time. I need a change of scenery after the semester I just had.”

It was just what Meg hoped she’d say. She wanted to see her sisters—all of them, if possible, without telling them up front about her condition. She wanted to socialize, for at least a little while, without the suffocating blanket of their pity.

When Julianne heard Beth was coming, she felt like she should come too. But she and Chad were strapped for money, she said. “Even with bereavement airfares, we spent a fortune coming for Mom’s funeral. He’ll never let me spend the money.”

“I’ll buy your ticket,” Meg offered. “And Kara’s too. And Beth’s.” To be fair. “Think of it as a mini vacation from the kids.”

“And from Chad!” Julianne said. “This new job of his keeps him home way too much.”

After talking to Julianne, Meg reached Kara, who was glad to come to see them all and glad to accept Meg’s offer to pay. “Thanks, sis. That’ll make it harder for Todd to complain about me going! And I can look at real estate while I’m there,” she said. “I saw an ad in Sunday’s paper I want to check out—just for future reference.”

Then Meg called Beth back and said she wanted to pay her way, as long as she was paying for the others. Beth said, “Thanks, but you know, you don’t still have to do everything for us.”

No, Meg thought, but it was nice to do something that mattered, one last time.

By the time she’d finished booking the tickets and e-mailing itineraries, and then confirming it all with yet another phone call to each sister, Brian was gone to pick up Savannah. So she waited until later, when he came to bed, intending to talk to him there. But the long day caught up with her and she fell asleep, waiting for him to brush his teeth.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, M
EG STOPPED AT THE BATHROOM DOOR WHILE
B
RIAN
was shaving, to tell him they needed to talk. If she didn’t do it now, she didn’t know when she’d get another chance: Beth was due in at the airport at five, Kara at six, and Julianne at eight-fifteen.

She watched him in the mirror. He used a traditional razor and shaving cream, pulling the razor from the top of his cheek to his jaw in practiced confidence, even with one eye on the small plasma TV he’d had installed last year. Good thing
she
didn’t have to shave (let alone follow the stock reports while she did it); with her hand like it was now, her face would end up a mess of bloody nicks.

She said, “Can you stick around a little while after Savannah leaves?”

“What for?” Brian asked, moving the razor past his jaw and under his chin.

She looked over at the shower. She’d had to use her left hand to turn it on this morning, which had depressed her at first, then angered her.
Everything
was getting to be a chore. “I have something to tell you.”

“Can’t you tell me now?” he said, not at all attuned to the tremor in her voice.

“No,” she said, then left the room so that he couldn’t debate it with her.

Savannah was mixing sugar and cream into a travel mug of coffee, her iPod blasting already, at 6:45. How did she do that? Meg liked quiet in the mornings; she drove to the hospital with the car radio off, and took as much time in the lounge as she could before launching into her rounds. She never minded, though, the wails of the newborns that sometimes met her when she entered the birth center floor. Those cries welcomed her, made her feel alive and purposeful.

Well, there would be no more of that.

She was dressed as if for work, as she had been every day she hadn’t gone in. Brian had no idea she didn’t send him off and leave the house right after, as was their routine. Some of her colleagues did afternoon rounds, and she’d considered, briefly, staying in her pajamas these past mornings with a ready lie about switching her schedule, starting her day with office hours at 8:30. That idea was trashed quickly, along with other possible lies—about why she was still limping, for example, and why she needed the sling she meant to buy for her arm, to disguise her hand’s impending uselessness. There was no telling when, or if, the slide of decline would slow; lying was pointless. She owed both Brian and Savannah the truth.

Brian first. By rights, he should’ve known before
anyone
—before she even went to her appointment with Brianna. She should have told him her fears and her plans. Instead, she had left him out of the loop, let him go off to Boston Friday morning thinking she was still irritated about the money business despite his Lexus apology. She hadn’t called him Friday after seeing Bolin. Or Saturday, from deep in South Florida. That she had picked up the phone and dumped her news on Carson before telling her own husband was wrong, she supposed, but the truth was, she found it hard to dredge up very much concern.

Outside, a car horn sounded. She tapped Savannah on the shoulder, took one earbud from her daughter’s ear. “Angela’s here. Don’t forget, your aunts will all be here tonight—don’t make other plans.”

“I
know
.” Savannah grabbed a bagel from the breadbox, popped a top on her mug, slung her book bag over one shoulder, and hurried out the front door.

Talk about cranky…Savannah looked more tired than usual. Had she been up late studying? What had become of the biology project? With all the commotion in her own life, she’d been paying little attention to Savannah’s everyday stuff. Exams were coming up, and Savannah’s birthday party—oh Christ, she couldn’t lay her bad news on Savannah before her birthday…

Brian came to the kitchen dressed in his light gray suit, a patterned red silk tie gleaming against his white shirt—the Sonny Crockett days were long gone. He went to pour himself a little more coffee and said, “It’s about Spencer, right? The money?” Looking at her intently, he said, “Listen, Meg, the thing is—I went out after our argument and got drunk, figuring that it was all over for us. These few weeks since Spencer paid Dad back, I’ve just been waiting for you to find out and tell me it’s over, that you want a divorce.”

That
was why he didn’t tell her? “You’re joking,” she said.

He shook his head. “I swear. When it seemed like maybe Spencer wasn’t saying anything, I should have told you, but…”

“Yes, you should have!”

“I’m sorry.” He looked contrite, though she couldn’t help but wonder how deep it went. Brian, for all his surface charm, kept his truest feelings out of sight, even from her.

He added, “I just…look at you: successful, attractive—hell, you practice medicine
and
run our household like the best manager I’ve got—so I kept thinking, why do you need me? Spencer made it clear that
he
thinks you should be eager to bail—”

“That’s not it, Brian. If it was about the money, I could’ve left a long time ago.”

