“It makes sense,” he said. “I should have thought of that myself. But it wouldn’t be the first time a doctor missed it. Celiac sprue is hard to diagnose.”
“How would that affect her?”
“When someone with celiac eats something containing gluten, the gluten causes a reaction that damages the intestine and makes the body unable to absorb nutrients, which, of course, can lead to a whole host of nasty problems—weight loss, anemia, malnutrition, seizures, even cancer.”
“Cancer?”
“It can if untreated. Hold on a second, I think I have some material here on it.” He left the phone for a moment, then returned. “Symptoms of celiac sprue include gastrointestinal problems such as diarrhea, abdominal pain and bloating. Other related symptoms include irritability, anemia, upset stomach, joint pain, skin rash, etc. Celiac can cause malabsorption, with such symptoms as weight loss, stunted growth, cramps, fatigue, and weakness.”
“That sounds like Charlotte,” I said softly. “So what is the treatment?”
“Well, it’s simple but hard—just don’t eat gluten. If you can come by the clinic, I have some brochures on celiac I think you’ll find helpful. This brochure here even has some meal-planning suggestions.”
“I’ll try to make it by this afternoon.”
“Good. Hopefully we’ll figure out what this thing is and get her better.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” I was about to hang up when Dr. Benton asked, “By the way, how did you figure this out?”
“A friend of mine said he had a lot of experience with it.”
“Well, you should bake him a cake,” he said, then added, “Just make sure Charlotte doesn’t eat any of it.”
I hung up the phone. Curiouser and curiouser.
Einstein said that the most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. Perhaps that’s why Matthew’s so beautiful to me.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
It was an hour after sunset when Roxanne dropped by the house to visit. After Charlotte was in bed, we went out to the kitchen. I made us some decaf coffee and we sat at the table.
“Charlotte looks like she’s doing better.”
“She is. We’re trying a new diet. The doctors think she might be allergic to gluten.”
“Finally they have something. When did they figure that out?”
I took a slow sip of coffee. “That’s the thing—they didn’t. Matthew did.”
“Matthew? Mr. Soap Opera?”
“The same. He came over last Sunday. I was still a bit in shock from Friday, so I was explaining to him why it wasn’t a good time for me to see him, when he tells me that Charlotte has this celiac disease and is allergic to gluten.”
“How did he know that?”
“I have no idea.”
“But he was right?”
I shrugged. “She hasn’t complained of a headache or stomachache since I changed her diet. She has more energy than I’ve seen in years and even her skin color has changed. She looks healthy again.”
“That’s amazing.”
I shook my head. “Honestly, Rox, it was so curious.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it wasn’t like he was guessing at her disease; it was more like he knew what was wrong. He was just so confident. In fact, he asked something that was a little strange.”
“What’s that?”
“He asked me how old Charlotte was. I thought it was a little random, but when I told him, he said, ‘She’s only six, you don’t know . . . ’ And then he stopped, mid-sentence. It’s weird, but I think he was going to say, ‘you don’t know yet.’ ” I took another sip of coffee. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Maybe he’s an angel,” Roxanne said, then added, “Sure looks like one.”
I rolled my eyes. “I called the hospital to ask if it could be this celiac thing, and the doctor was impressed with the diagnosis. Then, yesterday, I called Dr. Benton and asked him. He agreed that celiac was a distinct possibility.”
“That’s crazy. So do they give her drugs for that?”
“No, it’s an allergic reaction to gluten, so we have to change her diet.”
“What’s gluten?”
“That’s what I asked. It’s a protein found in grains, like wheat.”
“You mean she can’t eat anything with flour? No cake, cookies, pizza?”
“No.”
Roxanne grimaced. “That’s awful.”
“Not as awful as what she’s been going through. And at least it’s manageable. Untreated, it can cause cancer and a lot of other problems, even seizures. It’s possible that that’s what happened Friday night when I gave Charlotte that bowl of Ramen—it triggered a seizure. Here I was trying to make her eat all these carbohydrates so she would gain weight, and I was really just poisoning her. So much for the Mother-of-the-Year Award.”
“Girl, you’re the best mother I know. You didn’t know. The doctors didn’t even know. So maybe Mr. Gorgeous is secretly a doctor.”
“I thought you said he was an angel.”
“Maybe he’s both. No matter what he is, you owe him. What are you going to do to thank him?”
“I don’t know,” I said, resting my head in my hands. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Well, you better start. When do you see him again?”
“I don’t know that either. He said he was leaving town for a while. He said he’d be back in a couple weeks.”
“Good,” Roxanne said. “It will give you some time to figure out how to properly thank him. And I’m tellin’ you, sister, it better be good. You let this one off the hook, I’m revoking your fishing license.”
Matthew met Charlotte today. There was a discernible energy between them. I don’t know if this should please or concern me.
