Cocoon (11 page)

“You have to eat something.” He dashed to the buffet and collected a golden fried chicken leg, Seana's favorite part in the past.

He presented the plate to her with a flourish and reseated himself beside her. “M'lady, I hope you enjoy this delicious fare. I intend to.” He crunched into his own crisp drumstick and smacked his lips. “Mmm. This is delicious.”

Seana eyed hers like it was a pit viper ready to strike

”No.” Her refusal was succinct. Final.

“Honey,” Barth said softly. “I'd give a king's ransom to have you do something familiar.” He sighed heavily. “Something,
Seana.”

The heartfelt words bounced off her like drops of water off a hot griddle.

She saw Barth watching her and grew more irritated by the moment. Finally, her peripheral vision revealed that he relaxed and began to eat his own food.

Good. Now he would leave her the heck alone.

• • •

“Seana, Ashley is counting on you to be at Happy Feet Studio tonight. She and Peyton are doing a clogging dance special.”

“No.” Seana frowned
. Go away.

“Ah, honey. Please.” Barth pulled the ottoman up close to the sofa where she reclined and reached to take her hand. It was like handing him a cold fish, but Seana was sure he would persist, darn it.

She was right.

“There are some things that are extremely important in young folks's lives. This is one in Ashley's life that you simply must honor. As far as that goes, it's important to Peyton, too.”

“No.” She slid her hand from his and tugged her ever present blanket higher to ward off the omnipresent chill.

“Anybody home?” called Billie Jean from the stairwell.

“Come on up,” yelled Barth, his loud volume reaping an extremely irritated scowl from Seana.

“Wha's happening?” Billie Jean slid into the nearest easy chair.

“I'm trying to get Seana to go to Happy Feet's party tonight. Peyton and Ashley are doing a bang-up clog performance and want their grandmother to be there and celebrate them.”

“Hey!” Billie Jean swooped in on Seana, earning an even deeper scowl from her. “There's no reason you cannot roll yourself off that casket-sofa there and be there for this momentous event in your perfect granddaughter's life, Seana.”

“No.”

“I do not want to hear that word in this dialogue, Cuz. You sound like a sulky, rebellious toddler, doncha know? Not like you at all, Seana.”

Seana stared at her, something inside her rising – just a smidgeon. Then it evaporated.

Please, she thought, turning her eyes back to the television screen, go away.

• • •

Billie Jean moseyed over to the kitchen stove and served herself some stir-fry chicken over brown rice. “Mmm,” she smacked her lips on the first taste. “You outdid yourself here, Barth.”

She ate at the bar and Barth joined her for decaf coffee. Recently, Billie Jean's former coolness toward him had slowly thawed. Their mutual love for Seana was, Barth was certain, the catalyst. And, too, they had searched the web for holistic cancer fighters to battle Billie Jean's bone cancer.

So far, so good.

“She's getting skinny as one of Chelsea's Glad Rags mannequins, Barth,” Billie Jean muttered. “Have you weighed her lately?”

Barth ran his hand over his face and dragged in a ragged breath. “Ninety-eight pounds last time I put her on the scales.”

Billie Jean's mouth dropped open. “Heavens to murgatroyd, Barth. What we gonna do?”

He shook his head, feeling that saying it out loud had brought it home too vividly. “It's been near on three years now and no improvement. In fact, she's worse.”

Billie Jean reached to take his hand in hers, a rare display of affection. “She's gonna get through this in one piece, Barth. And I can tell you from experience that she's gonna get well.”

She thrust out her chin. “Huh! Look at me. I was at death's door, wudn't I? I am cancer free now. Can't get any more miraculous than that. And it's all because folks like you and the rest of the church family joined me in believing it would happen. I believed it and it did happen. Seana will get her miracle, too.”

Barth gave her a weary smile. “Thanks, Billie Jean. You're just what the doctor ordered today. I just hope I can get Seana to the dance studio in the next hour.”

“Huh.” Billie Jean got to her feet to help tidy the kitchen. “Leave it to me. I'll get her peeled off that blasted sofa.”

