Angels Unaware

By Sandra Bruney

Kat Knightly has it all: her husband, Jordan, is handsome and successful; their son will soon to graduate from college, and their beautiful home is the setting for popular social events. But Kat's comfortable life changes abruptly when she faces a devastating diagnosis: breast cancer.
When Jordan lets her know he will not be there to support her, Kat must cope not only with chemo and radiation, but also with finding a job and a new place to live. When the move turns up evidence that her marriage was built on a lie, she is nearly overwhelmed.
Her impending divorce forces Kat to face the fact that while she has many acquaintances, she has few true friends in whom she confide her fears. Then, one by one, new friends come into her life: women who have survived the same disease, and a man who sees beyond the scars to the brave and resourceful woman within. With their help, Kat discovers strengths she did not know she possessed.
Jordan sees a new Kat and begins to regret his impulsive action. When he asks if they can start over, Kat must choose between returning to her former pampered life or embracing her new-found independence--and the possibility of a new romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandra Bruney
• Release date: May 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311423498

Sandra Bruney

I am a writer living in North Carolina. I enjoy reading, crafting, gardening, and obeying the whims of my rescue cats.

Book preview

Angels Unaware

by

Sandra Z. Bruney

Smashwords Edition

Also by Author

Fiction

The Lunch Club

The Almost Bride

Non-fiction

I’d Rather Go to California

Co-authored

Angels Unaware

Copyright © 2010 by Sandra Z. Bruney.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

Any resemblance to actual people and events is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction.

Dedication

Acknowledgements

I would like to my friend and business partner, Elbert Marshall, for taking time to edit the manuscript and point out not only typos, but places where more attention to detail would build a stronger scene; my critique partners, Linda Evans and Tami Stout, for their comments, especially their honesty in telling me when something didn’t work; and the Anson County Writer’s Club, my friends of more than twenty years, who have been with me every step of my writing journey. And, although my parents are no longer here, I must acknowledge the inspiration I received from their love of reading. We may not have had a lot of material possessions when I was young, but our house was always filled with books.

Cover Design by Rob Stuart

Chapter One

Katherine Knightly sat in Dr. Jill Cohen’s waiting room, unable to concentrate on anything but the upcoming ordeal. She hated her annual physical with a passion most women reserved for a root canal. And today, she had even more reason to be nervous, if not downright terrified. She searched the faces of the women seated around her. How many of them had suffered the same secret worry? Was she the only one in the room cold with fear?

She wasn’t afraid of her doctor…in spite her dislike for medical exams, Kat quite liked Jill Cohen. A petite woman, the doctor reminded her of a little brown wren, always alert, her bright, curious eyes seeming to take in everything going on around her.

Jill had come to Wymess almost ten years ago, recruited by the Mayor and city council. In fact, the Mayor’s entire platform was based on the promise to find and keep a doctor. The first part of the promise was easily accomplished because the doctors, fresh out of medical school, were required to practice in a rural area for two years in order to repay their government loans. The problem was that after two years they took off for more attractive—and more lucrative—areas. Wymess, Population 5,673 and Growing! as the signs posted on the edge of town proudly proclaimed, didn’t have much to offer young doctors and their families.

But Jill was still there three years later, and then four. Her husband finished his doctorate at the University of North Carolina and accepted a job as an instructor at Wingate University, only thirty miles away. The finishing touch came when they put their four-year-old in the Methodist Church’s day-care program.

By then, the little town had become used to doctors with dark skins and strange accents, and who left as soon as you learned to pronounce their names. An American doctor was a relief. That she was both a Jew and a woman mattered not at all. She was here and it looked like she was going to stay. If Wymess had had keys to the city, the population would have offered them to her.

No, it wasn’t Jill that Kat feared. It was what Jill might discover during the examination.

Too soon, a nurse beckoned her into a small room. The examination table, covered with a paper sheet, took up most of the room. Kat undressed and put on a paper gown. Then she waited, her feet in stirrups and her knees raised above her head.

Hi, Kat! Jill bustled into the room, a flurry of lab coat, a manila folder spilling charts and hastily scrawled notes, and a stethoscope swinging like an overly-large pendant from her neck. Did Ann get your blood work and specimen—oh, good, I see it here. Blood pressure looks good, but you’ve gained a few pounds since last year.

I know— Kat started.

But Jill went on, Well, who hasn’t? I’ve got to get to the gym, but you know how that goes…good intentions are the paving stones to somewhere or other. She rolled her stool between Kat’s legs and said, This’ll be cold. Sorry. A few minutes later, Jill had washed her hands and leaned against the counter. How about your periods, Kat? Still regular?

