Condemn Me Not (14 page)

With
childbirth, everything changed in her world.  It was
she
who held the
primary connection to her children because she stayed home and connected with
them in ways she never would have, had she been working outside the home.  Yet
no matter how much quality time Claire spent with her children, it never felt
like enough.  Eventually the kids would move out and she would have plenty of
time to work, but those early days...they were crucial.  It was time she could
never get back, moments she could never recapture.  To her very core, Claire
believed sharing the stepping stones of her children’s first step to their
first word, their first homerun to their first broken heart were the bricks
that built a loving home.  Anyone could buy a house, but could they create a
home?  A loving home where family gathered, returned year after year with
smiles in their hearts and hope in their soul?

No,
Claire thought, absently wiping a dust bunny from the base of a lamp.  Not
everyone could do that.  Simone may be able to buy a beautiful house and fill
it with beautiful things, but could she fill her daughter’s heart with
beautiful thoughts and beautiful emotion?

Recalling
their recent confrontation with the girls, Claire thought
willful
and
resentful
were better descriptions when it came to Mariah’s heart.  Simone might think
hovering over a child all day was over-protective, but Claire preferred to think
of it in terms of guidance and love.  Doubt peppered her chest.  Rebecca was
going to college, yes.  But she also was leaving home to move far, far away.

Startled
by the sound of the phone, Claire swiped another spot of dust and made a mental
note to get back in here and clean this dresser.  She hurried to the night
table and plucked the phone from its cradle, the ring vibrating within her
hand.  “Hello?”

“Mrs.
Atkins?”

“Yes,
speaking,” she said, not recognizing the voice.

“Hello. 
I’m calling from Dr. Sorenson’s office.  We have your lab results.”

“Oh
yes, thank you,” she replied.  Claire had completely forgotten about the blood
work, the tests taken only days before Rebecca and Mariah announced their big
news.  “And?”

“If
you have a moment, the doctor would like to speak with you.”

The
doctor
? 
“Yes, certainly.”  Protocol, she thought.  Claire imagined nurses weren’t
permitted to reveal such personal information, what with all the privacy laws
in place.  She sat on the edge of her bed and waited, lifting the trim of her pillow
sham so that it fanned out for better presentation.  She flattened the material
against her headboard and wondered briefly what he might tell her.  Most likely
she was anemic and needed more iron.  She’d been low on her last visit.  And
anemia would account for her fatigue.  She’d been so tired of late, so drained.

Could
be stress.  She’d been working toward Rebecca’s graduation, adjusting her mind
to the fact this would be their last summer together.  The Rhode Island School of
Design was only a short drive, but she wanted to spend some quality time with
Rebecca before she left, just the two of them.  In preparation, Claire made
reservations for a tiny cottage on the Cape, believing the week of salt air and
warm sunshine would do them good.  They could rise early and stroll along the
water’s edge, have lunch in one of the many cafés and then browse the myriad
art galleries and shops that littered the peninsula.

“Mrs.
Atkins?” came the familiar voice through the line.

“Yes,
Dr. Sorenson.”  Claire fiddled with the coiled telephone cord.  It was the only
non-remote handset in the house.  “I understand you have my results?”

“Yes.”

And
? she wanted to
ask, but waited for him to open the discussion.

“Can
you come into the office this afternoon?”

The
office
? 
Alarm fired through her.  “Certainly,” she answered, without regard to her
schedule.  “But what for?  Did you find something?”

“Yes,”
he replied quietly.  “You have leukemia.”

Claire’s
world buckled.  Three words, and everything changed. 
You have leukemia
. 
She clutched the handset, unable to move. 
You have leukemia
.  There
would never again be a moment as long as this one.  A moment filled with shock
and disbelief, panic and uncertainty.  She had leukemia. 
She had leukemia
?

But
how was that possible?  She was only feeling tired, not ill.  She was getting
older, her bones were achy.  She was stressed, burned out—not
sick
. 
Working twenty-four-seven for a family will do that to you.  Claire hadn’t had
a vacation in months.  Scrambling after the kids during spring break, Easter,
senior prom…

She’d
barely had a break since Christmas.  Life had been a madhouse.  Rebecca was
graduating; Jimmy and Joe had football and dances, a trip to D.C., another to
the beach.  Four months had passed in the blink of an eye and she was tired,
that’s all. 
Leukemia
?  How was it possible the disease had infiltrated
her body without her knowing it?

In
stunned detachment, Claire walked into the doctor’s office an hour later,
bewildered by the fact that she was about to get an education in a subject she
never expected the first need to understand.

Jim
rose from his seat, and quickly came to her.  Scooping her into his arms in a
powerful hug, he whispered, “We’re going to get through this.  Don’t worry. 
You’re going to be okay.”

Suddenly
sapped of strength, Claire surrendered to his embrace.  She folded her soft
body into the solid warmth of his arms, his chest, the familiar scent of
cologne mingled with a hint of exhaust clinging to his clothes.  He was
strength.  He was courage.  The office disappeared around them.  Whatever Jim
said, she believed him.  So long as she had him by her side, she could do
anything.

# # #

Rebecca’s
eyes filled with a teary fear.  “Are you going to die?”

“No,
honey,” Claire said firmly, “I’m not going to die.”  It broke her heart to lie
or lead her child to believe something she couldn’t guarantee to be true, but
the doctor said this wasn’t a death sentence.  It was a trial.

“Technology
and research have come a long way,” Jim intervened, his hand closed securely
around hers, as they sat together on the sofa in a united front.  Rebecca sat
suspended from the edge of her chair.  The boys stood rigid behind her.  “First
we’ll undergo chemotherapy.  It’s strong medicine, but it will give us the best
chance to knock out the cancer cells and increase the odds for a long and
healthy life.”

