“So, where do you go to school?” he said to her, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
“Bishop England,” she said, grinning back.
“Are you a cheerleader?”
“Well, I do it for the exercise. Most cheerleaders are, you know, ‘Puh-leeeze!’” she said with rolling eye drama and he started laughing.
“Yeah, airheads. Me, I play football.”
“Whatever,” Beth said, effectively blowing him off.
“I play tennis too.”
“You do?” Now he had her attention. “For who?”
“Porter Gaud,” he said.
“Do you know Jonathan Ashton?”
“Yep, whipped his butt about a million times. He’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, no kidding,” she said. “I went out with him.”
Now, technically that was a lie, but I didn’t say anything. I just kept my mouth shut and looked at the Douglas firs.
“I’m Chris Stapleton,” he said and shook her hand.
Nice manners, I thought and pulled a tree away from the wall.
“Beth Hayes,” she answered.
“Excuse me, but do you think that you could hold this tree up for us?” I said.
“Sure, sorry.” He cut the nylon cord from around the tree, hit the trunk on the sidewalk and the limbs flopped down. “Here we go. Whoa! This is a beauty.”
He was right. I walked around it and he watched Beth follow me. A new puppy love was in bloom and I was a witness. It delighted me to see it. And it made me remember Simon again. He had never called. Maybe he was just not interested.
“Well. Beth, what do you think?” I asked. “Is this the tree of your dreams?”
“Yep, definitely,” she said, and I knew she couldn’t have cared less.
“We have to cut a hole in the ceiling to get this baby up, but hey, it wouldn’t be the first hole in the house.”
“Mom!” She turned to him (obviously I was ruining her life) and said, “We don’t have any holes in our house.”
“Okay, son, we’ll take it,” I said.
“Great. Just please take this tag inside to pay and I’ll wrap it up for you. Where’s your car?”
“Here, Beth, take the keys. She’ll show you.”
In that moment of excellent judgment, I left my daughter for a few minutes to give them the chance to swap phone numbers or whatever it is that they do swap these days. E-mail addresses? Beeper numbers? Cell phone numbers? Whatever. I was definitely getting mellower lately.
When we got home, together we hauled the tree from the car to the back porch, tripping and bumbling from the weight and the sheer size of it.
“She had to have a fresh tree,” I said.
“Oh, don’t be a Grinch, Mom.”
“Sixty dollars.” I was short of breath and cash.
“What? Sixty bucks for a stupid tree?”
“Hold on! Take it easy on the steps!”
“On the other hand,” she said, “we’re the only family I know that has a fake tree that sheds.”
“Okay, okay. Go get the bucket and fill it with water.”
We left the tree on the porch overnight to give it a good drink. Decorating for the holidays had always been a family tradition, something that we did together. In the short passing of one year, all our traditions became things of the past—just memories. Now Beth and I would face what life had brought and find our way through the holiday together without Tom. It broke my heart a little, thinking how it would be so lonely without him. He was the one who always untangled the lights, swearing to heaven that this year, he’d put them away neatly. He’d string the lights on the tree while we supervised and he always made hot cocoa for us while we hung ornaments. Tom would direct us—“Too many big ones on top,” he would say, or “Too many on the left.” We’d laugh and tell him to put away the empty boxes and to leave the women to their work. But he never would leave us. Tom loved Christmas as much as any child.
Most years we would order Chinese food or a pizza and play old Perry Como music, singing along. We always played the Chipmunk Christmas album and imitated them, and then we’d dance like crazy to an old Christmas disco tape. And the evening never came to an end until the mistletoe was hung and we’d both kissed Beth. “I love Christmas,” Beth would say as we tucked her in, “and I love you too.” It was the guaranteed best night of the year for our family. Not Christmas morning, but the promise of what Christmas brought out in us as a family. But this year would be different, I thought, wondering how the old saying that “everything happens for the best” would apply this time. Tom’s absence would be painful.