• • •

And true to her word, Billie Jean did, indeed, get Seana dressed and into the car. Stiff and resistant as she was, Barth was pleased that they were on their way to Happy Feet Dance Studio for tonight's special performance.

Refreshments were soft drinks – Zoe opted for family friendly atmosphere at all times – and finger foods, compliments of Fred's Grocery's Deli Department – a recent, much-needed, and enormously welcomed addition to the little town.

Barth settled Seana at a corner table, distanced from the customary busy-ness of the dancing crowd. Even so, he watched her pretty brow wrinkle with annoyance. Billie Jean had done a credible job of pulling Seana together, making her presentable in snatching away the worn, faded, striped shirt and insisting she wear a clean, casual pullover and ever-present black slacks. Seana adamantly refused to wear anything closely fitted. The blue pullover hung on her thin frame, but the color pulled out the azure in her diverted eyes.

Tonight, in her affliction, Seana projected a brusque or bruised beauty. And despite Barth's having seen the worst, unappealing sides to her, to him she gave off an earthy yet ethereal sensuality.

And memories swooped in of him holding her in his arms, dancing … her vibrant, smiling face turned up to his in complete devotion.

God in heaven, how he yearned for her return.

Suddenly, sitting there watching her, Barth felt something hit him in his solar plexus. The impact was stunning, like a freight train slamming him. Tears gathered suddenly, burning behind his eyes, pushing, pushing against the knot in his throat, one the size of California. He gulped back a sob. That fast. He turned in his chair to face the wall for long moments, fighting the grief that welled up like Mt. Saint Helens.

“Barth?” Zoe startled him, speaking from behind him. She circled and was watching him curiously. “You okay?”

“Mm, yeh,” Barth snuffled and smiled a wide, wide smile. “Just hay fever.”

Zoe watched him a moment longer, obviously not convinced. “Did you have much trouble getting her here?” She jerked her head at her mother.

Barth chuckled huskily at that, took off his glasses, and wiped his wet face. “Billie Jean saved the day.”

Zoe actually smiled. “How?”

“Told her that if she didn't get off her arse and get in the car she was gonna take her clocks away from her.”

Zoe burst into laughter. “No.”

Barth laughed, too. “Yup. Sure did. It worked. This time. With a bit of added haggling and force, anyway.”

Zoe shook her head and sat down beside him a moment. She'd long ago compromised her misgivings to team up with Barth in the care of her mother. Barth nursed no notions that she'd completely accepted him at face value. There were still times that he caught her watching him with cynicism oozing from those cool blue depths.

He pushed that thought away.

Tonight, they celebrated together the fact of Seana's being here. The family had gotten through three Christmases by having the celebration at Seana's house. They had, collectively, coaxed her to put away her blanket, to dress, and unwrap her presents with the family looking on.

She would open each gift and mutter “thanks” because Barth and Billie Jean had preached its necessity during the preceding hours. Then she'd toss the item aside and go to the next. That she did not
ooh
and
ahh
was ignored. By now, the family accepted that Seana had nothing to give.

Zilch. Nada.

“This is special, Barth.” Zoe recaptured his attention tonight, then sighed, looking at her mother's set profile, the scowl deeply grooved into lovely features that never smiled anymore. “She's made an effort, however prodded, to come and celebrate the kids. And ….” Her voice choked off and she took a few moments to collect herself. “I'm sorry. I just miss her so much.”

“I know. So do I.” Barth reached over and patted her hand, quickly withdrawing it for fear of reprisal. He never knew with Zoe.

But for the moment, he would enjoy the warmth of shared bonds.

“Oh. Gotta run.” Zoe sprang to her feet. “It's time for Ashley and Peyton to do their thing.” She dashed off to the microphone to announce the number. Barth scooted his chair closer to get Seana's attention.

“Your two grandchildren are about to entertain, honey.” He reached to take her hand, always surprised to find it icy cold. Dr. Wallace had informed him that it was one of a host of physical symptoms that pointed to the chemical change in her.

“I want to go home,” Seana said tightly, her frown lines deepening. Barth thought, not for the first time, that he sure hoped her face didn't freeze: those grooves seemed to etch deeper with each passing day.