“Will
you lose your hair?” Rebecca asked, a slight quiver to her lips.

Claire
nodded.  “Maybe.  And if I do”—she tried to smile—“it’ll give me a chance to
buy some great scarves.”

Rebecca
didn’t find humor in the light-hearted comment.  Instead, her expression became
more pained.

“We’re
going to beat this disease,” Jim said again, and Claire liked the way he
continually spoke in terms of “we.”  Never “you,” or “mom,” but “we.”

She
squeezed his hand.  “I’ll have to be careful around people with infections,” Claire
directed to Jimmy and Joe, trying to keep them in the conversation.  The boys
were too quiet, as though unable to comprehend what was happening, or simply
numb to it all.  Her heart twisted.  Only fifteen—this was a lot for an adult
to digest, let alone teenage boys.  “Because my immune system will be
compromised.  But they’re making great strides in research and therapy and the
prognosis gets better every day,” she added quickly.  Claire wanted to erase
the despair she saw in their eyes and replace it with hope, because without
hope there was no chance for positive outcome.  Dr. Sorenson had been clear,
describing the differences between those patients who survived and those who didn’t. 
It was all about attitude.

“Can’t
you get a second opinion?” Jimmy asked, his eyes softening to a submissive hue
that was so unlike him, so gentle for the boy who was all action and energy.

Claire
understood.  He was strong and fearless, quarterback of his football team,
skateboarder-extraordinaire.  Where he laughed at his own injury, he couldn’t
with hers.  “We will.  Of course we will, but I trust Dr. Sorenson.  If he says
I have leukemia”—the word caught on her lips—“then I have leukemia.”  Though
the word still felt foreign to her lips, Claire was determined not to shrink
away from it. 
Leukemia
. 
I have leukemia
.  But foreign or not,
the only way she was going to beat this disease was to face it—head on.

SIMONE
AND CLAIRE

“Claire,”
Simone spoke her name in a rush of urgency as she hurried in.  She flew across Claire’s
kitchen, wrapped arms fully around her dearest friend and hugged her close. 
“Are you okay?” she asked, squeezing hard, as though they couldn’t be close
enough.

Grateful
to be held firm within the warm and loving arms of her friend, Claire replied, “I’m
fine.”  It was the third time she’d said the words today, and if she said it
enough times, she was certain to believe it.

Simone
drew back, worry scoring her tawny eyes with pain.  “Are you sure?  Do you need
anything?”

A
cure
,
Claire mused wryly.  But glad to have her best friend by her side, she simply replied,
“Just you.”

Simone
took Claire’s hands into her own and bound them together.  Her grip was strong,
determined.  “We’ll beat this.  You know we will.”

“I
know.”  Quiet, accepting  Twenty-four hours into the diagnosis, the weight of
it was still settling in.  Dr. Sorenson ordered more tests, more blood work and
she had another appointment with him tomorrow, but for now she needed support. 
Claire needed people to listen as she expelled her fears, her concerns, and
there was no better person than Simone.

“Why
didn’t you call me?”

“It
was late.  Jim was with me and we spent the night explaining to the kids.”

Simone
nodded.  “That’s what Mariah said.  She was texting Rebecca last night and said
she was pretty broken up about it.”

“She
is.”  They all were.  Feeling the slew of tears coming on, Claire held them in
check, stuffing the pain into the recesses of her heart.  “But there’s no time
for self-pity.  There’s only time to fight.”

“Agreed.” 
Tugging Claire to a seat at the kitchen table, Simone brushed the mound of red-bordered
graduation party invitations aside, and said eagerly, “Now tell me what you
know.  This morning Mariah was sketchy and didn’t know much of anything.  And
I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly.  “I was so caught up with meetings today,
this was the first chance I could get away.”

“I
know,” Claire said, grazing the wall clock with a cursory glance.  It was three
o’clock and not a moment too soon.  She didn’t want Simone to feel guilty because
she couldn’t come as soon as she had wanted.  Simone had called, told her she
loved her, and said she’d be here the first minute she could.  It was good
enough.  Claire had been passing the time addressing envelopes for the girls’
big day.  Less than three weeks away, these were supposed to be out days ago,
but to say she had been side-tracked was an understatement.  “I’m glad you’re
here now.”

Claire
relayed as much detail as she could, shared as much knowledge as she could,
knowing Simone’s attentive ear would make her feel better, her sharp mind would
devise some plan of attack.

“So
you don’t have to lose your hair,” Simone said.

“I
might not.  Therapy has come a long way, but if I do, I’m okay with it.”  It
beat the alternative, anyway.

“We’ll
go shopping.”  Simone threw her shoulders back, ramming her posture into a stiff
line against the wooden chair.  Seated at Claire’s informal dining table, Simone
was all business, yet seemed out of place in her charcoal gray suit, the only pop
of color a burgundy red camisole popping up between the V of her coat.  The
attire was in stark contrast to the sunny shade of her walls, white calico lace
curtains and blue-checkered valence.  But that was Simone.  The woman took
charge, without regard to location.  “We’ll buy you a wig,” she decided.  “Do
you want to stick with your same color?”

“Oh
God, no!”

Simone
smiled.  “Good.  I like the idea of mixing it up.”

Claire
laughed.  “No, no, I mean no wig!”

“You’re
not going to do the bald thing, are you?”  Simone scrutinized Claire’s head and
face, delivering an instant assessment.  “I mean, more power to women who shed
vanity in the face of crisis, but I think I prefer you with hair.”

Claire
chuckled, her heart swaying like a pendulum.  “Me, too.  But it’s all so new. 
I don’t really know what’s out there.”  And she hadn’t made any decisions.  “I
don’t want to look like my Great Aunt Ethel.”  Claire made a face of distaste. 
“Her wig was straw blonde and just as dry-looking.”