Fine things (18 page)

Chapter 20

In April, Bernie had to decide whether or not he would go to Europe. He had hoped to take Liz along, but it was obvious she couldn't go with him. She didn't have the strength to go anywhere now. It was a major venture to go to Sausalito to visit Tracy. She was still going to school, but only twice a week now.

And he called Paul Berman to tell him. “I hate to let you down, Paul. I just don't want to go away right now.”

“I understand perfectly.” He sounded bereft for him. It was a tragedy beyond words, and it hurt him each time he spoke to Bernie. “We'll send someone else this time.” It was the second time he had had to skip Europe, but they were being very supportive of him. And in spite of the trauma he was going through, he was doing a fine job at the San Francisco store, as Paul said gratefully. “I don't know how you do it, Bernard. If you need a leave of absence, tell us.”

“I will. Maybe in a few months, but not now.” He didn't want to be working when she neared the end, if it came that soon, although it was hard to predict that sometimes. Sometimes she seemed better for a few days, or she would be markedly more cheerful, and then suddenly she'd be much worse again, and then just as he began to panic, she would fool him by appearing almost normal. It was torture dealing with it, because he could never figure out if the chemo was working and she was finally in remission and would be with them for a long, long time, or if she wouldn't last more than a few weeks or months. And the doctor couldn't tell him that either.

“How do you feel about being out there now? I don't want to press to keep you there under these circumstances, Bernard.” He had to be fair to them, and Bernie had been like his son for years. He had no right to force them to stay in California if his wife was terminal. But Bernie surprised him. He had been open with him from the first, and had told him when they found out Liz had cancer. It had been a terrible shock for everyone. It was impossible to believe that the beautiful little blonde he had danced with at her wedding only two years before was dying.

“To be honest with you, Paul, I don't want to go anywhere right now. If you can have someone else keep an eye on the import lines for me, and go over there twice a year, that would be great. But right now we don't want to go anywhere. This is home to Liz, and I don't want to uproot her. I don't think it would be fair to her.” They had thought about it a lot, and that was their conclusion. Liz had told him point-blank she didn't want to leave San Francisco. She didn't want to be a burden on his parents, or him, didn't want Jane to have to face a new school, new friends, and it was comforting to Liz to be near the people she knew right now, and especially Tracy. She even took comfort in seeing Bill and Marjorie Robbins more than she used to.

“I understand that perfectly.” He had been in California exactly three years, twice the length of time Bernie had hoped to spend in California, but it didn't matter to him now.

“I just can't go anywhere right now, Paul.”

“That's fine. Let me know if you change your mind, and I'll start looking for someone to take on the San Francisco store. We miss you in New York. In fact”—he glanced at his calendar, hoping Bernie could make it—“is there any chance you could come to the board meeting next week?”

Bernie frowned. “I'll have to talk to Liz.” She didn't have chemo that week, but still, he hated to leave her. “I'll see. When is it?” Paul gave him the dates and he jotted them down.

“You don't have to stay in town for more than three days. You can fly in Monday, and go home Wednesday night, or Thursday if you can stay that long. But I understand, whatever you decide.”

“Thank you, Paul.” As usual, Paul Berman was being wonderful to him. It just frustrated everyone that there was so little they could do. And that night he asked Liz how she felt about his going to New York for a few days. He even asked if she would come, but she shook her head with a tired smile.

“I can't, sweetheart. I've got too much to do at school.” But it wasn't that, and they both knew it. And in two weeks it was Alexander's birthday, and she would see his mother then anyway. His father couldn't leave his practice again, but Ruth had promised to come out. She was coming out for the Big Event, and to see Liz.

But when Bernie came back from New York, he saw the same thing she saw when she arrived. How rapidly Liz was changing. By leaving her for only a few days, he got enough distance to realize just how bad it was. And the night he got home, he locked himself in the bathroom and cried into the big white towels she kept so immaculate for him. He was terrified she would hear him, but he just couldn't stand it. She looked pale and weak, and she had lost more weight. He begged her to eat, and brought home every possible treat he could think of, from strawberry tarts to smoked salmon, from the gourmet shop at Wolffs, but to no avail. She was losing her appetite, and she had dropped to less than ninety pounds by the time Alexander's birthday came. Ruth was shocked when she saw her when she came out, and she had to pretend that she didn't notice. But the tiny shoulders felt even more frail than they had before as the two women kissed at the airport, and Bernie had to get a motorized cart to get her to the baggage claim. She could never have walked that far, and she refused to be pushed in a wheelchair.

