One Mountain Away (33 page)

Charlotte opened her eyes, as if with effort, and went on. “Here’s the thing. I was at the clinic with Harmony, the young woman who’s staying with me for a while, and I noticed how much staff time is taken up with child care. So many of the patients had other children with them.”

Analiese could picture it. “So what are you suggesting?”

“I think they have more room at the clinic than staff. I walked through the facility the other day. Samantha gave me permission. One of the nurses showed me around, and it seemed to me that we—Women’s Fellowship, that is—could create a playroom where the records room is now. It’s mostly empty, and I bet they would move records down the hall toward the back. They’d be more secure there, anyway.”

“The mothers still couldn’t leave their children alone in a playroom while they were being examined, could they? It might free up the waiting room, but not staff.”

“Well, that’s where we
really
come in. I think we could get volunteers to take over the playroom. The Women’s Fellowship could sponsor it, but we could use volunteers from the congregation, too. We’d have to screen and train them, of course, but the Academy’s early-childhood teachers might be willing to do the training, and I don’t think we’d need licensing. The nursing staff would be right there, and so would the mothers. At the first sign of trouble, a professional or a parent could take over. Our volunteers would just be supervising the kids, sanitizing toys and handing them out, playing games or reading stories if the children wanted, but mostly keeping an eye on things.”

Analiese liked the idea. And Charlotte was right, this was hands-on, her favorite kind of project because it was destined to change everybody for the better. If it worked, the volunteers might form bonds with the parents and reach out to them in other ways.

“Am I the first link on the chain?” she asked. “Or the last?”

“It didn’t make sense to talk to you if Mountain Medical wanted no part in it, so I did talk to Samantha first. She thought it would be great. They’ve wanted a playroom, but without volunteer supervision, there were too many problems. So she’s on board. And I talked to a couple of members of the Women’s Fellowship board, to make sure they don’t have other things in the works that would supersede this. But you’re my first formal appeal.”

“I’m all for it.”

Charlotte looked delighted. “I promise I wasn’t taking that for granted. Do you want to present it to Women’s Fellowship? They meet on Thursday.”

“I’d be happy to. And meantime, maybe you can get a firm commitment from Samantha. We don’t want to do all the groundwork and find out they’ve changed their minds.”

“I have some ideas for fixing up the room, but that will be up to the clinic staff and the Fellowship.”

“What about the money to do it?”

“Let’s see if Women’s Fellowship wants to kick in some from their treasury. It’ll really be theirs if they’re bankrolling it, and they’ll be more committed to volunteering. We need some paint, maybe tables and chairs, and plastic toys we can easily wash. I bet we can find the furniture secondhand.”

Analiese watched mist from the fountain catch rays of sunlight and turn them to rainbows. The afternoon air felt warm but not humid, and a pair of cardinals called to each other from the branches of a sycamore just beyond the little pond.

Cardinals mated for life, and she wondered if these two were having a discussion about dinner plans.
Worms, dear, or beetles?

Her own stomach was rumbling, and she realized in the midst of all her meetings today she had only managed half an apple for lunch. Time to go home and warm up a frozen dinner, but not quite. Because Analiese knew there was more going on here than Charlotte had said, which was typical and ultimately frustrating.

“Why this project?” she asked. “There are eight million projects in the naked city.”

“You’re too young to remember that show. I only remember it because of late-night reruns.”

“My husband watched those same reruns incessantly whenever he could find them. He could say those lines exactly like the television narrator.”

“I’d forgotten you were married.”

Analiese
had
been, and not happily. “Have you ever noticed that all the things that happen to us are like building blocks? I had a difficult marriage, so after Greg died, I’ve made sure to stay off the market. Then there’s you. You lost the chance to be with your daughter when she went for prenatal care, and now you’re making sure other young women have the best experience possible.”

“Abandoning Taylor when she really needed me is my biggest regret.”

“And why you’ve taken in Harmony, too.”

Charlotte smiled. “It’s the darnedest thing. Every time I try to do something to make up for something I did in the past, I get something, too. Frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without Harmony. She’s like the sun rising in my life.”

