The Quilt (30 page)

“I am sure you would not have th
e same problem with me.” Again, Simon laughed showing rows of perfect white teeth.

“I am trying to support a friend that has been diagnosed with breast cancer.  She isn’t even twenty five years old
.  To live and retain sanity, I need to find a part-time position with flexibility so that I am able to be with her while she is undergoing treatment.”

Simon’s expression changed.  He looked up and studied Joanne’s face.
 

“
Can you start tomorrow?”

“She has
to go into hospital for surgery next Wednesday.”

“
Try to let me know ahead of time when you will not be in.  If something unexpected happens I have enough staff to cover you.”

Simon got up and minced his way out of the room.

Chapter 28

“
A Matter of Privacy”

“What the hell is that?  What have you been ordering?”

Sid was pointing to a large container truck that was
struggling to negotiate the entrance into Marinella.

Sid, Mari and Paul exchanged bewildered glances.

“I don’t know. I haven’t ordered anything.  The driver is going to be annoyed when he finds he has delivered to the wrong address.”

A large
, burly man jumped down from the driver’s seat and displayed a packing slip.

“Are you Paul Clarke?”

Paul nodded and checked the paper work.

“Yes
, I am, but I have not ordered anything.”

The driv
er seemed unconcerned and hesitated only to shrug his shoulders and ask where to unload the container.

“It will be picked up
in two days.  Make sure you have removed the contents by then.”

He stubbed out a cigarette on the driveway before returning to his truck and driving away.

The heavy steel door swung open to reveal chunky, new macrocarpa tables and matching chairs.  The tables were made from large thick slabs of unjoined timber, oiled to reveal the natural grains and textures.  Each table was square in shape with natural edges.  The bark had been left on and smoothed making each piece individual and interesting.

Attached to
the back of each chair and to the edge of each table was a small tasteful brass plaque with the words “Twin Pines” engraved in italic lettering.

“I think someone is trying to
say its time you put thought into the restaurant.”

Paul lifted out the first of the chairs. 

“These tables are going to be too heavy for us to manage, Ill ring Geoff and see if some of the crew can come and help.”

Mari smiled
.

“I will go and see what I can organize in the way of food and make sure there is enough cold beer in the fridge
.”

Half of the container had been unloaded when another type of timber and a much larger rectangular table was revealed.  Its grain was different and it had been carefully constructed from long straight sawn timber rather than the singular slabs of the small tables.  There were matching bench seats that were ready to be attached to all four sides.  The table was magnificent.  It was the style of furniture that would become more attractive as it gained the scars of use.

A note was attached to the top.

“This table was constructed from Allan Clarkes redwood tree.  It seems fitting that it is used in your tasting room.”

Paul smiled.  T
he irony was not lost on him.

Another irregular shape draped in a heavy blanket sat to one side of the container.

“A Harley?”
Geoff caressed the sleek tank with his hand.

“Seems you can’t outrun your past
,” Paul grinned.

“I don’t think Mari is going to be pleased
.”

It took most of the afternoon to unload and position the beautifully crafted tables and chairs in the restaurant, tasting room and alfresco area. The overall effect was stunning.

“
Thank you.  It must have taken you months.”

“I enjoyed doing it.  It is
an early Christmas present. Talking about Christmas, your mother wants to book flights up on the twenty second.  You know she won’t let a small matter like distance disrupt family traditions.  When are you expecting the restaurant to open, wasn’t it in the first month of the New Year?”

“We are a lot closer with the furniture you
have made.  I was having problems locating a manufacturer that could provide quality, rustic solid tables and chairs.  But I think my timeframe is still ambitious.  Even with the planning approval there are still a lot of regulations and health and safety issues we have to work through.  We will open the tasting room to the public before Christmas but it will probably be later this summer before the restaurant is ready.”

Paul picked up his guitar and walked to the amphitheatre.  He sat down on the far side and looked back towards the six new tables sitting under a pergola dripping in vines, the barrels with their vivid cascading display and the huge entrance double doors secured by their caste iron fittings.  He began to play listening to the mellow richness of the strings; the quality of sound in the amphitheatre was at least as good as it was in the recording studio.  Chloe would get her opportunity to perform publically in the area that she had helped plan.

“
I didn’t want to leave her there in that sterile hospital.”

Joanne was seated in the back room of the café.  A cup of rich coffee was going cold in front of her.  Simon reached across the table and put his hand over hers.

“You have to realize nothing you did contributed to making her sick and nothing you will do can change the outcome.”

“Why do I feel so damned guilty then?”

“Because you are healthy and Sandy is not, and there isn’t a thing you can do to alter that.”

Joanne narrowed her eyes and looked at Simon closely.  His
understanding seemed to come from experience.

“You’ve been through the same thing haven’t you?  That is why you employed me
?”

He pushed back his chair and stood up abruptly.

“That was a long time ago.” Simon sighed and hesitated before deciding to continue. “I was living in Chicago when I met him.  I knew he was sick but what neither of us knew is that his health would decline so quickly.  It was from a blood transfusion.” He smiled, his face softening with the memories. “Don’t let what you are going through change who you are.  You are there for your friend to make her journey easier.  But remember, you can’t travel the whole journey for her.”

Joanne stood up and gave him a quick cuddle
.

“Thank you
.”

“Now g
et back to work.” 