Beth Cardall’s Diary
Matthew didn’t come back that week, and by the end of the next week I began to worry that he might not return at all. Roxanne kept assuring me he’d be back, but I think that secretly she was also worried. After all I had done to push him away, I was surprised at how disappointed I was.
On the bright side, Charlotte just kept doing better. She was back in school, and her teacher, Miss Rossi, stopped me one day after school in the parking lot to tell me how miraculous the change had been. “She’s like a new girl,” she said. “I just wish she could share some of that energy.”
Thursday afternoon I was in the living room reading when a navy blue BMW with dealer plates pulled into my driveway. Other than the family who owned the cleaners, I didn’t know anyone with that nice of a car, and my first thought was that it had just pulled into my driveway to turn around, but it stopped. The driver’s door opened and Matthew stepped out. He was dressed in tan corduroy jeans and a thick, leather bomber jacket with Wayfarer sunglasses. He looked like something out of a men’s fashion magazine. Seeing him made me happy.
I set down my book and met him at the door before he rang the bell. He had removed his sunglasses.
“What happened to your VW?” I asked.
“I traded up,” he said. “The bug kept breaking down.”
“It’s good to see you,” I said.
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear that. So how is everyone? How’s Charlotte?”
I put my hands on my hips. “She’s doing well. Actually, she’s doing amazingly well. But I think you already knew she’d be better.”
“Knew? No. But I hoped.”
“Hope,” I repeated. “I’ve been in short supply of that lately. I don’t know how to thank you. My friend Rox said it better be something good.”
He grinned. “You should listen to her. So let me think about this. What’s the best way to thank a man who potentially saved your daughter’s life? The mind reels.”
I cocked my head. “Within reason.”
“Well, considering the recent change in circumstances, if your moratorium on dating has been lifted, a simple date will suffice.”
“Gladly. When would you lik
e to go out?”
“You said weekends are good. How about tomorrow night?”
“I’ll need to find a babysitter.”
“Charlotte can come,” he said.
“No, I’d rather keep her out of my dating life. I think it would be confusing to her.”
He nodded. “Wise.”
“So, what do you want to do?” I asked.
“I don’t care. Just spend time with you. Dinner and talking sounds good.”
“That sounds good to me too. You should probably give me your phone number, just in case something happens again.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have a phone. But I can call you, if you’ll give me your number.”
“I’ll write it down. Can you come inside for a moment?”
“Of course.” He followed me inside the foyer.
“You can wait here. My kitchen’s a little messy.”
“No problem.”
I found a pen in the kitchen, but it didn’t work, so I rooted through drawers for some other writing implement, ending up with one of Charlotte’s crayons. I found a note pad in the pantry and scrawled down my phone number. As I walked back to the foyer, I saw Charlotte standing close to Matthew. He was crouched down and moving away from her, as if he had touched or hugged her. I wasn’t sure what I was seeing.
“Charlotte,” I said. “I thought you were in bed, honey.”
“I heard the door open,” she said, “I came to see who was here.”
I looked back and forth between them. I couldn’t explain it, but there was a strange energy. I wasn’t sure in the dim lighting, but Matthew’s eyes seemed wet. “Matthew, this is my daughter Charlotte.”
He extended his hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Charlotte. I’m Matthew.”
“Nice to meet you, Matthew.”
“Mr. Matthew,” I said. “Now go back to bed.”
“Okay.” She waved at him. “Bye, Mr. Matthew.”
“Good night, Charlotte.”
She ran back to the bedroom.
“She’s a very sweet girl,” he said to me. “She looks well.”
“Thanks to you.”
“She’s going to be a very beautiful woman someday. I guarantee it.” Then he looked at me. “Like her mother.”
“Thank you.” I handed him the paper. “Here you are. The top number is my phone number at the house and the bottom number is the cleaners.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Well, good night.” He turned to go.
As he walked out the front door I said, “Matthew.”
“Yes.”
“How did you know? About Charlotte?”
He shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
“But you weren’t guessing. You told me to trust you.”
He just looked at me for a moment. “I recognized the symptoms from what you told me.” He saluted. “Good night, Beth.”
“Good night, Matthew.”
When he was in his car, I shut the door and leaned against it. There was something mysterious about this man. Something sweet but mysterious. What was I missing?
Some relationships need to be pounded into place with a sledge hammer, while others effortlessly fall into place as if made to fit. Matthew fits as comfortably as a pair of Hush Puppy loafers.
(Rox once told me that the brand name Hush Puppies came when the shoe company’s president was eating a southern dinner of fried corn “hush puppies” and asked the waitress why they were so called. She replied, “Because farmers throw them to the hounds to quiet their barking dogs.” Barking dogs was, back then, an idiom for sore feet, and a star was born.
Or maybe Rox was just making that up. With Rox one never quite knows where truth ends and imagination begins.)
Beth Cardall’s Diary
I called Roxanne as soon as Matthew left to see if Jan could babysit. As I expected, she was relieved to hear of his return. “I knew he’d be back,” she said. “I told you, didn’t I?”
