A Summer in Sonoma (16 page)

Her girlfriends were better, especially Cassie, a born nurse. All three girls were completely domesticated and nurturing; they knew exactly what to do to bring comfort, order and nutrition. And for young women, they had been so wise, coming in turns instead of en masse. But they had such pain, pity and fear in their eyes. They were too quiet and polite, too careful of her feelings, void of the usual relentless laughter when they were together.

She survived the surgery and was managing the chemo fairly well; she didn't have to leave school,
though she suffered too much time off. And she held her parents off to keep her medical and personal lives from converging; instead of having them visit to “help” she took a few very quick trips home to let them look at her, see that aside from being a little on the pale and thin side, she was holding up well. But all this time, she could feel Mark shrinking away.

It was so gradual, she hadn't been sure until the end what was coming. Her treatment lasted for six months, and it was hard to pin down what was happening to her relationship—first-year residents are worked so constantly, his absence was not suspect. Mark's time at home was minimal at best.

Within a year of her diagnosis her energy was back. Her MRI looked good, she appeared to be in remission if not cured. There was color in her cheeks again and a soft cap of hair on her bald head when Mark said, “I'm sorry. This is the most terrible thing I've ever done to anyone in my life, but I can't go on. I don't know if the illness took its toll, or if this was going to happen to us, anyway. I swear to God, I don't know.”

“What did I do?” she asked. “What
didn't
I do?”

“You can't have done anything wrong, or neglected anything. Beth, you've been amazing through all this. Maybe we'd end up in this place, anyway. Maybe it wasn't meant to be. I'm sorry.”

It was impossible for her to believe that a surgeon, a man who not only cut people up for a living but loved his own work, would have trouble looking at that rugged scar. But slowly, through his leaving and talking about
his departure, she realized that it probably had everything to do with cancer. He was twenty-eight; he wanted a family, as did she. He didn't want to be a widower at thirty or thirty-two, starting over. He didn't want to be a husband whose wife wouldn't be a good candidate for pregnancy or motherhood. Beth had no crystal ball, but if they'd already been married, she thought he might have stuck with her. No telling on that.

It destroyed her. In fact, his leaving was harder on her in many ways than the disease and treatment.

She thought she had survived both.

“Don't think of this as a continuation of the disease,” Dr. Paterson had said. “Frankly, it's not as rare as you might think. What's rare is breast cancer at twenty-five. But this is exactly why we follow so closely, observe so diligently, in the chance this is a vulnerability. We're going to treat this a little more aggressively than the last time, and your odds are as good as anyone's with early detection and reliable treatment. You're not doomed, Beth. You're not.”

She liked him. She didn't necessarily believe him, but she liked him. She ran her vitamin regimen by him and he approved. One week after her first appointment with him, she had begun radiation. A couple of weeks later, the start of chemo. She began the long, difficult, lonely climb back to freedom. She'd had two months of chemo and radiation. She was physically weakening; she could feel it.

 

Billy brought an accordion file folder home from the firehouse and began to gather up all the bills, check
registers, receipts and related paperwork. “What are you doing?” Julie asked him.

“I'm taking this mess off your hands.” He shoved the last of the stack into the folder and turned to her. “It's a disaster, and it's got you completely stressed out. It's too much to ask of anyone.”

“You can't do that!” she said in a panic. “You can't take all my papers! I won't know what's going on!”

“I'm not going to keep anything from you, Jules. I just want it out of your hair. It's worrying you too much. It's like leaving you with the yard work and car maintenance along with everything else, expecting you to shoulder this alone. Besides, you've been asking me to get involved for years, but I spend too much time at work.”

“I've been doing the best I can, Billy,” she said, getting teary.

He dropped the folder on the bed and put his arms around her. “I'm not taking this stuff because you're not doing a good job, baby. I want you to let go of it. As soon as I get it figured out a little bit, we'll come up with a budget you can live with and I'll just put aside what you need to get you and the kids through the week. I can't have you eating cereal so I—”

“I should never have said that,” she said, leaning against his chest and sniveling. “It was just an emotional outburst, that's all. I can keep juggling. I'm good at it by now. I have a system….”

