Waking Anastasia (32 page)

“If I die without a will, there’ll be a huge mess and the government will get involved. I’ve been thinking that maybe I should leave my few investments to Manny in lieu of continuing to rent this place for you.”

“No! I do not want to be here if you are not here!”

“Where will you go, Ana? Your destiny is your own, now that you can carry the book and go wherever you want. If you had a Social Insurance Number, you could get a part-time job and even stay here. Maybe I can arrange something with Manny.”

Ana grabbed his chin and forced him to face her. “Jeremy What-ever-your-middle-name-is Powell, if you are not in this world then I do not want to be, either. I would rather return to the book for all eternity.”

“I wish I knew how you got in there in the first place, because then I could join you, if there’s room. I could donate the book to a good library with a rare book collection and we could live out eternity haunting a library and reading our way to the end of time.”

“
That
sounds absolutely wonderful. While you decide what goes to whom, I will look for an appropriate library.” She went to the desk and opened up the laptop. “Of course it will all be moot because I have faith in you. In my heart of hearts, Darling, I know that this cancer will not kill you.”

“If I were betting my money, I’d go with the prognosis on this one, but if I’m putting my hopes and dreams on the line, I like your thinking, Shvibzik.”

“Excellent. Now write out that ghastly Last Will and Testament and I will do the
ghostly
Googling and find us the perfect library. Any particular city?”

“I’ve always wanted to see Paris, or even London, and they’re both a lot closer to Moscow than Victoria is. I’d love to see where you grew up.”

“And I would love to show it to you. Once you have beaten this nasty cancer into submission or remission, maybe we should plan a trip.”

Jerry’s hand holding the pen trembled violently and his tongue felt heavy, but it passed as quickly as it came. “Okay. A trip.” He struggled to make the words sound normal, so as to not alarm Ana. “When I’m better.” He turned his attention back to the will, knowing full well that as sweet as Ana’s wishes, plans, and predictions were, the facts were pretty damning. He wouldn’t be visiting Russia in this lifetime.

ANA NARROWED IT DOWN
to two academic libraries in France and three in the British Isles, all of which had special collections of Tsarist Russian documents. She printed out the list and went about making Jerry a late lunch while Ofra Harnoy’s cello softly reimagined the music of the Beatles in the background.

His own task hadn’t gone as well, and he was still torn between leaving everything to Ana outright or leaving it to Manny and Carmella to administer for Ana. If he did that, though, he would have to bring them in on Ana’s not-so-little secret so that they understood the whys and wherefores of his unusual bequest. A headache rolled in just before he finished his list of possessions but he pushed through, lastly leaving his digital music collection to Mika. He’d have to make a copy to another external hard-drive for Ana, but he wanted the original files to go to Mika and Danveer. He dropped a couple painkillers into his palm from the bottle he now carried everywhere as religiously as Ana carried her book. Summoning a bit of saliva, he tossed the capsules back and read over his notes.

The sound of rain pounding on the windows finally drew his attention away from the paper in front of him so he wandered over to the window. It was a cold, ugly rain, matching his mood exactly. No lightning flashed nor thunder rolled. It was simply wet and relentless. He sat on the window bench and stared out at the greyness as the heavy raindrops pounded the streets empty of civilization. So far as he’d seen in his few weeks here, it was a quiet street most days, but today it looked abandoned, like the zombie apocalypse had rolled through and left only two survivors—a ghost beyond their appetites, and a guy soon to join their ranks.

He let the steady, thumping, hum of the rain lull him and soon Ana joined him, silently placing the plated sandwich in front of him. She seemed to understand his melancholy and gave him the quiet he needed. He blew her a quick kiss, started in on the sandwich, and the two of them turned their attention back to the rain.

“
I should probably have a nap before I call Mom and Carole,” Jerry eventually suggested.

“Would you care for some company?”

“Always.” He led her to the couch and they stretched out, he with his back to the cushions and she with her back to him and his arms encircling her, symbolically protecting her from a world that could no longer hurt her. She wiggled in close to him and giggled when he kissed the back of her neck.

“Sleep tight, my shining knight.”

“You, too, my glowing Shvibzik.”

@TheTaoOfJerr: “A gentleman is someone who knows how to play the banjo and doesn’t.”

~Mark Twain

“MOM, BEFORE WE
go any further, you have to promise me that you won’t hang up or disconnect, no matter how much you might want to.”

“Now, Jeremy, why would I do that? You’re just being insulting.”

“That’s not my intention. I had a similar conversation yesterday with friends back in St. Marys and they hung up on me.”

“I’m not your so-called friends back in that dinky little town you never should have moved to in the first place, I’m your mother. Now, what’s so important that this conversation couldn’t be between just you and me on a real telephone on the weekend, not this ridiculous video thing when I should be playing bridge?”

Jerry’s younger sister, Carole, huffed at their mother. “Mom, give it a rest. Skype is better than that tinny speakerphone feature on your old handset. This way we can actually see Jerry’s face and he can see us.”

“This new technology is just a waste. I don’t know why you even have to live all the way out there, anyway. If you moved back to Toronto we could be having this conversation face to face. I don’t even have any idea how this Skype-thing works.”

“You don’t have to, Mom. I’m handling the technical end of it. You just have to look at the camera and talk.” Carole’s hand reached up and blocked her laptop’s camera for a moment while she showed her mother where it was. “And I
know
you can talk.”

“Don’t get smart with me, young lady. You know what I mean.”

Jerry took a deep breath and cut them off. “Are you two finished? Mom, if there were any other way to have this conversation, we would do it, but there isn’t. Carole, thanks for setting this up. Jean-Marc, I see you back there. If you want to run screaming from the room, I completely understand.”

