Pieces of Hate (8 page)

Mrs. Watkiss pulled her hand away and closed her eyes for a long moment, and Margaret feared she’d fallen asleep, until she opened them again.

“So . . . I should just keep doing what I’m doing?” Margaret asked.

The nod was slow and weak, like the old woman’s voice. “Yeah. Do what you’re doin’. Just . . . don’t go bad. Don’t go sour on the gift . . . like I did.” Then Mrs. Watkiss went to sleep. She made a quiet snoring sound in her throat, and her nose began to whistle again.

Margaret replaced the drape and went to her chair, placing the paper bag in her lap. She was starving, and this time she’d bought plenty of fast food . . .

13

Margaret heard Lynda’s voice outside the room, growing louder and clearer as it came down the corridor.

“ — and then all of a sudden she just shows up! I mean, I can’t tell you how surprised I was. It was great! Seeing her after all these years? Oh, I can’t tell you how wonderful it was, Mary.”

Margaret recognized Mary’s voice: “Well, darlin’, it must’ve done ya some good, ’cause Dr. Plummer was sure pleased with ya.”

“Really?” Lynda asked. “I didn’t see him before I left.”

“Oh, you’ll be seein’ him soon, I’m sure, lass.”

“He really thinks I’m doing better? Really?”

“I’m only a lowly nurse, m’dear. Wouldn’t know about that. You’ll have to ask him. But I can tell you this much,” Mary said as she pushed Lynda into the room in her wheelchair, “I’ve never heard you talkin’ this much before. You must be better.”

“Margaret!” Lynda blurted through a grin. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.” She got out of the wheelchair while it was still moving, her right hand wrapped around the I.V. pole.

“Lynda!” Mary snapped. “Y’want me to chop off your heels with this thing?”

Lynda ignored her. She stood in front of Margaret, leaning against the bed’s side rail. “So, what’s for breakfast today?”

Margaret smiled, chewing her food. “You name it, I’ve probably got it here. Two breakfast sandwiches, a breakfast burrito, scrambled eggs, French toast sticks — ”

“Oh, those look good.” Lynda plucked one of the sticks from Margaret’s lap, where everything was neatly arranged on the flattened bag. She plopped the whole thing into her mouth and chewed enthusiastically. “Mmm, great.”

“I’ve got some syrup, if you want to dip them.”

Lynda took another and dipped it into the small container of syrup. “Even better!” she said, talking with her mouth full.

“You sure you wanna be eatin’ that, love?” Mary asked. “I mean, if you’re hungry, that’s good. But maybe you should be startin’ with somethin’ a little easier to digest.”

“No, I’m fine,” Lynda said casually, almost dismissively. “Mary, my sister Margaret. Margaret, my favorite nurse Mary.”

Then she walked around the bed with her I.V. pole, flopped onto the mattress like a child and once again assumed her Indian-style sitting position. Before Mary could leave the room with the wheelchair, Lynda said, “Hey, Mary, do you think I could get something to eat?”

The woman — in her forties, slender, with dark hair — turned to Lynda.

“Well, honey, if you’re feelin’ like a bite, maybe I could bring some Jell-O or some — ”

“No, no, I mean something like a sandwich.”

Mary propped a fist on her hip, her elbow jutting. “Oh, it’s a sandwich you’re wantin’.” Smirking, she added, “And I suppose I’ll be cleanin’ the mess after it’s gone down and come back up again.”

“I had a bowl of soup last night. That didn’t come back up.”

“Well, there’s a big difference between soup and a sandwich. Soup or Jell-O I can get you. Anything more solid than that, you’ll have to talk to Dr. Plummer. He’ll be in soon.”

Lynda shrugged. “Okay, Mary. Thanks.”

The nurse started out of the room, but stopped again and turned to Lynda, pointing at Margaret’s lap. “And don’t be eatin’ none of that stuff, either. You start spittin’ it all back up, I just might make you clean the mess, lassie!”

As Mary pushed the wheelchair out of the room, Lynda laughed and said to Margaret, “I love her. She likes to make everybody think she’s a tough cookie, but she’s really very sweet. And funny, too. So. How are you?”

