Chapter 9 #2
I shift in the cloth seat. Typically, I’m a fly on the wall in these appointments. My mom hates when I butt in, gives me a lecture each time I pick her up, but I can’t sit here when the bags under her eyes are so heavy, purple and blue and practically translucent.
“She doesn’t sleep. And”—I think about all the uneaten groceries I found earlier when I brought her more—“she’s been skipping meals. Says she’s not hungry, but … she’s lost more weight.”
My mom’s ire burns into the side of my head, but Dr. Riedel nods empathetically. “Weight loss and appetite changes are common at this stage, but we can look into adjusting the nausea medication. It might help.”
He turns behind him to the monitor, tapping at the image of lungs. My mother’s lungs.
I clench my jaw and look away.
“The latest scans show more progression. The tumors in the right lung have grown slightly, and there’s more fluid buildup. This explains the shortness of breath and increased coughing.”
“So …” my mom says softly. “Come on, Doc, don’t hold back. Am I dying today or tomorrow?”
“Mom!”
Dr. Riedel chuckles, holding up his hands.
The first time she made comments like this, at the beginning of her treatments, he was stunned into silence. Since then, he’s … gotten used to it. I however …
“It means we need to focus on your comfort. As we’ve talked about before, aggressive treatments wouldn’t provide much benefit at this stage. We’ll continue to focus on palliative care.”
Instinctively, I grab my mother’s hand. It’s cold. Frail. “We’ve tried the rotation of nurses. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t need help,” my mother grits out.
Dr. Riedel sighs, turning to sit at his desk. He shuffles his papers before steepling his hands to his lips. “I’m saying someone full time, not necessarily hospice care, but Mrs. Sullivan, you shouldn’t be alone. Our goal is to ensure that you’re as comfortable as possible.”
My mom forces a weak smile. “No more poking and prodding shit? I’m happy about that. A silver lining.”
I shake my head, wishing she wasn’t so stubborn and hardheaded. I want to ask about further immunotherapies that we haven’t ruled out yet, but I figure it will only irritate her.
“We’ll continue with the oxygen therapy to help with your breathing, and I’ll prescribe a stronger cough suppressant. If and when you’re ready for full-time hospice—”
“I won’t be,” my mother snarls.
This time I don’t bother saying anything.
Dr. Riedel speaks with a measured cadence that could probably calm the most anxious patient. However, that doesn’t work on my mother, and though his word choice is deliberate, his mention of hospice to my mother never goes well.
The weight on my chest grows. I thought we made progress with the nurses helping every so often, but it seems to have made things worse. I need someone to live with her, to watch out for her. She won’t let me, won’t allow a nurse—so what do I do?
My knuckles ache as I fist my jeans. I don’t want her to go through this, but I don’t want to lose her.
“As always, we’ll monitor your condition and continue to make you as comfortable as possible,” Dr. Riedel says, and I want to punch him in his slim face—his words are like a company line. Impersonal. Unreasonable. Unattainable.
Monitor her condition. Like the cancer isn’t sucking her dry each day, draining the life out of her. Continue to make her comfortable? It’s a farce. She’s not eating much, unable to breathe, sleep, enjoy life.
I know he’s doing his job—genuinely cares about my mother and her well-being, but it doesn’t stop the selfish desire to make my mother his only patient. Force him to do more.
It’s suffocating, watching the only family you have slip away, knowing there’s nothing you can do, but I’ve made a vow. To be there for her until the end—at the end.
My mother struggles to stand but does so anyway and offers a bland smile to Dr. Riedel, who shakes my hand.
We don’t speak as we exit his office or as we descend in the elevator. Even when I help her into my truck, she stays quiet, her focus on the window, watching golden yellows and deep crimsons blur against the brown backdrop.
A gust of wind sweeps through the branches of the trees evenly spaced in the center median of the road, dislodging a flurry of leaves that spiral downward, and I glance over at my mom. “Should I make the call to reinstate the nurse rotation?” I ask, wiping my brow with my hand not on the wheel.
“I don’t do nurses, Noah. I can’t.” She continues to avoid looking at me, but her words … her words remind me of someone else’s.
“I don’t do dogs.”
Lily’s words from when I first found her propped on the edge of the trail echo through my mind, and when we pull onto the road through the center of town, I find myself headed to the diner instead of toward my mother’s.
The late afternoon light dances along the window glass, setting off a blinding glare, but I maneuver to a parking spot anyway.
“Where are we?” my mother asks.
“Figured you might be hungry.”
“It’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” She turns toward me, allowing the corner of her mouth to twitch up, jostling her oxygen.
I know she’s uncomfortable going out with her full-time oxygen, but her appointments have become few and far between and the sharing-a-meal-with-my-mom days are dwindling.
The diner … well, that’s an interesting choice, but I blame it on my recent turkey club and fries, creating a new craving.
She quickly taps my thigh twice. “Come on … I don’t want you to be away from Max for too long.”
I grimace, wondering what pair of shoes he’s chewed through, and climb out of the truck. We walk into the diner, the crowd thin since we’re at the odd time between lunch and dinner.
Immediately I study the waitresses, noticing a younger looking woman fumbling with the coffee maker before I continue to scan the diner—my heart skips a beat when I finally spot her.
Her dark hair is pulled into a ponytail, that silly uniform wrinkled and bunched around her waist. She looks disheveled, and when I catch sight of her face, I’m taken aback by the loud bags under her eyes.
