Between Sisters Part 51

"I was an idiot."

"We wasted a lot of time."

"I'm sorry," Meg said. "I should have said that a long time ago."

Claire reached for Meg's hand, held it. "I'm going to ask you something, Meg, and I don't want any of your bulls.h.i.+t to get in the way. I can't ask this twice; saying each word is like swallowing broken gla.s.s. If the worst happens, I want you to be a part of Ali's life. She'll need a mother."

Meg squeezed Claire's hand so tightly it cut off the blood flow to her fingers. Long seconds pa.s.sed before she answered in a throaty voice, "I'll make sure she always remembers you."

Claire nodded; she couldn't speak.

After that, they lay in the darkness, each holding the other one together until dawn lit the room and the doctors took Claire away.

Meghann stood at the window, staring out at the jumble of beige buildings across the street. In the three hours since they'd taken Claire to surgery, Meghann had counted every window and every door in this view. Twenty-three people had pa.s.sed the corner of Broadway and James. Another sixteen had stood in line outside the tiny Starbucks.

Someone tugged on her sleeve. Meghann looked down. There was Alison, staring up at her. "I'm thirsty."

Meghann stared into those bright green eyes and almost burst into tears. "Okay, honey," she said instead, scooping Ali into her arms. Forcing herself not to squeeze the girl too hard, she carried her down to the cafeteria.

"I want a Pepsi Blue. That's what you got me last time."

"It's only eleven in the morning. Juice is better for you."

"You sound like Mommy."

Meg swallowed hard. "Did you know your Mommy loved Tab when she was little? And Fresca. But I made her drink orange juice."

Meghann paid for the juice, then carried Alison back to the waiting room. But when she leaned over to put Ali down, the girl squeezed harder.

"Oh, Ali," Meg said, holding her niece. She wanted to promise that Mommy would be better, but the words caught in her throat.

She sat down, still holding Ali, and stroked her hair. Within minutes, the child was asleep.

From across the room, Gina looked up, saw her holding Ali, then went back to her crossword puzzle. Sam, Mama, Bobby, Karen, and Charlotte were playing cards. Joe sat off in the corner, reading a magazine. He hadn't looked up in hours, hadn't spoken to anyone. But then, none of them had spoken much. What was there to say?

Around noon, the surgical nurse came out, told them all that it would be several more hours.

"You should get something to eat," she said, shaking her head. "It won't help Claire if you all pa.s.s out."

Sam nodded, stood up. "Come on," he said to everyone. "Let's get out of here for a while. Lunch is on me."

"I'll stay here," Meghann said. Food was the last thing on her mind. "Ali needs the sleep."

Bobby squeezed her shoulder. "You want us to bring you something back?"

"Maybe a sandwich for Ali-peanut b.u.t.ter and jelly."

"You got it."

When they'd gone, Meghann leaned back in her chair, rested her head against the wall. In her arms, Ali snored quietly. It seemed like yesterday that Meg had held Claire this way, telling her baby sister that everything would be okay.

"It's been almost four hours, d.a.m.n it. What're they all doin' in there, anyway?"

Meg looked up. Mama stood there, holding an unlit Virginia Slims cigarette. Her makeup had faded a little, been smudged off in places, and without it, she looked faded, too. "I thought you went out for lunch with everyone."

"Eat cafeteria cafeteria food? I don't think so. I'll eat an early dinner in my hotel suite." food? I don't think so. I'll eat an early dinner in my hotel suite."

"Have a seat, Mama."

Her mother collapsed into the molded plastic chair beside her. "This is the worst day of my life, honest to G.o.d. An that's sayin' something."

"It's hard. Waiting."

"I should go find Sam. Maybe he'll want to play cards or somethin'."

"Why did you leave him, Mama?"

"He's a good man" was all Mama said.

At first, Meghann thought it wasn't an answer. Then she understood.

Mama had run away because because Sam was a good man. Meghann could relate to that kind of fear. Sam was a good man. Meghann could relate to that kind of fear.

"There are things I should have said," Mama whispered, gesturing impatiently with her unlit cigarette. "But I never was too good without a script."

"None of us talks really well."

"And thank G.o.d. Talkin' doesn't change a thing." Mama stood up suddenly. "Talkin' to reporters always cheers me up. Bye, Meggy. I'll be across the street when"-her voice trembled-"y'all hear that she's fine." With that, she sailed out of the waiting room, her smile Hollywood bright.

One hour bled into the next until finally, around 4:00, Dr. Weissman came into the waiting room. Meghann was the first to see him. She tightened her hold on Ali and got to her feet. Bobby stood next; then Sam and Mama; then Joe, Gina, Karen, and Charlotte. In a silent group, they moved toward the doctor, who rubbed a hand through his thinning hair and managed a tired smile.

"The surgery went well."

"Thank G.o.d," they whispered together.

"But she's a long way from out of the woods. The tumor was more invasive than we thought." He looked up at Joe. "The next few hours will tell us more."

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

CLAIRE WOKE UP IN RECOVERY FEELING GROGGY AND confused. A headache pounded behind her eyes. She was about to hit her call b.u.t.ton and ask for an Advil when it struck her. confused. A headache pounded behind her eyes. She was about to hit her call b.u.t.ton and ask for an Advil when it struck her.

She was alive.

She tested her memory by counting to one hundred and trying to list all the towns she'd lived in as a child, but she'd only made it to Barstow when the first of the nurses came in. After that, she was poked and prodded and tested until she couldn't think.

