The Life Intended (36 page)

“How do you know?” Andrew asks. “How do you know what life intended?”

“What are you saying?” I shoot back. “That it’s a good thing Patrick’s dead? That I’m somehow fortunate that it took me twelve years to get my shit together? That now the road ahead of me is full of rainbows and sparkles? I’m sorry, but I just don’t believe any of that.”

If I were having this conversation with Dan, he would shrug and walk away with an annoyed expression on his face. But Andrew stays right where he is and says, “You’re angry. I get that. And you have every right to be. Life has let you down. But what if the dreams you talked about were real?”

I stop fuming and look at him. “What?”

“I mean, who are we to say they’re not? Maybe they’re not just dreams. Maybe we all have this whole other world out there that we could be living in. But you have to choose, Kate. Do you want this life, the one you’re living in, where you get to make a difference? Or do you want a life that might have been, where you’re not really
you
?”

I think about the Andrew I read about in the dream, the one who didn’t seem to have the passion that the man in front of me has in spades. And I think about the disservice I’m doing to Patrick by not allowing his absence to transform me into something better. He deserves more, and I do too.

I look down at my lap for a long time. I know Andrew probably thinks I’m pitiful, and I feel humiliated. “So can I get you a drink or something?” I ask finally, changing the subject as I remember my manners.

“No thanks.” Andrew stands up. “I have to get to that dinner. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I’m surprised by how disappointed I feel. But of course he’s leaving. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” I say in a small voice.

“Kate, you’re allowed to snap! You’re allowed to be messy.
Life
is messy. You should say what’s on your mind more often. Honesty is sexy on you.”

“Oh,” I say, my cheeks flaming. “Right. Well, um, thanks for coming by to check on me. That was nice.”

“Kate,” Andrew begins, letting the word hang here for a moment as he gazes at me. My chest constricts as I stare back. “Kate,” he finally begins again, “the way you are with these kids, it’s amazing. I want you to know that. You get them to open up in ways I’ve never seen before.”

“It’s just the music,” I mumble.

“No. It’s you.”

The words mean a lot to me, not least of all because I can tell he really means them. “I’ll come back to St. Anne’s next week,” I say. “I promise. I just needed some time.”

“Go see Allie. I think it will help both of you.”

“I will,” I say.

I walk him to the door, and as I open it for him and turn back around to say good-bye, he’s just inches away, and for a strange, frozen moment, I have the feeling he’s about to kiss me. What’s even crazier is that I want him to.

We stare at each other, motionless, for what feels like a full minute, and then Andrew blinks, takes a step back, and mumbles, “I have to go. Look after yourself, Kate.”

“Yeah,” I say as he disappears down the hall. “You too.”

And then he’s gone. I stare after him for a long time, wondering whether I imagined the friction in the air between us.

Thirty

T
he next morning, I take the train out to Glen Cove to see Joan. The whole way there, I find myself thinking about Andrew. The way he looked in that sky-blue shirt. The way he understood how I was feeling and didn’t leave just because I took my frustration out on him. The way I felt when his eyes held mine at the door. The feeling of loneliness that crept in when he was gone. Even as I’m heading up Joan’s front walk to the house I used to visit with Patrick, it’s Andrew’s face I’m seeing in my mind. Strangely, this doesn’t make me feel guilty.

I haven’t phoned ahead, so Joan looks startled to see me when she opens her door and finds me standing there. “Kate!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

“I hope you don’t mind,” I say. “I just figured I hadn’t seen you in a while. I wanted to check on you.”

She studies me for a moment. “Well, come in, sweetheart.”

She leads me into the living room, and I notice as we pass the kitchen that there are dishes piled in the sink and a few rags sitting on the counter. “Everything okay?” I ask as we sit down on her couch.

“How did you know?” she asks right away.

“Know what?”

“About the breast cancer,” she says softly. “You told me I needed to get checked out, that you just had a feeling. And you were right, Kate. They called two days ago. It’s stage three. I’m supposed to meet with an oncologist and a radiologist on Monday morning. They want me to begin treatments in the city as soon as possible. I may need to have surgery too, if they’re able to shrink the tumor a bit.”

