Abby in Wonderland

  I switched gears and told a half-truth. “Gram is determined that everyone should be together for the party this year,” I said. “It seems very important to her.”

  Miriam sat back thoughtfully in her chair and nodded. I let Daniel grab at the ends of my hair with his pudgy hands. I noticed his outfit, a one-piece romper with horses on it. His dark hair smelled like baby shampoo. It reminded me: At first, we had worried that Miriam wouldn’t be able to cope with motherhood on her own, but from the look of Daniel, she seemed to be doing a good job.

  Miriam sat forward again, pressing her fingertips together. “I had a feeling this party was extra special for some reason. I wonder why.”

  “Who knows?” I said. I can’t tell you how I ached, how I burned to tell her the truth.

  She stood up and walked around the living room. “Where is everyone?”

  “Mom’s at the beach with Anna and a friend and —” Before I could say more, Gram Elsie hurried into the living room. She hugged Miriam warmly and then lifted Daniel from my arms. “Hello, my sweetheart,” she cooed. “Hello!”

  Daniel beamed at her with that face that simply melts everyone who sees him.

  “Come, see what we’ve set up for the party,” Gram said, taking Miriam’s arm. “Then we can do what you’d like, maybe go to the beach or ride into town.”

  They went out to the yard, and I grabbed the time alone to call Cousin Jean. Her number was easy to find. It was tacked up next to the phone. “Hi, Jean, this is Abby,” I said when she answered. “Gram is really sad that you guys aren’t coming to her party. Isn’t there any way you can make it?”

  “Is it that big a deal?” she asked.

  “I think it is,” I said.

  She sighed thoughtfully. “It would take some doing. But maybe we can push things around and make it work. I’m not promising, but I’ll try. Don’t tell Aunt Elsie. If we show up, we show up. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “But try.”

  A few minutes later, Mom, Anna, and Corley returned from the beach. They gushed over Daniel. Miriam came in and said hi to them. Anna volunteered to sit for Daniel while Miriam went into town.

  I would have liked to sit too. Instead, I asked to go into town. “I need to stop at the library,” I said. That part was true; the next was mostly a fib. “I haven’t read all the books on my summer reading list. I want to see if any of them are at your library.”

  The real truth was that I’d made a decision to research breast cancer at the library. I needed to learn exactly what Gram was up against, if what I suspected was true.

  So Gram, Grandpa, Miriam, and I drove into town. The low shops with their awnings were inviting. I really wanted to browse in them. But I needed to know more about breast cancer.

  Grandpa dropped me in front of the small town library. He wrote the number of his cell phone on a scrap of paper and told me to call him when I was done. “Thanks,” I said with a wave as I walked toward the front door.

  At first I thought I’d never find what I needed in the tiny library. It looked as if all it had were volumes of fiction for summer readers. Then I spied an up-to-date-looking computer in a corner. As I’d hoped, it said GUIDE TO PERIODICAL RESEARCH on its vivid blue screen. By reading the instructions taped down next to it, I was able to figure out what to do. I typed in BREAST CANCER and instantly the computer flashed a notice that said SEARCHING. In a few more seconds I was presented with a long list of articles in which the computer had detected the words “breast cancer.”

  Pulling up a chair, I settled in to read. Some of the first articles I chose were a waste of time because the computer had found the words “breast cancer” in them, but the articles were about some other things — like exposure to radiation — which might cause breast cancer.

  Eventually, though, I came across some informative articles. I already knew some of the facts. For instance, I’d learned in health class at school that women should perform a monthly breast examination to try to find any lumps or unusual changes in their breasts. I also knew that every few years Mom had something called a mammogram, which is just an X ray of the breast tissue. I didn’t know that ninety percent of all breast lumps are discovered by regular personal exams and not by mammography.

  I also didn’t know how widespread breast cancer is. Apparently, one in thirteen women will be stricken with breast cancer in her lifetime. Another statistic I read said one in eleven, and still another said one in nine. Those were pretty scary numbers.

