Blind Acorn Page 6

  I remembered one Halloween when it was cold and wet. The kids’ costumes barely showed through the layers of raincoats and boots, topped off with umbrellas. They didn’t care. They knew that a fierce dragon and a noble lion were under those umbrellas and the rest didn’t matter. When they got home, we stripped all of those wet layers off and, while they were getting into pajamas, we quickly removed the most wet and soggy treats from their bags. They never even noticed.

  Later, Mitch and I were settled in front of our chosen movie. We kept pausing it to tell each other scary stories. They ran along the lines of “The Night the Spider Conquered the Bathtub” and “Cousin Lyle Visits —and Never Goes Home!” Some version of both these things had actually happened in our lives. In the end, neither of us could have described that movie. We laughed until the tears ran down our cheeks, quieting each other so as not to wake the kids. I smiled to myself at this happy memory as I dusted.

  Mitch got home from the office just in time for an early dinner with me and the kids. They were both going out, anyway, and I wanted to be ready for the first trick-or-treaters. Mitch was quiet through dinner. We’ll have time to talk later, I thought.

  My standard costume was a classic witch. The hat had green and black hair affixed to it and I had plenty of coordinating makeup. The dress was, of course, black and it was long and slinky. I added a black velvet cape over it all and I was ready just in time for the first ring of the doorbell. Mitch joined me at the door for the first couple, but he was quickly bored and left me on my own.

  By eight, the candles in the jack-o-lanterns had burned themselves out and the laughter in the street had trickled to almost nothing. I turned off the skeletons and the outside lights and closed the door for the final time. I looked in on Mitch and he was engrossed in some game on the TV. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said, and he nodded without looking up at me.

  I ran upstairs and removed my costume and headed right into the shower. When I came out, I toweled off and slipped into comfortable clothes. They’d be good for snuggling, I thought.

  I returned to the family room and Mitch was still watching the game. I picked up a book, rather than disturb him, and pretended to read while I watched him. I realized that I didn’t know much about what was going on in his world lately. And I was suddenly anxious to change that. As soon as the game ended to a lot of noisy fanfare he reached for the remote. Before he could use it, I said, “Hey! I have an idea. Let’s find a scary Halloween movie. I’ll make popcorn. What do you think?”

  I’d expected him to smile happily at the idea. I’d expected him to cheer the suggestion. I’d expected him to be as nostalgic as I was. I got none of that.

  “I’m really tired, Trin. Can we do that another time?”

  “Yeah. Right. Of course.” I said. Another time won’t be scary movie Halloween night, I thought.

  “Thanks. I’m just going to turn in,” he said as he rose from the couch.

  “Okay. I’m going to stay here for a while and unwind,” I said stiffly.

  He didn’t seem to notice the stiffness and said good night as he left the room.

  Stunned and rebuffed, I stayed in my chair for a few minutes. Then I went to the kitchen and opened that wine. I poured a glass and shoved a package of popcorn into the microwave. When it was done, I poured it into a bowl and headed back to the family room with glass and bowl. I searched for a movie and chose a rom com that Mitch would surely hate. The fact is, I hated it, too. But I wasn’t paying much attention to it anyway. I munched popcorn and drank wine until I heard the door open about nine-thirty. “You’re home early,” I said when Lucy looked into the room.

  “Yup,” she said.

  “Popcorn?” I held the bowl out to her.

  “Nope,” she said.

  I shrugged as I brought the bowl back to my lap, but she’d already left the room. I woke up on the couch at a quarter to three, thoroughly annoyed with both myself and Mitch. I went up to bed with every intention of sleeping in. But I didn’t do that. Instead, I went to the basement early and watched the news as I ran on the treadmill. Then I went to the apartment, made tea, and sat on the couch and cried.

  Twenty-One

  It was early November and we were expecting some federal inspectors at work on Wednesday morning. We could not control their timing and had learned to roll with it, even when it was inconvenient. Rona seemed to be particularly surly on these days and I secretly hoped she’d decide to take the day off. But that was unlikely, based on history.

  I tried to get out of the house a little early that morning, hoping to deal with any crisis-of-the-day before our visitors arrived. I ran back upstairs and changed my shoes for some that were less stylish but more comfortable. Rushing to the front door, I pulled it open and began to step through it without looking up. I nearly knocked Lila over in the process.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “I’m so sorry, Lila. I’m in a rush and didn’t even see you.”

  She didn’t move. That seemed odd, but in my impatience, I didn’t notice as much as I should have. I was about to excuse myself and hurry away, after all she was perpetually rushed, juggling multiple commitments. But before I moved, I looked up and saw her face. I’d never seen an expression like that on her, maybe not on anyone. She looked completely shocked. No, stunned. Stunned, that was it. The kind of stunned that makes you numb, paralyzed. Her eyes tried to communicate something but the rest of her looked like a statue.

  “Lila! What is it? What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Is someone hurt? Is it one of the kids?” It wouldn’t help to go on guessing this way unless I lucked upon the right answer. “Come in,” I settled on, “and sit down.”

