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Before Andrea could answer, the restaurant’s owner, Caroline, arrived with a tray. “Running later than you. As usual. Here’s your decaf and a fresh iced tea for you, Andrea. I’ll keep an eye out for your sister, too,” she teased, then promptly moved to the next table.
Jenny’s frown turned into a grin. “You can’t get away with a thing here, can you? Poor Madge. We’ll have to make sure we put something special on her tombstone…something like, ‘She finally made it on time.’”
Andrea rolled her eyes, relieved that Jenny’s natural good humor had returned. “I don’t even want to think about what you’d put on mine. Or anyone else’s tombstone, for that matter,” she added, if only to divert her thoughts away from the very real possibility that a tombstone was in her own near future. “You know Madge. She had a last minute stop for something. Or a last minute phone call. Or a meandering drive in her new convertible. Or she lost track of time working in her garden.”
Jenny added some cream to her coffee. “Sandra used to get so mad at her. She nearly missed one of her doctor appointments once because Madge was late.”
“Speaking of Madge…” Andrea pointed to the window. “Here she comes.”
By the time Jenny looked out of the window, Madge had pulled into a parallel spot across the street.
Andrea shook her head. “That’s about the…the…”
“The purplest car you ever saw?” Jenny giggled. “Is that even a word? Purplest?”
Andrea nodded and turned her attention back to Jenny. “I suppose it is. She even made Roy, down at the car dealership, write it on the order. The convertible had to be the purplest it could be, despite the fact there was only one possible purple color the factory could use. I guess it just made her feel better to tell them what she wanted.”
“Like the lavender top?”
Andrea chuckled. “No. They wouldn’t even attempt that. The car came with a white top, but Russell made a few calls and found a place to custom order the lavender one before Madge even saw the white one.”
“Well, I like it.”
Andrea shook her head and stirred some artificial sweetener into her fresh tea. Madge had a storybook life: a devoted husband, Russell Stevens, who spoiled her; two successful, grown sons, Drew and Brett, who loved their mother to pieces; a valued place in the community. Madge also had both the time and the money to be as eccentric as she wanted to be, and because she was such a giving soul, most people forgave her most anything.
Andrea wondered what it might be like to have someone in her life to carry the financial burdens, then immediately snipped a tiny ribbon of jealousy that almost wrapped around her thoughts. “The car suits Madge, but honestly, I’m getting a little worried,” Andrea admitted. “She’s a little too obsessed with the color, if you ask me. Did you know when she ordered her annuals for her garden this year, she insisted that every flower had to be purple? She went online, got a list of every flowering plant with purple flowers that would grow in this area and took the list straight to the nursery! And that was after she bought new cushions for her patio furniture, all in purple.”
Jenny took a sip of coffee and let out a sigh. “That’s just her way.”
“Well, it’s harmless enough, I suppose. It’s just odd.”
“Sandra’s favorite color was purple. Remember?”
Startled, Andrea nearly choked on her tea. When she cleared her throat, she looked straight into Jenny’s eyes. “You’re right. I’d…I’d forgotten.”
Jenny offered a warm smile. “I think it makes Madge feel closer to Sandra. They spent an awful lot of time together. It’s been nine months now since Sandra died, and I think it’s Madge’s way of saying, ‘I remember you, Sandra, and I miss you.’ Even if Madge doesn’t realize it herself.”
“What don’t I realize?” Madge asked as she nudged Jenny to move over to make room for her to sit down. She laid a bakery box in the center of the table and slid in beside her younger sister.
“Time. Being on time is important,” Andrea prompted gently, still mothering the sister who was younger by only two years. Old habits die hard.
Jenny stared at the bakery box and squealed. “Spinners! You stopped for Spinners!”
“They were Sandra’s favorite so I thought we should have them today. In her memory,” Madge suggested. Her eyes filled with tears, and she toyed with one of her amethyst earrings, the most recent of the gifts Russell invariably brought home with him from one of his sales trips.
Her words were barely spoken before Caroline appeared with a mug of decaf for Madge and a plate for the Spinners. “Here you go.” She set the mug in front of Madge, opened the bakery box and lined the plate with the Spinners, which were bite-size pieces of sweet dough spun with cinnamon and smothered with either vanilla or chocolate icing or glazed with sugar. “Enjoy. I’ll be back in a minute for your order,” Caroline said, and carried the empty box away with her.
Jenny shook her head. “Caroline’s such a dear. If I take outside food into the hospital cafeteria, they’re ready to call a guard!”
“This is The Diner. She wants her customers to feel at home,” Madge countered.
“Sandra once walked all the way to McAllister’s to get Spinners during a blizzard. Remember?” Andrea took a chocolate Spinner and offered the first “Sandra story,” officially beginning the Sisters’ Breakfast. Tradition called for sharing memories, happy memories—from childhood to adulthood and anything in between.
