Fifty-Four
In spite of Honey’s best efforts, Bridie’s baby shower did not take place at the house she still owned at the lake or at the country club or even at Nina’s house, which would not have been Honey’s first choice but one she would have accepted in the name of custom and tradition.
Bridie had her own ideas these days that Honey believed constituted a warfare on all the rituals of family, starting with their courthouse wedding and ludicrous lunch at Don’s Original.
“I don’t understand,” she said to Dune one afternoon when he brought her a bunch of groceries and reheatable dinners from the store.
“Why is she so against the usual way of doing things?”
“I don’t think that’s it,” Dune said. He was used to his mother railing against Bridie and tried to dismiss it but understood that with a baby coming he might have to start pushing back a little harder, for Bridie’s sake. “She—we—want to make our own traditions.”
Honey sighed. Even she could see futility in her protests, but a baby shower in a restaurant? “What on earth do I wear to”—she looked down at the invitation—“a canal house?”
“Whatever you want, Mom. This is brunch at a nice restaurant. You’ll like it.”
Honey did like the place, though she tried not to.
The shower was held in a private room in the back of a structure that had been built alongside the Erie Canal.
Nina had decorated the room flawlessly, of course.
No paper storks or pink-and-blue balloons or oversized plastic pacifiers.
She’d filled vases with bunches of spring flowers, tulips and daffodils and hyacinth.
Little yellow rubber ducks at each plate held place cards.
Honey came prepared to argue about her seat.
She imagined Bridie sticking her in the back somewhere even though she was one of the expectant grandmothers.
But when she made her way to the tables, she heard Fern call out to her.
“Mom! We’re up here.” Fern was standing at the front of the room waving at her.
Nina and Bridie had sat her at the head table, along with Fern and Naomi and Clara.
She was taken aback by how happy this made her.
Well, maybe enough time had gone by. And then there was the baby.
A baby fixed so many old resentments, she supposed, if you let it.
Look at Clara and Bridie. It didn’t seem like the sisters were back to normal exactly, but it seemed like they were both trying.
Clara took her position next to Bridie as the gifts were unwrapped, writing down names and items and being—second fiddle, was what came to Honey’s mind—in a way so uncharacteristic for Clara that it seemed like the continuation of an apology.
Honey and Nina had even shared a moment during the silly games that some of Bridie’s friends had insisted on, rolling their eyes in mutual stupefaction when everyone was handed a few pieces of pink Bubble Yum and asked to “sculpt a baby” for Bridie to judge.
“I’m making a fetus,” Fern said, working two pieces of gum into one and biting her lip in concentration.
“Don’t you dare!” Honey said.
Fern laughed. “Mom, you are no longer the boss of me.” Fern won the prize with a sculpture so lifelike—“Look at the umbilical cord!” Bridie marveled—that the tiny bubble-gum fetus got passed around to admire.
Toward the end of the day, shortly after Finn and Dune arrived to load all the gifts into the back of the SUV purchased as the new family car, Nina pulled Fern aside. “Can I talk to you for a moment? Privately.”
“I know this is probably silly,” Nina said as they went out onto the lawn overlooking the placid canal, dodging goose scat, “but I thought I should ask your advice about something.”
“Of course,” Fern said.
“I hate to be one of those people. ‘Nurse, can I tell you about my back pain?’”
“Nina, please,” Fern said. “You aren’t ‘one of those people.’ We’re family.”
Nina nodded her head, visibly moved. “We are, aren’t we? And getting bigger with every passing minute.”
Fern was slightly taken aback by seeing Nina emotional. She supposed this was what happened with grandmothering. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been ridiculously tired lately. Unusually, maybe worryingly tired.
” Nina did look tired, Fern thought, seeing beyond the casual acquaintance she had with Nina’s face and viewing her more like a patient.
Dark circles. Unhealthy pallor beneath what Fern now realized was a lot of makeup, more than Nina usually wore.
Nina pulled back the sleeve of her dress.
“And then this started happening.” She offered her arm to Fern. It was spotted with tiny red dots.
“We call this petechiae,” Fern said. “What else?” Fern asked. “Any bruising?”
“Yes,” Nina said.
“May I?” Fern gestured to Nina’s neck. She didn’t like the way these symptoms were adding up. She gently put her hands on Nina’s throat and felt the lymph nodes, enlarged and tender. “This is sore?” she said. Nina nodded and said, “What do you think?”
“I think,” Fern said, putting on her neutral nurse’s voice, “this could be a lot of things, and we need to start with some basic blood work.”
“Could this be anemia?” Nina said.
“It could.”
“Could it be cancer?”
“It could be lots of things,” Fern said, all business. “Let’s get the bloodwork done.”
By the time Bridie’s baby was born, a little girl she named Josephine after Nina, they had the diagnosis: acute myeloid leukemia.
Fern wasn’t surprised, but she was saddened.
At almost sixty-eight, Nina’s chances of remission were not great.
A long remission? Even worse. When she read the results, she asked Nina’s doctor if she could be present when he delivered the news to Nina and Finn.
When her father entered the office and saw Fern sitting there nodding bravely, he started to weep.
“So much melodrama!” Nina said that night.
They were sitting in the kitchen eating bowls of goulash that Helen Harper had sent over from the store.
Nina added a dollop of sour cream and chopped dill to everyone’s bowl.
“If this means chemotherapy, I’m in for whatever they bring.
I’m ready. None of you people are getting rid of me so soon. ”
The medical team certainly brought it: a grueling few months of chemo that flattened Nina but never put her into complete remission. “What’s next?” Finn asked Fern. She wasn’t used to seeing her father at a loss. He looked terribly old very quickly. “What about a stem cell transplant?”
“They probably wouldn’t have considered a transplant at her age,” Fern said, “but without remission, it’s not an option at all.”
“What are you talking about!” Bridie said days later, standing and bouncing baby Josephine in her carrier, trying to keep her quiet.
“Why no more treatment? I don’t get it. Fern, talk to her.
” Fern looked at Nina imploringly. Bridie needed to hear this from Nina.
“I thought you said a lot of new treatments were coming along,” Bridie continued, “targeted treatments with longer survival rates.”
“I did,” Fern said. “But without remission? Our hands are tied.”
“Bridget”—Nina patted the chair next to her for Bridie to sit—“the treatments they have aren’t working.
And, love, I am tired.” Bridie wouldn’t sit.
She furiously wiped away tears so they wouldn’t fall on top of Josephine’s head, looked at Finn, and said, “Why are you so quiet? Do something!” Finn walked over to Bridie holding Josephine and took them both in his arms. “We’ve done what we can,” he said as she sobbed into his shoulder.
“Fern,” Nina said a little while later, after Bridie had gone home and they were standing in the kitchen making tea. “I want to stay home as long as possible. Is that realistic?”
“You know you have a hospice nurse in the family, right?”
“But you have your own work,” Nina said. “And I don’t know if this presents a conflict for you. I thought you could recommend someone.”
Fern’s expression was a mix of confusion and hurt, a look that brought Nina right back to that December morning so long ago, when Fern was a little girl in her pajamas, standing in the driveway, frightened.
“I can recommend someone if you want,” Fern said, “but I would like to be that person, unless—”
Nina interrupted her. “I would love nothing more than to have you be the person.”