“Right as usual,” I said.
“Well, come hell or high water you’re going out with that man. Jan’s out with her friends right now, but if she can’t sit, you can just bring Charlotte on by the house. Ray and I aren’t doing anything.”
“Thanks, Rox.”
“My pleasure, baby. I just love a new romance. My candle may be flickering, but I can still warm myself by your flame.”
Jan wasn’t busy Friday night, and in spite of her previous experience with Charlotte, she was happy to babysit. As usual, she came a little early. I hugged her at the door. “I never thanked you for your help last time.”
“I was glad to help. Sure scared me, though.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Where’s our girl?”
“She’s in her bedroom.”
“Not anymore,” Jan said as Charlotte came running toward her.
“Jan!”
“Hi, sweetie. Wow, you look as bubbly as a shaken soda. Where’d you get all that energy?”
“I’m celiac,” she said.
“You’re what?”
“She’s allergic to wheat,” I said. “I’ve made a list for you of things she can eat. Will it be a problem if we’re out late?”
“No worries, Mrs. C. I’ve got an essay I need to write.”
“Wanna play with Molly?” Charlotte asked.
Jan grabbed her hand. “You know I do.”
The two of them ran off. I went and checked myself in the mirror again, and a few minutes later Matthew’s car pulled into the driveway. He came to the door holding a small bouquet of flowers that he surrendered to me.
“Gerbera daisies,” I said. “I love Gerbera daisies. Thank you. Let me put them in some water. Come in.”
While he was waiting for me, Charlotte walked back out to the door dragging Jan behind her. “This is my Mom’s new friend. Hi, Mr. Matthew.”
“Hello, Miss Charlotte,” Matthew said.
“I’m Jan,” Jan said. “Charlotte’s babysitter.”
“So you’re Jan,” he said with a slight lilt. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Really? From whom?”
There was an awkward pause, then he said to Charlotte, “I brought you something. Do you like peanut butter cups?”
“Yes.”
“It’s all yours. Gluten-free.”
“Thank you, Mr. Matthew.”
“You two have a good night. It’s nice to meet you, Jan.”
I put the flowers in a vase, then walked back out. “Jan, we’ll be leaving now. Bedtime is nine.”
“Have fun,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”
“Are you taking my mommy to dinner?” Charlotte asked Matthew.
He crouched down to her height. “Yes, I am. Is that okay?”
“Don’t make her cry.”
“Okay,” I said, “that’s enough of that.”
Matthew winked at her. “I promise I’ll try not to.”
“Good night, honey,” I said, and kissed her. “Go to bed when Jan tells you.”
Matthew and I walked out to his car. “Sorry about that,” I said when the door shut. “She’s a little protective.”
“I wonder where she gets that,” he said.
“So bribing the child with candy. Trying to make her like you?”
“Whatever works.”
“Oh, by the way,” I said. “Don’t make me cry.”
He grinned. “I’ll do my best.” He opened my door, then walked around and climbed in. “I hope you’re hungry. I made reservations at a little place called the Five Alls.”
I looked at him with surprise. “That’s my favorite restaurant.”
“Good,” he said. “Then if my company stinks, at least you’ll enjoy the food.”
The Five Alls is a charming English-themed restaurant off Foothill Drive on the east bench of the Salt Lake Valley. It was the backdrop to some of my fondest memories: my first prom, Marc and my engagemen
t, our first anniversary, and Charlotte’s first day of school.
The hostess sat us at a small table for two in a secluded back room near a fireplace.
“In all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never sat back here,” I said.
“It’s a bit more private,” he said. “Perfect for talking.”
A few moments later a waitress walked back to our table. She was immediately attracted to Matthew. “My name is Samantha, I’ll be taking care of you tonight,” she said, looking only at him.
You wish, I thought.
“Hello, Samantha,” Matthew said. “So what’s good tonight?”
“It’s all good,” she said. “Here are your menus. We have a few specials tonight. The Halibut Oscar, with crab and Hollandaise sauce, is one of my personal favorites, and the filet Roquefort, which is a six-ounce filet mignon topped with bacon, blue cheese and a burgundy wine sauce. And for dessert we have our seasonal English trifle and raisin-bread pudding.”
“Sounds delicious,” I said, letting her know I was there. “Thank you.”
She furtively glanced at me. “I’ll give you a moment to look over the menu. May I bring you something to drink?”
“I’ll have a glass of Merlot,” I said.
“The same,” Matthew said.
“Very good. I’ll be right back.” She smiled again at Matthew and walked away.
When she left the room I said, “That was awkward.”
“What was?”
“The way she was fawning over you.”
“You’re just imagining things. So what are you going to have?”
I lifted the menu to look it over, even though I always ordered the same thing.
Suddenly, Matthew said, “Wait, may I order for you?”
I looked up at him. “You want to order for me?”
“Sure. I’m kind of an expert at this.”