Cloud nine, p.26
Cloud Nine, page 26
Her mother handed her her inhaler. Snow pumped it, stuck it in her mouth. The whole time she was reaching with one hand for the kitten. The TV showed the crash again. The plane hit hard, sending the foam spraying everywhere. Sparks flew like crazy. Mesmerized by the crash, her mother handed Snow the kitten. Julian sighed with disappointment or disapproval. Everyone gazed at the screen, shaking their heads with amazement.
How could they have survived such a thing? Snow watched herself run from the burning plane, her father yanking on the door, pulling Sarah out. Carrying her across the tarmac, his face suddenly didn’t look calm anymore. He looked insane with worry, just as he had after they couldn’t find Fred. Sarah clutched his chest, face twisted up with pain. He carried her as fast as he could to the ambulance. Snow watched, holding the black kitten. Being home felt weird. She missed life on Elk Island. She wanted to go back. She wanted to be at the hospital with her father, waiting to hear about Sarah.
‘Is he in love with her?’ her mother asked.
‘Looks that way to me,’ Julian said.
‘Yes,’ Snow whispered, but only to Dr Darrow.
They were waiting for Dr Goodacre. Will hadn’t met him yet, but he got the feeling that he commanded everyone’s respect. The nurses got a certain look on their faces when they said his name. Sarah herself trusted him. They’d been waiting in the emergency room, then sent down to radiology for a CT scan, and finally up to a room on the fourth floor.
‘Is it still bad?’ Will asked.
‘It’s better,’ Sarah said, lying still. Was she telling him the truth? Gazing at her, Will tried to see. She hadn’t walked yet. She wore a blue hospital gown, but she looked so beautiful and he loved her so much, Will wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her home right then. Being in the hospital made him nervous.
‘They called him?’ Will asked, making sure. He understood the way the world worked. The nurses needed clearance from Dr Goodacre, Sarah’s main doctor, to let her go. They had examined her, given her Demerol to take the edge off her back pain, determined that she had a pinched nerve. That is what the radiologist had told them: nothing more threatening than a pinched nerve. She had a fever, and that was from the swelling. Nothing serious.
‘They called him.’
‘How long does it usually take?’ Will asked, unable to disguise his impatience. Sitting on the edge of Sarah’s bed, he held her hands. He lowered his head, kissed each of her knuckles. Rising, he kissed her lips and caught her smiling at him.
‘Sometimes,’ Sarah said, putting her arms around him, ‘a long time. He’s very busy.’
‘So am I,’ Will said. ‘I want to get you out of this place and get you home.’
‘That sounds very, very good,’ Sarah said, kissing his cheek.
‘You’re sure your back’s okay?’
‘It’s fine. I guess I made myself pretty tense leaving Mike. When he decided to stay, it shocked me. Only because he had sounded so sure about coming back.’
‘He did,’ Will said, stroking her hand, watching the door for Dr Goodacre.
‘But once I knew we were going to crash, I was so glad he was back on Elk Island. I wished Snow were too. You were amazing. The way you landed that plane, brought it right down without wheels … how did you do that?’
‘People can do incredible things when they’re trying to save people they love.’
‘Love,’ Sarah said, smiling.
‘Yeah,’ Will said, looking straight into her eyes. They were bright, almost too bright. His daughter’s eyes got glittery when she had a fever, when she was overexcited, and that’s how Sarah’s eyes looked now. Her anxiety was as strong as his, and she was trying to hide it just as hard.
The door opened. Dr Goodacre walked in, all business. In his dark suit with a yellow tie and gold stickpin, he looked more like an investment banker than a doctor, with about as much bedside manner. Standing beside Sarah, he didn’t even smile.
‘Dr Goodacre!’ she said, sounding delighted to see him.
‘Sarah,’ he said.
‘This is Will Burke,’ she said. ‘The hero! I’m sure you heard about the plane crash at Brielmann Field, the pilot who brought a plane in without landing gear and saved everyone on board. Well, this is the guy …’
Dr Goodacre raised his eyebrows. Perhaps he had heard about the landing; he registered something like curiosity or admiration in his eyes, but he stopped short of saying so. He didn’t shake hands. Will filed it away, to joke later with Sarah about him protecting his precious surgeon hands, probably registering them with Lloyd’s of London, not wanting to hazard a handshake with a bone crusher like Will.
