Crossing Oceans (18 page)

“Not as much as you do, I’m sure.” He glanced at me, pity glinting in his eyes.

It was a look I’d come to hate almost as much as the cancer itself. When I turned away, my gaze fell on David and Lindsey, who occupied two chairs on the opposite side of the waiting room. He wore an expensive-looking three-piece suit and an expression that hinted he had better things to do with his time. In contrast, Lindsey appeared meek and mild with her hair pulled neatly back. Her pink dress was patterned with checks. Over it she wore a matching cardigan. Cashmere no doubt. Probably a gift from her doting husband.

When hatred filled me, so did shame.

Her doe eyes looked everywhere but in my direction. Her bony fingers clutched her husband’s arm. I hated that she clung to David,
my
David, as though she were being thrown around in an angry sea and he alone could save her. Of course, I had done the same, but when our storm came, he simply pried my fingers off and swam for shore alone. It seemed I’d been treading water ever since.

My father gave his earlobe a rub. “Now, remember, we’re just here to talk. See if we can’t decide outside the courtroom what’s best for Bella . . . which of course is staying with us. ”

“I get it, Dad. Honest. What if they won’t compromise?”

“Then a judge will decide.”

My heart ached. “Judge Hendrickson?”

He didn’t answer.

Isabella yanked my arm in an attempt to escape. I knew she wanted her father, but I just couldn’t let her go. “Bella, knock it off.”

She scowled as her hand went limp in my grasp. I addressed my father again. “I’d like to get this thing settled today. The last thing I want is for him to win custody after I die. She’ll be traumatized enough.”

Isabella jerked her head toward me and I realized what I’d done. I was thankful when she voiced no questions, though her expression made it clear she had them. The knots in my stomach tightened with the realization that I could no longer postpone our talk.

My father crossed, then uncrossed, his legs. “I’ll be glad when this whole thing is over. If I never have to hear the name
Preston
again, it’ll be too soon.” The name dripped from his lips like venom.

Isabella’s troubled expression moved off me onto him. It dawned on me that she was 50 percent Preston and knew it. So when my father bad-mouthed them, he was—in her eyes—also putting her down.

I cleared my throat and gestured in her direction, hoping he’d catch my drift. Instead, he pulled a cough drop out of his jacket pocket and tossed it at me. Rolling my eyes at his pathetic sense of perception, I handed it back.

Down the hall, a door opened and a tired-looking man wandered out of it. Strands of white dragged from the tattered hem of his well-worn jeans. Lindsey turned to watch, giving me a view of the back of her head and the mother-of-pearl combs securing her simple braid.

Isabella tore her hand out of mine and pointed in her direction. “Hers is different!”

Lindsey and David turned toward us at the same instant as though the response had been choreographed.

Heat crept up my neck as I pushed her pointing finger down. “Not so loud. What’s different?”

She patted the back of her head. “Mine’s fat! Hers is skinny.” She tore at her hair, disheveling the braid I’d fixed for her that morning. I grabbed her hands to stop her. My face broiled. With today’s meeting throwing off our routine, I knew my normally sweet child might be having a hard time, but even I was caught off guard when she howled as though someone had struck her.

“Stop it,” I whispered, squeezing her hands and wishing for a vortex to be sucked into. Of course she’d have to have a meltdown today of all days, right in front of them.

Her hair stuck out wildly as she shook her head like a lunatic. “I want to look like Lindsey! Fat braids are ugly. I look ugly! Ugleeeeeee . . .”

Frantic to quiet her, I pleaded, “Shh . . . I’ll fix it. Just be quiet.”

She stopped yelling, though the scowl on her face only deepened. I squatted behind her, clamping her narrow hips between my knees to keep her still and me steady. Combing through her hair with my fingers, I went to work. Lifting my arms felt more like lifting fifty-pound barbells as I tried to create the type of inwardly woven braid that Lindsey wore.

Ignoring my aching muscles, I gave it my best but just didn’t have the skill to make it work or the energy to keep trying. With my last bit of strength, I fashioned the only type of braid I knew how—one identical to the one she had just yanked out.

My arms fell to my sides. “There,” I said, trying to sound confident.

