Saving Abby (17 page)

She raised an eyebrow. “What happens if the tumors grow? Still just going to passively watch her?”

“Of course not.” Will sounded offended.

Good.

“So then what? What if you have to make the choice between my daughter’s life or my grandchild’s?” As much as Millie hated to admit that might be a possibility, someone needed to, because she had a feeling her daughter wasn’t facing reality.

William rubbed his face with both his hands and groaned.

“I’m praying that won’t happen,” he said.

“We both know God doesn’t always answer prayers,” she said quietly. She’d lived a lifetime learning the hard way that God’s ways were not always her ways.

“What do you want me to tell you, Millie?”

“I want you to tell me you will do everything possible to ensure my daughter doesn’t die. Everything. Do you hear me, William Shuman? I do not care what needs to be done. My daughter’s life is nonnegotiable.”

The words twisted their way out of her very soul, and the moment she voiced her fear into existence, she knew deep in her heart that while she was reacting as a mother, so too was her daughter.

TWENTY-THREE

CLAIRE

Present day

Dear child of my heart,

There will be times when you’re faced with difficult decisions, some harder than others, but all test your strength, your determination, and your heart.

Above all else, trust your heart.

I
n the large chair in her office, which overlooked her backyard, Claire recalled those words she’d written on a postcard while staring out across the Tyrrhenian Sea in Positano, Italy. Casa delle Memorie, the small family-owned bed-and-breakfast, had welcomed them with open arms, and Claire had been lulled by the tranquility of the area, never wanting to leave.

She wished she could go back. What would it be like there now, in the fall? To stare out across the waters, to be surrounded by the warmth of the people, and to marvel at the heritage and culture she’d fallen in love with.

She should write Rocco and Miima, the family who ran the little bed-and-breakfast they stayed at for a week, and let them know about her pregnancy. Miima would be ecstatic.

Claire reached down for a box she kept close to her chair. It was full of hand-drawn postcards she’d made a few years ago. Sending one of her postcards to Miima would be perfect, especially considering the large wall of postcards they kept in each bedroom.

When they’d first walked into their bedroom at Casa delle Memorie, they’d marveled at the small hallway that led to their suite. The hallway was covered in postcards from others who had stayed there. Once she saw that wall and listened to Miima’s story about how it started, the name of the bed-and-breakfast suddenly made sense—House of Memories.

Ciao Miima,

I’m lost in memories today and find myself dreaming of your beautiful garden, where we would sit and make up stories for one another. Do you remember the last story you told me, the one where we came back to visit and introduced you to our child?

That story is about to come true! Our little one is due in January.

It may take a few years for us to come back to visit, but when we come, we won’t be alone. I can’t wait to show our child your memory wall and see if they can find the postcard I left there.

Claire suddenly had an idea.

Your memory wall has stuck with me, and so I’ve decided to start my own in my office . . . a postcard from all the places we’ve been and from those we love who live abroad.

Forever . . . your very pregnant and glowing with happiness Canadian friend,

Claire

She could almost imagine Miima’s giddiness when she received her postcard. She and Rocco, her husband of almost fifty years, would open a bottle of wine from their own vineyard and raise a toast to not only her happiness but her health as well.

She could really use that toast right about now. She was almost at twenty-two weeks, the halfway mark of her pregnancy. She wished this were a normal pregnancy, where she could revel in each week, cherish the time her baby grew in her womb, and enjoy every moment, but she couldn’t. All she could do was count down to when things would be safe for her baby and she could begin treatment. If she began treatment.

Claire stood up carefully so the room wouldn’t spin, which had started happening recently, and began to pace in her office. She wanted to create her own memory wall. She had boxes of postcards, letters, drawings, and other small items not just from their own travels but also from readers who fell in love with their stories. She should have thought of this years ago . . . instead of pulling out the letters and drawings from young readers when she needed a boost, she should have placed them on her wall, right in front of her desk, where she could see them all the time.

She found a roll of cork that was left over from a project Josh hadn’t followed through on. It took a couple of hours, but when she finally she stepped back, she smiled with satisfaction. She’d play some more with the arrangement of some of the letters, drawings, and postcards, but for now, it was perfect.

Not only was it an inspiration, it was a reminder.

To never give up.

She rubbed the back of her neck, rolling her shoulders as she did so, and regretted not taking the pills for her headache earlier. Just as she swallowed three of the coated capsules, their front door slammed shut downstairs.

“Helllloooo.” Josh’s voice carried up the stairs.

Claire checked the time. He’d left this morning on a drive, something he often did when he was stuck on a scene. His drives could take him anywhere and would range from a few hours to all day. He was home sooner than she’d expected.

“Up here.” She stood in the doorway and called down.

