Once Upon a Project (17 page)

“I don't get it, Susan. Your kids are too young to understand, but Elyse, Pat, Grace . . . they're certainly not.”

“I didn't tell them because . . . people look at you differently when they know you have cancer, Charles. Especially breast cancer. They wonder if you'll be alive a year from now; they wonder what your boobs look like after surgery. And they feel sorry for you. I saw it in the eyes of some of the nurses at the hospital.” She stopped walking to look him dead in the eye. “I didn't sense that from you, and I thank you for that.”

“I don't feel sorry for you, Susan. I might be a little worried about what you've gone through, but I do believe you'll be fine. You look too good for it to be otherwise.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Thanks for your optimism.” She started to walk again but stopped when he grabbed her hand. “What is it?”

“I'm glad you called me. And I know it's more than your ego needing to be stroked, to be told you still look good after your operation. You've never been a shallow person.”

“Thanks . . . I think.” Susan gave him a sunny smile at the backhanded compliment, but he remained serious.

“So what happens now? You've gotten that burden off your chest; you know I think you're still beautiful.”

God, she couldn't stop grinning. He affected her better than any tonic on the market. “You're killing me with compliments, Charles.”

“Just answer my question.”

“We're friends. But I don't want this afternoon to be a one-time thing.” Of that she was certain.

“So you keep lying to your husband about how you plan to spend a couple of hours.”

Susan's shoulders felt like lead. “What do you want me to do, Charles? Calling you was a last-minute impulse. I haven't worked it all out in my head. For all I knew you would have pissed me off about something and I wouldn't have wanted to see you again anyway. Not that it can't still happen,” she cautioned.

“Susan, we've always been friends. But we used to be a lot more to each other than that. What if I'm not satisfied with merely being your friend?”

She didn't hesitate. “I'm afraid that's all I can offer you, Charles.”

He accepted her response in silence. They walked back toward where they parked, moving faster than before, stopping to watch teenagers playing basketball at the courts.

“That kid's good,” he said, his eyes on a boy in torn jeans who, when not scoring baskets, blocked attempted shots of opposing team members.

Charles moved a few feet in front of her, and for the first time Susan noticed the small bald spot on the back of his head. It would probably get larger as time went on. They really had become middle-aged, she thought with amusement.

“He reminds me of Douglas.”

Her jaw went taut at the mention of Charles's brother, but she knew they had to talk about it. “How are things between you and Douglas?”

“We get on all right. We've both made a special effort for our mother's sake. He's . . . he's scheduled to be released soon. That's one reason I still live in the house. I don't trust him. I don't want him running drugs out of my mother's house, or taking her jewelry to make a buy. He knows I'm there, so he's on his best behavior. I whipped his ass twenty-five years ago, and I'll do it again if I have to.”

Susan winced. She hadn't expected Charles to bring up the fight he and Douglas had had. “I guess the rumor mill put in overtime over that one.”

“I'll say. I must have heard five different stories. One went that I was jealous of Douglas's success, so I went after you, the one thing Douglas had lost, just to get back at him. Then there was the one that said Douglas was keeping you in an apartment in Wisconsin, but you got tired of waiting for him and took up with me, never expecting to get caught.”

“Believe me, the person who told me that story almost got popped himself.”

“I'm sure there were plenty more, but I'd rather not hear them, if you don't mind.”

“I wouldn't have repeated the more vicious lies to you, anyway. It all happened a long time ago.”

When they reached their cars, he stood behind her as she unlocked the door with her remote. She opened the door, then turned to him before getting in. “Thanks for listening, Charles. I'll be in touch.”

“Don't you dare hold out your hand like you expect me to shake it,” he said, practically growling.

“Charles—”

He took a step forward and embraced her, his lips claiming hers. After an initial jerk of her shoulders, she relaxed, a contented sigh escaping from her throat, and she reached out to hold him.

The kiss continued for fifteen sexy seconds. “I . . . I have to go,” she said weakly, her hands clasped in front of her after she forced herself to move them from his shoulders.

“I know. I just don't want to let you go. Not again.”

“I'll be back, Charles. I promise.”

His arms tightened around her waist. “Make it soon.”