She reached behind her to feel, but I guided her hands back down. “Don’t touch or you’ll ruin it.”

“Does it look like hers?” she asked.

I turned her around to face me and gave a weak smile. “It’s beautiful like you.”

When her lips tightened and eyes narrowed, I knew she’d called my bluff. Before I could react, she thrust her hands back and felt my failure.

Her face contorted. I braced myself for the inevitable tantrum, but just as she opened her mouth, Lindsey’s skinny legs appeared before me. Feeling compromised in my squatting position, I stood.

“I’m sorry, Jenny. I couldn’t help . . . I, um, wasn’t eavesdropping or anything. . . .” She wrung her hands as she mangled an attempt to spit out whatever it was she was trying to say.

My father’s expression hardened as he positioned himself between us. “Mrs. Preston, it is completely inappropriate for you to initiate dialogue with my—”

I sighed. “Dad, please.”

He glared at me, paused, and stepped aside.

Lindsey gave Isabella a shy smile. “I could fix her hair like mine if you want me to.”

Just like that, apparently all was forgiven because Isabella beamed at her. I wanted to say something horrible and scathing to Lindsey. Something that would make her slink back to David humiliated, but of course, my conscience wouldn’t allow it. “Thanks, Lindsey, that’s kind, but I’ll take care of it. She’s just tired because—”

“Oh, I don’t need an explanation.” She fingered the strand of pearls that lay against her collarbone. “I know how kids are.”

I wasn’t sure what it was in her words that flipped my switch—the presumption that Isabella was like all other children, or just raw jealousy—but on it went. “You might know how kids are, but you don’t know how
Bella
is.”

She blinked at me, looking not angry or hurt, but confused. For some reason that fueled my irritation. Why wouldn’t she take the hint? I wasn’t being cryptic about my desire for her to leave us alone.

I pointed across the hall. “I think David wants you.”

She turned to look at her husband, who glowered his obvious disapproval.

Isabella batted her lashes at me. “Please, Mommy?”

My chest felt as though someone were sitting on it. “I told you I would fix it, and I will.”

When Lindsey walked back to David, I once again knelt behind my daughter. I had no idea how I was going to accomplish something I’d already proven I couldn’t do. It was crazy, and I knew it. I should’ve just let Lindsey fix her stupid braid. But in my mind the inability to do this equated with my inability to take care of my daughter and ensure her future. Lindsey had already proven she was more worthy of David’s love. Now she was about to prove she was also more worthy of being my child’s mother.

Isabella crossed her arms. “Why don’t you want me to be pretty?”

Her question and the bitterness in her tone caught me off guard. “What? Why wouldn’t I want you to be pretty? That’s silly. I can do this. You’ll see.”

With everyone’s eyes on me, I felt like I was performing onstage naked. I separated her hair into sections and tried to reverse my usual braiding process, though I doubted that would accomplish the desired result. My arms trembled and ached. Not only did the braid I was fashioning bear no resemblance to Lindsey’s, it bore no resemblance to a braid. Hot tears of frustration leaked down my cheeks.

I covered my face, conceding defeat, and sobbed into my hands. After a moment, I peeked through my fingers at my daughter.

“It’s okay, Mommy. I like this braid. It’s pretty.”

Her troubled expression looked just like the one she had worn while crouched in the corner of my bedroom when I was racked with fever. I hated that.

She tilted her head and laid her soft palm on my cheek. “I don’t need a skinny braid. Don’t worry, Mommy; I won’t go with Lindsey. Okay? Don’t cry.”

I willed my tears to stop falling and faked a smile, determined to do a better job of sheltering her innocence. “Bells, you should have a beautiful braid and you should be able to go say hello to your daddy.” I lifted her small hand from my cheek and kissed it. “Go visit with them.”

She hesitated, but I ushered her forward.

I felt like Scrooge standing next to the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come as my father and I looked on. Isabella went right up to Lindsey and sat on her lap as if she’d known her all her life. And as though nothing had happened between them, she talked David’s ear off while Lindsey plaited her hair with ease.

I sagged against the wall, paralyzed. The three of them had become a family despite my attempt to keep them apart. It was clear that they were already tattooed on each other’s hearts and would remain so, regardless of whether David and Lindsey cared for her one weekend a month or every moment of every day.