“Oh, Joan,” I breathe. A wave of guilt sweeps over me—I didn’t look out for Joan the way I should have—but I push it quickly away.
The dreams aren’t real, Kate,
I tell myself.
This is a coincidence.
Still, I feel terrible for not urging Joan to get a mammogram sooner, dreams or no dreams. When Patrick died, I made a promise to myself that I’d always look after his parents. I feel like I’ve failed.

As if reading my mind, Joan leans forward and says, “Honestly, Kate, I wouldn’t have gone to get that mammogram if you hadn’t been so insistent. I was feeling fine, and you know me: if it ain’t broke, I don’t see the need to fix it.”

I nod. Joan is a stoic type who doesn’t even go to the doctor for a flu. I should have assumed she wasn’t getting checked regularly. “So you’ll be okay, right? With treatment? The doctors are optimistic?”

Joan looks at her hands for a while before looking up with a forced smile. “They tell me stage three breast cancer comes with about a 40 percent chance of survival. But other risk factors, such as my age, make the prognosis a little worse.”

I can feel my eyes filling with tears. “You’re going to be fine, Joan. I know it.”

“Maybe, sweetheart. But if things don’t work out, it just means I get to see my husband again sooner. And Patrick.”

“No!” I say instantly. I have days too when I wish I wasn’t
here, when I wish I was dead already so that I could be with Patrick again. But I know how valuable life is. I’m not about to let Joan throw in the towel. “You have to fight this, Joan. You have to.”

“I will, dear. Of course I will. But I’m not like you. I don’t have as much to live for anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” I say fiercely. “You have me.”

“Kate, you have your own life to live. You don’t need to worry about your former mother-in-law. Really, maybe it’s for the best.”

“You’re not my
former
anything.” I take a deep breath. “You’re my family, Joan, You always will be. And I think you should come live with me for a while.”

Joan looks startled. “What?”

My mind is racing. The dreams, whatever they were, led me here, led me to encourage Joan to get a mammogram. The dreams made me see that Dan was never meant to be my family. The dreams even prompted me to clear out my guest bedroom in anticipation of Allie moving in. I know now that that wasn’t meant to be, but maybe
this
is. Maybe this is the family I was supposed to be making space in my life for.

“Look,” I say firmly, “I have plenty of room. Dan is gone now, and the place is too big for just me. If your chemo treatments are going to be in the city anyhow, it doesn’t make sense for you to be commuting in and out all the time. You’ll be exhausted. Stay with me, at least until you’re done with your treatments. We’ll fight it together.”

“Kate, I couldn’t possibly impose.”

“How is it an imposition if I’m inviting you? In fact, I’m insisting. Come stay with me. Let me help you.”

Joan hesitates. “It would only be for a little while.”

“It would be for as long as you want to stay,” I say firmly. After all, this is what Patrick would have wanted. It’s what
I
want.

I think about what Andrew said last night about making a choice. I can’t retreat to a world I don’t belong in every time life gets hard, can I? And if there’s a choice to be made, I have to stay in the place where I can help Joan, where I can be a friend to Allie, where I can keep working with Max, Leo, and Riajah, where Andrew is a social worker and where I’m
me.

I choose the here and now. If I can’t have Patrick, I need to begin building a life without him—a real life.

Maybe this is the way to start.

B
y Tuesday, Joan has closed up her house in Glen Cove and moved into my guest bedroom, bringing only four suitcases of clothes, books, and toiletries with her.

“You sure you don’t need more than this?” I ask as I help her put her things away that morning before work. “We can take another trip out to the house on Friday after I get home from work, if you want.”

“Kate, this is more than enough. I even brought a winter coat just in case.”

I went with her yesterday to what she referred to as a “strategy session” with her oncologist and radiologist, and already, I feel better about things. The radiologist, Dr. Habab, is a woman around my age, and the oncologist, Dr. Golden, is a man in his fifties with a crinkly-eyed smile. They both seemed energetic and committed to getting Joan through this.

“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Waithman,” Dr. Habab said on the way out, patting Joan on the back. “We are going to work together to kick cancer’s ass.”

“Oh!” Joan exclaimed, startled.