Chapter 28

 

E
lyse rolled her eyes. She'd always gotten along fairly well with her stepchildren, but now both of them were getting on her nerves, with their endless questions about the quality of care their father was receiving. Elyse knew they worried about him, but they didn't have to act like she had no stake in the matter. Franklin was
her
husband. They'd been grilling her ever since emerging from the bedroom, where he now sat in a reclining chair a good part of the day while he healed.

“I don't think Pop should be left alone while you work, Elyse,” Frankie said now. “Don't you worry about him being home all by himself?”

“Of course I do, but he insisted. Kids”—it seemed odd to refer to adults in their thirties that way, but she'd always used that word when speaking to them jointly—“your father doesn't want to be treated as an invalid. As far as he's concerned, he's just like any other postsurgical patient. He wouldn't need nursing care if he just had his appendix out.”

“But he
didn't
just have his appendix taken out,” Frankie pointed out. “That's one of the few things they left in.”

Rebecca stood with her arms crossed over her chest. “So there's no financial considerations involved, Elyse?”

“Of course not. Your daddy has excellent health insurance, plus supplemental coverage. I've been home with him since the rehab center released him last weekend. I'm convinced he'll be all right. If not, we'll get a home health aide for him.”

Frankie nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I've heard about those people. They come into your house and help themselves to anything that's not bolted down while their patient is napping.”

“Elyse, why would you want to have some stranger come in and take care of Pop instead of doing it yourself?” Rebecca asked. “Don't you
want
to take care of him?”

She tried not to show the frustration she felt. “Frankie, Rebecca. I know you both want your father to get the best care possible, but he and I talked all this out before we even told you about his tumor. He made it clear that he didn't want an aide unless he couldn't get out of bed. I talked to the physical therapists at the rehab center, and I happen to be one myself. I'm convinced he can manage. They wouldn't have let him come home unless they were satisfied that he could take care of his daily activities. It's important for him to have some independence. We want him to recover mentally, as well as physically.

“And as for me continuing to work, it's important to our family that I have a steady income. Your father will receive his full salary for twelve weeks, but his income will drop if he has to go on disability. Todd and Brontë are both in school, with room and board to be paid, as well as tuition. It makes solid financial sense for me to keep working. Your daddy's coverage doesn't cover the entire cost of a home health care aide, only part of it. Caretakers don't come cheap, especially with an agency surcharge tacked on.”

“Well, I'm starting to wonder how clearly Pop is thinking,” Frankie said. “I'm going to talk to him about it, see if I can get him to change his mind.”

Elyse rolled her eyes. “You do what you think is best, Frankie.”

 

 

Elyse talked to Kevin about it that night, after Franklin fell asleep, calling him from her cell phone, as she always did. She and Kevin weren't doing anything wrong, of course, but Franklin might not see it as harmless. She knew
she
wouldn't like it if some woman called the house looking for her husband.

“Honestly, they don't seem like the same kids I used to have so much fun with,” Elyse complained. “They second-guess me, imply that I'm not taking care of their father . . .”

“Try not to be too hard on them, Elyse. Their father is ill, they're faced with the possibility of losing him, and they don't know how to handle it.”

“
My
life has changed more than either of theirs, Kevin.” She knew she sounded a little short, but it didn't seem fair for him to be so understanding of Frankie and Rebecca's behavior and show no sympathy for her.

“I know it has. I don't mean to imply otherwise.”

“And being worried about their father is no excuse for treating me like someone with an agenda. I've been married to their father for nearly twenty-six years. They should know I have his best interests at heart. It isn't fair. They grill me like a sirloin steak, then go home to their own lives, and I'm left alone to monitor how much Franklin eats and drinks, dispense his medications, and check his weight.”

