The Pages We Forget (5 page)

“Then how come you told Dad that?”

“I needed an excuse to get away for a few hours this morning.”

“What for?”

“There's something I need to take care of.”

“And you don't want Dad to know about it?”

“No, I don't. That's why we're going to keep this between us. He doesn't have to know. All right?”

Trevor, feeling a little apprehensive about keeping secrets from his dad, reached in the backseat and grabbed his backpack as the car approached the entrance of the red brick building, formerly a Catholic monastery built more than a century ago.

“Trevor?”

“What's the big deal, Ma? It can't be nothing too important or Dad would already know.”

June stepped on the brake and the car skidded a few yards, almost hitting the two parked cars in front of her. The car crashed into the embankment of snow on the opposite side of the driveway. Trevor unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed June's arm from across him; she had instinctively thrown her arm in front of him when the car began sliding. A tall, redheaded woman, the mother of two of Trevor's classmates, hurried out of her parked Lexus and ran over to June's car.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Thomas? Trevor?” the woman opened the passenger door and asked.

“We're fine,” June answered. “I forgot how slick this driveway can get.”

Trevor got out of the car and was about to close the door when he remembered what his father had told him. He knew something was bothering his mom and that it had to be something serious, because he couldn't remember seeing her so distracted. He turned around and leaned back in the car. “Ma, are you going to be okay?”

June forced a smile. “I'll be fine. Now hurry on inside before you catch a cold.”

“I don't get a kiss?” he asked, a bit surprised.

June leaned over and kissed Trevor on the cheek.

“I love you, Ma.”

“I love you, too. Now go on inside. I'll see you this afternoon.” Trevor backed away from the car and June drove off. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw Trevor standing on the steps of the school worriedly watching her. “Everything will be okay in a few more hours,” she promised his reflection in the mirror before pulling out of the driveway and heading toward Dr. Wylie's office in Eastpointe, where her best friend and stylist, Leatrice, would be waiting for her.

Leatrice was her confidant and the only person other than Dr. Wylie, a gynecologic oncologist, and his staff who knew about the biopsy June had undergone a week ago. June underwent the procedure while Alex and her manager, Bernard, were in Los Angeles making last-minute preparations for her Oscar night performance of her Best Original Song nominee, “Letting Go.” The song was from one of the Best Picture nominees,
The Lost Day.
June suggested that Alex take Trevor along because she would be busy doing research at a psychiatric institution in Lansing to prepare for her upcoming film role. Alex, Trevor and Bernard flew out to California late last Thursday. The next morning, June, disguised in a short brown wig, dark shades, and a high-collared suede jacket, checked into the surgical center across the street from Dr. Wylie's office. Leatrice was there with her, believing strongly that the ovarian tumors discovered three days earlier would turn out to be benign. June's appointment to go over the biopsy results with Dr. Wylie was set for Monday morning, but Sunday night she called him at home and canceled. She told Dr. Wylie she'd been watching an old episode of
Touched By An Angel
about a
young woman who had been diagnosed with cancer. Angels Monica and Tess came to the woman's aid but neither brought a cure. They offered only words, “God loves you.” Those three words seemed to be enough for the woman because she gratefully accepted the inevitability of her end like it was a delightful homecoming. Until then, June had been optimistic, completely assured of the results. Now, she wasn't quite ready. So, when Dr. Wylie asked what day she wanted to come in, she told him she'd call and let him know. After hanging up with Dr. Wylie, she couldn't help thinking about how her life was already over. How she died once. But, she wasn't about to die again. She adamantly declared that everything was going to be fine. It had to be. So, later that night, she called Dr. Wylie and reset the appointment for Thursday.

June had driven the sixteen miles between Trevor's school and Dr. Wylie's office before she realized she was in Eastpointe. Her appointment was at eight. It was already eight-fifteen when she put on her right-turn signal and slowed down to navigate into the parking lot. Two men were busy clearing snow from the lot and sidewalks. She immediately spotted Leatrice standing under the covered walkway near the entrance of the building. It was hard to miss her in the full-length gray mink coat and matching headscarf that covered only the roots of her nearly waist-long dreadlocks. June pulled into the parking space next to Leatrice's car, and Leatrice walked over to meet her.

“You're late,” Leatrice scolded as soon as June opened the door.

“I told Alex I had a conference with Trevor's teacher,” she answered and stepped out of the car. “So I ended up having to take Trevor to school. How long have you been here?”

“About thirty minutes.”

The glare off the snow was blinding, so June put on her blue-tinted
shades before starting toward the entrance. “What excuse did you use when you called in?”

“My car wouldn't crank.”

“Now, you know he's not going to buy that. You have a two-month-old BMW.”

“He doesn't have to,” Leatrice replied and flung her arm around June. “When we leave here today, we can tell him the truth about everything. Right?”

“Right.”

The building security guard, who was used to June's specially arranged early morning appointments, unlocked the lobby door for June and Leatrice. “Good morning,” he said as he opened the door for them.

“Good morning, Greg,” Leatrice replied. June greeted him with a grateful smile. They took the lobby elevator to the second floor. When the elevator door opened and they stepped out, June almost immediately felt the angst she'd felt Sunday while watching the rerun of
Touched By An Angel.
She hesitated, closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Don't worry,” Leatrice said. “It's going to be all right.”

June exhaled. “I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

Leatrice's words were comforting, but they could not restore the assurance she'd felt earlier. Now, standing at the door of Dr. Wylie's office, she was suddenly engulfed in a paralyzing wave of fear. She could not turn the knob and open the door, so Leatrice did. She could not sign in or even respond when the receptionist told her Dr. Wylie would be right with her. From the moment Leatrice opened the door and they walked in until she took a seat in the waiting area, all June could do was study the receptionist's
ruddy face for any expression or sign that would foretell the results of the biopsy.