‘I’ll leave,’ Will said.
Dr Goodacre nodded, but Sarah put out her hand and brushed his wrist. ‘No, you don’t!’ she said. She sounded excited, almost playful. But her eyes looked scared. ‘Please stay?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ Will said, moving closer than he had been.
‘Sarah, I’ve seen your films,’ Dr Goodacre said.
‘I’m sorry to haul you out for a pinched nerve,’ Sarah said. ‘You’re way too busy for that, and all I can say is, I was upset about my son and nervous about what was going on up in the plane, and I guess … is it possible I got myself so tensed up, my spine compressed and pinched a nerve? Because that’s how it feels, way down low, as if two vertebrae are pressing against something …’
Dr Goodacre had no intention of interrupting her. He stood there, his hands folded, listening to her carry on. Will watched him. He supposed this happened all the time, anxious patients relating their version of events, doctors trained to wait it out. Moving closer to Sarah, Will felt her body against his leg. He reached for her hand.
She stopped talking. Smiling, she faced the doctor.
Dr Goodacre cleared his throat. He struck Will as being all business, a man who made himself cold in the face of terrible things. But a glimmer of compassion, of regular human kindness, was showing through in the way he didn’t want to speak.
‘The CT scan showed what we’ve been fearing,’ Dr Goodacre said. ‘The tumor is back.’
Sarah’s smile didn’t change. Her eyes flickered with hope. ‘No,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah,’ he said.
‘They’re not supposed to tell me anything before you get here, but someone did today. He said I have a pinched nerve. He was definite, right, Will?’
‘Right,’ Will said, looking at the doctor. The doctor’s lips thinned, and he shook his head as if he wanted to go find and punish the offending informer.
‘A nerve is being pinched, yes. The tumor is located in a crucial area, Sarah. In the lower region of your spine.’
‘That can’t be,’ Will said stupidly, thinking it must be a mistake. How could a brain tumor wind up way down at the base of her spine?
‘It metastasized,’ Sarah said. The word scared her, Will could tell. Her smile stayed large, but her eyes changed. Very slowly, they filled with dread.
Dr Goodacre nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again much more kindly.
Will stood. He faced the doctor, eye to eye. He saw a problem to solve. So it wasn’t a smooth ride: They’d have to land without nose gear, dive under the ice to save a kid. Sarah would need operations, more chemotherapy, extra radiation, whatever it took. Will didn’t know much about cancer, but he knew how he felt about Sarah. They’d plan whatever was necessary. ‘What do we do?’ he asked.
Staring at Will, Dr Goodacre shifted his gaze to Sarah. The solution was between them, after all. Will understood.
‘We’ve discussed this,’ he said.
‘It’s like … we said?’ she asked.
‘It’s extensive,’ Dr Goodacre said. ‘The films show a spread to the liver, the lymph system. I’d like to do some more tests, send you down for an MRI to check for recurrence in the brain.’
‘But what do we do?’ Will asked again. This information was all well and good, they had to know what they were dealing with, but he wanted to get Dr Goodacre back on track: They needed a plan.
‘Surgery?’ Sarah asked.
Dr Goodacre seemed to pause. Surgeons were always ready to go in. Will had always thought of them as knife happy, making fortunes as they performed operations that were perhaps better left to less terrible forms of treatment. His eyes widened as he saw Dr Goodacre shaking his head.
‘No, Sarah,’ he said. ‘The cancer is just too invasive. It’s growing fast, like a vine around the spinal column.’
‘You’re saying no?’ Will asked. ‘She wants you to operate, and you’re telling her no?’
Not replying, Dr Goodacre just stood there.
Will couldn’t believe it. He wanted to leap up, take a big step, and slam the doctor against the wall. Just shutting down on Sarah after giving her news like that. He felt his heart pounding, his palms sweating. Stay calm, he told himself. Messing up Dr Goodacre would do no good; it would only upset Sarah. And Will had to stay even for her sake.
