Farewell to Cedar Key (17 page)

31

S
un streaming through the living room windows woke me the next morning. Grant was still curled beside me. I pulled back a bit to stare at his face. That face I'd fallen in love with sixteen years ago. We'd come very close to making love the night before, and in all honesty, I was pretty sure that if Grant hadn't stopped, it would have happened.

I let out a soft sigh. What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking? And Simon? What about Simon Mancini? A week ago it seemed that relationship might be headed somewhere. But was that what I really wanted? I had no idea.

Grant stirred, opened his eyes, and smiled. He kissed my cheek before running his fingertip slowly across my lip. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay?”

“I did. Actually, very well.”

He stood up and stretched. “Me too.
Very
well. I'm going to hit the shower if you want to start the coffee.”

“Deal,” I said as I stood up and fluffed the pillows on the sofa.

I spooned the coffee into the filter, filled the carafe with water, and poured the water into the coffeemaker. “Now what?” I said out loud. “Where do we go from here?”

I headed to my bathroom to take a shower and get dressed.

When I walked back into the kitchen, Grant was standing by the French doors, coffee mug in hand, looking out to the yard.

“It's our daughter's birthday today,” he said.

I smiled and filled my own mug before sitting at the counter. “I know. Hard to believe it's been sixteen years.”

“About last night . . .” he started to say.

I put up my hand. “No, no. It's okay. Really.”

He sat across from me at the counter. “No, it's not okay. I have no idea where we might be headed, Josie.”

Well, at least he was as confused as I was.

He reached for my hand. “But I want you to know you mean the world to me. I know you have a lot on your plate right now. With your mother, a new job . . . even this doctor, who seems pretty interested in you.”

“Oh, no, really. He's only . . .”

“Stop. You have no idea where that might go. It might just be a colleague relationship, true. But . . . I have to face the fact that you could fall in love with him. You need to choose for yourself, Josie. I can wait until you're sure. So . . . you're going to go home on Tuesday and focus on your mother. That's your priority right now. You'll be there for her and help her through this. And I want you to know . . . I'll only be a phone call away if you need me.”

I nodded. “And what about us?”

He paused for a second before saying, “Well, we'll always have a connection because of our daughter, but I'm hoping when the time is right, you and I will have something more.”

 

I stepped into Estelle Fletcher's condo and smiled. It was like stepping back in time to a Victorian sitting room. Heavy mahogany furniture dominated the room, but instead of brocade drapes at the windows, sheer lace curtains let in the morning sunshine, giving the room a cozy rather than sinister feel.

“Come in, come in,” she said, indicating that I should sit on the sofa. “I'll get the coffee and muffins.”

“Can I help?”

“No, no. I'm fine.”

I looked around and noticed a large painting above the credenza, realizing it was an image of the original brick structure of Danvers State Hospital.

“Here we go,” she said, placing a tray on the coffee table.

I saw the oversized blueberry muffins and smiled. “Those are Jordan Marsh muffins, aren't they?”

“They are. Do you have the recipe too?”

“No, but Grant's mother does, and I used to love these.”

“Ah, yes. They were quite popular around this area in the sixties. I think every housewife had the recipe.”

“Did they ever discover how it got out to the public?” Jordan Marsh department store in Boston had been famous for the muffins sold only in their bakery, until somehow the secret got out.

Estelle laughed. “No, but the rumor was always that it came from some disgruntled bakery employee.”

She filled my china cup with coffee as I took a bite of muffin. “Oh, they're as delicious as I always remember.” I reached for a napkin and wiped crumbs from my mouth. “Isn't that the original mental facility?” I asked, pointing to the painting.

“It is. I wanted a painting of the structure and hired a local artist to compose it for me.” She took a dainty sip of coffee. “My mother resided here, you know.”

“Oh, she lived with you here at the condo?”

“No, unfortunately, she did not. She was a patient at the facility.”

“Oh, I see,” was all I said.

“She wasn't mentally ill though. No, far from it. She had the misfortune to go through menopause with the emotional symptoms that many women have.”