  Reading further, I learned that my mother, my sister, and I are in a high-risk group. It seems that Jewish women of Eastern European origin are at high risk for breast cancer, due to a particular gene we can pass along. And Long Island has an unusually high incidence of breast cancer for some reason that no one has yet figured out. Here we were, right on Long Island at this very minute. I’d lived most of my life on Long Island. And if Gram actually did have breast cancer, then it would mean we had a higher chance of getting it. We would have a family history of the disease.

  I sat back from the computer and thought about Gram’s family tree. Maybe it was even more important than I’d realized to know who the members of one’s family were, and what their lives had been like. Your ancestors really do affect your life. Not just your looks and personality but also your likelihood of getting certain diseases.

  Although I didn’t like to think that I had any chance of ever getting this horrible disease at all, I had to be more concerned with Gram than with myself at the moment. She was the one who might be facing it now.

  I turned my gaze back to the computer and found another article, which told me something a little more encouraging. Breast cancer is treatable. Medicine and technology are making treatment more effective and easier every year.

  Not long ago, the best-known treatment involved removing a woman’s entire breast, as well as the surrounding muscle and lymph glands under the armpit. Now, in many cases, doctors only remove the lump itself, which is a much smaller operation (called a lumpectomy). They follow that up with radiation and sometimes with some very strong medication called chemotherapy.

  Being diagnosed with breast cancer was a very big deal, but it didn’t mean Gram was going to die. She was a smart person, she probably had had a mammogram and did regular breast checks. Chances were she’d caught it early on. The earlier it was detected, I read, the better her chances were of a cure.

  I read a bit more, including an article from a natural health magazine about herbal cures for breast cancer, and a story about people who held marathons to raise money for breast cancer research. There was more information than I could read in one sitting. But I’d learned enough so that I didn’t feel as panicked as I had at first.

  Or so I thought.

  The calming benefits of my knowledge flew right out the window when I saw Gram again in the car. I sat in the backseat with Miriam, and I couldn’t stop gazing at Gram’s reflection in the rearview mirror.

  I wished I could sit beside her and tell her what I’d learned, in case there was some information she didn’t know. I wanted to reassure her with what I’d discovered about the encouraging recovery rates of breast cancer patients.

  When we arrived home, Gram went directly upstairs. I sat down on the floor beside Anna and Corley, who were playing with Daniel. I expected Gram to come back down. I was hoping we could work on the family tree together. She didn’t return, though.

  “Where’s Gram?” I asked Grandpa, who was reading the paper on the couch behind us. Everyone else, including Anna, Corley, and Daniel, had moved into the kitchen.

  “She’s napping,” he replied.

  Since we were alone in the living room, it seemed like a good time to try asking him about Gram. “Why is she napping so much lately?”

  I thought I detected a flicker of sadness in his eyes, but it passed in a flash. “Planning the party is wearing her out,” he said. “It’s a lot of work.” I looked at him expectantly, hoping he’d say more. Something like, “Plus,
she’s very sick.” Instead, he just went back to his paper.

  I noticed Miriam standing in the dining room, studying the family-tree poster. She held Daniel in her arms. I joined her. “What do you think?” I asked.

  “It’s cool,” she answered. “It’s amazing what a strong resemblance the women in our family have to one another. It’s spooky in a way.”

  “What do you know about Gram’s fight with Aunt Leah?” I asked her.

  “Oh, that …” She gazed at the ceiling as she tried to remember it. “It was something kind of funny, as I recall.”

  “Funny?”

  “Yeah, silly.” Her eyes brightened with laughter as she remembered. She stepped closer to me and lowered her voice. “Mom — your gram — had joined Weight Watchers because she wanted to lose some weight. The only person she told this to was Aunt Leah. Then, in the middle of some big, fancy cocktail party, Leah just blurts out in front of everybody that Mom is a Weight Watchers client. I think she said something like, ‘Hey, Weight Watchers is really working for you.’ ”

  “They’ve been fighting all this time over that?”