Her husband ran up the stairs and enfolded her in a hug and then gave her a loud, smacking kiss.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she teased. “I figured you’d be home in time for dessert.”

“I made my way up to the Smokey Head nature reserve, sat on the rocks, and stared out into the bay. It didn’t take long for the story to play out in my mind. We should go back up there, make a day trip of it. I forgot how beautiful it is there, especially this time of the year. The leaves are all turning, and there’s a refreshing crispness to the air that does a body good.”

A day trip away from everyone they knew, where she could enjoy being outside, breathe in the lake air, and not worry about running in to someone she knew? Count her in.

“Whoa.” Josh noticed her wall and whistled. “Someone’s been busy. You know what this reminds me of?”

“Casa delle Memorie,” they said in unison before laughing together.

“I wrote a postcard to Miima, telling her the news. I figured she’d love to know.”

Josh placed his hand on her belly but didn’t say anything. He didn’t talk much of their baby anymore.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. About a three.” She gave the number before he even asked, not letting herself reflect that she was telling him how many pills she’d taken rather than how bad the headache really was. “What do you think of Leah or Rosa for a name if we have a girl?”

“Someone’s been thinking about Italy.” A smile appeared finally, and she relaxed a little.

“Maybe a little.”

“So, just a three, huh? That’s pretty good.”

Claire picked up a mug of tea she’d been drinking all day. “I think I found a way to drink that awful skullcap tea from David. I’ve been sipping at it all day. Maybe it’s actually helping.”

“Any naps today?”

Claire smothered her frustration and shook her head.

“We should celebrate then.” He hesitated and looked at her. Claire’s breathing quickened. He was about to say something or ask something she wouldn’t like. She knew it.

“What about a picnic down at the pier?” he suggested.

Before she had a chance to say no, he placed a finger against her lips.

“We can find a secluded area away from any of the tables or family areas. Sit by the water, listen to the waves, and stare into each other’s eyes and—”

“No.” She didn’t even let him finish. She turned from him and picked up a pile of papers from her desk, going through them without really seeing them.

“Claire, you haven’t left the house in weeks,” Josh said quietly.

“Not true. I was out twice last week and once so far this week.” She tightened her grip on the papers.

“To go to the hospital for your appointments. But you turn down the girls’ invitations for coffee, you make your mother come out here, and you rarely answer the phone anymore. This isn’t healthy. You’re . . . ,” he said with a sigh, “isolating yourself, and I don’t like it.”

She shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

When her husband didn’t respond, she set the papers down and turned to face him.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I don’t.” He swallowed hard and reached for her hand. “I don’t understand why you’re pulling yourself away from everyone who loves you. If you don’t want to tell people about the tumors, fine. You don’t need to. But these are your friends. They want to celebrate this pregnancy with you. They miss you, and I can only make so many excuses for you before they start to get suspicious.”

“I can’t.” She physically couldn’t. The idea of going out in public, of having to explain her headaches or worry about not getting stressed, seeing the pity on people’s faces after they found out . . .

“I need more time, Josh,” she pleaded.

His face fell, and she hated that she was doing this to him, putting him in a position where he had to keep lying for her to all their friends, but she didn’t know what else to do.

She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

“Besides, we’re under some tight deadlines, so it’s not like this is anything abnormal.”

“They’re not
that
tight, Claire. Unless you haven’t started on your drawings. But you have, right?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her.

She shrugged. “Somewhat. I’m a bit behind . . . probably two chapters. The headaches don’t help.” It also didn’t help that she was focused on a certain side project her husband had no idea about.

She’d been struggling with her story idea, not feeling the connection, but today, while working on the memory board, she’d had an idea. Why not write her child a story about their time in Europe? She could share her passion for traveling and leave their child a message at the same time. At every place they stayed, Claire had left something behind—a letter, a postcard, a drawing.

Claire would love to take their child on an adventure, to go back to the places they’d visited and loved. But, if something happened, and Claire couldn’t be there . . . she could use her story to do the same thing, essentially.

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had to face the fact that things might not go as planned, that by the time she could undergo treatment, it might be too late.

TWENTY-FOUR

MILLIE

Present day

M
illie sipped her hibiscus tea at the Odd Cup and slathered some of Julie’s homemade strawberry jam onto her vanilla cream scone while she waited for Liz to arrive.

“How is Claire? I haven’t seen her in ages. Is she showing yet? How far along is she? You need to tell that girl to come in, and I’ll make her something special. Oh, and tell her I added something to my shelf with her in mind.” Julie pulled out a chair and sat down. She pointed to the wall off to the side.

Millie’s eyes scanned the items on the shelves. Everything had a beach or homemade feel to it, from white lanterns to seashells, to . . . ah. Millie smiled. “Where did you find that black sheep? Claire is going to love it.”