It felt good to vent a little. She looked forward to talking with Kevin at the end of a long day. They generally spoke a few times a week, always at a little after nine at night. Kevin didn't seem to mind listening to her express her fears and annoyances, and Elyse found she rather enjoyed the attention and the sympathetic ear. Now that everyone knew about Franklin's diagnosis, she was surrounded by concerned family members, all of whom offered unsolicited advice for the best way to care for him, now that he'd been discharged from the rehabilitation center. She didn't like being told how to care for her husband, and it was getting harder and harder to keep her temper in check. Already she'd abruptly hung up on Franklin's first wife, Carolyn, when she asked the same thing her children had asked this afternoon: Why was she going back to work and leaving Franklin alone to care for himself? Elyse felt that she owed Frankie and Rebecca an explanation because Franklin was their father, but she felt no such obligation to Carolyn. As far as Elyse was concerned, Carolyn had a lot of damn nerve, questioning her like that. Who the hell was she, thinking she deserved answers?

Her other friends had been wonderful. Susan drove down last week, when Franklin was still a patient at the rehabilitation facility, and they had a relaxing two-hour lunch at the Olive Garden. Pat and Grace came up the next day and brought a picnic lunch. Todd and Brontë came home every weekend to see Franklin, and Frankie and Rebecca drove up from Evanston on Saturdays.

Everyone anxiously awaited the pathology report, which would tell them if Franklin's cancer had spread. Elyse didn't even want to think about that possibility. The findings would be revealed to Franklin at his follow-up appointment on Wednesday.

She went back into the bedroom and saw Franklin had gotten into bed. She plumped his pillows and spread the haphazardly thrown light quilt over him evenly. “Are you comfy?” she asked.

“Yeah. Bring me a glass of juice, will you, Elyse?”

“Sure. Be right back.”

As she walked to the kitchen she asked herself what he would do when he wanted something to drink tomorrow, when she was at work. Doubts filled her head, increasing with each step she took. Maybe Frankie had a point. Maybe she
should
insist they get him a home health care aide to do things like fix his breakfast and lunch and help him wash up—Franklin hadn't been given the green light to shower yet.

Thank God their bedroom was on the first floor of the house, for he'd been instructed not to climb stairs. She'd better make sure the kitchen was fully stocked with everything he might need. They kept an extra refrigerator plus a meat freezer down in the basement, and Franklin was obstinate enough to go down to get more eggs, regardless of being warned not to. Good Lord. She'd come home and find him unconscious....

If only he weren't so stubborn about his care. She didn't want to bring in a caregiver against his wishes, only to have him chase her away by being obstinate and uncooperative. Franklin was old school. He equated needing a caregiver with weakness. And pointing out that he
was
weak would only infuriate him . . . which she knew was really a mask for hurt pride.

Todd came into the kitchen while she held a glass against the ice dispenser. “Mom? Is Dad all right?”

“Yes. He asked me for something to drink.”

Todd leaned against the breakfast bar. “Do you really think he can manage on his own?”

She sighed. “At first I did, but now I'm not so sure. I think Frankie might have had a point. Someone should be here with him.” She removed a half-gallon plastic container of a mixture of cranberry and cherry juices from the refrigerator door and filled the glass. As she put it back an idea suddenly came to her.

“Do you want me to—”

“No,” she interrupted. She knew he was about to offer to take time off from school. “This is finals week, Todd. It'd be hell to reschedule your exams. But I'd like you to ride to the store with me. I want to pick up a small refrigerator for the bedroom, so Daddy won't have to do a whole lot of walking.”

“Hey, Mom, that's a great idea.”

“I'll bring this to him, and then we can go. Brontë can stay in case he needs anything.”

 

 

That evening, after the refrigerator had gotten cold, Elyse loaded it with cold cuts, bread, deli potato salad, orange juice, cranberry juice, mustard, and mayonnaise. She would give Franklin his breakfast before she left. This way he'd have to walk no farther than a few feet to the adjoining bathroom.

She went about her work quietly, not wanting to awaken the sleeping Franklin. When she finished bringing napkins, paper plates, a couple of plastic drinking glasses and utensils, she sat on the side of the bed and simply gazed at him.

His weight loss had become noticeable. He didn't have much appetite. She hoped he would eventually gain some of the weight back, now that he was out of the hospital. He was still a handsome man, but he looked unwell.

Elyse suddenly felt a lump in her throat. She'd tried to be optimistic, telling herself there was no point in thinking about the worst when nothing had been confirmed. Sitting here watching her husband rest, she couldn't keep the thought away.

What would happen if Franklin died?