  Aunt Miriam nodded. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but Mom was not only mad because Leah told her secret, she was embarrassed. Mom insisted Leah did it on purpose to be spiteful, because she was jealous of our family. Then one thing led to another. Leah was mad at Mom for being mad at her and for implying she was jealous. You know how those things can snowball out of control.”

  “Do you think Gram would like her to come to the party?” I asked.

  “I bet she would,” Aunt Miriam said. “But it’s not going to happen.”

  Daniel started whimpering. “Aw, what’s the matter?” Miriam asked him. “Do you want your bottle?” She headed toward the kitchen with him. “Come on, we’ll heat it up for you.”

  As I stood there, thinking about Aunt Miriam’s words, I noticed Gram Elsie’s large straw bag, which she’d tossed onto a chair in the corner of the dining room. It was open, and inside I could see her wallet and a small red leather book.

  Gram’s phone book.

  Feeling a little guilty — but not too guilty to stop — I casually lifted the book from the bag. I had it!

  Facing the wall, I flipped to the W’s. In a minute I found the name and phone number I was searching for.

  Leah Weiss.

  “Hello?” Leah’s voice sounded like it belonged to an old woman, someone much older than Gram.

  “Hi. This is Abby Stevenson.” It was Friday morning, almost seven-thirty. At Gram’s house, everyone else was sleeping. I’d gotten up early, though, to make this call. I hoped it wasn’t too early. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” I asked.

  “No. I’m up early. Who is this?”

  “Abby Stevenson,” I said, speaking louder.

  “I heard what you said,” she barked back at me. “I just don’t know who you are.” Oh. I hadn’t expected that. I explained how I was related to her. “All right. I see,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Aunt Leah,” I began. “This anniversary party is very important to Gram. I think she’d really like it if you came.”

  “Is that so?” she said coolly.

  I drew in my breath. Then I said, “I know you and Gram haven’t … been speaking, but Gram looks so sad every time she talks about the party. She wants the family to be together. Grandpa Morris says the train comes right out here. Couldn’t you please come?”

  “Well, no,” she said.

  “You can’t? Why not?” I expected her to say she was sick, or had another commitment, or something. But that wasn’t what she said.

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “You weren’t?” I gasped. From the way Gram had been talking I’d assumed she was. I felt awful! What could I say now?

  “No. I wasn’t.” During a long, awkward pause I hung on the line, speechless. “Dear, I understand that you mean well. Don’t feel bad about it.” I realized her voice had become warmer. Maybe she wasn’t as awful as I’d thought.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “Not at all. It was nice talking to you. Good-bye.”

  “ ’Bye,” I murmured, slowly hanging up the phone. A light creak in the floorboard made me spin around. Gram, wrapped in her striped summer robe, stood in the kitchen doorway.

  “I thought I heard someone talking down here,” she said. “Who was that?”

  I didn’t see any point in lying about it. “Aunt Leah.”

  Gram’s hand flew to her chest in surprise. “Leah? Did she call here?”

  I took a quick breath for courage before I answered. “No, I called her. I wanted to ask her to try to come to the party. I know having the family here is important to you. She says she wasn’t invited. Is that true?”

  Gram nodded. “I knew she would say no. And I didn’t particularly want to hear her say it.”

  “But that’s silly,” I blurted out.

  “You know, you’re right,” Gram agreed. “You’re absolutely right.” A determined expression came to her face. She walked to the phone, lifted the receiver, and hit the redial button.

  I figured she’d want privacy, so I headed toward the door. “Stay,” she said as she waited for Leah to pick up the ringing phone.

  “Hello …” Gram began. Her voice was firm yet friendly. “Leah? It’s Elsie…. Yes, she’s right here … a wonderful granddaughter … Yes … I’m sorry. This has all become too silly. I’d love it if you would come to the party. It would be very important to me. To all of us.” After that Gram listened for several minutes without saying anything. I tried to imagine what Leah could be saying. She might be giving Gram an earful of anger and blame. I hoped not. Or she might be saying how happy she was to hear from her. All Gram’s face showed was that she was listening with total attention. But then, after a minute or so, her expression melted into a smile. “You will? Wonderful. I’m so pleased.”