They chatted about everything except what really mattered on the drive home, and Ruth felt as though she were desperately treading water. She had brought an enormous rocking horse on springs for Alexander and another doll for Jane, both from Schwarz, and she could hardly wait to see the children, but she was deeply troubled by Liz, and amazed as she watched her cook dinner that night. She was still cooking and cleaning house, and teaching school, she was the most remarkable woman Ruth had ever seen, and it broke her heart to see the struggle Liz engaged in daily, just to stay alive. Ruth was still there when she had her next chemo treatment, and she stayed with the children while Bernie stayed at the hospital with Liz overnight. They rolled a cot into the room, and he slept beside her.

Alexander looked a lot the way Bernie had as a little boy, and he was a chubby, happy child. It seemed impossible to believe that he had arrived only a year before, and now this tragedy had struck him. And as Ruth put him to bed that night, she left the room with tears streaming from her eyes, thinking that he would never know his mother.

“When are you coming to New York to visit us again?” Ruth asked Jane as they sat down to a game of Parcheesi. Jane smiled at her hesitantly. She loved Grandma Ruth. But she couldn't imagine going anywhere for a while. “Not until Mommy is better” was the party line, but Jane didn't say that. “I don't know, Grandma. We're going to Stinson Beach as soon as school gets out. Mommy wants to go there to rest. She's tired from teaching.” They both knew she was tired from dying, but it was too frightening to say that.

Bernie had rented the same house they'd had before, and the plan was to go for three months this year, to help Liz regain whatever strength she could. The doctor had suggested that she not renew her contract at school, because it was too much for her. And she didn't argue with him. She just told Bernie she thought it was a good idea. It would give her more time to spend with him and Jane and the baby. And Bernie went along with it. But they were all anxious to go to the beach. It was as though they could turn the clock back by going there. And at the hospital, Bernie watched her as she slept, and he touched her face, and then gently held her hand as she stirred sleepily and smiled up at him, and for a moment his heart gave a leap, she looked as though she were dying.

“Something wrong?” She frowned at him as she raised her head, and he fought back tears as he smiled casually.

“You doing okay, sweetheart?”

“I'm fine.” She dropped her head onto her pillow again, but they both knew that the chemicals they were using were so powerful that she could sustain a fatal heart attack just from the treatment. They had been warned of that from the beginning. But there was no choice. She had to do it.

She went back to sleep, and he went out to the hall and called home. He didn't want to do it from the room, for fear that he would wake her. And he had left her with a nurse watching her. He was used to the hospital by now. Too much so. It almost seemed normal to him. Things didn't shock him as they once had. And he longed to be on the floor they had been on only a year before, downstairs on two, having another baby …not here among the dying.

“Hi, Mom. How's it going?”

“Everything's fine, dear.” She glanced across the room at Jane. “Your daughter is beating me at Parcheesi. Alexander just went to sleep. He's so cute. He drank the whole bottle, gave me a big smile, and went right to sleep in my arms. He didn't even move when I put him down.” It was all so normal, except that Liz should have been telling him that and not his mother. He should have been at the store for a meeting, and she should have been telling him that all was well at home. Instead, she was in the hospital being poisoned by chemotherapy, and his mother was watching the children. “How does she feel?” She lowered her voice so Jane wouldn't be as aware of the conversation, but she was listening intently anyway, so much so that she moved Ruth's man on the Parcheesi board instead of her own. Later she would tease her about it and accuse her of cheating. She knew why it had happened, but she needed a little levity in her life. There wasn't much of that these days. And she was only eight years old. But there was a profound sadness about the child, just under the surface, and it was almost impossible to cheer her.

“She's all right. She's asleep now. We should be home by lunchtime tomorrow.”

“We'll be here. Bernie, is there anything you need? Are you hungry?” It was odd seeing his mother so domestic. In Scarsdale she left everything to Hattie. But these were unusual times, for all of them. Especially Liz and Bernie.

“I'm fine. Give Jane a kiss for me, and I'll see you tomorrow, Mom.”

