“Grace? Your brother said that I should have a BMW like yours and I just told him that I wasn’t all that materialistic, and—”
“Shut up, Marianne, just shut up, okay?” I said in what I thought was a pretty calm voice given all the circumstances.
“What?” she said, and puffed up like a blowfish. “Nicky, she said—”
“Apologize. You had better apologize, Grace,” Nicky said.
“Or what, Nicky? You’re gonna do…what? Put me on restriction?”
“Marianne is going to be your sister-in-law, Grace. I just proposed to her tonight.”
I had a couple of options then. I could have been cold to her or I could have tried to regain my composure and be gracious. For my mother’s sake, and only for her sake, I chose the latter.
“No kidding? Well!” I let out a rush of air with a whew! “Congratulations!” But there was no ring. Until there was a ring, I didn’t have to be so nice.
Everyone began to talk at once. I should have noticed the champagne glasses on the table, but I had not. We got through dinner and I drank all the wine I could get my father to pour in my glass. When he quit pouring I helped myself. I listened to Marianne go on and on about the dream wedding she had planned, and I thought it was best to ignore her as much as possible or else she would have to die by my hand. Yes, they buried her in her wedding dress! It was such a sin! Yes, the sister-in-law is in jail…
Jail? Whoa. Back up the bus. No, jail wasn’t in my plans, so I decided to let her live for another day or two. We were all doing fine on the surface until I saw her waiting for me outside the powder room after dessert and coffee had been offered and passed up by everyone in favor of more champagne.
“Gwaciee?”
Ah, crap, I thought, was she going to use that baby voice on me, too? No way.
“What May-wee-annie?” I was definitely under the waves.
“You didn’t apologize to me, you know.”
I was suddenly very sober. I got up close to her and looked her in the eyes as coldly as I could. I said, “Let me tell you something, you stupid phony bitch. You want to be happy in this family? You stay out of my face, okay? And never, I mean never, take advantage of my mother. Is that clear?”
A few minutes later she returned to the kitchen and said, “Did Grace tell y’all what happened?”
“No,” my mother said. “What happened?”
Marianne the consummate liar had arrived to collect her trophy. “Well, Grace has agreed to be my maid of honor! Isn’t that just wonderful? Isn’t that just marvelous? I finally have a real sister!”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EVERYONE’S OPINION
There was no road longer or more depressing than the one that separated me from Michael that Sunday morning as I drove back to Charleston. I needed to talk to someone, and so as soon as I could get a clear signal, I called Frank and Regina. They weren’t home and didn’t answer their cells either. I left messages. They were probably at church. I waited. I started crying, then wailing, and finally I pulled myself together again. I was exhausted and hungover. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing Michael and I knew just enough about brain tumors to know that very often they snatched away life. I was terrified.
I called home and Michael answered.
“’Lo?”
He sounded like he was answering the telephone from under the covers, in a cave a thousand miles away. I was obviously the first call of his day.
“Whoa! You don’t sound so good.”
In an odd way, I was delighted he had gone overboard the previous night. On a selfish note, it meant there might be less shock and anger from him to deal with. And I was glad he had a male friend for the things men would say to each other that they wouldn’t really want to say to a woman in this kind of dire situation. On the other hand, I was jealous and remorseful that I had missed a single thing.
“Uh…”
“Hungover?”
“Yeah, uh…”
“How about if you go back to sleep and I’ll just see you in about an hour and a half?”
“’Kay.”
Click. Michael Higgins had left the cellular service area and returned to the fog of dreams.
I made a mental note to pick up fresh bagels, cream cheese and smoked salmon. Although a greasy burger might have been the ticket for his stomach, depending on how hungover he was and how queasy he felt. My cell phone rang and it startled me. It was Frank.
“Where are you?” he said.
“Driving back to Charleston from the Russo Show.”
“So? What’s going on? I have to call them today at some point.”
“Well, let’s see. Our stupid brother got engaged to that stupid girl and somehow she railroaded me into being the maid of honor.”
“No way. Man. That’s rough duty.”
“You said it. So brace up for a family wedding. Nonna has met a man at ‘the facility,’ which is how we refer to the not-a-nursing-home where she appears to believe she is incarcerated. He’s Polish, but not to worry, his dead wife was an Italian Catholic and he wants to take Nonna to his canasta club. And needless to say, Nonna is wearing out Mom with catering and laundry services, which Al thinks is all fine. The good news is that this Polish guy, George, I think that’s his name, might actually get Nonna out of bed and moving again.”
“Well, if she would cooperate with the physical therapist, she would get out of there a heck of a lot sooner.”
“Exactly.”
“Any news on Michael?”
I knew he was going to ask. Even though I had called Frank earlier to discuss this very topic, all at once I didn’t want to talk about it. I think I was being so talkative to divert his attention because Michael’s illness was the kind of thing that if I talked about it, it became real. I was still in the denial business even though it was, yes, it was time, time to face the truth.
“You there?” he said.
“Yeah. It’s not good. The pathologist called him and it’s cancer.”
“Oh, God. Regina told me they did a biopsy. What kind of cancer is it and what’s the prognosis?”