“So then you weren’t going to ask for a divorce?” His voice wavered, and she knew he’d been scared.

“No,” she said, sympathy welling in her chest; what he’d feared was nothing compared to what she had to say.

Brian turned and leaned against the counter, more relaxed now, confident, the very image of the high-powered businessman. He looked impermeable. It was good to know that he wasn’t, but it made her sad for him, too. He didn’t know what to do with real-life troubles. When had anything ever gone wrong for him? He’d been protected, catered to, deferred to, coddled his entire life—by his parents, by his employees, and yes, even by her.

She flexed her hand and said, “No, the thing is, well, I’ve been having some trouble lately—”

“What, with the practice?”

“No, not that. That’s fine. That is, it
was
fine…I don’t know if it will
stay
fine…” She was hedging.

“Why? Is Manisha leaving?”

“No…I am.”

“Okay! That’s what I like to hear. Onward and upward.” He turned and set his coffee mug in the sink, as he always did; when he needed it again it would be waiting in the cupboard, as it always was. This was how Brian’s life worked. She hated that she was about to disrupt it—calculating as he sometimes was, he didn’t deserve the burden of her shitty luck.

She looked at him, at his face in this last moment of innocence, and said, “It’s not what you think. I have a disease called ALS. It’s fatal.”

He blinked and stepped back as if someone had pushed him. “Come again?”

“You’ll know it as Lou Gehrig’s disease,” she said.

“
Meg…
” he said, hands raised as if in supplication, as if saying,
how could you let this happen?

“I know,” she shrugged, feeling as if she was a lousy actor reciting her lines. They’d feel truer if she sang them in operatic alto, soprano, perhaps; then the music would fit the tragedy playing out in their life.

He said, “Lou Gehrig’s—? I don’t remember—What…what does this mean, exactly?”

What
did
it mean,
exactly
? She still didn’t know. She stuck to the script. “It’s a debilitating neuromuscular disease. I was diagnosed Friday by a specialist in Orlando—I didn’t have meetings, I had tests.”

Brian rubbed his face with both hands, then dropped his hands at his sides. “Jesus, Meg…. Are you sure? I mean, you look
fine
.” Hesquinted at her as if the signs must be present but were just out of focus for him.

She felt herself shrinking, guilty for hiding things so well. In her doctor voice, she said, “I know, but already, my right arm’s hardly functional, the hand is weak. I’m having trouble with my leg. It’s just a matter of time before you’ll hear it when I speak. How much time?
That
, I can’t tell you. Right now seems to be what’s called an acceleration period; things are…they’re going downhill pretty fast right now. An accurate prognosis is difficult—every case is a little different.”

She was tired of hearing the words as she spoke them, the same ones she’d read and heard and told too many times already. The thought of saying them again to her sisters, and again to her father, and again to her daughter—God, it exhausted her, the burden of just
thinking
about repeating this litany.

Brian studied the polished tips of his black oxfords. She felt sorry for him; ever after he would be associated with her story. People would whisper it to one another at parties and picnics,
He’s the one whose wife, the doctor, had Lou Gehrig’s.
Worse, he would have to figure out how to manage all the details of his life and Savannah’s—though her guess was that he would shift that duty to his mother, who would probably be delighted to have him depending on her again.

He looked up and shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We’ll talk more later, all right? Go to work, try not to dwell. I know, it’s impossible, but
try.
I’ll tell my sisters…before they leave. Not tonight, okay? So don’t bring it up. But once we know Dad’s through the surgery fine, then I’ll tell them.”

“Savannah—?”

“I told her I have a nerve problem. She can’t know it’s incurable. Not yet. I just…I need to get her through her birthday at least.”

“What about treatment? They must have something—”

“Nope,” she said, and he flinched a little.

“Are you going to have to be in the hospital, or…?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Most people handle it with home care, and hospice.” She thought of Lana Mathews, all but motionless. Waiting.

“I know you can’t say exactly, but…how long do you think?” He wouldn’t look at her.

She went to him, took his chilled hands in hers. “No idea,” she said. “But probably not more than a few months.” The knot of his tie was slightly crooked; she left it.

“I don’t believe this…”

“Go to work,” she said, releasing him. “Nothing’s going to happen today.”

A
FTER
B
RIAN LEFT
, M
EG MADE A POT OF TEA AND TOOK IT TO THE DEN
. S
HE
opened the windows to let in the moist morning air, bring the outside in to her, then began calling her patients to inform them personally that, due to health reasons, she was referring them to other physicians. She left messages for most, spoke to a few without divulging details, and in about an hour had reached everyone whose records were active. Others would learn of the changes the next time they called for appointments. After the last call, she hung up the phone and said, “Well, okay. That’s done.”

How surprising it was to feel so little about this particular ending, to be able to let go of Allison Ramsey and Candace Banner and Jill Jabronski, for example, without feeling traumatized. She cared for these pregnant women, for all her patients, and yet, when it came down to determining priorities, cutting the string was astonishingly easy.

She took up her journal and wrote:

May 3, 2006

Let me tell you a little something about dying in middle age. First, I feel cheated for one main reason: because I owe you more than I’ve given you so far. Not the material things—my time. I owe you more time, and it makes me sick when I look back and think of all the days I worked late when I could’ve been home with you watching the Discovery channel or hearing you practice a new song. The weekends when I delivered babies instead of baking your favorite pumpkin-raisin cookies or riding with you at Grandma and Grandpa’s. I always imagined we’d have more time when you were older, done with school. I’d cut back my practice and we’d travel together. Or maybe you’d join the Peace Corps and I’d come visit you at your posts, donate some of my skills too. You’d entertain us all by playing songs and singing; everyone would sing along; we’d teach the local children the words, leave them with something that could endure famine or disease or heartache.