Finding Bluefield (18 page)

“I want to be on the chart, Jon,” Barbara said. “They don’t know me in Ellwell, and I don’t want to have a problem seeing Nicky.”

“I’ll arrange that,” he said.

“If anything happens to me,” Nicky said, “Barbara has power of attorney.”

Dr. Hirsch leaned forward on his desk. “Nicky, you’re going to be just fine. This is routine,” he said. “I want you to have a good attitude, a positive attitude going into surgery. And please call me if you have any questions, anything. But you’re going to be fine. Dr. Thompson is a fine surgeon.”

Out in the parking lot, Nicky unlocked the Mustang for Barbara and then went around to the driver’s side. “Routine,” Nicky said, sliding into the car. “What part of this is routine?” Nicky asked, as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Slicing off my tit. Knocking me out with anesthesia? Sticking me with tubes and drugs. Whose fucking routine is that?”

The Bel Air, Nicky’s last daily reminder of Bluefield, had finally been retired two years earlier. Not traded in or junked, but, and Barbara still didn’t get why, placed in storage. Parts had been increasingly harder to come by for some time, and no one could really keep it running the way Andy had. Nicky’s old Virginia plates were still in the trunk under the spare, and she swore she could still smell the hogs, the manure, the corn whenever she opened the trunk. Try as they did, Barbara and Paul could not smell anything.

At the Chevy dealer, with Nicky comfortably behind the wheel of a new Camaro, Paul told the salesman that his dad died in the war and that his dad was a hero and that his death was not a waste. The salesman expressed his sorrow and quietly told Nicky that his brother had also died in Vietnam. He promised Nicky a great deal on whatever car she wanted, promising not to take any commission on the sale. Nicky was sorry she had to give up getting a Chevy but not sorry about leaving Paul home while she looked at Fords. It didn’t take long for her to decide on the Mustang, though the convertible had to be special ordered—against the advice of the salesman. When the Mustang arrived, it was snowing, but Nicky still had them put the top down before she drove it home.

“He just meant that the surgeon does this a lot,” Barbara said.

“Do you tell your patients that procedures are routine?” Nicky said.

“Yes. Patients want to know that a procedure is not out of the ordinary. Dr. Hirsch was just trying to set you at ease and help you feel confident in Dr. Thompson. Obviously, it’s not working.”

“Are you confident in Thompson?”

“The guy has a lot of experience performing mastectomies.”

“I guess all that smoking finally caught up with me.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Really? After all these years of hounding me to quit, now you’re saying that there might not be a link between my smoking and this cancer?”

“I want you to have a positive attitude going into surgery.”

“You’re not usually so spiritual about medicine.”

“I just don’t want you thinking that getting sick was your fault,” Barbara said, “that you did something wrong.”

“But I did. And now I’m going to do something right and get well.” Nicky shifted in her seat. “By the way, I really liked it when you grabbed my hand in Dr. Hirsch’s office. On Paul’s eighteenth birthday, you need to kiss me right in the middle of Main Street. And I don’t mean one of those little pecks on the cheek, I’m talking one of those seven-day kisses.”

“Count on it,” Barbara said, “But maybe we’ll wait till the day after his birthday.”

*

Dr. Thompson finished looking through Nicky’s records and lab reports. He put her x-rays up on the screen, asked her a few questions, and then examined her breasts. Barbara joined them in his office where he was prepared to discuss the surgery.

“You’re suggesting a prophylactic mastectomy of the right breast as well?” Barbara asked, completely surprised.

“With Miss Stewart’s medical and family history, I would certainly recommend it. A radical mastectomy on both breasts is the safest, surest way to avoid a recurrence. Without it, she remains in the high-risk group. If she decides to go with the prophylactic mastectomy, she becomes a good bet to avoid any recurrence.” Dr. Thompson turned to Nicky. “You’re lucky to have detected the cancer early. You’re young and strong and we know your history, so I am confident that we can do a lot for you. Afterward, there are some cosmetic options that we can discuss.”

“I’m not interested in cosmetics,” Nicky said.

“It’s too early to think about that, but they’ll remain an option later, if you change your mind,” he said. “For now, I’m sure your main concern is your health, and that’s my main concern. We’ll move ahead with radical mastectomies on left and right breasts. I’ll have my secretary arrange for you to be admitted on Monday and schedule surgery for Tuesday first thing.”

“So soon?” Nicky said.

“The sooner we operate, the sooner you can begin your recovery,” he said.

*

“You’re quiet,” Nicky said on the drive home.

“Just thinking about arrangements.”

“Flowers? My funeral?”

“Neither,” Barbara said, “but if you have any preferences, this would be a good time to let me know.”

“Funny.”

“No, it’s not. Anyway, I was thinking about logistics. How to get Paul to school, cover work. That kind of stuff.”

“You don’t have to be here all the time,” Nicky said, “I can take care of myself.” Nicky pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her breast pocket. “How am I going to quit? It’s not like I’ve never tried.”

“If you don’t, you’ll die.”

“I’m dying now.”

Barbara took a deep breath. “Hand them over. I don’t like being left.”

“So this is now about you?” Nicky said, handing the cigarettes to Barbara.

“Isn’t it always about me?”

Nicky was enjoying the Mustang on the curves on this stretch of road. “Seriously, don’t worry about me. I’m not going anywhere. Paul has too much growing up left and I’m not planning on missing any of it.”

“What are we going to tell Paul?” Barbara asked when they neared their house. Nicky stopped the car to let Barbara jump out and get the mail and newspaper.

Nicky pulled into the driveway and parked. She got out of the car and looked around at her house, her neighborhood. Everything appeared less familiar. She didn’t know what to do next.