Is she sleeping?
There’s a slap to my arm, and I jerk, looking at my mother who motions to the standing sign telling us to seat ourselves. We move to an empty booth, and I sit across from my mom as my gaze draws to Lily once more.
She wipes her hands on her apron, listening to her fellow waitress who has her hands full with a tray of food, say something and tilt her head toward our booth. Lily follows, and she does a double take, then squints at me before glancing at my mother, and her eyes … soften?
Lily nonchalantly drags her pad from the counter and saunters over to us, offering me an uneager “hello,” but then she smiles at my mother and suddenly it doesn’t matter how she treats me.
Her worn expression warms instantly as she takes in my mother. She doesn’t offer a pitying stare like my mother is used to when people see her feeble frame and life-giving oxygen. No. She tips her head in silent understanding, and for that I’m grateful.
“Just couldn’t stay away, huh?” Lily asks, turning to me. “What’ll it be this time?”
“You really enjoy your job, don’t you? How about that cake? Did you enjoy that, too?” I ask.
She pinches her lips together and turns to my mother.
“Coffee?”
My mother’s eyes volley between the both of us and she grins. “Is it fresh, or has it been sitting on the burner longer than I’ve been alive?”
Lily’s eyebrows raise. “Fresh is subjective. It’s brown, it’s hot, and it’s caffeinated. Take it or leave it.”
“Fine. Might as well match my mood.”
Lily’s tentative smile builds into a grin as my mother’s words sink in. “Black, then. Got it.”
My mother doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re observant. That’s rare in people these days. Most young people are too glued to their phones to read the room, but they can read comments on social media.”
I sigh, shoulders tensing with my mother’s ability to avoid any filter and the uncanny ability to turn any simple conversation into an opinionated one.
Lily’s lips thin into a tight-lipped smile, and she shrugs. “I only have a phone for work. Deleted any and all social media from it years ago.” She fidgets with her uniform, tugging the wrinkled fabric away from her.
No socials and only a phone for work? She didn’t mention keeping in touch with family or friends. Does she have family? I find myself wondering. She’s not from here, so where does she stay? Who does she hang out with?
Lily clears her throat, and I realize I’ve been staring—studying—her.
“I’ll have a water,” I say.
With a nod, Lily tosses two menus down and spins on her heel to get our drinks.
My mother pulls one toward her, pretending to ponder it, but she can’t hide her curiosity. “How do you know her?”
My mother’s expression is smug, which is telling, but I offer her the truth. “She was the girl I helped a few weeks ago. The one who fell during the storm and hit her head.”
“And since when do you come here?”
I give her an exasperated look.
“She’s pretty …”
“Mom. Don’t.”
She holds her hands up, surrendering the conversation. “I’m just saying …”
“I just wanted to make sure she was okay. Ran into Old Man John while I was here and ate with him. Morgan came by and sat with us. It wasn’t a thing. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“Must be so. You’ve said it twice now.” My mother drops both her hands into her lap and leans against the leather booth behind her.
“You’re always looking out for others, Noah.
When will you look out for you? You put everyone else before yourself …
I just don’t want to see you alone. Especially because … well, because …”
I’m dying. I fill in the words I know are on the tip of her tongue.
The tension in her features fades, her gaze settles firmly on mine with an unmistakable gentleness, and the corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly.
It’s rare, in my mother’s condition, to find warmth radiating from her, but her expression is soft, smoothed over.
I know she doesn’t want me to be alone. Hell, I don’t want to be alone.
“Okay …” Lily’s voice interrupts the silence festering between my mother and me, and I glance down at the menu to randomly select something for lunch. “What are you thinking?”
Before I can answer my mother chimes in, the haughty tone in her voice reappearing. “What do you recommend? Or should I just close my eyes and point with my finger, hoping it doesn’t land on something that tastes like tar.”
Lily’s eyes widen, and for the first time a genuine laugh bubbles out of her.
It’s startling in its brightness, radiant and raw, just like her eyes.
There’s no reluctance, only the melodic sound that carries an edge of surprise, even to her.
Her typical guarded expression, full of tension, melts away, and her lashes lower into something open and vulnerable.
I watch, transfixed and unable to take my eyes off the tilt of her lips.
When her laughter dies, she brings her pen to her lips, tapping as she considers. “Well, the burger’s good. Fries are decent if you like grease.”
My mother smiles. “I’ll have a side salad, no dressing. It’s about all I can eat these days. With my luck I’ll end up having a heart attack, considering I never smoked a day in my life and miraculously ended up with terminal lung cancer.”
Lily grimaces and then swallows, glimpsing the tubing in my mother’s nose. There are a few seconds of awkward silence before Lily continues.
“And for you, Ranger?”
I shake my head, utterly uncomfortable with how hearing that name from her makes my face heat. “I’ll do the turkey club,” I say.
“Fries?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll put this right in,” Lily says as she tucks her pad into the white apron tied around her waist. Then she moves to the booth next to us, and I sit there enraptured as I listen to her take their mundane order, annoyed when the two men try their hand at flirting with her.
Something coils through me at every fake laugh and casual comment they offer her. I clench my jaw, the muscle twitching. I do my best to keep my expression neutral and apparently fail because my mother narrows a look at me.
Then she smiles. “I like her.”