“Well, if I keep this up, I’m going to be very fat again, very fast.” Margaret put her breakfast on the bed table beside the vase of flowers she’d brought the day before. “What kind of tests did they do?”

“Just one. An MRI. No big deal. Dr. Plummer said he’d be in right away, but I’ll bet we don’t see him until this afternoon. That’s the way these doctor’s work, no matter how good looking they are. So, tell me, Margaret. Are you going to the reunion tomorrow night?”

“Yes, that’s right, today’s Friday. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh. And you’re going, aren’t you? I bet you even brought a nice dress with you, didn’t you?”

“Well . . . I brought one nice dress, yes. But I’m thinking maybe I should go out and buy a new one for the occasion. If I go that is.”

“Good girl. And I know just the place. Daphne’s. It’s a little hole in the wall right in the middle of town. Daphne carries some great stuff, and it’s all perfect for your body. And I have a tab at Daphne’s. I’ll call ahead and you can — ”

“I’ve got money, Lynda. For crying out loud, why would I want to put my dress on your tab?”

“Hey, I’ve got money, and I don’t want it hanging around after I’m gone, okay?”

Margaret stood and placed her hands on the bed’s side rail. “You don’t look to me like somebody who’s going anywhere.”

“Yeah, sure. Talk to my doctor. He’s got all kinds of medical double-talk that’ll change your mind.”

As if he’d been standing off-stage waiting for his cue, Dr. Plummer walked into the room. This time, he did not have Lynda’s chart, and there wasn’t a stethoscope to be seen on him. His face held an expression of vague surprise, even confusion. He stopped at the foot of Lynda’s bed, gave Margaret a brief, crooked smile, then looked at Lynda.

“Hello, Lynda.”

“Hey, Doc.”

“How do you feel right now?”

“Hungry. Like I could eat a live water buffalo with my hands tied behind my back.”

“Really?”

“Really. So, how about that test?”

“Well, you’re results were, um . . .” He cleared his throat and swept a finger back and forth over his lips. “They were quite good. Very encouraging, in fact.”

Lynda’s face registered surprise. “Really? How good is that?”

“Better than I expected.”

“So, I’m going to live?” she asked with a sarcastic smirk.

“Live. Well. Um. I . . . I, uh, can say that you’ve improved.”

Her smirk fell away and her eyebrows rose. “Improved? Really?”

“Yes. But, if you don’t mind, I’d like to steal your sister away for a little while.”

“Oh, I bet you would. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Dr. Plummer smiled and closed his eyes for just a moment. “I mean for a talk. Just a talk. Over coffee?”

“Yeah, but she is gorgeous, isn’t she?”

“Lynda, please,” Margaret hissed.

Dr. Plummer looked at Margaret with a bashful smile and nodded once. “Yes, she is very attractive.”

Margaret, amused but embarrassed, said, “Thank you, but Lynda is just reverting back to her childhood. She used to embarrass me all the time back then, too.”

“The nurse said you were hungry,” Dr. Plummer said to Lynda.

“I just said I was hungry, doesn’t that count? It has to come from a nurse before you’ll believe it? I’m starving. Can I have something?”

“What would you like?”

“A sandwich.”

“What kind of sandwich would you like?”

“A steak sandwich.”

Dr. Plummer’s eyebrows rose. “A steak sandwich.”

“Yes. A steak sandwich.”

He nodded slowly. “Anything else?”

“Onion rings?”

“A steak sandwich and onion rings.”

“Yes.” She grinned.

“I’ll see that you get those. In the meantime, I’d like to have a word with your sister.” He turned to Margaret. “Coffee in the cafeteria?”

“Fine with me,” Margaret said, standing.

As they started out of the room, Lynda called, “And a milkshake! Chocolate!”

Dr. Plummer turned back. “A steak sandwich, onion rings, and a chocolate milkshake.”

She nodded.