  I ushered her inside and led her to a chair. I wasn’t convinced that she even knew where she was. Aware of my time pressures, I tried again. “Now,” I tried to sound calm. “Tell me what’s wrong. There’s clearly a problem but I don’t know how to help until you tell me what it is.”

  She nodded slowly. Finally, in a tiny voice, she said, “Cancer. It’s cancer.”

  After a sharp intake of breath, I asked, “Who? Who has cancer, Lila?”

  She just looked at me, her eyes huge and floating. She tried to speak, but nothing came out in the first few attempts. I scooted my chair closer and reached for her hand, waiting for her to find the answer. Again, finally, that tiny voice. “Me.”

  “Oh, Lila. I’m so sorry. Would you like to talk about it?” We weren’t close friends; this wasn’t like Gina getting that kind of news, but she clearly needed someone. I didn’t want to pry but wanted to help.

  Her eyes still afloat, one of those tears broke loose. I gripped her hand a little tighter, trying to encourage her to tell me whatever she needed to say. “I had a biopsy last week. I really didn’t expect it to be anything. I thought it was just another test. Like they do, you know? They test everything, right? So, I called my doctor this morning for the results. She wants me to come in to review them with her. I tried to avoid that, kept telling her how busy I am. I badgered her into giving me the quick version. I have breast cancer. That’s all I know until I see her later this morning. I have cancer.” There was a hint of wonder in her voice, as if she was amazed that something so unexpected could touch her.

  “Lila, you know that this could mean so many different things. You don’t know yet what you’re facing. She’ll tell you and Dan all about the biopsy results and discuss treatment options and arm you with all of the information that you need at this point. Do you trust her, your doctor? Do you like her?”

  She stared at me for so long that I thought maybe she hadn’t heard me at all. “Yes,” she finally said, “I do like her and trust her. I’m in good hands.” She paused. “It’s just, well, it’s just that, um,” she looked into her lap. “Dan, um, he’s away. Dan isn’t here to go with me. I haven’t told him yet.”

  “Where is he? When does he come back?”

&nb
sp; “He’s in Houston. On business. He’ll be back Sunday.”

  “Sunday! Lila, you need to tell him. He might not want to wait until Sunday to come home to be with you. You really need to tell him.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I’m not going to tell him until I have something to tell. I don’t know anything yet and there’s no harm in letting him finish his trip. It won’t change anything for me to wait a few days.”

  “Of course it will! You need Dan to be here. If I kept something like this from Mitch for twenty minutes, he’d be furious with me. You can’t wait until he comes home.” I knew it was true.

  She sighed. “You may be right. I’m not feeling equipped to make decisions right now, I guess. I’m feeling kind of alone.” And the tears began to flow, quietly, without her permission, I suspect.

  “No, Lila, no.” I was adamant. “You are not alone. And you cannot go to that appointment alone. If there’s no one you want me to call for you, I will go with you. You have lots of friends and support, you are definitely not alone.”

  To my surprise, she nodded and said, “Thank you, Trinity.” That’s all.

  Okay, then. “First,” I said, “let’s get you home and showered and dressed. While you get ready, I’ll make coffee and then we’ll go to the doctor’s office. I will take detailed notes and you’ll have it all to share with Dan. You can call him when you get home.”

  She drew a ragged, deep breath and stood. I looped my arm through hers and patted it with my other hand as we went to the door. “I know it’s hard,” I said, “but try not to think you know the future right this minute. There’s so much that you don’t know yet. More information will help you get a handle on this. And you, Lila, will get a grip on this. You are strong enough to take this on and win.” I wished I was as confident as I hoped I sounded. I honestly had no idea how I’d feel in her shoes.

  We walked across to her house and I waited in the kitchen while Lila went up to get ready. I called work and said that I had an emergency and that I might see them later in the day, no promises. Then I called Mitch. I told myself that I should let him know where I was since I wouldn’t be at work. But I really wanted to hear his voice. There but for the grace of God…

  He was unavailable and I had to settle for his voice mail; I decided not to leave a message.

  Twenty-Two

  I always worked on Thanksgiving Day. Holidays in my business didn’t really exist, not in the sense of a day off from work. People still had to eat, which meant that some people had to work. We rotated through most holidays so that no one had to work all of them. But Thanksgiving was mine by choice. I often had occasion to reflect on how much I had, especially relative to the people with whom I spent most days. Thanksgiving, though, was a special time for me because those other people also reflected on what made them thankful. The conversations on Thanksgiving were unlike any others. To a person, our diners gave thanks for the good in their lives. A special communion took place on Thanksgiving. How perfect to be reminded to be thankful for a warm blanket, a kind word, hot coffee.

  Mitch and the kids always joined me on Thanksgiving, allowing more of my staff the time to be at home with their own families and my volunteers the time to enjoy themselves as guests. We’d bring wine and sweet treats and the kids worked hard. Mitch would circulate and prod people for stories about me during the year since he was last there. It was surprising to think that circumstances didn’t change much for these people. Many of them knew Mitch by name from Thanksgiving after Thanksgiving. On this day, they were our extended family. The difference was that we’d go home to a turkey in the oven and my parents preparing dinner for us all. And our comfortable lives.