I nodded. “I remember Grant's mother telling me that. How tragic that those women had no recourse back then.”

Estelle broke off a piece of muffin, popped it into her mouth, and nodded. “No, back then women had precious few rights. My father had a mistress, you understand, and the easiest way to deal with both my mother and the mistress was to have my mother committed here.”

“God, that's so sad. How old were you at the time?”

“Twelve. I went to live with my mother's sister in Lynnfield. My mother passed away about a year later. They said it was pneumonia. And a year or so after that, my father was killed in an automobile accident.” She took another sip of coffee. “It was karma, you see.”

I remained silent and took another bite of my muffin.

“Yes, karma. He never was able to go on and enjoy his life with his mistress. Although many people don't believe in it, it's the entire cycle of cause and effect. Like you being here at this particular time. Do you believe everything happens for a reason?”

“I'm not quite sure,” I replied.

“Oh, it does, my dear. It certainly does. You might think it strange that I'd want to come and live in a structure that caused my mother so much heartache, but you see, being here allows me to fill my home with joy and love. Jerome and I had a few good years here before he passed on. We brought light to our home, and with light comes understanding and love. Much like with you.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

Estelle smiled and reached over to pat my hand. “Ah, my dear. Your life is in a state of flux right now, is it not?”

How the hell did she know that?

“But you have good energy and with time, everything will balance out.”

“I'm not sure I understand. I mean, gosh, you just met me for the first time the other day. You don't know me at all.”

“Are you familiar with
The Wizard of Oz
?”

I was beginning to think perhaps Grant's neighbor was suffering from a mild case of dementia. “Yes, of course. I've watched the movie many times with my daughter.”

She nodded. “Right. Well, always remember one of its most profound lessons—what you're looking for has been inside you all along.”

Was she talking about Grant? About me?

She leaned across the table and gave my hand a squeeze. “I'm sorry if I've disturbed you.” She waved a hand in the air. “But thank you for indulging me. I'm just an old woman with silly thoughts. So tell me about the birthday celebration this evening.”

The sense of unease that I'd begun to feel slipped away. “We're going to a restaurant in Boston,” I said, and went on to explain it was Orli's favorite.

Estelle asked me questions about Cedar Key and then launched into a tale about the history of Danvers State.

“But you see, although it has a tragic past, I firmly believe that those of us who choose to live here now have put the troubled souls to rest.”

I nodded and glanced at my watch. “Gosh, it's already eleven. I really need to get going. We're picking Orli up at her grandmother's this afternoon for the birthday dinner.” I stood up to leave and felt myself being embraced by Estelle.

“Thank you so much for coming to visit, Josie. I very much enjoyed it. And when you come back up here, please be sure to drop by.”

She walked me to the door and gave me another hug.

“Thank you for the coffee and muffin,” I told her.

“My pleasure. Oh, and Josie . . . just remember . . . every behavior has a reason and a deeper layer to it.”

I walked across the atrium back to Grant's condo, convinced the poor woman talked in riddles, because I had understood very little of what she said.

 

I sat across the table from Grant and Orli and smiled. He had booked a corner table for us with a view of the cityscape. Candlelight danced across their faces, creating a glow, but I knew that the real reason for Orli's happiness was having her parents together for her special birthday.

We had just finished dessert and Grant and I were sipping coffee when he reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small, beautifully wrapped present.

“Happy birthday, Orli. Happy Sweet Sixteen.”

He got up to kiss her cheek and placed the gift in front of her.

She shot me a huge smile and as she removed the paper, I could see the signature blue Tiffany box and white satin ribbon.

“Oh, Dad, thank you,” she exclaimed as she held up a gorgeous gold chain with a gold disc dangling from it. “I love it. Look, Mom.”

I took the necklace in my hand and smiled. On the front was engraved
Orli
with her birthstones forming the small numbers of 1 and 6. I turned it over to read
Love, Mom and Dad
.

How like Grant to also include me in the gift. “It's gorgeous,” I said. “And I bet it was custom designed.”

Grant smiled and nodded.