“We don’t know anything yet, Frank. Just that the fluid had cancer cells.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, kid.”
“Thanks. This guy in the lab is a friend of Michael’s friend and he called him as soon as they did the pathology. Needless to say, I’m beyond panicked.”
“Imagine how Michael feels.”
“Yeah. I can only imagine. To tell you the truth, I am more than a little nervous about how Michael feels.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, what if he gets really sick? Really depressed? Really angry? I don’t know what might happen, Frank.”
“Take it one day at a time. They’ll probably want to operate and do some follow-up treatments, Grace. You’re going to have your hands full for a while.”
“Yeah, well, before anybody operates on anybody, I want Michael to look into the brain-cancer center at Duke. It’s supposed to be incredible. I mean, we should at least get a second opinion, right?”
“Absolutely. How old is Michael?”
“Thirty-five.”
“Look, I know you’re deeply troubled by this because you really love this guy. So even if it is the Big C, he’s young, Grace. They’ll be aggressive in the treatment.” Frank was quiet for a moment and I knew he was struggling to find the words for what he was going to say. “Grace, think about it. Even if the news is catastrophic, he’s not going anywhere tomorrow. Checking out from an illness takes a while. Sometimes years.”
“Oh, great! That makes me feel a lot better, Frank. You mean we can still go to the movies next week? Thanks a whole lot.”
“Grace? I know you are upset. If this was happening to Regina, I would be completely freaking out. But the fact is, this is Michael’s cancer in Michael’s brain, and thank God it’s not in yours, right?”
“Well, of course. I know that.”
“Yeah, but a
t the same time his illness is happening to you, too, right? I mean, you’re not sick, but you are afraid you might lose the only guy you have ever really loved, correct?”
“Yes, the dog in the fight is mine. Frank? You don’t know Michael, but he is the most wonderful, thoughtful, generous, brilliant man I have ever met in my life. When he looks at me, I feel like the most beautiful creature on earth. When he comes into a room my whole body quivers. He’s smart like you, Frank. He loves learning and he loves giving. This is the most horrible and unfair thing that could happen to a guy like him. It’s evil. What am I going to do? How do I stop brain cancer?”
“Let me think.” He was quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he began. “Here’s a plan. Tell yourself you’re going off to war together. Just imagine this was happening to you and take care of him exactly like you would want to be cared for. Fight with him against the enemy. Be his best advocate. God knows, he’s going to need someone with strength to navigate the medical system, never mind medical insurance.”
“Well, if there’s one blessing in this, it’s that we both have incredible health-care plans.”
“Then be thankful for small favors. If you want, I can send his pathology to my friend over at Mount Sinai in the city. I can see who Regina knows; all the doctors love her.”
“I’ll let you know, Frank. Thanks.”
“Listen to your old philosopher brother, Frank Russo. Disasters can bring out the worst in people or they can bring out the noblest and most heroic part of them. Be vigilant about yourself, Grace, so you can be proud later on.”
“Wow. You are sure right about that. Thanks.”
“Well, you’re my sister and my only sibling I can relate to.”
“Same goes for me, Frank.”
“And I really love you, kid.”
“I love you, too, Frank.”
We talked a little more, and after we said good-bye I thought for a moment about Frank and Regina. They were rock-solid dependable. Frank was a great friend. An excellent friend. He knew me through and through, and before I could even say anything, he knew exactly where the greatest weaknesses in my resolve were and how to shore them up. He knew there was a cowardly part of me that at some point might consider running away.
But it wasn’t the day for me to bail out on Michael. And to be honest, I couldn’t foresee a day when I would. That was one more significant fact about really loving someone; when you really did, you stayed.
I came into the house with four grocery bags, my duffel bag, a ton of mail, the newspaper and my purse. The downstairs was a disaster. The sink was filled with glasses and dishes with the residue of take-out Mexican food stuck to the plates and flatware. The microwave door was wide open and it looked like nachos with Cheez Whiz had exploded in there. The garbage can was overflowing with wet paper towels that smelled like stale beer, and sure enough, empty Corona bottles were all over the counter, along with little containers of salsa, bags of chips, the remains of a couple of dried-up limes and a paring knife. There wasn’t a seat cushion left on the sofa and DVDs were scattered all over the coffee table. The main culprit, an empty bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold, was on the floor next to the side chair, its cap missing in action. It must have been some night.
I could hear the shower running. I dumped the groceries on the dining-room table and starting cleaning up. By the time Michael came out of the bathroom, the dishwasher was running and all the garbage was outside in the big cans. I threw the cushions back on the sofa and wiped down the counters twice.
“Grace? That you, hon?”
“No, it’s Merry Maids! There are six people down here doing cleanup!”
“Sorry! Sorry!”
Michael came bounding down the steps in his khaki shorts and no shirt. He was still pink from the steam and no man on this earth ever looked so appealing. He put his arms around me and we hugged hard.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Just sorry I missed the party.”
“Don’t be. It was ugly.”
“Uh, yeah. Next time you want to get that trashed, go to his house.”
“Are you kidding? Larry’s married. His wife would kill him.”