“You’re going to be in the hospital for a while,” Barbara said, walking up the driveway. “Don’t you think he’ll notice?”

“Why do we have to tell him anything? Why worry him? Tell him I’m going to visit some friends.”

“What friends?”

“Dr. Thompson.”

“We should lie to him?”

“For his own good.”

Barbara followed her inside their house. Nicky went straight for the living room where she took out her lighter and lit a carton of cigarettes, which she threw it into the fireplace. She left her lighter on the mantel.

“Enough secrets.” Barbara came up behind Nicky and put her arms around her.

“We have a lot of secrets?”

“Like who is Paul’s father,” Barbara said. “That kind of secret.”

“Okay. I didn’t see that coming,” Nicky said. “Is there something you’re not telling me? Are you worried I’m going to die and take some secret to my grave?”

“Tell me something about the guy,” Barbara said.

“He had good sperm. Really good sperm.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Look at Paul. There’s nothing to tell. It was so long ago, I don’t even remember anything about him.”

“You had sex with the man.” Barbara was shouting. “You were both naked. He’s Paul’s father and you don’t remember anything?”

“Soon I’ll look like the father.”

“Keep joking. I can wait.”

“I drank a lot of wine that day,” Nicky said. “And I kept my eyes closed and thought of you, and when it was over I left without looking at him.” Nicky turned around and put her arms on Barbara’s shoulders.

“Fine. You’re not ready. But we’re telling Paul about the operation and he’s visiting you in the hospital.”

“Okay.”

“Tonight.”

“I know. Now give me a break. I need some gum or something.”

“Here’s something to do with your mouth,” Barbara said and then kissed Nicky for a very long time.

“That works.” Nicky caught her breath. “But you’ll have to keep it up all day long.”

Barbara kissed Nicky again.

*

On Monday morning, Nicky said good-bye to Paul as he boarded the bus for school. She and Barbara drove to Ellwell Hospital. The top of the Mustang was down that morning, but Barbara didn’t say a word. The spring air made Barbara cold, but it also invigorated her and that surprised her. She dropped her shoulders, stopped bracing against the wind, and let the elements hug her. All she wanted was for Nicky to keep driving and never stop. But then Nicky started to drive faster and Barbara’s knuckles turned white as she squeezed the door handle and then she did wish she had worn a warmer coat.

“You trying to get us killed before the operation?” Barbara said.

Nicky slowed down. “I thought we were late. We’re not late? I can slow down if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to ever slow down.”

Nicky checked in with admitting and settled in her room. When they came to get her for a series of pre-op tests, Barbara headed back to Medford. She left the top down, afraid to change anything. After a stop at her office to see several patients, she returned home to pick up some things for Nicky and wait for Paul’s bus to bring him home. She put the Mustang in the garage and drove her Jeep to the bus stop. She had a bag of cookies and a container of milk in the car for the ride to the hospital. As she waited, she started in on the cookies, twisting the black wafers apart, scraping the white filling with her teeth.

“How was school?” Barbara asked as Paul opened the car door.

“We’re doing a play Friday for morning assembly,” Paul said. He threw his bag on the floor and hopped into the jeep. “Will Mom be back?”

“Not by Friday.” Barbara opened Paul’s milk carton. “I’ll try to come.”

“Mom usually comes.” Paul took a cookie.

“I know.”

“Won’t you be at work?”

“Yes. But I can come.”

“You don’t have to.”

There was a silence as he scraped the filling off the cookies. It was a silence Barbara felt came from emptiness, not fullness. She was not around for Paul as much as Nicky was. She was always at the office. It worked for her and Nicky, but at that moment, as she stared at the open road ahead, she felt the loss of all those missed moments. She was not fond of regret and reached to turn on the radio.

“Is Mom going to die?” Paul asked between cookies.

Barbara did not turn on the radio. “No, honey. She’s going to be just fine. She’ll be weak for a while, but she’ll get strong again.”

“You’re a doctor, so you really know.”

“Yes, I do know.”

“She’s really strong.” Paul grabbed another cookie.

“That’s right. So she’ll be fine.” Barbara rubbed Paul’s shoulder. “Easy on those cookies. Save some for later.”

“Why do they have to take part of her body off?”

“Right now, it’s the only part of her that has the illness.”

“Can’t they give her medicine?”

“This is the best approach,” Barbara said. “They remove the sick layers and several surrounding layers as well. If they get all the bad layers out, the disease can’t spread to other parts of her.”

“What if they don’t get all the bad parts?”

“They will,” Barbara said. “It’s a common operation. Lots of women have it.”

“Will you?”

“I hope not.”

“Then why does Mom have to?”

“Cancer is a hard disease to predict.”

“You said if.”

“What?”

“You said, if they get it all.”

“I was talking clinically,” Barbara said, trying to cover up her slip. “They train us to talk that way. It’s just a habit. Maybe a bad habit.” She had always given Nicky a hard time about not being honest. Nicky said she told Paul as much as he could handle. Nothing is easy, Barbara thought.

“I don’t ever want to be a doctor,” Paul said.

“It’s a good job.”

“Can you do the operation?” Paul asked.

“I’m not a surgeon. I don’t have the training. But it’s like anything else, like baseball. You need a coach, you need to practice, you need to train a lot, and you need to play real games. You have to play real games. Being a doctor is not so different from being a mechanic. Probably easier, because unlike a car, people can tell you where it hurts. Only people have more parts and more things that could go wrong.” Barbara realized she was talking to herself. She looked to see if Paul was getting any of this.

“Mom loves cars.”

“That she does.”

“I hope she teaches me to drive.”

“I do too,” Barbara said. “She taught me. But, hey, don’t forget, I taught you how to ride a two-wheeler.”