I reached into my handbag and passed my present to my daughter. She removed the paper and opened the box to reveal a gold bracelet that held charms that were meaningful to her.

“Oh, Mom, it's beautiful. I love it.” She held it up to catch the light and then noticed a heart-shaped charm with three birthstones. “Look, Dad, it's for the three of us.”

Grant took the bracelet, looked at the charm, and sent me a smile. “Thank you for including me,” he said, and I was positive I saw his eyes glisten.

32

I
had dreaded telling Orli about her grandmother, and coward that I was, I put it off until Tuesday morning before we left for the airport.

The day before had been spent visiting with Molly, and I didn't have the heart to ruin my daughter's last day in the Boston area.

We'd set the alarm for six, gotten up, showered, dressed, and were finishing up French toast prepared by Grant.

“Orli,” I said, before taking a sip of coffee. “There's something I need to tell you. I found out three days ago . . . but I didn't want to ruin the rest of your time here.”

“Is it Nana?” she asked, amazing me again with her insight.

I shot a glance to Grant, who nodded with a weak smile, attempting to give me a boost of courage.

“Yes, it is, sweetie.” I reached for her hand and felt the clamminess on mine. “I'm afraid the news wasn't as good as we'd hoped. They did a biopsy last week . . . and it shows that Nana has cancer of the uterus.”

Her eyes never left my face, but she remained silent.

“And so . . . they're picking us up at the airport today and Grandpa will take you to lunch while I go with Nana to meet with her doctor.”

This was when Orli burst into tears, and both Grant and I jumped up to put our arms around our daughter. “Will she . . . will she . . . will she die?”

It's so true that parents would gladly endure the pain and heartbreak brought to their child, because in that moment I wanted to extinguish the pain from my daughter's heart and I knew by the look on Grant's face that he felt the same.

“No, no, Orli,” I heard him say. “We're thinking positive. They're making great strides today with treatment. We're going to hope for the best until the doctor explains everything later today.”

She reached for her napkin and rubbed her eyes.

“Will she have to have surgery and then chemo and radiation?” she asked.

“That's what we'll find out today, Orli,” I told her. “We'll know much more after we see the doctor.”

“Okay,” she said, and then left the table, walked into our room, and closed the door.

I let out a deep sigh. “Shit, this isn't going to be easy,” I said.

Grant pulled me into his arms and put his chin on top of my head. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

 

Standing at security with Orli and Grant, I almost wished he'd just dropped us off outside. But he insisted on parking the car and coming in with us. I hated good-byes. I was never good at them, and watching while Orli and Grant hugged, I felt a sense of emptiness.

He turned to pull me into an embrace and kissed my cheek. “You call me, okay? Call me this evening and let me know how everything went.”

I nodded, too choked up to say anything.

“Okay,” he said, giving Orli a last hug. “Now I want my girls to have a good flight. Orli, call me when you land.”

“I will, Dad, I promise, and thank you for everything. It was the best Christmas and birthday I've ever had.”

“Yes, thank you, Grant.” I swallowed to prevent any tears from leaving my eyes. “Thank you so much, and I'll call you this evening.”

He turned and walked away, heading to the exit without looking back.

Both Orli and I were quiet on the flight to Atlanta. I was glad that we only had enough time to use the restroom and grab coffee before boarding the Gainesville flight.

Orli dozed and listened to her music during the hour before we landed, and I held a book in front of me, reading the same paragraph over and over. My mother, Grant, and Simon consumed my thoughts, and I was grateful when we finally landed on the tarmac.

My parents were waiting for us on the other side of the glass as we walked into the gate area. I had sunglasses on, so my mother couldn't see that I was staring at her, and I was relieved to see she looked exactly as she had the week before. Dressed in an ankle-length skirt, fashion boots, and a beautiful emerald green pullover, she actually looked like the epitome of good health.

“Hey,” she said, scooping both Orli and me into her arms. “We ordered up this seventy-degree weather especially for you.”

