Heart of the Country (16 page)

38

I
MUST’VE CALLED
a dozen friends, a half-dozen acquaintances, and at least a couple of enemies, seeking refuge, counsel, help. Not a single returned phone call. In fact, my phone hadn’t rung all week. Jake wasn’t even calling. Tonight I realized I’d been sitting in my favorite leather chair for three hours. Consumed by miserable thoughts, time hardly seemed to pass.

I spent a considerable amount of that time wondering what prison was like. Wondering how many years I’d be there. Wondering how easy it was to kill yourself once you got there.

Twisted up with those sunny images were thoughts of
Faith. What was she doing? Where did she go? Would she ever come back or even speak to me again? This was by far the worst moment of my life, the point lower than the lowest, and I was facing it without her. She was the one person I knew who could get me through it, who would help me believe I’d get through it.

I took another sip of bourbon, the only friend keeping me from losing my mind at the moment, and stared at that horrible yellow painting that hung six feet tall over our mantel. With her gone, it now just seemed like a gigantic squirt of mustard.

I set my glass down and walked over to it. With one hefty lift, I got it off the nail and onto the ground. I turned it around and leaned it against the fireplace. There. I wouldn’t have to endure that any longer. It was the simple things that kept me from leaping out the window.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to have to endure, and that was what made this torture. But most of all, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see Faith again. And that made it unbearable.

I picked up the picture of Faith’s mom, Catherine, and stared hard into the woman’s eyes. “Tell me what to do,” I said, squeezing the frame. “Just tell me what to do! I’ll do it! I’ll do anything to get her back!” The frame fell from my hands and crashed onto the wood floor. The glass cracked right down the middle, and the metal frame bent at one corner. I kicked it clear across the room, and it hit the leg of the dining room table.

But the ceiling might as well have crashed in because a
weight so heavy I couldn’t stand beneath it crumpled me to my knees, and I sobbed into my balled fists. “God! God!” I shouted, not caring who heard. Hoping, maybe, somebody would. “God, please help me! Help me!” I screamed, the sound muffled by my fists against my mouth.

I fell to my side, nearly in a fetal position, then rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling, which was intact and staring back at me. Except, for the first time, I saw past it. Upward, over me, to something higher. I lay out of breath, willing myself to pray, but it seemed I didn’t need to. I settled down inwardly. I became vulnerable, sprawled out on my wood floor like I needed a chalk outline and body bag. I kind of felt half-dead. But I realized I wasn’t dead. I was surrendered.

I could not control my life anymore. It was completely out of my hands. So I surrendered to a God I hardly knew but sensed I could trust. Or at least I tried.

I was definitely going to have to surrender to somebody, and in less than twenty-four hours, it would probably be the Feds.

39

M
ORNING ARRIVED
like a NASCAR crash. I’d jolted awake to the fear I’d forgotten something important. I used to have those kinds of fears when Nell was just born. I’d startle awake to the thought that I’d left her at the mall. Or in the bathtub. My irrational mind seemed to have no limit in those early years.

I sat up in bed, breathing heavily, realizing suddenly that Hardy wasn’t there. And the sun seemed especially bright, like it did the morning after a long night when everyone has the stomach flu.

Dad had bickered with me until the nurse finally slipped him something through his IV and he passed out to the
everlasting gratefulness of everyone involved. I always knew Daddy would be a bad patient. I just didn’t realize he’d be unbearable. I think if they could’ve checked him out at 3 a.m., they would’ve. He complained about the toilet being too tiny and the nurses not being pretty and it just got worse from there.

My feet hit the ground. I could smell something cooking. In the kitchen, I found Hardy serving up bacon and scrambled eggs.

“Hi, honey.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Just got the girls up and ready. Figured you needed some rest. I took off work today. I can do their lessons.”

Bacon hung out of Vic’s mouth. “Grandpa going to be okay?”

I glanced at Hardy. I hadn’t yet prepared what I was going to tell the girls. Hardy deflected it back to me the way a husband and wife can have an entire conversation through their eyes.

I looked at them, their big eyes, their expectant faces. What could I say? How could I spin this? A couple of years ago, I’d managed to talk them through the divorce of our friends Jeff and Shelly without them ever knowing what was going on. I’d explain away everything, until they were living apart, we were seeing them separately, and the girls never noticed a thing.