“No, Seana.” He looked at her, beginning to feel real irritation. “You can sit here and watch those kids entertain you. It won't kill you, for crying out loud.”

In the next heartbeat, Billie Jean swooped in and dragged a chair up to the other side of Seana. “Yeh. Don't you so much as look like you want to leave, ol' girl, or you'll have me to deal with.”

Seana didn't even look her way. Acted as though she'd not heard the warning.

Barth sighed as Peyton and Ashley positioned themselves in the spotlight and hoedown music blasted from all directions. Seana might not have heard Billie Jean's edict, he realized. At least not with a full understanding of the words's potential impact.

He understood that her emotional vacuity deleted important nuances of communication. Most of the time now, it didn't bother him too much. He pushed the current standoff from his mind, determined to enjoy the kids's efforts.

Peyton and Ashley thrust themselves into the complicated, hypnotically stimulating choreography of the clog performance, and Barth thought how much they'd changed in the past three years. Now fourteen, Ashley was becoming quite the little beauty, but that didn't in any way thwart her inner loveliness, a sweetness that splashed over on anyone passing by, just like Seana's. In fact, Ashley looked more like Seana every day with her wheat-streaked hair and blue, blue eyes and fine, aristocratic features.

Peyton, nearly nineteen and growing more darkly handsome each day, was about to embark on another level of academia. He was seeking Barth's counsel while weighing his college choices nowadays. Tonight, the two teens were knocking themselves out for Seana's benefit.

Barth felt it in his bones, their desperate grasping for some tiny glimpse of their Nana behind that closed face. Oh, they reverenced her, even in her constant rejection of their presence. They understood that she was in another land where they could not follow. And like everyone else, prayed fervently for her safe return to their familiar shore.

“I love you, Nana,” Ashley always murmured and insisted on kissing Seana's cheek, even when she knew Nana would draw back as if struck and wipe away the kiss. Then the girl would sit quietly in the den, non-intrusive and kind, just soaking up her Nana's presence.

Peyton was just as loving and kind. And attentive. More and more lately he would come to the house and hang out with Barth, chatting about things guys talked about, sports, news, the dance business, education possibilities, and, in their case, the shared interest in music and literature.

Barth smiled now, watching his two grandchildren shining like bright, spinning, spiraling comets through the sky. Yep. They were his grandkids, too. His chest seemed to expand a bit and he chuckled. Seana cut him a sharp, annoying glance.

“When can I go home?” she asked, impatience vibrating from her.

Billie Jean leaned over. “Not until after you tell these two kids how much you've enjoyed their special performance. Soon as you do that, we'll drive you home.”

Seana didn't like it one bit, but she apparently got it, that Billie Jean meant business. Barth sighed tiredly, glad for the feisty cousin taking up the slack in times like this. He got so tired of fighting sometimes that he nearly despaired.

The instant the music ended and the place erupted into applause, Seana sprang to her feet and headed for the exit. “Oh no you don't.” Billie Jean snared her arm and spun her around. “Not until you tell Ashley and Peyton that you enjoyed their dance routine. I'm going to take a picture of you with them.”

Barth assisted Billie Jean in steering Seana to where the two performers lingered, receiving accolades from friends for a job well done. In the past three years, Ashley had perfected her technique and now could hold her own in any choreography.

“Tell them ‘I enjoyed it,'” Billie Jean coached Seana as they approached.

“Nana!” Ashley pealed, beaming like a lighthouse beacon. “I'm sooo glad you came. I still can't dance as good as you, you know.” Despite Seana's stiffness, the girl seized her in a mighty hug and passed her on to Peyton, who was a bit more cautious as he wrapped a long arm around Seana's rigid shoulders for a side hug. He quickly released her, ignoring her frown of discomfort.

Awkwardness settled in as folks moved about and music from the stereo system belched out “Dancing Cheek to Cheek” for the fox-trot lovers.

Billie Jean and Barth both surreptitiously nudged Seana in the back.

For once, Seana heeded. “I enjoyed it,” she muttered tersely, cutting her gaze away to glare into space.

“One more thing,” Billie Jean whipped out her phone and turned on the camera. “Stand beside your Nana, kids. And smile.”