On Friday after work, I found a tree stand in the shed and somehow, between the two of us, Beth and I got the tree up. It was magnificent and the fragrance was heavenly. I had bought a wreath from the young one, as well as some garland, and Beth had promised to wire ribbon to it.
“So, Mom. I gave Chris my number. Do you think he’ll call?”
“Definitely.”
“Really?”
“Yep. Betcha a buck.”
“If he doesn’t call, I’ll die.”
“You won’t die. Hand me the cord, will you? I have to anchor this thing. Do you remember the year—”
“That we didn’t anchor the tree and the whole thing fell down in the middle of the night?”
“Yeah. Well, ’eah, hold this thing straight.”
I hammered two slim nails in the corners of the windows and tied the cord to them. Then I crawled out from behind the tree and gave it a look.
“Rockefeller Center,” I said. “It’s perfect.”
“Yeah, it’s really beautiful,” she said.
The phone rang and I thought she’d go out of her skin getting there. In the next moment I heard her practiced and breathy “Hello?” Marilyn Monroe lives. People who aren’t raising a teenage daughter have no idea.
“Hi, Dad! What’s up?” Pause. “Sure, she’s right here.”
She handed me the phone and I held my breath, hoping the news was good. “Tom?”
“Hi! Everything’s okay. I just left Dr. Youngworth’s office and he said that from the tests it looks like a pretty straightforward, just-beginning-stages case. He doesn’t think the surgery should be too invasive. So that’s good news.”
“Very good news,” I said.
“Yes, very good. So I’m scheduled for the operation next Monday. Can you come?”
“Of course. Hey—wanna give two damsels in distress a hand tonight?”
It took less than five minutes for him to arrive in the living room.
“You got the wrong side in the front,” he said, kissing Beth and eyeballing the tree at the same time. “I can’t believe you got a real tree.”
“It’s a year for miracles,” I said.
“I hope you’re right,” he said.
Silence. Beth looked back and forth between us suspiciously. “What’s going on?” she said.
“Anybody want hot cocoa?” Tom asked.
“Daddy needs to talk to you, Beth,” I said. “Come on, let’s fix it together.”
“Wait,” she said, “tell me now.”
Tom put his hands on her shoulders and looked her square in the face. “Here’s the poop,” he said. “I have early-stage prostate cancer. I just found out. I’m having an operation and I’m going to be fine.”
Beth’s face became pleated with worry, and her eyes filled with tears as she searched his face for the rest of the story. “Are you telling me everything?”
“Yes, I am,” he said.
He told her about his surgery, that the odds were ninety percent that it would be a breeze. She took it very well and said she’d pray for him.
“Now, let’s get that hot chocolate going,” I said. And we did.
By eleven-thirty, the tree was decorated and we were all very tired. We sat together in the living room with just the tree lights, listening to “White Christmas.” We had stolen a night from our past. Not one unkind remark passed between us
all evening. Knowing that Tom’s surgery was but a few days away made me very nervous, but after his initial telling about it to Beth, we didn’t discuss it again. Without saying so it was understood among us that the night we decorated the tree had to be free of stress. I suppose we had put Tom’s health in the hands of someone higher.
When Tom left, I turned off the lights and after my closing-up-shop ritual, I finally climbed the stairs to go to bed. Beth was in my bed.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Sure, honey, just don’t hog the covers,” I said.
At last, I climbed under the covers next to her and turned out the light.
“Momma?”
“Mm-hm?”
“When you pray, do you pray to the Blessed Mother or to God?”
“Funny you should ask. I was just lining them all up for a special emergency meeting.”
“What?”
“Honey, I pray to God, to Mary, to my poor old dead momma, to Livvie—I pray to everybody and everything that has ears.”
“Did Livvie teach you to do that?”
“Yep, now just ask God to take care of Daddy. God listens to children’s prayers first.”
“Think so?”