But that was then. They were smarter now. Older. Wiser than me sometimes. Nell’s expression told me that she knew
something was serious. Vic looked like she was following her sister’s lead.

“All right, girls,” I said, leaning on the counter and giving them my full attention. “I’ll be straight with you.”

“But she’s leaning over,” Vic whispered to Nell.

Nell replied, “Shooting straight, Vic. That means being honest.”

“Oh.”

“Girls, Grandpa has a tumor in his brain. A tumor is a kind of cancer, and cancer is something that is growing inside your body that shouldn’t be.”

“Like how Daddy’s tummy keeps growing?” Vic asked, pitching a thumb to Hardy.

That made me smile and Hardy chuckle.

“Except cancer is more like a disease. Something that your body is trying to fight off because it’s not good for you at all.”

Nell’s eyes narrowed. “Is this bad, Momma?”

I nodded, slowly, steadily. “It is bad, Nell.”

“Is Grandpa going to die?” Vic asked.

“Well, you know what Grandpa always says. Everyone is going to die sometime.”

“Grandpa always says that when he doesn’t want to answer a question,” Nell said.

I felt myself squirming under my own words. “Girls, I can’t answer that question. This is serious, but we’re going to find Grandpa the best doctors. The very best.” I touched
each girl’s arm. “No matter what, it’s going to be okay. Now, I have to go get Grandpa from the hospital.”

“That’s a good sign,” Nell said to Vic. “They don’t let you away from the hospital if you’re getting ready to croak.”

“Good point,” I said. I looked down, realized I had slept in my clothes. Oh, well. I grabbed my purse as I realized how late it was. “I gotta get to the hospital. Dad’s going to have a cow.”

Hardy walked me out to the car. “He do okay the rest of the night?”

“Seizure-wise, yes. Otherwise, no. He’s going to be a real bear on this, Hardy.”

“If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

I teared up. “I’m not sure.”

He pulled me into one of those giant Hardy hugs. “You can do this.”

“What if we lose him?”

He patted my back and opened the car door for me. I drove away in silence. My stomach turned with each awful thought that managed its way into my exhausted mind. I’d imagined what life would be like without Daddy, but I never gave it serious thought. He was strong and loved life.

It seemed like only seconds until I was at the hospital, going up the elevator, walking to his room.

To my surprise, he was up, dressed, his bed was made and he was sitting in the chair with his arms crossed. When he saw me, he stood. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I had to take care of some things with the girls.”

“Yeah, well, every second I stay here, there is a better chance they’re going to kill me.” He gestured toward the call button. “Nurse said you gotta sign something to release me. See what I mean? Release me? It’s a prison here. I’m surprised they didn’t handcuff me to the bed.”

“Me, too,” I said, raising an eyebrow at him. I hit the call button and the nurse said she’d be right in. And she was, like she’d been hovering in the hallway. She handed me a sheet, marked three Xs to sign, and started to walk out.

“Shouldn’t we take him out in a wheelchair?” I asked.

She glanced at him. “Take him out on a gurney, for all I care.”

I turned to Dad. “Making friends, I see.”

“She was the worst of ’em. I’m calling the hospital to complain.”

“Okay, we’ll look into that later. For now I guess you’re going to have to walk yourself out of here.”

“Fine by me.” He swept past me, but I noticed he limped a little and was moving slower. His stride was so long, I usually had trouble keeping pace with him when he was in a hurry, but not today.

We drove in silence. He looked lost in deep thought. I wasn’t sure what to say, whether to bring it all up or not.

Then he said to me, “What do you think of that Lee character?”

“That Lee character? You mean Lee Reynolds? The doctor?”

“That’s the one.”

“The one you’ve known for years?”

“Or so I thought.”

“Dad, he was great to you last night. He got you stable, delivered the medical information himself instead of passing us off to some doctor we didn’t know.”

“Hm.” He looked out the window again, silent.

I kept my eyes ahead and my hands on the steering wheel. “So we’re getting you into an oncologist
 
—”

“Don’t even think about taking me back to your place. I want to go home.”

I knew there was no point in arguing. At least Faith would be there. Wasn’t sure if I was comforted by that or not. Did she have any idea what taking care of him would entail?