Sarah had tears in her eyes, and they were rolling down her cheeks. Will wanted to take her in his arms, but he was paralyzed. Why had she had to cry so much today? Will just wanted to soothe her, to carry her away from this. He might have actually lifted her up, but the hospital was where she would need to be for treatment, to get better.
‘How much time?’ he heard Sarah ask. The question shocked Will, took his breath away.
The doctor’s answer was just as direct. It went straight past Will and excluded him entirely. Will saw the moment in navy terms. This matter was between Sarah Talbot and her doctor; they had fought a good fight, and the time had come to surrender. Will wanted to scream, to tell them to never give up. But even in his rage and despair, feeling Sarah’s hand tremble in his, he could see the amazing light in her eyes and know that she wasn’t giving up, it was all a mistake. This was someone else’s diagnosis, someone else’s tumor spreading.
‘Two weeks,’ Dr Goodacre said.
‘Two weeks,’ Sarah repeated.
‘No,’ Will heard himself say.
22
The night was long, and it seemed to never end. Nurses came and went, surprised to find Sarah awake as they went about their jobs. Sarah said hello. They nodded and smiled. Lying in her bed, Sarah watched the night-shift nurses and worried. They all looked so young. Didn’t they have husbands and children? What did their kids think when they woke up at home and their mothers weren’t there? When their fathers told them their mothers were working, taking care of other people?
Sarah asked for a glass of water. The nurse who brought it to her looked familiar. Perhaps Sarah had seen her there before, during one of her earlier stays. She was small and slight, with curly dark hair and a quick smile. Although she could have filled a plastic cup from the bottle of warm water beside Sarah’s bed, she went into the nurses’ break room and brought Sarah a tall glass of ice water. The glass had wreaths and Santas on it.
‘Thank you,’ Sarah said.
‘You’re welcome,’ the nurse said.
If Sarah was cynical, she might have wondered whether the nurse had heard about her CT scan. Perhaps Dr Goodacre had said something or marked Sarah’s chart to indicate what her tests had shown. Sarah didn’t feel that way. She thought nurses were the kindest people in the world.
‘Can’t you sleep?’ the nurse asked.
‘No, not really,’ Sarah said.
‘I can give you something for sleep,’ the nurse said, checking her chart. ‘Dr Goodacre has it down.’
Sarah shook her head. She was getting Demerol for the pain, and that was making her groggy enough. She wanted to stay as alert as possible. ‘No, thanks,’ Sarah said. ‘Can I ask your name?’
‘Oh. It’s Louise. Sorry, I couldn’t find my name tag when I was getting dressed tonight.’
‘That’s okay,’ Sarah said. ‘I just wanted to know.’
Louise smiled, waiting for Sarah to say or ask something more. But that was all. Sarah just wanted to know her name. She knew that calling someone by name was one of the most important things people could do, that it made them feel connected to each other, that it made them feel alive.
Louise left the room. Alone, Sarah closed her eyes.
For some reason, she thought of her shop. Cloud Nine. She had loved the name, thought it celestial and full of hope. It had reminded her of her mother, sending her blessings down from heaven. Sarah had designed the logo herself, a gold ‘9’ on a beautiful summer cloud, and she had intended it as an everlasting reminder of where her mother was, how much she had loved her.
Just as Sarah would always love Mike. Michael Ezekiel Loring Talbot. Just thinking his name filled her with so much passion, she squeezed her eyes tight. Less than twenty-four hours ago, Sarah had been certain he was coming home with her.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Sarah had been sure of many things. The hospital was quiet. Louise walked into the room again. Coming toward Sarah, she paused for a moment to check the IV.
‘Louise, do you have children?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes, two daughters,’ Louise said.
‘Girls,’ Sarah said, thinking of Snow. ‘How old are they?’
‘Six and eight.’
‘Those are such great ages.’ As soon as she spoke, Sarah knew she would have said it no matter what ages they were. What year of Mike’s hadn’t been great? Even the recent ones, the ones filled with anger and hostility and running away?
Louise just stood by the window, perhaps picturing her daughters asleep. Who was looking after them? Did she have a husband? Was it the girls’ father, the only other person who could possibly love them as much as she did? Or was she trusting them to their grandmother? Did she leave them with baby-sitters, as Sarah had done with Mike?