Simon
minced out of the room in an elaborate display especially for the benefit of his customers.

Audrey Cunningham sat in an uncomfortable chair next to the bed which was draped in a crisp white cloth stamped with bright red printing identifying the hospital.  She held on to her daughters hand although it was unlikely her daughter was aware enough to know who was there.

Audrey looked up as Joanne stood uncertainly in the door.  There was no hint of a smile or a greeting from the older woman.  In fact
, a flash of annoyance passed over her inflexible, stern features.  She opened her mouth to speak but seemed to lose concentration as her focus fell somewhere behind Joanne.

“Excuse me
, Joanne.”

Doctor Martin stepped past
her and into the recovery room.

“I am glad your m
other is here.” Audrey Cunningham visibly flinched and eyed Joanne suspiciously.

Doctor Martin appeared
unaware of the tension that filled the space between the two women.  He walked over to Sandy and picked up the clipboard that was attached to the foot of her bed.  She seemed to have drifted, her eyes were open but unfocused.

“She is still drowsy
.”

“Sandra does not swear
but her language today has been foul.”

Aud
rey looked directly at Joanne when she spoke.  Doctor Martin continued.

“That is quite common for
a person recovering from anaesthetic.  She will not recall anything that she has said.” He dismissed the behaviour and continued speaking.

“Sandy
?”

“Sandra
,” corrected her mother.

Joanne noticed an exasperated expression on the specialist’s face
.

“
You have had a partial mastectomy to remove the lump and surrounding breast tissue.  We have done reconstruction and an implant at the same time.  Auxiliary node clearance required the affected lymph nodes to be removed from under your arm.”

He turned to Joanne
.

“Sandy will
also require chemotherapy and radiation. I will organize the appointments and send you the details.  She will have drainage tubes to aid recovery.  A nurse will visit to make sure they are kept clean.  Have you got any questions?”

“Yes
, how long until she can go home?”

“It is very rare to have complications after a mastectomy.  Assuming there is nothing unusual
, Sandy can go home on Saturday.”

He smiled at
Joanne and nodded curtly in the general direction of Audrey.

“You may feel slight nausea.” The pharmacist picked up a bottle and held it so that both Sandy and Joanne could see the label.

“T
his is ondansteron, which is to prevent you actually vomiting.  You will also have to take prednisone to aid your treatment and after each session of chemotherapy you will need to have sachets of movicol.  Our number is on the repeat prescription, so ring if you have any questions.”

Doctor Martin had a nurse phone to check on Sandy after the second session.  Joanne answered the telephone.

“How is Sandy?”

“Tired, weak and irritable - she is sleeping at the moment.  She also seems to have lost weight. Is that normal?”

“
Let her sleep.  They are all normal side effects of the chemotherapy.”

Is this what hell feels like?
 

“Call the hospital.  There is something wrong.”

Joanne focused on the figure
that had emerged in the doorway.  Sandy’s face was a ghostly white and beads of sweat broke through on her forehead.  Her eyes were wild and glazed with fever and her lips were chapped and raw.  She looked down at her hands and watched transfixed as they shook uncontrollably.

The hospital answered immediately and put Joanne through to a doctor.

“I will bring up her file.  Sandra Cunningham is seeing Doctor Martin, is that correct?  And her next of kin is Audrey Cunningham?”  The doctor did not wait for a reply. “I can send an ambulance or, if you have a car, it might be quicker.  Bring her straight to the accident and emergency entrance.  An orderly will take her through to admittance while you park your car.”

Simon answered his phone and listened as Joanne spoke in a controlle
d voice that barely disguised her anxiety.

Sandy
had slid on to the cold tile floor.  Rivets of sweat ran down her face and a pool of vomit spread around her legs.  She appeared to be drifting in and out of consciousness and her words had become little more than a whisper. 

“
Simon, sorry, I have to go, I won’t be able to wait for you to help.”

Joanne hung up.

“Sandy, can you help me get you to the car?  Otherwise, I will have to call for an ambulance.”

Sandy
looked up and tried desperately to focus.  Her eyes swum and then rested on Joanne’s tear stained face.

“Please d
on’t cry. I can get up.”

The young orderly opened the car door and manoeuvred Sandy into a wheelchair.  Without another word she was gone.

“I am sorry, how long ago was Miss Cunningham admitted?’

The elderly receptionis
t looked down at her notes as she spoke.

“It was around thirty minutes ago.  I
brought her in and then had trouble finding a car park.”

“Here it is.  Miss Cunningham has been taken through to the ward.  I am sorry
, but are you a relative?” 

The elderly woman looked directly at Joanne.  She already knew the answer.

“Access is restricted to relatives only in intensive care.”

“Can you please tell me how she is
?”

“I am sorry
, but we are unable to disclose personal information about our patients.  This is for the protection of all parties.”

T
he elderly woman looked at Joanne sympathetically.

Joann
e turned away and walked out into the sun where she stood leaning against the concrete block exterior wall.  An arm snaked around her.

“You
smell like hell.”

Simon looked her up and down
.

“They won’t let me in there.  I dropped her off and then parked the car.  By the time I got back
, they knew I wasn’t a relative and are hiding behind the privacy act.”

“Give me a minute
.” Simon disappeared.  When he returned he looked annoyed.

“Her m
other is in there with her.  It was her that advised the hospital that you are not related.  Until she is out of intensive care...”