“But that’s not the whole story,” Madge insisted.
“Walking two miles to anywhere in a blizzard is a story in and of itself,” Andrea insisted.
Madge finished a sugar Spinner and tilted up her chin. “Anyone can walk two miles in a blizzard, but only Sandra would have enough nerve to go around the back of the balcony, climb the stairs to the residence on the second floor, and insist that Mr. McAllister go downstairs and open up the store so she could buy some Spinners.”
Andrea’s eyes widened. With her mouth full, she could not voice a question, but Madge simply patted her arm.
“Sandra was…Sandra. She always knew what she wanted, and she always knew how to get it. Besides, she just didn’t go to the bakery to get some Spinners for herself. The blizzard hit midday, remember?”
Andrea nodded as she tried to swallow the last bite.
“Well, she knew the bakery had been forced to close down without selling out, and she also knew the road crews would be out working all night clearing the streets. So she convinced Mr. McAllister to sell her a few dozen Spinners, along with everything else he had. Then she loaded up her sled, walked down the avenue to the public works garage, dropped off the sweets from the bakery and got herself back home.”
“Just in time for Jeopardy,” Jenny added. Her eyes grew misty.
Andrea took a long sip of iced tea and wrapped her hand around the glass. “You both knew that story. Why didn’t I?”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders.
Madge’s eyes twinkled. “You’re always working. Besides, you don’t know everything, even if you are the old est,” she teased. “That’s why we’re here together, isn’t it? To share our stories?”
Caroline interrupted to take their breakfast orders. Andrea was grateful for the extra time to think of her own Sandra story, and she was ready by the time Caroline left. She glanced at Jenny. “When Sandra left to get married for the first time, how old were you? Three?”
Jenny tilted up her chin. “I was four, thank you. And very mature for my age.”
Andrea grinned. “Then you missed the infamous black slip story.”
Madge’s eyes widened. “You’re telling that story?”
“Of course. I don’t think I can not tell that story.”
“I know all about the black slip,” Jenny insisted. “When she was a teenager, Sandra had a part-time job cleaning for some elderly lady who lived nearby, and she spent every dime on lingerie. Beautiful, expensive lingerie.”
“Mrs. Calloway,” Madge offered, and her eyes lit with a flash of sudden intuition that Andrea did not miss.
“Anyway,” Andrea continued, “Sandra’s black slip just disappeared. She blamed Madge. Madge denied taking it, and from there, a monumental shouting match. Of course, shouting and screaming never resolved anything. Sandra and Madge each held their ground. For weeks after, Sandra would make snide remarks, blaming Madge for the missing black slip, and Madge would play the wounded victim of ‘rash judgment.’” She shook her head. “Then Mother found the black slip when she was housecleaning. The slip was stuck behind Sandra’s bureau, caught between the bureau and the wall. Mother said it looked like the slip had somehow gotten wedged behind the bureau after sliding off the laundry she piled on each of our bureaus on wash day. Sandra was grounded for a month.”
Madge’s cheeks blushed pink. “And she spent even longer apologizing.”
“And well she should have,” Andrea cautioned.
Caroline arrived with plates piled high with steaming hotcakes and browned sausages. After quickly refilling their beverages and removing the now-empty Spinner plate, she left the three sisters to enjoy their breakfasts.
Andrea slathered her stack of hotcakes with butter, cut off a generous piece and savored the bite.
Madge poured low-calorie syrup on top of her stack and watched the syrup ooze over the sides. She cleared her throat. “Actually, I have a confession to make. To both of you. I—I had taken Sandra’s black slip and hid it behind her bureau. I was just playing a joke on her. I didn’t think she’d get so angry…but things just got out of hand, and I didn’t know how to stop it or what to do….”
Andrea sputtered and choked on her tea.
Jenny’s eyes twinkled. “You really had taken the black slip?”
Madge nodded. Her eyes glistened with tears. “I promised Sandra I’d tell you that today. On her birthday. That she had been right about the black slip,” she whispered. “I took it, and the argument was my fault. After all these years, I never really thought it was important to confess to that. Not to Sandra or either of you. I’d already prayed for forgiveness from God, but I never asked Sandra to forgive me. Not until she got sick. I told her right before…right before she left us to go Home.”
Andrea raised her glass of tea. “To forgiveness.”
Madge and Jenny raised their coffee cups, and they gently clicked their cups and glass together.
“Sandra had the biggest heart and most generous spirit of anyone I’ve ever known,” Jenny murmured.
Andrea swallowed hard before she took a sip of her iced tea. “She was a good friend, not just to me, but to a lot of people.”