“Know so.” I threw my arm over her side. “Now, let’s get some sleep, doodle.”
SUNDAY NIGHT, BETH went to the movies with her new fellow, Chris. He had called that afternoon and I’d said, “Okay, go ahead, but be home by nine-thirty.” As expected, she floated through the door on a cloud at ten minutes after ten. She looked so happy I didn’t have the heart to reprimand her. I merely pointed to my wristwatch to deliver the message.
“I’m totally in love,” she said and continued floating up the stairs to her room. “I gotta call Lucy. Guess what, Mom?”
“What?”
“He loves to shag! He does this awesome break step. He was showing me in the parking lot.”
“At last, the perfect man,” I said.
Monday morning Beth and I were at Roper Hospital by six. “Nothing is gonna happen to Daddy, is it, Momma?” she said.
“Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’s gonna be fine.”
The purple hue of the early morning light and the damp air rolling in from the harbor sent a chill down my spine. We went right to Tom’s room to let him know we were there. The sight of him in a hospital gown with an IV drip in his arm was frightening. His room was in darkness except for a night-light. And in the faint light, he looked small in the bed, vulnerable. When I put my hand on his arm, I realized that I was shaking. He was half-asleep, but opened his eyes.
“Hi,” he said quietly, “glad you came.”
I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t worry, we’re gonna be right here waiting for you,” I said.
“Hi, Daddy,” Beth said. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it slightly, then leaned over him and kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she said.
“They gave me a pill about an hour ago. I feel all kind of stupid in my head,” he said.
“That’s so you don’t sit up on the operating table and give the doctor a litany of his liabilities,” I said.
“Wiseacre,” he said.
“Listen, you have nothing to worry about. They’re double careful around here when they touch lawyers, you know.”
My attempt at humor wasn’t doing much to cheer any of us. He would go in whole and come out something less. We wouldn’t know the outcome for hours. He took my hand and held it, drifting off again.
Soon the door opened and two orderlies came in and turned on the light, followed by a nurse and his doctor.
“Good morning, Mr. Hayes,” the nurse said, “time to wake up for a few minutes.” She took his temperature and checked his blood pressure, making notes on his chart.
“Good morning,” the doctor said to me, “I’m David Youngworth.”
We shook hands and I smiled at him. “I’m Susan Hayes. And this is our daughter, Beth.”
“Right, right. Beth.” He shook her hand as well. Then he said, “Okay, Mr. Hayes. Ready to roll?”
In one swift movement, the orderlies transferred Tom to a gurney and held back the door to take him to surgery.
“Where are you going to be?” I asked.
“Third floor, operating room E. There’s a waiting room there. We shouldn’t be more than two hours. I’ll come find you when we’re finished, if you’d like,” the doctor said.
“Yes, thanks,” I said and went briefly to Tom’s side before he was taken away.
Two hours crawled by and no word. Beth watched Today on television. I went back and forth between the newspaper, the television and the assortment of magazines on the table. We drank coffee and then Cokes—the real thing, sugar and all. I looked at my watch again. Ten minutes to nine.
“Should hear something soon,” I said.
“Yeah, God, what’s taking them so long?”
I didn’t correct her language; I didn’t even look at her face. People came to the waiting area and left. I continued my fretful prayers. Dear God, please watch over Tom. His only child is standing here, filled with anxiety. I am too. She needs her daddy, God, please let him be all right.
Then, I remembered that I hadn’t called Beth’s school to let them know she’d be absent. I reached down for my purse on the floor and found my change, but the phone in our area was in use.
“Be right back,” I said, “gotta call school. You wait here for the doctor.”
“Okay,” she said.
The next phone was also being used and the next was broken. I asked at the nurse’s station and was directed to the next wing of the hospital. By the time I made the call and found my way back, Dr. Youngworth was talking to Beth. She was nodding her head and saw me.
“Here’s Momma,” she said.