‘What time is your shift over?’ Sarah asked.
‘Not till eight.’
Sarah said nothing. She thought the girls would probably be on their way to school by the time Louise got there. She thought of Will, living apart from Snow, and she breathed slowly. She and Mike hadn’t had it so bad. At least they had spent most of their years together, under the same roof, waking up and eating cereal at the kitchen table. She had walked him to school until he was seven. Tears were rolling down her cheeks when Louise sat on the side of her bed.
‘I read your chart,’ Louise said.
Sarah swallowed, nodding.
It’s hard,’ Louise said.
The lights were out, but yellow light slanted in from the hall. Sarah felt cold. She pulled the covers around herself. Without being told, Louise reached into the bedside stand and took out an extra blanket. Placing it on Sarah, she sat down again.
‘Have you talked to Dr Boswell?’ Louise asked quietly. ‘Have you discussed your options? They’re doing a lot with chemo these days, different protocols getting better results all the time.’
Sarah shook her head. She could almost hear the wind in the pines, smell the Elk Island air. She was an island girl from Maine. Medicine couldn’t save her from her own body. Sarah didn’t want to be hooked up to machines. She didn’t want to be part of any experiments. All of a sudden, she wanted Will and she wanted salt-water.
‘All along,’ Sarah said, ‘I’ve thought I would know when the time came.’
‘Know what?’ Louise asked gently.
‘How … to leave.’
‘Yes?’
Sarah nodded. The tears ran into the corners of her mouth. It had seemed so much clearer last summer, before she had gotten any hope back. Mike was gone, she had been so sick, and there was no Will yet.
Sarah had discussed her prognosis with Dr Goodacre and Dr Boswell. She had known if there was any recurrence of the tumor that she would not seek further treatment. She had pictured her illness as a wave. It might slide out to sea, or it might return to take her. Coming from Elk Island, Sarah knew she could do nothing against the sea.
‘How do I leave?’ Sarah asked. She was trembling now, sitting with this kind stranger on a hospital floor where everyone else was asleep. Louise held Sarah’s hand. Biting her lip, Sarah tasted salt and felt the pain burning through the last pain shot. She thought of Mike, and she thought of Will.
Louise didn’t realize that Sarah was asking her a question. She was just a young nurse, overtired and missing her children, trying to comfort a sick woman who had just gotten bad news. She didn’t realize that Sarah was aching with a passion, wanting someone to tell her how to do this new thing wisely. How to say good-bye to her son, to the man she had fallen in love with.
Snow woke up early. Dr Darrow had slept with her all night, curled into a tight ball right under her chin. When he felt her stretch, he started to purr. His whole body vibrated, and he wiggled closer to her, nudging her skin with his cold nose. Laughing, Snow kissed his face.
Just lying there, warm under her down quilt, Snow could almost pretend she was back on Elk Island. She could practically hear the waves, feel the cold air whistling through chinks in the walls. She had felt so happy, part of Sarah’s family for Thanksgiving. The air may have been chilly, but the house was warm with fireplaces, cats, tradition, and especially people.
No wonder Sarah was so wonderful, coming from such a place. Snuggling deeper under her covers with Dr Darrow, Snow wondered how Sarah was. Was she still in the hospital? She had expected her father to call last night, tell her what was going on, but the phone never rang.
Although it was still dark outside, the alarm rang. Snow reached over to shut it off. Zero six-thirty, time to get up for school. How would Mike make it through life without school? Snow hoped he’d think about it, decide to come to Fort Cromwell on his own and resume his education once everyone got off his back and let him make his own decisions. Not that Snow blamed Sarah. Sarah was just a good mother, wanting the best for her son.
Climbing out of bed, Snow watched Dr Darrow scamper to the window. He pressed his nose against the glass. Startled by the cold, he jumped back. Then he caught sight of some juncos at the bird feeder and began stalking them. Again, the glass got in his way. Laughing out loud, Snow picked him up. She wished she could stay home and watch him for hours. He was her kitten, hers and Mike’s, and he reminded her of the island.