Did I?

I got him home, but neither of us tried to help him in. He looked tired, though. And suddenly older than his age. He flopped down into his favorite chair.

“You hungry, Dad?” I asked.

“Ate that hospital food and I think it permanently killed my appetite.”

I had to agree. My appetite was gone, but it wasn’t the hospital food. I grabbed Faith by the arm and led her into the kitchen, where we could get some privacy. I took out the medications the nurse had given me the night before.

“I’ve written this all down. It’s all the medication he has
to take. I’ve included on this list the other medications he was on before. He can take all but one of those, and I’ve marked that one.” I handed Faith the list. She scanned it three or four times. It was pretty straightforward, so I wasn’t sure what the holdup was. “He’ll try to get out of taking the cholesterol medication. Don’t believe anything he says. The doctor still wants him on it.”

“Okay.”

“Now, he has an appointment at three with that oncologist, so make sure he gets some rest. I’ll be over to pick him up. He’s going to gripe about this, but don’t let that intimidate you. He can kind of be a big baby.”

Faith smiled. “Okay.”

“If he has another seizure, call the ambulance first and then me.”

I saw Faith lose her breath, right there in front of me.

“911.”

“Yes. Got it. Thanks.”

“I’ll be back over this evening, after I finish with the girls’ school. I’ll bring dinner, so don’t worry about that. I suspect he’ll be sleeping most of the time.”

Faith looked at me. “Why do you do all this?”

“Do what?”

“Take care of everyone all the time.”

“They need me, of course. Why else?”

“I wish I was like you.”

I snorted, accidentally. But I snort when unexpected
things fly up my nose, like a gnat or a bizarre statement. “Why would you even say that? You’re kidding, right?”

“Liv, your heart is so big. There’s room for Daddy and Hardy and the girls, the church and . . .”

“You.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “And me. I could never do what you do. Be who you are.”

“And you couldn’t pay me a hundred fertile chickens to get up on stage and do the things you do. At least at my age and hip size.”

“Did.”

I paused. Man, this was one broken girl. A broken marriage. A broken dream. Now a broken daddy. “I want to show you something.”

I walked to the living room. As expected, Dad was out cold and snoring, which I was never happier to hear. I started looking through the bookshelves and underneath in the cabinets. “I know it’s here somewhere . . .”

“What?”

“Shush now. Stop talking. I’m trying to think.” I opened the far left cabinet. Bingo. “Found it.” I pulled it out. It was heavier than I remembered.

“What is it?”

“Come here.” I patted the couch and she sat next to me. I opened the scrapbook and laid it in her lap. “I made this a long time ago. I was cleaning out the attic last year and thought Daddy might want it, so I brought it over here.”

I watched her look at the pictures as though they were
someone else’s. Each time she opened a new page, her fingers would touch another picture.

“It’s yours,” I said.

“You did this?”

“Yep.” I watched as she took in all the dance recitals, musicals, concerts, award ceremonies. “I started it when you were in high school. I figured somebody needed to track all your steps since you were going to be a big star and everything.”

“My Juilliard acceptance letter . . . I can’t believe you kept all this.”

“Faith, we’re sisters, and that means we’re there for each other and we hold each other up when we need to. But it also means we speak the truth to one another, and the truth is that you can’t live your life running from Momma.”

“I know.” She put a hand to her quivering chin.

“Momma had her turn. Now it’s your turn. Momma chose her life and now you get to choose yours.” I got up. “You look into that New York hospital Lee mentioned?”

“No, I’m sorry. Not yet.”

“Probably best. There’s no reason to make him travel all that way. We’ve got good docs here. Call me to let me know how he’s doing. I’ll see you in a little while.” I walked out, past Daddy, who was still slumbering in his chair, and to my truck.

As I drove home, something struck me. Hard. In the face of everything I thought to be completely right.

I blinked past all my reservations. Because I had many.
And part of me thought I might be sacrificing one to save the other. Was it worth the gamble? Would I even be able to do it?

I knew that girl. I knew what she was capable of, even if she had no clue. But what was I capable of? I could push her, but could I step back and let go?

No.
Too much was at stake.

But then again, I had never really liked that word
no
.