Madge bowed her head for a moment. “She was more than just my sister. She was my shopping buddy and my gardening buddy, as terrible as she was, and she was my…my best friend.” She let out a deep sigh, paused, and then said, “I don’t know about either of you, but I hope it’s a long, long time before we have to do this again.”
“Do what?” Jenny asked. “Have a Sisters’ Breakfast? Kathleen’s birthday is in October, you know. Mother and Daddy’s aren’t until March.”
“No. I like the breakfasts. I like the tradition. I like sharing memories with each of you.” She reached out and took hold of Andrea’s and Jenny’s hands. “I hope we have years to be together. I hope…I just hope I don’t lose one of my sisters again. Not for a long, long time. That’s all.”
Andrea gulped hard and squeezed her sisters’ hands. “I pray we do, too. According to His will,” she added, certain that now was definitely not the time to share her news. She did not have to start chemotherapy for two weeks yet. Actually, she had a consultation tomorrow with the doctor to discuss the particulars of the process that would take a full year to complete. With all the experience she and her family had had with cancer and the treatments used to cure that hideous disease, she did not expect any surprises tomorrow. She did have questions, though, and decided it might be best to wait until she knew more before telling her sisters and asking for their help and their prayers.
Unless tomorrow held news she would not be anxious to share with anyone, most especially the sisters who were still grieving for Sandra, who had so recently been called Home.
Chapter Two
A ndrea sat in her parked car outside of the urologist’s office under the shade of a swamp maple tree large enough to cast a shadow that covered her entire station wagon. Her purse was at her side on the passenger seat. Her bottle of iced tea was in the cup holder. Her mind was focused on prayer.
Head bowed, she took small, measured breaths and kept her hands loosely steepled as they lay on her lap. Just the word cancer had the power to send shivers down her spine and arouse all the memories of her loved ones and their suffering she had stored in her mind, casting images of pain and suffering that made her heart beat so fast she grew dizzy.
Keeping this ten o’clock appointment to hear the particulars about her cancer recurrence would have kept her paralyzed in her seat if not for the power of prayer and the presence of the angels who had been sent to protect her from her own fears.
“According to Thy will, with the blessing of Your grace,” she murmured. She believed in God, and in His protection. She believed in the power of prayer. She believed. And with that belief came a gentle peace that washed over her, calmed her racing heartbeat and gave her the strength to make it from her car and into the doctor’s office with more dignity that she thought she might be able to muster today.
She entered the office and immediately cast aside the memory of her last visit when she had had a checkup at the other office Dr. Newton shared with several partners closer to the hospital. During the cystoscopic examination that day, more commonly referred to as a cysto, the doctor had discovered and removed several small growths in Andrea’s bladder and sent them for biopsy. The visit itself had become a blur, but the clinical setting Andrea remembered in the examining room did little to assuage her unease today, despite the fact that she would be keeping all of her appointments here, in the doctor’s office, which was closer to Welleswood.
The second blessing of the day came when the receptionist quickly ushered Andrea directly into the doctor’s office. No forms to sign. No referrals to submit. No waiting. Just a gracious welcome and immediate escort to a private office with a comfortable upholstered visitor’s chair facing a window that provided a spectacular view of an outdoor garden.
The doctor’s desk itself looked like no desk that Andrea had ever seen in a medical office. It didn’t hold files or a telephone or a computer screen. Instead, this small antique lady’s desk cradled treasured family pictures and trinkets and a vase of wildflowers. A door next to the desk led outside to the garden, which, Andrea guessed, was the source of the flowers in the doctor’s office.
With assurances that the doctor would be in momentarily, the receptionist left, closing the door. Through the window, Andrea could see the private garden was protected on all sides by a tall fence, bordered by lush hedges and flowerbeds bursting with riotous color. Elegant wrought-iron benches faced the open center of the garden, where Andrea glimpsed some sort of tiled patio. She noticed a number of low garden lamps and imagined how beautiful the garden must look at night. No matter the hour, the doctor would always have a private haven at her fingertips.
Andrea was half tempted to step outside, to enjoy the sweet fragrances of the flowers, when Dr. Newton suddenly appeared in the garden door, cradling an oversize calico cat in her arms. “Why don’t we talk outside? I’m afraid to bring Muffin inside the office. Too many patients are allergic, though I didn’t note that on your records.”
Startled, Andrea followed Dr. Newton outside. They sat together on one of the benches. Dr. Newton settled the cat on her lap and stroked the calico’s head, and another cat, a small, dark tiger cat, wove in and out of Andrea’s legs. The doctor chuckled. “I hope you like cats.”
Andrea leaned down and picked up the tiger cat. Already purring, the cat curled up on Andrea’s lap. “As a matter of fact, I have a few of my own. Three actually,” she murmured, grateful for this added blessing to the day.
“I thought you might be a cat person.”