“There’s a little shop in Bayfield that just opened, and it has a whole selection of sheep curios. I mentioned we had a famous author who collects black sheep and just happened to be pregnant, so the owner’s on the lookout for some baby items.”

“No doubt you’ll be Claire’s new favorite person. She looks fabulous, by the way. She’s about twenty-four or so weeks now and complains that her soccer-ball-sized belly will soon look like a beach ball.”

Julie chuckled. “You warned her it gets worse, right?”

“Oh no.” Millie’s eyes grew in size. “You know my daughter. She’s been reading all those pregnancy books and thinks she knows how everything will go.”

“Seriously though, is she okay? I’m not the only one who’s noticed her absence. Or is she on a deadline?”

Millie took a sip of her tea and then ate a small piece of her scone.

“She’s good, and yes, she’s got a lot of projects on the go. That’s probably why she hasn’t been in.” That’s as good an excuse as any. Claire wasn’t ready for people to find out about her tumor. But, how she expected to keep that a secret was beyond her. Eventually, someone was going to talk, whether a patient Claire bumped into at the hospital or one of the nurses or . . .

“You started without me?” Liz arrived, a big purse slung over her shoulder, and frowned at the scone in front of Millie.

Julie stood and held the chair out for Liz. “I’ve got a new strawberry cream tea that just came in. Would taste good with a scone.”

“Sounds perfect.” Liz smiled up at Julie before she sat down.

“New bag?” Millie liked the hot-pink color of the bag. Liz loved her bags, whether large purses or small handbags, and she had a large walk-in closet full of them.

“Just arrived in the mail. I think it’s my new favorite. How are you doing?” She sneaked a piece of Millie’s scone and moaned as she took a bite. “We need to take Julie out one night and get her drunk enough that she’ll spill the secret to her scones. Mine never taste like this.”

Millie laughed. “Julie drunk? Have you thought about asking for her recipe instead? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with a drink in hand.”

Liz grumbled something in reply, but it was too low for Millie to catch.

“To answer your question, I’m fine. How are you?”

“Don’t lie to me, Millie. I know you better than that.” Liz challenged her.

Millie shrugged. “How am I supposed to be? My daughter is suffering, and there’s nothing I can say or do to convince her that her life is important too.”

Truth be told, she was angry. Angry at Claire for being so stubborn and pigheaded. Angry at Josh for not being able to talk some sense into his wife. Angry at Abigail, who wouldn’t push Claire to get treatment, and angry at William for not insisting from the very beginning that her daughter have surgery.

More importantly, she was angry at herself for being so frustrated with her daughter. Claire needed her support, and given how hard it was getting with the worsening headaches, Millie needed to get past her anger and figure out a way to handle this.

“Millie, I love you. We’ve been friends forever and through a lot of things life has thrown our way. But you need to respect Claire’s decision and find some measure of peace in all this.”

Millie wrapped her hands around her lukewarm tea mug. “Peace? I will never find peace in knowing my daughter is willing to die.”

“To protect her child. You would do the same thing,” Liz said quietly.

“I . . .” She wanted to argue, to say she wouldn’t, but Liz knew her too well. If she could, she would willingly give her life for her daughter. She’d already lived a long life and was content with where she was, but her daughter had so much more life to live.

“I will fight for my daughter, the same as she is fighting for her child. You can’t ask me to stop doing that,” she said instead.

Liz reached her hand across and gripped Millie’s tight. “Of course not. If I could turn back time and find a way to keep Mark alive, you better believe I would. I would have faked an illness or begged him to leave one tour early. I would have done something,
anything
, to make sure he was still alive today.” Liz sighed. “But Claire is more than just a daughter now. She’s also a mother with the need to protect her child.”

“It’s hard, Liz. So hard,” Millie whispered, suddenly feeling very choked up. “She still won’t leave the house. Did Abby tell you that?”

Liz nodded. “Other than her appointments, Abby said she’s basically housebound.”

“She—”

Julie approached, holding a tray full of goodies. She set a hot pot of tea down in front of Liz, and then refilled Millie’s pot.

“I saw Liz sneaking bites of your scone, Millie, so I brought an extra that you both can share. My treat. I’m also going to pack up some fresh baked goodies for Claire. Will you take it to her? Tell her it’s my contribution to that beach ball look she’s going for.” Julie grinned and then headed off to another table of customers.

The Odd Cup was a great little spot in town and was slowly becoming more popular with tourists and visitors. During the summer months, it turned into a zoo, and Millie would only come first thing in the morning, before the crowds.

“You were saying,” Liz prodded.

“She seems to think the stress of being out in public would trigger a headache, so her goal is to limit the amount of stress her body has to handle.” Millie rolled her eyes.

“You don’t agree with her, I take it.”