Yes, Kat answered.

You may start noticing some changes in the next year. Jill looked at Kat’s chart. Your mother started menopause at age forty-five, you said?

It was early, she told me. Is that inherited?

Could be, Jill said cheerily. Look, Kat you need to start getting a mammogram every year or so now that you’re forty. That reminds me…I can do a quick breast check while you’re here, if you want.

Actually, Kat began, but Jill was already folding the paper half-gown away from Kat’s chest.

There was a small moment of silence during which Kat’s known world ended.

Jill’s voice had lost its lilting tone. How long have you had that lump? she asked. Her fingers probed the lump, smoothing the skin over it, prodding around it.

Kat knew what it felt like: a well-washed river stone, sliding easily under your fingers, almost pleasant to the touch if you didn’t know it didn’t belong there. I first saw it Christmas Eve, she said. It came up really quickly. Even Jordan said he hadn’t noticed it before then.

That was three weeks ago, Jill said. Why didn’t you call me then?

I already had an appointment. And besides, it isn’t like it’s on my breast.

Kat, this is all breast tissue. I think you’d better see a specialist. Jill indicated that Kat should sit up, and made some notations on her chart. Get dressed, and come over to my office. I’ll see if I can get an appointment for you with a surgeon…or do you have a preference?

No, Kat said, stunned. Why do I need a surgeon? Because whatever that is, it has to come out. And I don’t feel qualified to do it.

Jill shut the door behind her, leaving Kat feeling lightheaded. Her heart was pounding. She had hoped—no, prayed—that Jill would laugh, say it was nothing to worry about that it would go away on its own. But now…she suddenly found it difficult to breathe and she abruptly sat up, catching the paper gown as it threatened to fall to her waist. She pulled it over her breasts, wanting to hide them and the lump that now seemed more menacing than ever. She dressed with shaking fingers and walked across the hall. Jill was on the telephone and Kat sat down to wait in the chair opposite the desk.

Dr. Sanders has an appointment open tomorrow at three, Jill said, her hand across the receiver. She lifted an eyebrow in question.

I—I guess that’s okay, Kat replied. She had a hair appointment that afternoon, but suddenly her plans seemed trivial. I can make it, she said more firmly.

Jill nodded and confirmed the time with whoever was on the other end of the line, then hung up.

You’ll either love Dr. Sanders or hate him, she said with a little grin. Personally, I think he’s a little rough around the edges socially, but he’s a great surgeon. I’d choose his neat sutures over bedside manner anytime, myself.

It looks like anyone could cut this out, Kat said, self- consciously touching the lump. It’s not very big.

We don’t know how much isn’t showing, Jill replied, losing her grin. We’ll know more after the biopsy.

He isn’t going to do a biopsy tomorrow, is he? Kat knew her voice sounded shrill, and gulped. I mean… She didn’t want to ask why there should be a biopsy in the first place. If the word wasn’t mentioned, then it didn’t exist. Not in her breast, anyway.

No, no. He’ll just look at it, maybe do a needle biopsy by drawing a little fluid. That’s all. Then he’ll decide what to do next. Jill filled out the order, signed it, and handed it to Kat. I’m sorry, seems like you have to go out-of-county for almost everything nowadays. But that’s where the specialists are. Jill reminded Kat again about the extra pounds, and told her to make an appointment in four weeks. Dr. Sanders will be in touch with me, so I’ll know what’s going on almost as soon as you do, she assured Kat.

Tomorrow, Kat thought as she picked up her appointment card at the window, I’ll know for sure if I should be worried or not. In the meantime, she would go on as she had. Playing it cool, as her son Jay said. Or was it chilling out now? She couldn’t remember. But one thing she knew for certain, Jill was a good doctor and wouldn’t make a fuss over nothing.

Driving home, Kat felt a new dread, almost as great as the fear she had faced only an hour ago. She had to tell her husband what Dr. Cohen had decided, and Jordan had a different view of the petite physician than most. He was one of a small coterie of people who thought Jill couldn’t possibly know as much as a male doctor, in spite of her degrees. He preferred to see a PA in the neighboring town. His visits were few and far between, though, because Jordan refused to be sick. People who were sick, he insisted, were simply giving in to minor discomfort and making a big deal out of it. The fact that people occasionally died of their discomfort did nothing to change his theory.