Jean-Marc waved and smiled. “Thanks, Jerr. I’m good. What’s up,
mon ami
?”

It was time. He felt Ana squeeze his hand from off-camera. They felt it best to wait until after he dropped the bombshell before doing any introductions. “I’ve been to see a doctor. It turns out that my headaches aren’t the result of a lumpy mattress or changes in the weather or—”

“It’s those damned luncheon meats you eat. I told you they would make you sick. Maybe someday one of my children will listen—”

He’d had enough. It was time for tough love and damn the torpedoes. “Mom, shut up. As usual, you have no idea what you’re talking about. You see two articles on the Internet or have a conversation with the ladies during a 3-Spades hand and suddenly you’re an expert. This time you’re dead wrong.” Deep breath.

“Jeremy Powell, I will not take this abuse, especially via some stupid computer thingy. This call is over.” She reached for the computer mouse but Carole slapped her hand away, hard.

“Touch that mouse and Jerry and I will suddenly be orphans. You will sit down, shut up, and listen to what Jerry has to say. Jerry, go ahead, before I choke the living shit out of Mom.”

Not only did their mother look shocked, but Jean-Marc in the background looked like he was going to cheer out loud. Much to his credit, he didn’t.

“Um, thanks, Carole. Mom, I have cancer. Brain cancer.”

Carole sobbed. Jean-Marc went white and covered his mouth with his hand. Jerry’s mother paled a little, but lifted her chin. He could see her clench her teeth briefly.

“That is
not
funny. I know you want my attention, but trying to shock me into silence with one of your cruel practical jokes is unacceptable.”

“Glioblastoma multiforme or GBM. A brain tumour. It usually kills in nine to fifteen months, max. They’re pretty sure I haven’t got that long. We caught it pretty late.”

Carole got up out of her chair and turned away from the camera, her face in her hands. Jean-Marc took her place. His eyes were damp, too, but he was holding it together. Next to him, Jane held one hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, and Jerry could see her hand trembling. Jean-Marc leaned in.

“Tell us what they’ve got planned for treatment, Jerr. Surgery? Radiation? Chemo? Clinical study?”

Thank God at least one of them was being strong. Jerry nodded. “No surgery, because it’s too wide spread, even to the brain stem. There a few technical tricks they can try to get the chemo around the blood-brain barrier, and I start radiation therapy in three weeks.”

His mother found her voice. “Three weeks?! Start tomorrow! Don’t put this off like everything else you’ve procrastinated in your life. The sooner you start, the better.”

“Thanks, Mom, for finding a way to blame
me
. Actually, it’s going to take three weeks for the scan they did yesterday to plot out the extent of the tumour and the specifics of the treatment. They can’t just blast away at my head with a laser cannon and hope they get more tumour than brain. My oncologist is going to try and speed up the process, but this is one aspect of the treatment that isn’t too flexible. They’re also looking into available clinical trials. With the disease so far along, the odds of me becoming a lab rat are actually pretty good.”

His sister traded places with Jean-Marc again, having recovered from the initial shock. “What can we do? Can you come home for a visit before they start the treatments? Can you get the time off?”

“No travelling. My boss is great, fantastic even, so that’s not the problem. But I’ve started having seizures, which was expected, so I don’t dare risk flying. If I had a major seizure mid-flight . . . I wouldn’t wish that on the flight crew or the other passengers. Besides, I want to stay close to the medical team I’ve already started working with. What I’d like to do is fly the three of you out for a visit. Can you spare the weekend?”

“Of course!”

“
Mais oui
!”

“Which weekend?”

“Mom! Jerry’s sick! It doesn’t matter which weekend!” Carole hung her head. “I swear we were both adopted.”

Her mother turned slowly to look steadily at her. For the first time since the conversation started, she truly looked sad. “That’s not funny, Carole. I’m asking simply because we have to book the flights.”

Jerry held a hand up to stop the bickering, as he’d done for years when they still had regular family dinners. “I’d like to fly you out this weekend. Friday.” He sensed movement beside him and turned to see Ana staring at him, tears welling up in her own eyes. He simply nodded to her and her floodgates opened. He squeezed her hand and looked back at the camera.

Carole finished some mental calculations and nodded. “Definitely. Jean-Marc and I will find a way. Mom?”

“This Friday?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s that serious?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t.”

“I know. You joke around a lot, but . . .
of course
. Friday is fine, Jerry. I can even stay with you for as long as you need me to, to make sure you eat properly, and drive you to your appointments. You don’t need to worry about anything but getting well.”

Jerry chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, Mom, but I should be okay.” He squeezed Ana’s hand, again. “I’ve got a great support team here in Victoria. My new boss and co-workers have become an instant family. Of course they’ll never replace you three, but, well, you’ll see when you meet them. I’ll book it at this end and email Carole everything you need to check in and get your boarding passes. I’ll take care of your hotel, too.”

“Jeremy, that’s too expensive. We can just stay with you. I’m sure you have a couch, and can find sleeping bags.”

“Mom, this is a bachelor apartment and definitely not big enough for f—” He almost said “five”. “Not big enough for four, even if some of them are camped out in sleeping bags on air mattresses. I’ll take care of it. End of discussion.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He had to lighten the mood before they disconnected. “One last thing. Jean-Marc, can you check and see if you need a passport to get here, please. Being from Quebec and all, I’m not sure how well you’ll be received in the West.”

“Me? They love us in the West! I’d be more concerned about your mother and Carole. They’re not just from Ontario, they’re from
Toronto
, the Centre-of-All-That-is-Wrong-With-Canada.”