  This year, Rona surprised me by arriving just after we did. Even more surprising was that Jazz, her daughter, was with her. I couldn’t help but notice a dark smear down the left side of Rona’s slacks. It was prominent enough that I distinctly remembered it being there the last time she wore them. They sorely needed washing, I thought. Or, if it was a permanent stain, it looked like it was time to toss them. Either way, I was wishing she wouldn’t wear them again without trying to get the stain out. It might even be a health code violation. But I didn’t expect a health inspector to drop in today and was not about to mention it to her in front of her daughter.

  They both seemed to try to stay out of my way, even as I attempted to engage them. Suddenly, I remembered that I’d brought just the thing for a seven-year-old. I’d brought the dog, and he was napping in my office, away from the foodservice. He couldn’t join us, but Jazz could join him.

  “Jazz,” I called over to her. “Do you like dogs?”

  Shyly, she nodded her head, as Rona nudged her to answer. “Yes,” she said softly.

  “Well, then, maybe you could do me a favor and go check on mine.” She looked surprised, but smiled widely, glancing at Rona. “He’s right in there,” I pointed toward the office door. “The only rule is that he has to stay in that room, okay? I’m sure he’d like some company and I’d like someone to check that he’s alright. Think you could do that for me?”

  Rona hesitated, but finally nodded her assent. Jazz began to walk toward the office, her pace picking up along the way. Then she slipped through the door and closed it behind her. I knew that Romeo would charm her; he charmed everyone. It wasn’t long before we all heard giggles from behind the door.

  “I’m just going to make sure they’re okay,” Dylan said as he reached for the doorknob. He slipped inside, but not before I saw the smile on his face. Romeo was Dylan’s more than anyone else’s, and he was watchful about how other people treated the little dog. The smile meant that he approved of whatever Jazz was doing. A minute later, Dylan returned, still smiling. “She’s good with Rome. I told her she should ask her mother for a dog.”

  I didn’t think that would go well but was happy that she was having some fun. This wasn’t the greatest place for a little girl to spend a holiday. But I was glad that they’d come and would make a point of saying so to Rona before we left.

  As Mitch told our diners little tidbits like how I dropped the air conditioner out the window, the older people would marvel at how much the kids had grown and changed since last year. And the kids were gracious about all the fuss. I was so proud of how well they handled themselves, reserving their moodiness and snarkiness for home.

  We’d been doing this for long enough that we all knew our jobs for the day, and we did them. While the kids served plates of turkey and gravy and vegetables to “oohs” and “ahhs,” Mitch poured wine and juice all around. Father Baker came from the rectory next door and said grace. We all inhaled deeply of the camaraderie and pleasure of this day, and I knew that I wouldn’t be needing the treadmill, at least not until tomorrow.

  Twenty-Three

  The following weekend was our traditional deck-the-halls weekend. When the kids were young, they loved this part of the holidays more than anything. They’d insist on displaying every bit of Christmasiana we’d ever collected. I had learned to be careful about bringing home new items and adding to the overload. Now and then, I’d try to forget to bring something out of storage, but they always remembered everything and rushed to find missing items. Their anticipation for the entire season was never greater than it was on the weekend after Thanksgiving.

  As they got older, their enthusiasm was less apparent. But it was still there. If I forgot the reindeer ornament from which the dog had chewed the antlers, Dylan would search for it. And Lucy would inspect the tree looking for the little needlepoint ornaments that Mitch’s mom had made for them when they were babies. And they continued their competition from year to year about whose hand painted salt dough ornaments were the best. Said ornaments over the years had shrunk and faded, glitter and sequins long gone. But they still hung them on the tree and argued good naturedly about who should get better placement.

  I had foolishly tried one year to bring some sop
histication to the event. I’d thought that a theme would be nice, like a tree dressed in white and silver, white lights replacing the multicolored standards. My idea was thoroughly and unanimously shouted down. They laughed uproariously, as if I’d been joking. I never tried anything like that again. You can’t mess with tradition, apparently.

  Saturday morning, we all went out to pick out a tree. This year, the kids’ enthusiasm hadn’t yet kicked in and they rode silently in the back seat of Mitch’s car. Dylan was unhappy that I’d made him get out of bed earlier than he’d planned and Lucy just wasn’t in the mood for this. I tuned the radio to a station playing Christmas music and everyone else in the car groaned. It was early, but I love the music and it was never too early for me. If half of us were going to be miserable anyway, why not?

  Choosing a tree was easy, since Dylan and Lucy had few opinions and we were home with it before noon. While the kids helped Mitch get it in the house and in the stand, I made hot chocolate and sliced up some banana bread. This seemed to immediately improve the atmosphere and we were happily going through boxes of red and green décor in no time, reminding each other of the same worn stories as if they were new. And enjoying it.

  As it turned out, maybe I was the only one with the endurance this year. The kids emptied the boxes and left everything scattered around the living room. They’d had their fun, it seemed, and quietly wandered back to their preferred activities, leaving Mitch and me to distribute it all throughout the house.

  “Remember when they were little?” I asked him with a smile. “I thought their help then could create more work than anything. I’m not sure they’ve outgrown it.” I waved a hand across the room, every surface covered in red, white, and green.