Chapter 3 #5
Cassie had a strange air of excitement when we came in.
She agreed to come down and have dinner with Charlie and me, and it had been weeks since that had happened.
As Charlie again slurped his pasta (still needed to work on the table manners), Cassie picked at the contents of her plate, and I watched her from narrowed eyes.
I asked Charlie to tell us about his day, and he launched into a complicated story about kickball.
Kids were not following the rules and it was ticking him off.
“So I told Anderson, if your foot leaves the base, then I can tag you and you’re out!
And Trenton said that I was wrong, but LuLu was on my side, so I said…
” The story went on and on, and covered any awkward pauses that naturally arose when a mother and son had nothing to say to each other.
Finally the kickball saga was over and Charlie left to hunt for a glue stick.
Cassie watched me as I gathered the plates and started to wash them.
She seemed almost febrile. “You feeling ok?” I asked casually.
We had an appointment with the oncologist the next day if anything was wrong, if she could hold on for that long.
“Mike called today.”
I dropped the plate I was holding, and it broke against the cast iron sink. Slowly I reached to pick up the pieces.
“Mike? What did he want?”
“To see how I was doing.”
“Where is he? Is he coming back? Is he working?” The questions poured out of me.
“Jesus Christ, Em, it was a private conversation between husband and wife! I told him I was getting better and he wants to see me when I’m back to normal.”
“He wants to see you when you’re back to normal,” I repeated slowly.
“What are you, stupid? That’s what I said!” she snapped.
I reached to get a piece of the broken dish and caught my finger against its sharp edge. Red, watery blood swirled down the drain.
“Did he tell you where he is?”
Her silence was a clear answer.
“Cassie, we need him to help us.” I wrapped a paper towel around my finger.
I heard the squeak of her chair across the wooden floor as she slowly pushed to a stand. “Help me back upstairs.”
I turned to stare at her and she made a face. “Please! I’m tired.”
We walked slowly up the stairs, Cassie leaning on me heavily. She was panting when we reached the top and we stopped to rest for a minute. “Hold onto me if you’re dizzy,” I ordered. I didn’t want her tumbling back down.
“I’ve got it,” she retorted, her fingers pinching into my forearm and her weight pulling me to the side. “Stop your fucking hovering!”
I tucked her in bed, and brought her a glass of water to take her medication. I had to try again.
“Cassie, I need to know. Did he tell you where he is?”
“Why is that important? What do you care?”
I stared at her. “Cassie, please! He needs to support you and his child!”
“You don’t understand him,” Cassie said dismissively. “You don’t understand how men work. You can’t make them come to you. The more you chase after them, the more they run.”
“What are you talking about? This isn’t about getting asked to the prom! You are married to him, and you have cancer! He has a seven-year-old son! Responsibilities! Where is he?”
She glared at me. “You’re a real bitch sometimes.”
I was trying to hold it together. “Cassie—”
“Leave me alone,” she told me. “I’m really tired.”
∞
The next day, instead of going to the NGS after dropping Charlie at school, I went back to the house to pick up Cassie.
The weak morning sun peeking through the gathering clouds showed every chip in the paint of the siding on the front of Nana’s pride and joy.
The sagging shutter in the front bedroom window, Charlie’s bedroom.
The curling, faded shingles on the roof, and the cracks in the walkway to the front porch. Even the mailbox had fallen askew.
Nana had asked, no, allowed, Mike and Cassie to move in with her so that she could take care of the baby, and they could help her with the house.
In the six years they had lived there, the most either one of them had done for her was shovel the driveway so they could get out their own cars.
God damn Mike. God damn him. My hands were clenched around the steering wheel.
I helped Cassie get dressed, and half-dragged her down to the car, trying to hold an umbrella over her to shield her from the cold spring rain.
“What is this thing?” she asked, lip curling, as I hefted her into the front seat of the Bronco.
I realized that I had forgotten to tell her about the El D. And it made me furious.
“Remember, Cassie, how your husband took off in your brand-new Jeep, and left us with Nana’s ’85 Eldorado? Well, it broke down, and now we have a borrowed Bronco. And we won’t have that soon either, because I’ll have to give it back. Will your husband be home anytime soon with the car?”
I glared over at her, and saw that she had her head drooping over the plastic basin in her lap, obviously nauseated. I sucked in a breath and tried to calm down. “Cass, I’m sorry. Do you want me to pull over?”
“This car stinks like burning oil,” she hissed between clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
By the time we got to the hospital, she had thrown up twice, and my knuckles were white with the stress of it of it all. They had to bring out a wheelchair to help her in while I went to park. I poured out the basin and brought it in with me to exchange for a new one for the ride home.
Cassie had already been taken back by the time I made it up to the office. The aide at the desk motioned to me. “Miss Brennan?”
“Yes?”
She motioned me closer. “There’s a note in the computer that says a billing specialist would like to speak with you. One floor down.”
My stomach dropped about two floors. “Oh. Ok.”
I slowly walked to the elevator, my feet like lead. I felt too frozen to even try to take the stairs.
The waiting room to see the “billing specialist” was fairly empty. Only one old man sat in a chair, leaning down with his chin to his chest, his skin grey in the fluorescent lights. They had to wake him up to call him back, then it was my turn.
The billing specialist lady was actually very nice.
We owed a lot of money. I was listed as a responsible party.
My brother-in-law’s heath plan had been terminated when he quit his job.
Had we filed to get CObrA? No? Too expensive?
Was I aware that only part of the treatment was covered by Medicaid?
Cherry County Hospital was a private hospital; did I understand that if we were unable to pay we would need to seek treatment elsewhere?
The questions went on. I signed some things. She had a dish of hard cinnamon candies wrapped in red cellophane on her desk. I hated those candies. Maybe I would never eat cinnamon again.
When I went back upstairs to get Cassie, I was still numb. Cassie was finished, and sitting in the waiting room. She was asleep, her chin down on her chest, her olive skin grey under the lights.
“Can I get a wheelchair?” I asked the lady at the desk softly, and she nodded and picked up the phone.
∞
Cassie wouldn’t tell me what the doctor had said. Nothing. It was not my business, she informed me. But I could tell from the way she was holding her mouth that something had happened.
I went in to the NGS that afternoon, but I wasn’t even really aware of what I was doing. I rang up one item three times, and the customer had been super angry. “I’m sorry,” I told her, “I’m really sorry.”