“And the puppies nobody else could care for? A tribute to Minnie?”

“They’re so cute. You have to come see them. Bring your bathing suit and we’ll swim.”

“I’m not going to let you off this easy. I think something’s motivating this flurry of goodwill that you haven’t quite gotten to.”

Charlotte watched the fountain, but Analiese could see she wasn’t ignoring the query. She was considering it. Finally she spoke. “This is hard to tell.”

“I know it must be.”

“I’ve tried to write about this in my journal. I’m keeping one, delving into my past, moving at a snail’s pace toward the cancer. I can’t seem to write about…” She glanced at Analiese. “It’s been a long day, and I bet you’re hungry.”

Analiese settled herself more comfortably, because whatever Charlotte had to tell her was more important than her next meal.

“I’m listening, Charlotte. It’s just you and me and my growling stomach.”

* * *

Charlotte hadn’t realized she had come to see Analiese because she needed to unburden herself. She’d come—or so she’d thought—solely about the playroom. But since her illness, she had learned that much of what she did in her life was motivated by forces she never questioned. This time was no different. She needed to share something, but it wasn’t an easy story to tell. So she’d pushed it into the background.

She began slowly, feeling her way. “Do you remember when I told you that after the leukemia diagnosis, I realized I needed to make amends for some of my worst mistakes?”

“A twist on the ever-popular bucket list, and a good one. Seems you’re making headway.”

“It wasn’t quite the way I said. That was the shorthand version. The leukemia was diagnosed here, but being me, I was too busy to die and sure I just needed a better diagnosis at a major medical center. So I got an appointment at Duke, and, well, let’s just say they were appalled at my stupidity, although of course they didn’t put it quite that way. They told me if I wanted to live, I needed to start treatment immediately. I still couldn’t believe the worst. I thought maybe I’d try M.D. Anderson in Houston, or Sloan-Kettering. If I tried everybody, somebody would tell me the others were wrong, and I really just needed rest and antibiotics.”

Analiese looked as if she understood. “Denial has its place, but that wasn’t it, right?”

“Somehow I managed to drive back here, and for two days I just got sicker and sicker until I realized I had no choice. I had to go back to Duke, where I had a better chance of keeping my illness secret. So I told everybody at Falconview I was going overseas with some potential investors, then I was taking a well-deserved vacation. Of course they were stunned—still are, actually—but by then I was too sick to care. I checked into Duke with a full satchel of work and a conviction that this illness was just one more mountain in my way.”

“That must have been such a difficult time for you.”

Charlotte knew the answer to that was etched on her face. “They decided to use three different drugs, all fairly typical for this type of leukemia. Then, once I was in remission and doing well, they hoped to do a second round and a bone marrow transplant. They do several kinds, and the one that would be the most helpful doesn’t seem to be in the cards. I’d need a sibling, or barring that we’d need to find a compatible donor—which sadly has yet to happen. But they thought if things went well after my second round of chemo, maybe I’d be a candidate for the other kind, using my own frozen cells, transplanted back later in the game.”

“And is that how it’s going down?”

“Nothing that complex is ever that simple. Things haven’t gone as well as we hoped. Right now, unless my blood counts improve, a transplant’s out of the question.”

Charlotte fell silent, and Analiese didn’t hurry her. She was unsure whether to continue, and if she did, how to tell the story. Finally she started the same story in a different place.

“You may not believe this, but I really enjoy the stories you tell the children on Sunday mornings. I know I came to you when you started and told you I thought you were alienating adults who didn’t want to sit through story hour.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s because it was just one of many things we had issues about.”

“I’ll buy that.” Analiese reached for Charlotte’s hand and quickly squeezed it. If she was surprised by the change of subject, she didn’t show it.

Charlotte considered how much the human touch meant, and how the warmth of another person’s hand made it easier to bare her soul.

“That was another thing I complained about,” she said. “You’re a very huggy person.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Thank you. I was definitely wrong about at least that much.”

“At least.”

Charlotte fumbled for a way to start the next part. “You’re probably wondering what this has to do with my stay in the hospital.”