Orli laughed and then went to hug my father. “You look great, Nana. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, yes. Fine.” She waved her hand in the air, and I was certain she was putting on a good show for Orli's sake. “Now, your grandfather will drop us at the medical center. Oh, we can get coffee there, Josie, and you two are going out for lunch. Gee, maybe you're hungry too, Josie?”

“No, not at all, but coffee will be great.”

 

At precisely two o'clock my mother and I were ushered into the doctor's office. I was certain some strings had been pulled by my mother's gynecologist to secure an appointment with the oncologist so fast on the day before New Year's Eve.

He stood up from his desk to greet us, extending his hand. Tall, in his midfifties and distinguished looking, he had a warm smile and welcoming demeanor.

“I'm Dr. Girone, Mrs. Sullivan. And is this your daughter?”

My mother and I sat in the chairs across from him, and she nodded. “Yes, this is Josie.”

He sat down and folded his hands into a tent. “Okay, I have your biopsy and CAT scan here,” he said, and began shuffling through papers. “The good news is that you have a stage 1 cancer. At this point, there doesn't appear to be any lymph node involvement.”

My mother sat silent while I digested his information. He was right. This was pretty good news, and I let out a sigh of relief.

“I'm told that you're an RN, Josie?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good, because from experience I'm pretty sure your mother will take in only about half of what I say, so you can be her advocate and explain more later.”

I nodded.

“So what does this mean?” my mother asked. “What do we do now?”

Dr. Girone leaned back in his chair and shot her a smile. “Well, in my professional opinion and based on your health history, I'd say you're a very good candidate for robotic surgery.”

“For
what?
” she asked and leaned forward.

“Robotic surgery. We're getting very good results with this. I'll send you home with information so you can read more about it, but it's less invasive, with less chance of infection, and the recovery is much faster than conventional surgery. The plan would be to remove the uterus, thereby removing the cancer. We'd also do another biopsy . . . and then, we'll see where we're at.”

My mother was quiet for a few moments and then said, “And what if I choose to do nothing?”

“Nothing?” the doctor and I said at the same time.

“Yes. What if I choose to just . . . wait . . . and see where we're at.”

Dr. Girone leaned across the desk and folded his hands. “I would strongly advise against that. We're dealing with a stage 1. If you wait, it could possibly increase, which would make the prognosis less favorable.”

“What about chemo and radiation? Would I have to have that?”

“It's too soon to determine that right now. We'll know more after the surgery.”

My mother sat back and let out a sigh. “Well . . . I think for right now . . . I'm going to choose to wait.”

I'd remained silent up to this point. I glanced at the doctor and saw his pursed lips and raised eyebrows, but he said nothing.

Shifting in my chair, I looked at my mother and felt my concern, anger, and fear erupting. “What the hell! Are you serious, Mom? You're going to
wait
and do nothing? That's not an option, and this is not one of your novels where you can manipulate everything and everyone to give you that satisfying, happy ending. This is
real
. What the hell are you thinking?” I heard my voice getting louder and couldn't help it. “Don't you want to get better? How about Dad? Are you even thinking of him? My God, you're being so selfish.”

Dr. Girone stretched his palm toward us as my mother remained silent. “Okay, I understand where you're both coming from. Believe me, I do. Josie, as a professional I think you know we can never force anyone when it comes to medical decisions. Mrs. Sullivan, although I don't agree with you, it is
your
decision to make. However, I want you to take the information in this packet, go home, relax, take a few days, and think about it. Will you at least do that?”

My mother reached for the packet and held it against her chest. “Yes.”

I caught the wink in my direction from the doctor as he stood up.

“Good. I'll be out of the office the rest of the week. So I'd like you to call me next Monday. That gives you some time to make a decision.”

My mother and I both stood up and shook his extended hand.

“If I were to have this surgery, how long would I be in the hospital, and when would it be done?”

“You'd only be there overnight. We'd have you admitted early on the morning of surgery, and you should be able to go home the next evening. As to when it could be done . . . when you let me know the route we're going, I could have you scheduled within a couple weeks.”

My mother let out a sigh and nodded. “Okay. Thank you.” Then she turned around, opened the door, and headed to the elevators.