“Oh, well, that explains it, then.”
“I’m kidding. Did you bring bagels? I’m starving.”
If this was a man near his death, he sure didn’t seem like it to me. I decided I was going to take my cue from him. If Michael felt like being active, I would put on my running shoes. If he wanted to be quiet, I would curl up with a book. Right now he wanted to spend the day on the beach.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
I packed the car with beach chairs and towels, a small cooler of cold water bottles, a bag of Cheetos and a tote bag of seaside accoutrements. We drove over to Sullivans Island and parked near the lighthouse.
I put the top up, unfolded the reflector over the dashboard and locked the car while Michael unloaded the trunk.
“It’s going to be a barbecue grill in there when we come back,” I said.
“So we can have swordfish for supper.”
I smiled at his easy mood, and knowing in the back of my mind that there were probably going to be some rough days ahead, I was determined to enjoy the ones that weren’t painted black.
We tromped over the dunes and chose a place to settle that was about halfway between the dunes and the water, close to the little waves that washed the sand as the tide went out. We had our chairs in place and shared the bottle of suntan lotion, greasing up each other’s back.
“Wanna swim?” I said.
“Yeah. Let’s cool off and then we can sit and read or whatever.”
Holding hands, we waded up to our thighs in the surf, pausing and turning to face each other when waves rolled over us. Every now and then one would crash over our heads and we would shriek our surprise and then settle down again until the next one came along. Eventually we sank into the water, letting it cover our shoulders, and I was thinking how marvelous something as simple as a dip in the ocean could be. It was so pleasing to feel my skin cool down and to feel buoyant. I didn’t even mind the salt.
“What are you thinking about?” he said.
“I’m just thinking that this whole ocean is here and it’s free. Isn’t that kind of wonderful?”
“Yep. I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what’s wonderful and what makes life worth living. And you know what?”
“What?”
“I’m thinking we should put some sperm in the sperm bank. There’s this nasty possibility that my treatments might leave me sterile. I mean, I know I said I didn’t want kids because of what happened to my brother and all. But I think we should have that option. So what do you think?”
“I say definitely—do it. We don’t have to have kids this week. It would be stupid not to have the option. We could change our minds next year.”
“Okay. Good.”
I was floating on my back looking at the sky, pretending that my life was without problems when in fact it was in the worst turmoil ever. And if you took my state of mind and multiplied it by ten or a million, that was Michael’s.
“There’s a lot that makes life worth living, Michael.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. Let’s go dry off for a while.”
We swam back to shore and then walked back to our spot, shaking the salt water out of our hair and the despondency from our shadows that stretched long across the sand. There was no pretending. We were drawing lines, the agreement of our lives. Was I in or out? Was he fighting or not? Was I with him in what he would eventually decide he wanted? Was he in charge of himself? Was I going to try to impose myself on issues that weren’t really mine?
Just how in the hell were we going to deal with brain cancer? Could somebody have given me a clue?
I towel-dried my hair for a moment and then dropped into my chair after moving it and Michael’s a few feet farther toward the water’s edge. I ran a comb through my salty tangles, put my sunglasses on and thanked everything that I’d h
ad the presence of mind to choose very dark lenses. My panic was well withdrawn from view and I could pose in my chair as someone merely interested in disguising the girth of her thighs with a particular positioning of her body.
Michael said, “Do you want a bottle of water?”
I said, “More than a puppy for Christmas.”
The plastic cracked on its opening and I drank like someone in danger of dehydration. He settled down into his chair with his own bottle of water and I almost relaxed.
We were quiet, but the wall of thought we were raising was built of barracudas. When two people are in a moment like that, they both know exactly where the other one is, and so the responsibility shifts back and forth. Every sentence is fraught with other meanings.
“Are you comfortable?” I said. Are you in pain?
“Yeah. It’s one gorgeous day, isn’t it?” It could be one of my last.
“Every day should be so gorgeous.” I hope we have years left.
“Every day is so gorgeous.” I never realized how much my life means to me.
“Yes,” I said, and disobedient tears slid down my cheeks. “The ocean makes my nose get stuffed up.” My heart is breaking.
“Mine, too,” he said, and I looked over in a swift and careful moment to observe his few tears and sighs as they betrayed him as well. I don’t want to die.
We were quiet for a long time. A long time. The tide crept out and we moved closer to the water’s edge every so often, clearing our throats and taking deep, noisy sniffs.
“Beach-head,” I said, explaining my sinus condition.
“Me, too,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said, and stretched my hand toward him. He took it, grasping it with a familiarity I had never known with anyone else. Across the wet packed sand I could see the shadow of our joined hands and wished I had a camera at that moment. I wanted that picture—long and lean across our fireplace—just that position of our hands locked together in light for always. It was a silhouette of us and it ripped my heart in two.
I looked over at Michael and at that moment something changed. I didn’t know what exactly, but there was a shift of energy, determination and knowledge of another outcome that had nothing to do with what would be predicted by the odds. Even the light on the simple beach of Sullivans Island changed from yellow to blue. Don’t ask me how or why. It just did.