“Only recently,” Andrea admitted. “I wanted a little companionship. With my schedule, having a dog was out of the question. But cats are easier to manage, especially when you get several from the same litter. My brother-in-law is a sales rep for a pet-food company so I get most of what I need for the cats from him. Cats are more independent, too.”
“Independent? Like you?” the doctor remarked with an raised brow. “Most of my patients prefer to spend the night in the hospital after surgery.”
Thinking of last year’s surgery, Andrea’s blushed. “You said it could be same-day surgery.”
“I also said you might want to consider spending the night,” the doctor reminded her. “The tumor was a little more expansive than I originally thought.”
“My sister Jenny is a nurse. She was able to help,” Andrea countered, hoping the doctor would also remember how well Andrea’s post-op checkup had gone and how well she had continued to be in the months afterward. “She will again. Provided I need help.” She took a deep breath, but she did not stop petting the cat on her lap. “How much help…that is, I’m not quite sure what to expect from the treatments,” she murmured.
Then she corrected herself. “No, that’s not true. I’ve lost four family members to cancer, and I know what to expect from the chemotherapy. The nausea. The fatigue. The loss of appetite, as well as my hair…” She stopped before her voice broke.
“What type of cancer?” the doctor asked gently.
“Breast. Bone. Stomach. Liver. Brain. Take your pick,” Andrea said quietly. “We’re an equal-opportunity host family. Unfortunately, we’re not an equal-opportunity surviving kind of family.”
Dr. Newton shook her head. “Not all cancers are alike. And not all chemotherapy treatment is the same, either, Andrea. In fact, your chemotherapy will be very different from what you’ve experienced with your family before. Based on the biopsy results and the early stage of your cancer, despite the fact that this is a recurrence, the standard chemotherapy treatment involves coming to my office here to have the drugs injected directly into your bladder via a catheter—with minimal preparation on your part, I should add. After two or three hours at home, you simply void the drugs out of your bladder. You won’t get nauseous and you won’t lose much of your appetite, if any. You probably will experience some fatigue as the treatments progress, but you will definitely not lose your hair, although you might be tempted to continue to keep it very short. Many of the patients complain that their hair gets very coarse and somewhat unmanageable. Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to start to color your hair, though.”
Andrea knew that her skepticism was etched in every feature of her face, but she couldn’t help it, any more than she could stop herself from reaching up and touching her salt and pepper hair. “That’s it?”
Dr. Newton chuckled. “Well, let’s not pretend this isn’t serious or life threatening. It can be, Andrea. But in your case, yes, that’s it. Chemotherapy will be once a week for six weeks, then once a month for nine additional months. We’ll monitor your progress very carefully to make sure the chemotherapy is effective and doing its job.”
Andrea blinked several times, anxious to hold on to this good news just a little longer before this blessing disappeared almost as quickly as it had been given. “There’s bad news, too, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Dr. Newton said. “You’ll have to be monitored for the rest of your life. Eventually, that means I’ll only see you once a year. Eventually. But the bad news is that you’re going to be my patient, or someone’s patient, for life. As long as you come for your checkups, the odds are that there’s no reason to believe you’ll have a recurrence or at least one we can’t handle, just like this one.”
Effective chemotherapy. Recurrence. Odds.
Andrea had heard those words before—from Daddy, Kathleen, Mother and then Sandra. All of them had lost their battles. Eventually, each had failed to beat the odds. Each had had chemotherapy that ultimately proved ineffective.
Would Andrea follow this dreadful family tradition, or would she begin a new one called survivor?
If she should survive and beat cancer, why? Why her? Why not Daddy or Kathleen or Mother or Sandra? Why?
She shivered and blinked back tears as she whispered silent prayers for courage. She could beat cancer. She could be a survivor. With His grace. According to His will.
“When…when will we start the chemotherapy?”
“That depends,” the doctor murmured. “Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”
Andrea stiffened. “Today? Just some iced tea earlier. About seven.”
“Then let’s start today. While Nancy gets the chemotherapy ready, I can explain precisely how it’s done. I can also give you a key to the garden. There’s an outer door you can use when you want to come to visit. That’s why the garden is here. For my patients. Feel free to use it anytime.” She checked her watch. “It’s ten-thirty now. By eleven, you can be home. By one-thirty or two o’clock, you can be back at work. Unless you have an appointment between now and then?”
“No. I cleared my schedule until four. I—I wasn’t sure how long I would be here. Today? Are you sure we have to start today?” she gushed as panic sent her heartbeat into double time. The prospect of being able to start chemotherapy today did appeal to her, but she hadn’t talked to her children or her sisters yet, to tell them about her treatments, nor had she prepared herself for beginning her journey toward recovery today. “What about…the referral for the insurance company? I didn’t bring one today. Maybe—”
“We’ll take care of that.”