“Sorry for the language,” Dr. Habab said. “But I want your
cancer to know we’re coming for it. And we’re not backing down.”

“I like her,” Joan said, squeezing my hand as we left the office.

Her first chemo treatment is scheduled for Friday, and I’ve taken the day off to go with her. Today, I’ve scheduled a lunch with Gina to fill her in on everything. As I walk to our favorite Italian place on Second and Fifty-Second, I breathe in the early autumn air and feel a spring in my step that hasn’t been there for a while.

“I know I dismissed them, but maybe the dreams
were
telling you something,” Gina says once we’re seated. “After all, you’re happier than you were a few months ago, aren’t you?”

“I am,” I admit. “I think I never looked at myself long enough to realize I was living a half life.”

“The dreams woke you up,” Gina says with a smile.

“So they did.” If nothing else, they stopped me from letting life simply pass me by. I know I’m in a better place now, but I can’t help feeling very alone, especially now that the dreams have stopped. “I just feel like I’m missing something,” I add. “Like I’ve finally got my life on the right course, but all the pieces haven’t exactly fallen into place yet.”

“Maybe that’s because you still have your heart closed off,” she says innocently as she picks up her menu, blocking my view of her face.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Gina?”

When she lowers the menu, she looks amused. “That Andrew guy,” she says simply.

“What about him?”

“You like him.”

“What?” I ask. “I do not. He’s just a colleague.”

Gina arches an eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything. I have the feeling she’s waiting for me to go on, so after a pause, I add,
“Okay, fine, so he’s a really
attractive
colleague. Who’s very kind. And great with kids.”

“And?”

“Okay, yeah, so he’s pretty great,” I admit in a mumble.

Gina gives me a triumphant look. “So why not go after him?”

“I think he’s dating someone.”

“You’re positive?”

I hesitate. “No.”

“Then what’s the worst that can happen? He tells you he already has a girlfriend? Then at least you’ll have tried.” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve
got
to stop letting your life pass you by, Kate, or it’ll be too late.”

Her words silence me for a moment. “Okay,” I say finally. I look down at my menu until I feel Gina’s hand on mine.

“What is it?” she asks. “What else is bothering you?”

And so I finally say aloud the thought that’s been weighing on my mind for years. “It just doesn’t seem fair for me to live a whole life, a happy life, when Patrick never got to live his. None of this is fair.”

The guilt I’ve locked away surges toward the surface and spills over. A single tear rolls down my right cheek, and I swat it away, embarrassed. When I finally look up at Gina again, her eyes are watery too.

“You’ve got to let that go.” Her tone is firm. “That was the hardest part for me, stopping the feeling that I was letting Bill down by living my life. But that’s what Bill would have wanted for me. I know it. And it’s what Patrick would have wanted for you.”

I think of the words dream-Patrick said to me.
I would want you to be happy, no matter what.
Why hadn’t I listened? Instead, I’d picked and chosen the messages I took away from the dreams. But what if that was the most important one of all?

“I’m a mess, though, Gina,” I say. “What if I repeat the same mistakes I’ve made before?”

“You think I don’t make mistakes?” she asks. “Kate, I’ve made a thousand of them. A million, probably. So has everyone else. But you can’t learn if you don’t try. That’s what life is. Maybe that’s what the dreams were about, wherever they came from. Maybe Patrick was reminding you to keep living. Now, it’s up to you to do the rest.”

“What if I don’t know how?” I ask.

Gina smiles. “Then I’d suggest you start with Andrew and go from there.”

T
hat evening, after my last session of the day, I’m sitting in my office, staring at the phone like a nervous teenager. I’ve already picked up the receiver and put it down a dozen times. I want to call Andrew, but I’m scared. Terrified, even. Prompted by Gina’s words, though, I’ve already made a promise to myself: I can’t go home tonight until I’ve summoned the courage to make the call.

I check my watch. It’s nearly seven o’clock, so chances are Andrew’s already on his way home from the office. I decide to take the wimpy way out, leaving a message for him on his work line. That way, the ball’s in his court. If he calls me back, I’ll summon the courage to ask him out—or something along those lines. If he doesn’t, I’ll know I’m being foolish thinking I even have a chance.