“I imagine you’re getting to it, albeit in a roundabout way.”

“Not so roundabout as you might think.”

“So let’s recap. We’ve reached the part where you enjoy the stories on Sunday mornings, although you didn’t at first.”

Charlotte smiled. “The only thing I know about other religions, I learned from you. They certainly didn’t teach that at the Trust Independent Baptist Church. Sometimes I’d take your stories home and huff and puff and try to figure out what possessed you. Then, about midweek, I would finally get it, or start to.”

“Wow, I’m doing my job. That’s nice to hear.”

“Do you remember telling the story of Kuan Yin? Do you remember the details?”

“It’s one of my favorites. The bodhisattva of compassion, a very powerful figure to Buddhists and Taoists, with many different names in Eastern Asia, and many representations.”

“You told us she was portrayed as male until something like the twelfth century.”

“Then somebody thought that since she represented kindness and mercy, she must be female. Because those are classically female traits. So she became a goddess.”

“Here’s the part that really resonated for me. You said after she died, as she was journeying to heaven, she heard the voices of those still suffering on earth. She asked to turn back, to stay here until the suffering had ended.”

“I’ve always loved that image. In a way the bodhisattvas are like our Christian saints, or even messiahs. They continually sacrifice themselves for the good of others. And Kuan Yin’s journey is to show us ways to soften our hearts toward our fellow travelers and feel their sorrow so we can find ways to reach out to them.”

“It’s a beautiful story. And you told it right before I left for chemo.”

“Ah…”

Charlotte knew a piece of the puzzle had just fallen into place for Analiese. “When we talked before, I told you I had a bad reaction to one of the drugs they were giving me and almost died. They rushed me to the ICU, and that’s where I stayed for a week until I was no longer at death’s door.”

“How could I forget?”

“I didn’t tell you about my roommate.”

“I’m picturing all the ICUs I’ve been in. Isn’t a roommate unusual? Especially in a situation like yours, when your immune system must have been compromised?”

“Let me tell
you,
then you tell
me
what you think. I’d really like to know.”

Analiese nodded and waited.

“I don’t remember how I got into intensive care. One minute I was sitting in a chair trying to get some work done while the nurse was adjusting my drip. I’d blown off the social worker and psychologist, and made sure the nurses knew that, as much as possible, I didn’t want to be disturbed. I figured if I could just get the whole chemo thing over with, then I could get back to work before I had to go through the next round.” She hesitated. “When work’s all you have, you fall back on it, the way others fall back on the people they love.”

Analiese didn’t make sympathetic noises, as if she knew they would delay the story. She just continued to nod thoughtfully.

“The next minute—or more accurately, sometime in the next few days—I opened my eyes and saw shadows looming over my bed. I could hear machines beeping and wheezing, but I didn’t have the strength to turn my head. I just lay there and wondered what on earth was going on. I felt like I was floating. And I wasn’t afraid, not really. I kept thinking maybe I should sit up and find the papers I’d been working on. But even thinking took effort, so I went to sleep.”

“Very frightening.”

Charlotte lifted her head toward the sun, grateful for its warmth and grateful she was still alive to feel it. She absorbed the heat for a moment, hoping it would help as she told the next part.

“It wasn’t as frightening as you might think. I was too sick to worry, and I wasn’t thinking clearly enough to put facts together. The next time I woke up, there was a woman bending over my bed. She was old, older than me, although I don’t know by how much, and I had the impression she was from somewhere in the East, maybe China, although I couldn’t see her well. She said I’d been calling out, and she wondered if she could help. I told her I didn’t have time to be sick. I remember that clearly. It took a long time to say it.

“She said she understood, because life’s so short and there are so many important things to do, so much suffering to heal. I was surprised she had misunderstood so badly. I asked her who she was, and she said her name was Gwen, or at least that’s what I thought. I asked her why she was there, and she said she was always in the room. I assumed she meant that every time she ended up in the hospital, she ended up in the same room in intensive care. I felt sorry for her, and I wondered what could be wrong with her that she was there so often. I fell back asleep wondering.”