He stroked her back. Her system included so much anger and desolation it was wiping her out. It had caused her to take a chance on losing that baby, and no matter
what was happening in their lives, Julie came alive with happiness when they were having a baby. Once she got used to the idea, that is. “I'm probably going to be asking about your system before I start bill paying, but all I want right now is to see where we are, then maybe I can take on some of the stress.”

“How are you going to manage this? With two jobs?”

“I'll see what I can do at the firehouse. We have some downtime. A lot of the guys do their bill paying and stuff while they're there. We've got one guy studying all the time, trying to finish up his degree. A couple are working on the captain's test. It's okay. I'll gnaw away at it a little bit every day.”

“It's impossible,” she whimpered. “How are you going to concentrate on work if you have this on your mind?”

“Same way I concentrate on work with you and the kids on my mind. I think about you guys every second. Half the time we have a sick kid or some disaster going on. I'll do just fine.” He lifted her chin and smiled into her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged. “Physically, I'm fine. Emotionally…I have a lot of regrets.”

“Let's not waste too much energy on that, huh? It's over. We have to move on.”

“But I look at you, and it doesn't feel over. You don't look at me the same way. You don't sleep with me like you used to….”

“You're out of commission for six weeks,” he said. “At least four to go.”

“You're usually begging after two….”

“Not this time,” he said, looking briefly away. “I don't want to mess anything up.”

“You don't curl around me. You don't kiss me and ask me if I love you all the time. I think you're still mad.”

“No, honey, I'm not mad about anything. Shoot me for being such a guy, but curling around you when you're untouchable isn't real easy. I've had a lot on my mind lately….”

“About me. About the baby. About what I did—”

“Jules,” he said, stopping her. “About what I can do to change things. I talked to Chelsea. I—”

She pulled away from him. “You talked to Chelsea?”

“Stop. I asked her about car sales. I've been looking around for something better than cutting wood for cupboards and countertops on my days off. She offered me a job….”

“I bet she did.”

Billy grinned. “Selling Hummers. Don't worry, I won't be working for Chelsea. I don't care what she says, I don't believe they're selling that well. I think she's full of shit. But the commission on just about any new car is pretty good. Problem is, I just don't think I can be without a paycheck long enough to find out. And there aren't any days left.” He kissed her nose. “Let me get the lay of the land here, huh? Then we'll talk.”

“Billy…I hope you don't get mad—I mean madder—but I told Beth. She asked if we ever considered bankruptcy.” She shrugged helplessly. “I guess it can make some things just go away….”

He frowned. “I know what bankruptcy does,” he said. “I'd like to pay what we owe. After all, we owe it.”

“But, Billy…”

“We'll get to that later. First, I want to see where we are. Can you let me do that? They're not just your bills, Jules. They're mine, too. In fact, I should have done a better job with this since the beginning.”

“Are you ever going to forgive me?” she asked him. “For not making the decision with you? I mean really forgive me?”

He pulled her against him and held her close. In her ear, he whispered, “Jules, none of this should have gone the way it went. I don't blame you for anything—I swear to God. I blame myself, that's the truth. If I'd taken better care of you, you wouldn't have been so afraid…”

“Billy, I—”

“Shh. I guess we both need a little time to deal with it, to get things straightened out.”

“Don't let it be too long, Billy. This is very hard for me, too. And I've never had to go through anything without you before.”

“Well, that's the problem, baby. I thought if I just kept working, everything would be okay. Instead, I was gone too much. I let you go through everything alone. We have to fix that.”