I considered the contrast between the fear in her eyes a moment ago and the carefree joy on her face now. A five-year-old shouldn’t be forced to witness her mother’s slow and painful decline. It had almost killed me to watch my mother’s grueling last days and I’d been much older than Isabella. I couldn’t even braid her hair, for crying out loud. Soon I wouldn’t have the strength to kiss her good night. She deserved better than that. She deserved a mother and a father. She deserved them even if they didn’t deserve her.

An office door opened and a suited man poked his head out. He held up his hand and waved for Lindsey and David to come in.

My father gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You’d better get Bella. He’ll speak to them privately for a few minutes and then call us in too.”

Feeling as though I had a millstone around my neck, I trudged over to David and Lindsey. Instead of retrieving my daughter, I forced out the words, “She’ll live with you. Just give me tomorrow to say good-bye.”

David’s mouth hit the floor.

Lindsey furrowed her brow. “Jenny, it doesn’t have to be all or no—”

I raised my hand to silence her. “It’s what’s best.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth to say something else, but David cut her off. “Honey, Jenny knows what she’s doing.”

I glared at him, then, forgetting my weakness, attempted to lift Isabella from Lindsey’s lap. Thankfully she stood before I could drop her.

I intertwined my fingers with Isabella’s, more aware than I’d ever been of the shape of her fingers, the feel of her skin. “C’mon, sweetness. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Isabella slept during the two-hour drive to the ocean while I watched the median strip transform from grass to sand. My car vibrated along a poorly paved road as houses no bigger than closets blurred past. Normally, I’d have every window open, relishing the feel of my hair whipping about me, carrying a burden no heavier than a beach blanket.

Today my baggage was far more cumbersome. In lieu of carefree thoughts of sand castles and sunshine, memories I wished I’d never made weighed heavy on my soul. I should have thrown them off, focusing instead on how I would break it to Isabella that her mother probably wouldn’t live long enough to wish her a merry Christmas. Try as I might, though, the only conversation my thoughts would entertain was the one which put a period in my life where there should have been a comma. Again and again my mind replayed the moment I learned that I was going to die. . . .

Dr. Frederick sat across from me in his small office. His voice cracked with emotion as he broke the news that the cancer I’d just learned I had, had already spread throughout my body. I was dying. Even if I opted for every treatment available, in all likelihood, I still had less than a year to live.

“Miracles happen every day, Genevieve. Let’s not limit God, but just in case yours doesn’t come, you might want to start making arrangements for your daughter, getting your affairs in order . . .”

Just in case,
I repeated over and over in my head like an autistic prayer, trying to drown out the rest of his words.

“There are treatments that could give you a little more time. Probably very little. Of course, they would also diminish your quality of life. And it’s rare for cancer as advanced as yours to respond at all.”

Shut up!
I wanted to scream.
Why won’t you just shut up? I’m not dying!
It was all I could do not to call him a lunatic and a liar and run from the room.

Just in case. Just in case. Just in case.

Just in case what?
I should have demanded.
Just in case a meteor doesn’t fall from space carrying a radioactive cure? Just in case a statue doesn’t blink to life and heal me with its bloody tears? Just in case a scientist doesn’t emerge from the Amazon waving a newfound species of cancer-curing root above his head like a banner?

I knew what the good doctor really meant was,
Just in case you can’t make it day to day without hope, here’s a shard you can cling to. Don’t hold it too tightly, for it’s sure to cut.

I considered using his words with Isabella, to enlighten her to the idea of death without robbing her of hope, but would that be more cruel? Of course, God could heal me if He so chose. He’d performed far greater miracles. But just as I knew He could turn the sun green if He wanted, I still expected it to rise gold. Isabella, however, at five years old, was not the realist self-preservation would need her to be.

I parked and scooped my little optimist from her booster seat. She laid her head against my shoulder without so much as raising an eyelid. My heart filled with love as hers thumped a steady rhythm against my chest. Since the first moment I’d heard the
whoosh-whoosh
of that beating heart on the ultrasound, I’d been under the sweetest enchantment. Leaning in, I inhaled her warmth and strawberry scent, thinking that heaven could not be paradise without her there.