Her family took turns sitting with her. Two of her most vivid postsurgery memories were of Bobby, sitting by her bed, holding an ice pack to her head for hours at a time, and of her dad, feeding her ice chips when she got thirsty. Meghann had brought in Ali's newest drawing; this one was three brightly colored stick figures standing by a river. In an uncertain scrawl across the bottom it read: I love you Momy I love you Momy.

By the second full postop day, Claire had become irritable. She hurt now; her body ached everywhere and the bruises on her forehead from the iron halo had begun to throb like h.e.l.l. They wouldn't give her much in the way of pain medication because they didn't want to mask any surgical aftereffects.

"I feel like s.h.i.+t," she said to Meghann, who sat in the chair by the window.

"You look like s.h.i.+t."

Claire managed to smile. "Again with the bedside manner. Do you think they'll come soon?"

Meghann looked up from her book, which Claire noticed was upside down. "I'll check again." Meg put the book down and stood up as the door opened.

Claire's day-s.h.i.+ft nurse, Dolores, walked into the room, smiling. She was pus.h.i.+ng an empty wheelchair. "It's time for your MRI."

Claire panicked. Suddenly she didn't want to go, didn't want to know. She felt better. That was good enough- Meghann came to her side, squeezed her hand. The touch was enough to get Claire over the hump. "Okay, Dolores. Take me away."

When they rolled into the hallway, Bobby was there, waiting for them. "Is it time?"

It was Meghann who answered. "It is."

Bobby held Claire's hand all the way to Nuclear Medicine. It took an act of will to leave them behind and go down that familiar white hallway alone.

A few minutes later, as she lay once again in the jackhammer coffin of the MRI, she visualized a clean, clear scan of her brain, saw it so clearly that by the time it was over, her temples were wet with tears.

Bobby, Meghann, and Dolores were waiting for her when she was finished.

Dolores helped Claire into the wheelchair, then positioned her slippered feet on the footrests. Back to the room they went.

After that, the waiting was unbearable. Meghann paced the small hospital room; Bobby squeezed Claire's hand so tightly she lost all feeling in her fingers. Sam came in every few minutes.

Finally, Dolores returned. "The docs are ready for you, Claire."

Little things got Claire through the wheelchair ride without screaming-the warm pressure of Bobby's hand on her shoulder, the easy patter of Dolores's monologue, the way Meghann stayed close.

"Well. Here we are." Dolores stopped at the office door and knocked.

Someone called out, "Come in."

Dolores patted Claire's shoulder. "We're praying for you, sweetie."

"Thanks."

Meghann took control of the wheelchair and guided Claire into the office. There were several doctors in the room. Dr. Weissman was the first to speak. "Good morning, Claire."

"Good morning," she answered, trying not to tense up. The men waited for Meghann to sit down. Finally they realized that she wasn't going to.

Dr. Weissman clicked on the viewbox. There were Claire's films. Her brain. She grabbed the wheels and rolled forward.

She studied the film, then looked up at the men. "I don't see any tumor."

Dr. Weissman smiled. "I don't, either. I think we got it all, Claire."

"Oh my G.o.d." She'd hoped for this, prayed for it. She'd even worked to believe it, but now she saw that her belief had stood on a shaky foundation.

"Initial lab reports indicate that it was a low-grade astrocytoma," he said.

"Not a glioblastoma multiforme? Thank G.o.d."

"Yes, that was good news. Also, it was benign," Dr. Weissman said.

One of the other doctors stepped forward. "You are a very lucky woman, Mrs. Austin. Dr. Weissman did an incredible job. However, as you know, most brain tumors will regenerate. Twenty-eight percent of all-"

"Stop!" Claire didn't realize that she'd yelled out the word until she saw the startled looks on the doctors' faces. She glanced at Meg, who nodded encouragingly. "I don't want to hear your statistics. It was benign, right?"

"Yes," the doctor said, "but benign in the brain is a rather misleading term. All brain tumors can ultimately be fatal, benign or not."

"Yeah. Yeah. Limited s.p.a.ce in the head and all that," Claire said. "But it's not a cancer that's going to spread through my body, right?"

"Correct."

"So it's gone now and it was benign. That's all I want to hear. You can talk to me about treatments from here on, but not about chances and survival rates. My sister immersed herself in your numbers." She smiled at Meg. "She thought I wasn't listening, but I was. She had a file that she kept on the kitchen counter-a file she labeled Hope Hope. In it, there were dozens of personal accounts of people who'd been diagnosed with brain tumors more than seven years ago and were still alive. You know what they all had in common?"

Only Dr. Weissman was smiling.

"They'd all been told they'd live less than six months. You guys are like Seattle weathermen in June. All you ever predict is rain. But I'm not taking an umbrella with me. My future is sunny."

Dr. Weissman's smile grew. He crossed the room and bent down to her ear. "Good for you."

She looked up at him. "There are no words to thank you."

"Joe Wyatt is the man you should thank. Good luck to you, Claire."

As soon as she was back in her room, Claire broke down and cried. She couldn't seem to stop. Bobby held her tightly, kissing her bald head, until finally she looked up at him. "I love you, Bobby."

He kissed her fiercely.

She clung to him, then whispered in his ear, "Go get our little girl. I want to tell her Mommy's going to be okay."

He hurried out.

"You were amazing in there," Meg said when they were alone.

"My new motto is: Don't screw with Baldie Don't screw with Baldie."