Once in the corridor, Dr. Plummer looked around until he spotted a candy striper. He stopped her as she walked by, removed a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Go down to Bart’s,” he said. “Know where that is? It’s just on the next block.” He removed a small note pad from his pocket and began to scribble on it. “I want you to get a steak sandwich, onion rings and a chocolate milkshake — ” He continued to write on the pad. “ — for this patient. I’ll put it on her chart.”

Mary, the Irish nurse, overheard as she walked by them outside of Lynda’s room. She slowed down long enough to shake her head and said, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re gonna need a whole crew to clean up that room when she finishes that!” She didn’t wait for a response, just kept walking.

Dr. Plummer ripped the page from the notebook and handed it to the candy striper. “Can you do that?”

“Sure,” she said, nodding.

“Thank you.” He took Margaret’s elbow and led her down the corridor, leaving the candy striper behind as they headed for the elevator and the cafeteria . . .

14

“I’m not quite sure what to tell you about your sister,” Dr. Plummer said as they seated themselves at a table in the cafeteria. Each of them had a steaming cup of coffee.

“What do you mean? I thought you just said her MRI was very encouraging.”

“Well, that’s what I told her.”

Margaret felt an instant surge of anger burn its way up from her stomach to the back of her throat. “You mean that you told her it was encouraging when it wasn’t?” Her hands, flanking the cup of coffee on the table, clenched into fists as she spoke with quiet rage, leaning sharply toward the doctor. “What the hell kind of doctor are you, anyway? To tell a cancer patient something like that when you know damned well — ”

Dr. Plummer held up a hand, palm out, and said, “That’s not what I did at all. I just didn’t know what to tell her about the test results when . . . I didn’t understand them myself.”

Margaret’s anger dissolved slowly into annoyance, as did her expression, and her hands relaxed on the table. “You know, when I first saw you last night, I thought you were young. But I assumed you’d at least finished medical school.”

He lowered his head and shook it slowly, smiling. “Look, Mrs., Um — ”

“Margaret’s fine. And I’m not a missus.”

“Okay, look, Margaret. Your sister’s cancer is, uh . . . well, it’s gone. I don’t know how else to say it. It’s just not there anymore.”

Margaret relaxed even more, placing a palm over her mouth to hide her quivering, uncontrollable grin. She swallowed several times and willed her tears back.

“Did you say . . . it’s gone? The cancer? Really?” She spoke softly and haltingly into her hand.

Dr. Plummer sighed and sipped his coffee. “When I walked into that room yesterday and saw her, I couldn’t . . . well, I thought maybe I’d missed too much sleep, or walked into the wrong room. The way she moved and sat up and . . . well, the fact that she moved at all . . . How long have you been here, Margaret? I mean, do you live around here, or did you travel? I didn’t even know Lynda had a sister.”

Margaret took a few deep breaths, trying to pull herself together quickly. She had that giddy feeling again. There was a fluttering in her chest that made her want to burst into giggles, to stand up, throw herself across the table and hug the doctor. But she fought it.

“I came from Los Angeles,” she said, lowering her hand. “I got here day before yesterday. Lynda probably didn’t mention me because . . . well, we haven’t spoken for a while. Like about twenty years.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. What brought you to Arizona after all that time?”

“The fact that she was dying. My aunt told me. Our parents are both gone and we have no family.”

“What about your aunt?”

“My aunt may be related to us, but she’s this hulking, three-hundred pound creature with a telephone receiver growing out of the side of her head who’s always been too busy gossiping to ever behave like family. Lynda’s the only real family I’ve got. And vice versa. That’s why I came. I figured it was more important than . . . hurt feelings and past disputes.”

“Well, if you just got here day before yesterday, then you really haven’t seen Lynda at her worst. She’s been in the final stages. In fact, I was considering sending her home because I’d done all I could. She hasn’t eaten in some time. She could hardly move, couldn’t do anything for herself because she was so weak. And she’s been bald, too. Now her hair is growing back, and like I said last night, hair simply does not grow back while chemo is still being administered. This . . . recovery, or whatever it is, has happened suddenly. Almost overnight. For all I know, maybe your arrival helped, but . . .” He shrugged. “I just don’t understand it.”