 

Cassie had set a nice table in her small dining room and primped as though this was a decision-making date, when it fact it was almost the first time in her dating history that there was no decision to make, and that felt
so damn good. She loved Walt like a buddy, a big brother, probably the most decent, easy-to-be-around guy she knew next to Billy. A buddy who was allowed to steal that little kiss—she couldn't resist. As it happened, it was always a good kiss. As long as it went no further than that, Cassie wasn't worried.

Tonight, she was just returning a few favors. Walt had picked up every tab they'd had since they met and there was no way he was letting her pay for anything, so she asked if she could cook him dinner. She'd asked during one of their many phone conversations, which were just as companionable as those talks they had when they were together. And they were together quite a lot for a couple of buddies—a casual dinner about once a week, about four rides on the motorcycle so far, the occasional coffee date when she was on her way home from work.

She hadn't seen him in more than a week; she'd explained about Julie's miscarriage and the need for Cassie to help out. The last time they talked he said he really hoped Julie got on her feet soon; he was missing their time together. Well, so was she. That's when she suggested dinner. She killed two birds with one stone—made a casserole for Julie at the same time.

She'd said seven and the doorbell rang at exactly three minutes till. When she opened the door, she was slightly taken aback. His appearance was altered. He wore khakis, a cotton shirt and he wore boots, but these were shiny brown leather dress boots, no chains. Of course, he still had the ponytail and naked lady, but there was no stubble on his face and his hair wasn't all
messed up by a helmet. “Well, Walt,” she said, smiling, “if you weren't about six-five, I'd hardly know you.”

“I'm only six-three,” he said, presenting her a bouquet of flowers with one hand and a bottle of wine with the other.

“Only,” she laughed. “Come in. Let me put these in water right away.”

“Something smells real good,” he said, stepping inside.

“Lasagna,” she told him. “What do you make for a great big guy who likes his food? I'm not good with steaks on the grill—I destroy them. I guess I don't have enough testosterone or something. I was kind of torn between a turkey and lasagna.” She stood at the sink, unwrapping the flowers, and threw a look over her shoulder. “Lots of garlic bread. A little salad to keep you healthy.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “Should I have brought a vase?”

“Of course not,” she said, laughing. “I have the perfect vase.” But while she opened the paper wrap, she was immediately struck by how unique this arrangement was. It wasn't something you picked up at the grocery store on the way to someone's house. These were exotic flowers, calla lilies, birds-of-paradise, orchids, lavender roses—not a typical batch. He must have gotten them from an actual florist. He surprised her all the time.

She laid the flowers on the drain board and opened a drawer, handing him a corkscrew. “I'll have a glass of that wine if you'll open it. And I have Coke and your coffee ready…”

“I drove the truck tonight,” he said. “I'll have a glass
of that with you, and then I'd love a coffee after dinner. I think this bulk on a full meal will absorb a glass of wine. Or two.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I'm not a bad influence, am I?”

“You might be a good influence,” he said. “Nah, kidding. I try to take my folks out to a nice dinner every weekend and I usually drive instead of ride. I sometimes have a drink with them. The bike really demands a lot—I can't afford to take even a minuscule chance. My reputation depends on it. I have to be more than a hundred percent.”

He popped the cork on the bottle, poured two glasses while she snipped the ends of the stems and put them in water. He swirled, whiffed, took a sip and sighed. “I did good here, Cassie. Taste. Didn't I do good?”

She put the vase of flowers on the table and took a glass from him, sipping. She tilted her head appreciatively. “You did very well,” she confirmed with a smile. “Now, tell me about your week. About your jobs.”

“You might fall asleep,” he said.

“Try me.”

So while they had a glass of red wine and a small plate of bruschetta, he told her about a sticky carburetor problem on a 1988 Harley Road King. He'd had to work on it a long time, but felt comfortable enough with the outcome to guarantee the work for a year; if it went down within two, though, he'd make it right. He told her about this guy who'd been coming in, drooling over a refurbished Harley, who'd finally taken the plunge and made the buy. One of the girls in the office got engaged
and they all went out for lunch. Then his oldest brother's kid had a birthday, so there was a family thing.