“Good night, darling. Give Liz our love when she wakes up.”

“Is Mommy okay?” Jane turned to Ruth with terror in her eyes as Ruth crossed the room to give her a hug.

“She's fine, darling, and she sent you her love. And she'll be home in the morning.” She thought it would be more reassuring if the love came from Liz and not Bernie.

But in the morning, Liz awoke with a new pain. Suddenly she felt as though all of the ribs on one side were breaking. It was a sudden sharp pain that had never happened before, and she reported it to Dr. Johanssen, who called the oncologist in and the bone man. And they sent her upstairs for an X ray and another bone scan before she went home.

The news was not good when they got it a few hours later. The chemotherapy wasn't working. She had metastasized further. They let her go home, but Johanssen told Bernie that it was the beginning of the end. From now on, the pain would increase and they would do what they could to help her control the pain, but eventually very little would help her. Johanssen told him this in a little office down the hall from her room, and Bernie pounded his fist on the desk right under the doctor's nose.

“What the hell do you mean, there's very little you can do to help her? What is that supposed to mean, dammit!?” The doctor understood perfectly. He had every right to be angry, at the fates that had struck her down and the doctors who couldn't help her. “What do you goddamn guys do all day long? Take out splinters and lance boils on people's asses? The woman is dying of cancer and you're telling me there's very little you can do for the pain?” He began to sob as he sat across the desk staring at Johanssen. “What are we going to do for her …Oh God …somebody help her …”It was all over. And he knew it. And they were telling him there was very little they could do for her. She was going to die a death of agonizing pain. It wasn't right. It was the worst travesty of everything he believed that he had ever known. He wanted to shake someone until they told him that something could be changed, that Liz could be helped, that she would live, that it was all a terrible mistake and she didn't have cancer.

He laid his head down on the desk and cried, and feeling desperately sorry for him and totally helpless, Dr. Johanssen waited, and in a moment, he went to get him a glass of water. He handed it to Bernie with sad Nordic eyes and shook his head. “I know how terrible it is, and I'm so sorry, Mr. Fine. We'll do everything we can. I just wanted you to understand our limitations.”

“What does that mean?” Bernie's eyes were those of a dying man. He felt as though his heart was being torn from him.

“We'll start her on Demerol pills, or Percodan if she prefers. And eventually, we'll move her to injections. Dilaudid, Demerol, morphine if that works better for her. She'll get increasingly large doses and we'll keep her as comfortable as we can.”

“Can I give her the shots myself?” He'd do anything to ease the pain.

“If you like, or you may want a nurse for her eventually. I know you have two small children.”

He suddenly thought of their summer plans. “Do you think we'd be able to go to Stinson Beach, or do you think we should stay closer to the city?”

“I see no harm in going to the beach. It might do you all good to have a change of scene, especially Liz, and you're only half an hour away. I go there myself sometimes. It's good for the soul.”

Bernie nodded grimly, and set down the glass of water the doctor had given him. “She loves it.”

“Then by all means take her.”

“What about her teaching?” Suddenly their whole life had to be thought out again. And it was still spring. She had weeks more of school. “Should she quit now?”

“That's entirely up to her. It won't do her any harm, if that's what you're afraid of. But she may not feel up to it if the pain bothers her too much. Why don't you let her set her own pace.” He stood up, and Bernie sighed.

“What are you going to tell her? Are you going to tell her that it's in her bones?”

“I don't think I have to. I think she knows from the pain that the disease is advancing. I don't think we need to demoralize her with these reports”—he looked at Bernie questioningly—”unless you feel we should tell her.” Bernie was quick to shake his head, wondering how much more bad news they could take, or if they were doing the wrong thing. Maybe he should take her to Mexico for laetrile, or put her on a macrobiotic diet, or go to Lourdes, or the Christian Science Church. He kept hearing remarkable tales of people who had been healed of cancer through outlandish diets, or hypnosis or faith, and what they were trying was obviously not working. But he also knew that Liz didn't want to try the other stuff. She didn't want to go haywire and run all over the world on a wild-goose chase. She wanted to be home with her husband and her kids, teaching at the school where she had taught for years. She only wanted to go so far, and she wanted her life to remain as close as possible to what it had been when it was normal.