“She knows,” June thought out loud.

“Who?” asked Leatrice as she thumbed through a magazine.

“Her,” June whispered and nodded at the receptionist. “Do you see how somber she looks? It's because she knows.”

“I don't think she looks somber,” Leatrice said. “She looks like she's smiling to me and that's a good sign.”

“You call that smiling?” June unbuttoned her coat and stretched. “Ooh, my body feels so tight.”

“That's because you're nervous.” Leatrice continued looking through the magazine.

“Shouldn't I be?”

Leatrice stopped on a full-page ad for Dark and Lovely's new line of hair colors.

“Well, shouldn't I?”

“I want to try this color on you,” Leatrice said and pointed to the model's auburn locks. “I think it'll look good on you. What do you think?”

“How can you sit here and talk about hair color when I'm—”

“Good morning,” Dr. Wylie said, walking into the waiting area.

“Hi,” Leatrice replied. She nudged June, who simply sat there, unable to speak or move. “I'm sorry we're late, but the roads were worse than—”

“Tell me now,” June blurted out. “Is it yes or no?”

Dr. Wylie adjusted his wire-framed glasses and started to say something but then paused. He sat down beside June.

“It's yes. Isn't it?” she repeated, trying to force the answer from him. The commiserating look on his face answered her question. “Then it's true. I have…” She couldn't bring herself to say the word.

“Dr. Wylie?” Leatrice clutched June's hand. “Is it?”

He nodded and said, “Although we found the cancer at a fairly late stage, there's still a lot we can do. If you come into my office, I can—”

“Not now,” June tearfully declined. “I'll…I'll call you later.”

“June, I feel obligated to tell you—” Dr. Wylie tried to explain, but June was too far gone to hear a word he said.

“Please don't. Not now.” June stood and buttoned her coat. “I have to go. Alex is waiting on me.” She fumbled around in her coat pocket for the keys. “Thank you,” she said and started toward the door. “I'll call you.”

Dr. Wylie turned to Leatrice, who was shaking her head in disbelief. “I think you should call Alex and try to keep June here until he gets here.”

“Is she going to…?” Leatrice's eyes misted.

“No,” he answered reassuringly. “As I was trying to tell her, there's still a lot we can do. But right now, you should call Alex.”

“He doesn't know.”

Dr. Wylie looked puzzled. “She told me she was going to tell him right before the biopsy.”

“Well, she didn't,” Leatrice said. “I better go. She may need me.”

“She does,” Dr. Wylie advised. “Please don't hesitate to call me if you need me.”

June was getting on the elevator when Leatrice walked out of Dr. Wylie's office.

“Junie,” Leatrice called. June acted as if she didn't hear her. Leatrice hurried toward the elevator, but the doors closed in her face. So, she ran toward the stairway at the other end of the hallway, pushed the door open, and rushed down the flight of stairs. June was coming off the elevator when Leatrice pulled the stairway exit door open and ran into the lobby. “Junie!”

June stopped but didn't turn around to acknowledge Leatrice, who hurried toward her. She stood there with a simper on her face, staring out of the lobby's tinted glass panes at nothing in particular. But there was something about the expression on her face that bothered Leatrice. June didn't appear distraught like she had when she got on the elevator less than a minute ago. Gone were the teary eyes and the nervous twitch…both were replaced by a frothy sense of relief.

“Junie, are you all right? Should I call Alex?”

“I'm fine,” she answered and started toward the revolving doors. “Leatrice, so you think that auburn color would look good on me?”

Leatrice was stunned by June's surprising demeanor.

June turned to Leatrice and asked, “Well, do you?”

“Yes.” Leatrice stammered, trying to adjust to the sudden change in June. “So what do we do now?”

“We better get to the staff meeting before it's over. I swear I don't feel like hearing Alex's mouth.”

“Junie, I'm talking about the biopsy results.”

June looked Leatrice straight in the eyes. “I don't know what I'm going to do,” she calmly replied. “And right now, I don't want to think about it.”

“But, Junie—”

“But nothing!” June marched off, but quickly turned back to Leatrice, meeting her confusion with a conviction in her eyes. “You may not know how it feels to have your life dangle on a thread in front of you, but I do. I know what it feels like to die, because I watched myself die before.” June stepped into the revolving doors. “And I can't, no, I won't, go through that again.”

Not again. Not again. Not again.

(lyrics and arrangement by June)

Strangers;

That day you walked into my life.

Familiar faces, lonely hearts,

meeting each other,

though worlds apart.

We were strangers,

taking a chance with no doubt,

both wanting to know what love's about.

Friends;

Our thoughts we were willing to share,

both trusting and teaching the other to care.

Believing that dreams come true,

lost in a world that was so brand new.

We were friends;

Friends forever,

forever together.

Lovers;

All through the night you held me near.

You said you loved me but you didn't hear;

I thought it was true because hearts don't lie;

So how could you go without saying good-bye?

We were lovers;

You loved me 'til the break of day;

Then you turned and walked away.

Magic;

I remember playing like kids on a railroad track.

We circled the world; sometimes we made it back.

We lived in our world; we were all alone.

And in your arms, I built our home.

It must have been magic.

Heaven created a love like this;

and the magic's what I really miss.

Strangers

Friends

Lovers

It must have been magic.

FADE IN:

A beautiful woman stares despairingly out the bedroom window of an old cottage into the moonless night. She remembers a time. A place. A man she used to know. She pulls her long, black hair back off of her face and then replays in her mind the dream that will not let her sleep. She can see him, feel him, and even hear him. But the words he says to her are lost in the silence of her fading dream.