concern. “Day and a half.”
As I considered this, sadness pricked at me. Losing even one day when I had so little time was too much.
When he leaned forward, the lamp cast golden light across his face, bringing to mind angels and my fevered hallucination.
He scratched his chin. “I wanted to bring you to the emergency room but your grandma put up a fit.”
“I don’t think I would have survived three hours in a waiting room.”
“That’s what she said, plus she had a good point about there being a lot of sick people there. Probably not the best place to be for someone with a compromised immune system.” He rubbed his palms against his eyes the way he always did right before retiring to bed. “We called Urgent Care. They had us give you liquid Tylenol and promise to bring you in if your fever didn’t come down in a few hours. Between the bath and the Tylenol it did, thank God.”
“How long have you been sitting here?” I asked.
He stood and walked to me, laid the back of his hand on my brow, and sighed. “Awhile.” When his eyes glistened with tears, a wave of love rose up within me.
He pulled away. “I made you an appointment with the cancer center next Tuesday—9 a.m. That’s not too early, is it?”
I stared hard at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Look, Jenny, I know that you said you got a few opinions.”
“Five. And they all agree that I’m dying.”
“So what’s one more? This place might have some newer treatments, something experimental that might help.”
I exhaled my irritation. “Or it might make the last few months of my life even more miserable.”
“Who knows? They could extend your life by weeks or even months.”
“At what cost?”
“It might not be as bad as you think.”
I crossed my arms, feeling like a child again. “I’m not going.”
He stood, pointing at me as anger morphed his features. “Stop being so selfish, Genevieve. It’s not just about you. What about us? What about that little girl? She needs a mother.”
I pushed his finger out of my face. “No matter what I do, I’m going to die. I don’t want her last memories of me to be like mine of Mom’s—a bald skeleton crouched over the toilet.”
He turned his back, watching me now from the dresser mirror. “You don’t know it will be like that. You owe it to us to try.”
A fury rose from deep within me. I trembled as I stood. “I don’t know? Are you kidding? If anyone knows, it’s me. You act like I didn’t watch Mom die. You always talk like she died gracefully, but she didn’t. She didn’t want the treatments. I heard her tell you that more than once, but you didn’t care. It was you! You hounded her until she got them. She spent the last month of her life leaning over the side of her bed, puking into a wastebasket. She had no hair. She was nothing but skin and bones. Do you know how scary that was for me? Do you? My daughter isn’t going to suffer through that just so—”
The creak of floorboards cut off my words. We both turned to the doorway. Mama Peg couldn’t make it up the stairs, so it had to be Isabella. In the silence I could clearly hear the shuffle of her small feet. She emerged in the doorway, clutching Cocoa, her stuffed koala. She wore cotton footed pajamas and a crease on her cheek. “You guys are too loud.”
I forced a smile. “Sorry, sweetness.”
My dad wouldn’t look at me as he left the room but stopped to kiss the top of Isabella’s head. “Night, sweetheart.”
Chapter Thirteen
So often in life we do things not because they make us feel better, but because others think they ought to. I did a little of both as I read Jane Eyre while forcing down a swallow of liquid nutrition. A truer description of the promised creamy vanilla flavor would have been chalky vitamin . At least the book was good.
Mama Peg called to me. “Jenny, you have a visitor.”
I turned my novel over on the couch, set the can down on the end table, and made my way to
As I considered this, sadness pricked at me. Losing even one day when I had so little time was too much.
When he leaned forward, the lamp cast golden light across his face, bringing to mind angels and my fevered hallucination.
He scratched his chin. “I wanted to bring you to the emergency room but your grandma put up a fit.”
“I don’t think I would have survived three hours in a waiting room.”
“That’s what she said, plus she had a good point about there being a lot of sick people there. Probably not the best place to be for someone with a compromised immune system.” He rubbed his palms against his eyes the way he always did right before retiring to bed. “We called Urgent Care. They had us give you liquid Tylenol and promise to bring you in if your fever didn’t come down in a few hours. Between the bath and the Tylenol it did, thank God.”
“How long have you been sitting here?” I asked.
He stood and walked to me, laid the back of his hand on my brow, and sighed. “Awhile.” When his eyes glistened with tears, a wave of love rose up within me.
He pulled away. “I made you an appointment with the cancer center next Tuesday—9 a.m. That’s not too early, is it?”
I stared hard at him. “Why would you do that?”
“Look, Jenny, I know that you said you got a few opinions.”
“Five. And they all agree that I’m dying.”
“So what’s one more? This place might have some newer treatments, something experimental that might help.”
I exhaled my irritation. “Or it might make the last few months of my life even more miserable.”
“Who knows? They could extend your life by weeks or even months.”
“At what cost?”
“It might not be as bad as you think.”
I crossed my arms, feeling like a child again. “I’m not going.”
He stood, pointing at me as anger morphed his features. “Stop being so selfish, Genevieve. It’s not just about you. What about us? What about that little girl? She needs a mother.”
I pushed his finger out of my face. “No matter what I do, I’m going to die. I don’t want her last memories of me to be like mine of Mom’s—a bald skeleton crouched over the toilet.”
He turned his back, watching me now from the dresser mirror. “You don’t know it will be like that. You owe it to us to try.”
A fury rose from deep within me. I trembled as I stood. “I don’t know? Are you kidding? If anyone knows, it’s me. You act like I didn’t watch Mom die. You always talk like she died gracefully, but she didn’t. She didn’t want the treatments. I heard her tell you that more than once, but you didn’t care. It was you! You hounded her until she got them. She spent the last month of her life leaning over the side of her bed, puking into a wastebasket. She had no hair. She was nothing but skin and bones. Do you know how scary that was for me? Do you? My daughter isn’t going to suffer through that just so—”
The creak of floorboards cut off my words. We both turned to the doorway. Mama Peg couldn’t make it up the stairs, so it had to be Isabella. In the silence I could clearly hear the shuffle of her small feet. She emerged in the doorway, clutching Cocoa, her stuffed koala. She wore cotton footed pajamas and a crease on her cheek. “You guys are too loud.”
I forced a smile. “Sorry, sweetness.”
My dad wouldn’t look at me as he left the room but stopped to kiss the top of Isabella’s head. “Night, sweetheart.”
Chapter Thirteen
So often in life we do things not because they make us feel better, but because others think they ought to. I did a little of both as I read Jane Eyre while forcing down a swallow of liquid nutrition. A truer description of the promised creamy vanilla flavor would have been chalky vitamin . At least the book was good.
Mama Peg called to me. “Jenny, you have a visitor.”
I turned my novel over on the couch, set the can down on the end table, and made my way to
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