“Tom’s going to be fine,” he said. “I’m pretty certain that we got it all, but I’m concerned about the lymph nodes. That’s why the procedure took a little longer than we thought it would. I biopsied them and as soon as I have the pathologist’s report I’ll know if he needs radiation as well. It’s possible the cancer was slightly more advanced than we originally thought, but I don’t think life-threatening. I was afraid about the nodes, but we never really know until we get inside the body.”
“But he’s okay?” I said.
“Oh, he did very well. He’s in post-op recovery now. He’ll be back in his room by around noon, as soon as he wakes up and his blood pressure has stabilized. He’s going to sleep most of the day.”
“Thank you, Dr. Youngworth,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “He should be out of here in a couple of days. We can talk about his care and recovery routine tomorrow.”
I watched him walk away and I hugged Beth. The doctor could’ve come to us and said almost anything and we would’ve stood there like mannequins, thanking him, tape-recording his words to play at a later time. Indeed, what he had said was that he suspected Tom’s cancer was more serious than he had thought.
Beth and I went home for a few hours, had lunch and then went back to the hospital. We tiptoed into Tom’s room, and he was there, sleeping like a stone. I closed the venetian blinds to keep the light at a minimum and sat down in the corner chair.
“I’m going to go get him some flowers,” Beth whispered.
“Get me a Snickers and a bag of potato chips,” I whispered back.
“Shame on you! No way!” She smiled and left.
Since our conversation with his doctor and our return to the hospital I had found the strength to compose myself. I couldn’t see just dropping him off at his apartment with no one to see about his meals or to help him bathe. This was a situation that would have to be taken one step at a time. And he was a proud man—vain, in fact. He wouldn’t burden me or anyone unless he was on death’s doorstep.
Slowly, I told myself, go slowly and cautiously. No, first we had to get him back on his feet and then see what would be.
It was nearly six o?
??clock when he finally realized where he was. He smacked his lips, dehydrated from the anesthesia. I poured some water in a cup and put the straw to his lips.
“Hey, how do you feel?” I whispered.
He took a sip and opened his eyes. When he leaned up to take the cup, he winced in pain and fell back into his pillows.
“Take it easy,” I said, “just take little sips. I’ll help you sit.” I pushed the buttons on the bed to raise his head and shoulders, and adjusted his pillows.
“Where’s Beth?” he said.
“Down the hall, on the phone, no doubt. She’s got a new boyfriend. Chris something.”
“I’ll kill the varmint,” he said.
“No need to do that. His acne will most likely do him in. Do you want me to release some pain medication? See? Just press this and you get drugs.”
“I’m okay. Sleepy. How long have you been here? What did the doctor say?”
“He said that you’re gonna be fine. That you might need some follow-up treatments, but that you’re fine. You’ll see him tomorrow morning.”
It wasn’t the complete truth, but I didn’t have the heart to tell a man who had just come out of major surgery that he wasn’t one hundred percent.
“Thank God. Susan, thanks. For being here and all. I mean it.” He winced again.
“Hey, what are ex-wives for? Now, I’m going to drug you and then I’m going to let you get some rest.” I squeezed the button, then his arm, and left him. His door sighed as it closed mechanically behind me.
On the second day after his surgery, Tom was up and walking. On the third day, he was released from the hospital. Beth and I had talked about it and we decided to bring him home to our house. As soon as he was feeling better, I emphasized, he would go back to his own place.
I was afraid I might fall back into living with him and that all the steps I’d taken to rebuild my life would vanish. I wanted him cared for but I didn’t want to be used. No, I’d been used for the last time, if I could help it. Also, Tom’s staying with us presented some legal complications. Under the laws of divorce in South Carolina, we had to live separately for one year to have our divorce finalized. If Michelle Stoney found out that Tom was under my roof, she’d be forced to refile or it would be fraud. I wasn’t telling her and, under the circumstances, I didn’t think any judge would hold our divorce up on that technicality. I said another novena for that.