“Her whole life is one big ball of stress right now. What she needs is to be surrounded by those who love her, who want to support her . . . but she doesn’t see it that way. I should just force her to . . . I could arrange for a community baby shower, and then she’d have no choice but to come out of hiding.”

Liz kept quiet, but Millie could see the hamster wheel in her brain going full speed.

“That’s not the right way to deal with this, and you know it. The real issue, I think, is that for a woman used to being in control . . . that choice has been taken away from her thanks to the tumors. She’s scared, Millie. You know that.”

Millie nodded.

“Is she having panic attacks again?” Liz asked.

Stunned, Millie sat back and thought about that. When things got to be too much for her daughter, she pulled inside of herself to the point of becoming separated from reality. She did it when Millie dragged her to Europe to help heal her heart, she did it after her father died, and each time she received a negative pregnancy test.

“You know, I’m not sure. As bad as that sounds.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Millie. She . . .” Liz stopped and a big smile spread on her face. “Well, look who’s here.”

Millie twisted in her seat to see David walking in with a gift bag dangling from his fingers.

She couldn’t help but smile up at him.

“Hope I’m not interrupting, ladies,” he said.

“Not at all.” Liz pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you join us?”

David didn’t sit until Millie nodded. Liz nudged her beneath the table with her foot and then cleared her throat.

“I actually have a few errands to run. Why don’t I let you kids enjoy a cup of tea.” Liz pushed her chair back.

“Seriously? You’re leaving?” Millie wanted to glare but held back.

“I’ll only be a half hour. Think you can keep her entertained that long, David?” The smirk on Liz’s face had Millie simmering.

What was Liz doing? No, she knew exactly what she was doing: meddling.

“I don’t need entertaining.” Millie narrowed her eyes at her laughing friend and then smiled at the man beside her. “But spending time with you is always a pleasure.”

She ignored Liz’s good-bye and sipped her tea instead.

“You’re looking nice today, Millie Jack,” David said once they were alone.

“Buttering me up, are you?” She looked at him over the rim of her teacup, struggling to keep the smile off her face.

“Looks like you might need it. I haven’t seen you this tense in a while.” He studied her, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

She wished she could tell him. There was a part of her that wished she could lean on him, share what was going on, and use him as a sounding board, but Claire had begged her to keep things a secret. Including David.

“You obviously aren’t seeing enough of me,” she said quietly.

“I’ve been saying that for a long time now.” Despite the stoic look on his face, she could hear the glint of joy in his voice. She gave him a small smile before she sighed.

“I brought you a gift.” He set the gift bag on the table and nudged it toward her.

She peeked inside and frowned.

“Papers?” There were a dozen or more pamphlets inside the bag.

“Keep digging.”

She set the pamphlets, brochures, and postcards on the table and gave them a quick glance.

They were all dealing with headaches and migraines. She shuffled through them and looked at David searchingly.

“For Claire. I’ve been doing some research and found some alternatives to the pills she’s probably trying to avoid.” He leaned forward and reached in the bag, pulling out a box.

“I’ve got a friend who sent me this for Claire to try out. It’s a device that’s supposed to treat and prevent migraines. It’s a band she wears on her forehead. There’s a nerve close to our eye sockets that this triggers through electrodes. It is safe for the baby, and I’ve read some really good things about it.

“There’s also some other teas in here. I know the skullcap tea I gave you before is probably not to her liking, so I found some others for her to try. They’ll help with the nausea from the headaches as well.”

Millie grabbed his hand and held on tight.

“Is she okay?” David asked.

Millie stared up at the ceiling, blinking her eyes rapidly. No crying allowed, she told herself.

“Millie? What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. She couldn’t tell him. Claire would be so angry.

“This is just very sweet of you, thank you.” She breathed in deep. “Her headaches are getting worse, so I’m sure this will help.” She picked up the box with the band in order to distract herself. She wasn’t sure about this, it all depended on where the tumors were located, but Abby would know.

The look on David’s face when she finally looked up told her he didn’t believe her. But it didn’t matter.

Years ago, Claire had accused her of never putting her first, of placing herself and her marriage ahead of everything else. Millie understood Claire spoke out of anger, but the words had hurt, nonetheless. It hadn’t been true. Not then and not now.

Claire was all that mattered right now.

“So why did it look like you were about to cry?”

Millie held her tea between her hands and looked out the window, needing to get a hold of herself. After a few moments, she was able to look at David and smile.

“It’s a woman’s prerogative to cry and not explain herself. Didn’t you know that, David Jefferies?”

“When it comes to you, Millie Jack, it’s better to never assume anything. But if you need to cry, I’m okay with that. I’ve got big shoulders, just say the word, and they are all yours.”

With those words, the walls around Millie’s heart crumbled.