  I shot Gram Elsie a thumbs-up and she returned it.

  Gram and Aunt Leah began talking about a play Aunt Leah had just seen in the city. Gram had seen it too.

  I’d heard all I needed, so I wandered into the living room. Mom had just come to the bottom the stairs. She smiled at me through a yawn. “Want to go out for breakfast on our way to Port Jefferson?” she asked, stretching sleepily.

  “I nearly forgot!” I said. Today was the day Kristy was arriving! She’d be on the first ferry from Bridgeport. We had to be there to meet it at nine o’clock.

  “Sure,” I agreed. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to see Kristy.

  * * *

  After breakfast at a diner in town, Mom and I headed for Port Jefferson. Something about Mom seemed off-kilter to me. We’d eaten our pancakes pretty much in silence. I figured that was because it was still early and she wasn’t quite awake. But the car ride to Port Jefferson was unusually quiet too. I tried to make conversation.

  “This vacation is going fast, isn’t it?” I began.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied.

  Silence.

  More silence.

  “Did you finish your contracts?” I asked. You know I’m feeling desperate for something to say when I deliberately ask Mom to think about work. Most of the time I want her to forget about it.

  “What?” she asked.

  “The contracts,” I repeated.

  “Oh, yes. I did them.”

  We drove several more miles before I tried again. “Isn’t it funny to see Corley again? She’s as weird as ever, don’t you think?”

  Mom smiled mildly. “She’s a character, but she’s so smart and talented.”

  After that dead end I gave up. Mom obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk. I had to wonder what was on her mind. Was it work? From her reaction to the contract question, it didn’t seem to be. It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she knew about Gram — or maybe, like me, she suspected something. That would be enough to preoccupy her.

  This time alone in the car would have been ideal for discussing what I kne
w, or thought I knew. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Aunt Leah. If Gram had felt betrayed when Leah revealed Gram was going to Weight Watchers, then she’d never forgive me for talking about this secret, which was so much bigger.

  If she didn’t want anyone to know, I had to respect that. It was the right thing to do.

  We finally pulled up to the ferry dock at Port Jefferson. The ferry was in sight, only about a half mile away. I got out of the car and walked to the end of the dock. When the ferry was within yards of the dock, I spotted Kristy on the upper deck, leaning forward against the railing. I waved, and she waved back with a wide sweep of her arm.

  I hugged her when she walked off the ferry. I was so glad to see her. She reminded me of my life back in Stoneybrook, which suddenly seemed a lot more carefree than the last several days, worrying about Gram.

  “You’re going to miss the meeting today,” I said as I took her duffel bag from her. “There’s no president and no alternate president either.”

  “They’ll survive,” Kristy said. As we walked down the dock, she adjusted the brim of her baseball cap, moving it from front to back. “Mary Anne and Dawn are having a great time with the Pikes’ vacation. So are Mal and Jessi.”

  “Mary Anne and Mallory told me all about it,” I replied. “It sounds like fun.”

  “It is. Yesterday they had a beach volleyball game. They spread drop cloths on the grass and sprinkled sandbox sand on them,” she told me. “Then they put up a volleyball net and had a big match.”

  “Wow,” I said. “The Pikes’ backyard is now a sand beach. I can’t imagine it.”

  Kristy just grinned.

  When we reached the car, Mom was sitting on the hood with her face turned up to the sun. “Too much sun isn’t good for you,” Kristy warned her pleasantly.

  “Hi, Kristy,” Mom greeted her as she scooted off the hood. “And you’re right about that. Only sometimes I get tired of always being so sensible.”

  “I suppose,” Kristy said politely. Being sensible isn’t something Kristy ever seems to tire of.