so as not to garner any attention. She’s vowed to keep her illness a secret and the last thing she needs this morning is the biggest blabbermouth in all of Ruby Falls noticing her and asking, What are you doing here? Oh, no! Don’t tell me you have cancer!
Circling her emotional wagons, quick-witted Tess has already come up with a response if Babs does come wheeling by. She’ll tell her that she has procured a position at nearby University of Wisconsin’s psychology department and she’s at the Women’s Center to do some research on the effects breast cancer has on one’s sex life. She’s sure the second Babs hears the word sex , whatever else she has going on in her brain will be shoved to a back burner. The gal loves to brag about how often she and her husband, Ernie, owner and proprietor of Hoover’s Hardware, do the “tongue and groove.”
Babs chats a bit longer with the pretty receptionist, drops off a few gift items on the desk, and says, “Well, I’m off to labor and delivery.” She wiggles a pint-sized plastic champagne bottle filled with candy. “We have four ladies about to pop their corks. See you next week.”
That big mouth Babs didn’t notice her fills Tess with a relief that’s thick enough to eat. Keeping her potential illness quiet isn’t only about protecting Haddie’s or Henry’s delicate emotional states, she’s also concerned about the family business. True, the diner has been one of the mainstays in town for over sixty years, and she’d like to believe that her sickness wouldn’t affect business, but let’s be honest, no matter how you plate it, cancer does not go well with a Super-Duper Blessing burger, an order of fries, and a chocolate shake. Much too real for customers who love the joint because it allows them to slip into carefree yesteryear without hardly trying. The diner suffering financially? Tess wouldn’t let that happen. Not only for the obvious bill-paying reasons, but for the further stress it would put on her marriage. She couldn’t relive those months she and Will had fought so viciously after he borrowed the money to build the diner’s party room. Rationally, she realized it wasn’t his fault that the room took some time to catch on. But with all the hours he worked to make sure that it did, he was barely home. He wasn’t there for her and the kids, and that brought up feelings she had toward the other important person she hadn’t been able to count on—her mother. She threatened numerous times to leave him. (Of course, the both of them knew she wouldn’t. She could never leave anybody.)
“Theresa Blessing?” The nurse who’d come through the double doors is a smart-looking, mid-forties gal with a short, layered haircut, and muscular arms.
“God bless,” I tell her as she gathers her things, but she’s too focused on what she believes to be her gallows walk to let my words sink in. I need to keep an eye on her, but I can’t come on too strong. She’ll get scared and block me out if I do, so I artfully deactualize and follow her.
After the nurse introduces herself as Jill Larkin, Tess asks her to please call her by her nickname on their walk to a conference room where they perch in brown vinyl chairs. She used to have a bit in her stand-up routine about Nauga’s and their hides and she’s about to use the old joke as an icebreaker, but the nurse shuts her down with a curt, “Do you have any questions before I take you back to prepare for the procedure?”
“How big is it?”
Jill peruses the file that’s lying in front of her and says, “1.4 centimeters.”
That could be as small as a penny or as large as a silver dollar. Tess isn’t good with numbers, better with visual aids. She asks, “What makes it look like cancer?” She’s been picturing a Hershey’s Kiss that’d been left on the dashboard of her car in August. “I mean, how can you tell that’s what it is as opposed to something else not so bad?”
“The shape,”
Circling her emotional wagons, quick-witted Tess has already come up with a response if Babs does come wheeling by. She’ll tell her that she has procured a position at nearby University of Wisconsin’s psychology department and she’s at the Women’s Center to do some research on the effects breast cancer has on one’s sex life. She’s sure the second Babs hears the word sex , whatever else she has going on in her brain will be shoved to a back burner. The gal loves to brag about how often she and her husband, Ernie, owner and proprietor of Hoover’s Hardware, do the “tongue and groove.”
Babs chats a bit longer with the pretty receptionist, drops off a few gift items on the desk, and says, “Well, I’m off to labor and delivery.” She wiggles a pint-sized plastic champagne bottle filled with candy. “We have four ladies about to pop their corks. See you next week.”
That big mouth Babs didn’t notice her fills Tess with a relief that’s thick enough to eat. Keeping her potential illness quiet isn’t only about protecting Haddie’s or Henry’s delicate emotional states, she’s also concerned about the family business. True, the diner has been one of the mainstays in town for over sixty years, and she’d like to believe that her sickness wouldn’t affect business, but let’s be honest, no matter how you plate it, cancer does not go well with a Super-Duper Blessing burger, an order of fries, and a chocolate shake. Much too real for customers who love the joint because it allows them to slip into carefree yesteryear without hardly trying. The diner suffering financially? Tess wouldn’t let that happen. Not only for the obvious bill-paying reasons, but for the further stress it would put on her marriage. She couldn’t relive those months she and Will had fought so viciously after he borrowed the money to build the diner’s party room. Rationally, she realized it wasn’t his fault that the room took some time to catch on. But with all the hours he worked to make sure that it did, he was barely home. He wasn’t there for her and the kids, and that brought up feelings she had toward the other important person she hadn’t been able to count on—her mother. She threatened numerous times to leave him. (Of course, the both of them knew she wouldn’t. She could never leave anybody.)
“Theresa Blessing?” The nurse who’d come through the double doors is a smart-looking, mid-forties gal with a short, layered haircut, and muscular arms.
“God bless,” I tell her as she gathers her things, but she’s too focused on what she believes to be her gallows walk to let my words sink in. I need to keep an eye on her, but I can’t come on too strong. She’ll get scared and block me out if I do, so I artfully deactualize and follow her.
After the nurse introduces herself as Jill Larkin, Tess asks her to please call her by her nickname on their walk to a conference room where they perch in brown vinyl chairs. She used to have a bit in her stand-up routine about Nauga’s and their hides and she’s about to use the old joke as an icebreaker, but the nurse shuts her down with a curt, “Do you have any questions before I take you back to prepare for the procedure?”
“How big is it?”
Jill peruses the file that’s lying in front of her and says, “1.4 centimeters.”
That could be as small as a penny or as large as a silver dollar. Tess isn’t good with numbers, better with visual aids. She asks, “What makes it look like cancer?” She’s been picturing a Hershey’s Kiss that’d been left on the dashboard of her car in August. “I mean, how can you tell that’s what it is as opposed to something else not so bad?”
“The shape,”
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