Jordan would not panic, as she had. Jordan would…what? She didn’t know, and not knowing made her feel slightly nauseated.

By the time Jordan came in the door, she had a meatloaf in the oven and a small bowl of pretzels set out for him to munch as he sipped the two ounces of Scotch he allowed himself before dinner. She sat down next to him and waited for him to ask about her appointment. When he was nearly finished with his drink, the visit still not mentioned, she finally mustered the courage to bring it up.

You told me the lump was nothing to worry about, he said when she completed her report.

I didn’t think it was, she lied. But Jill does. That’s why she wants me to see a specialist. A surgeon.

I suppose he’ll have to cut it out, Jordan said. He picked up his glass and emptied it before setting it down again with an emphasis that signaled his displeasure. When Kat didn’t answer, he added, It won’t leave a scar, will it?

I suppose a small one that will fade in a few months, Kat guessed.

Jordan grunted. The bump isn’t that noticeable. You can hardly see it when you lie down. Why not leave it there?

Because it will get bigger, Kat answered. It had already seemed bigger to her inquiring fingers. But then, Jordan wouldn’t know that. He’d not only avoided touching the area, he’d avoided looking at it after that first, quick glance…as if by ignoring it, it would cease to exist.

But the sick feeling that it wasn’t nothing stayed with her, like a ridiculous tune that got in your head and wouldn’t go away. Kat took a sleeping pill that night, and crawled into bed. Jordan gave her a hug, and rolled over. Kat stiffened with disappointment. It would be nice to be held for a few minutes, she thought. It occurred to her that they hadn’t made love since Christmas, and here they were halfway through January.

Lying awake and restless, Kat thought she knew why Jordan was avoiding her. Although he had said the lump wasn’t noticeable, he had noticed it immediately, almost as soon as she had. Maybe he was thinking the same thing she was: no matter what she did, ignore the lump or have it removed, her breast would never be the same. And Jordan loved her breasts. He urged her to wear low-cut sweaters and blouses to show them off, and when no one was looking, slid his hand under her bra for a quick caress. It embarrassed her and pleased her at the same time, for she was glad her husband still found her attractive.

Would he still want her after the surgery? Or would the scar, small as she hoped it would be, be a turnoff? She shuddered. Jordan didn’t like deformity, turned away in disgust whenever he met someone with a missing limb or visible scars. Was that how he would see her from now on?

Feeling a surge of panic, Kat pushed the image away and tried to think of something else, but her mind simply took another path and Dr. Sander’s face replaced Jordan’s in her mind’s eye. She was sure she had never met the man, but the name teased her with its familiarity. Suddenly, she was as wide awake as if she’d just dived into ice-cold water.

Dr. Sanders…now she remembered. He had operated on Jordan over twenty years ago. She had found out when she had opened the statement indicating how much the insurance had paid, and how much was still due on his vasectomy.

Furious at his deception—and unable to wait until he came home—she called his office. Jordan put her off, saying, We’ll talk about it later. Jesus, Kat, my client can hear you screaming and she’s in the other room.

She paced and cried all afternoon. Jay picked up on her distress and had howled along with her until he finally fell into an exhausted sleep punctuated with hiccoughs. By the time Jordan walked in the door, her face was red and splotchy, and her eyes were swollen.

Jordan took in the scene, then went calmly to the bar and poured a drink before he sat down and said, Now what?

This—this came today, she stuttered. She had carefully rehearsed what she was going to say, but now the words flew away like a flock of wild finches.

Jordan took the paper from her shaking hand and studied it. Oh, that, he said, putting it down as if it were as insignificant as a piece of fluff. I thought I’d told you. I guess I forgot.

Forgot? You had a vasectomy while I was in the hospital and forgot to mention it to me?

It was a pretty hectic time, as I recall. He sipped at his Glenlivet single malt, the ice cubes tinkling pleasantly. What are you so upset about?

Upset? Let me think…maybe the fact that you made the decision without consulting me? For not telling me either before or after you had the surgery? Jordan, you knew I wanted a big family. Maybe I’m upset at you for taking that dream away from me. What gave you the right? she shouted.

You’re getting hysterical about nothing, Jordan started, but Kat interrupted.

Nothing! You cheated me, Jordan, she said in a voice thin with rage. I want to know why. What earthly excuse can you have?

I just told you! Jordan’s face now was as red as hers. I was terrified. Damn it, Kat, you nearly died. Thirty-six hours of labor while that stupid intern dithered around wringing his hands. Your wonderful Dr. Jones certainly took a fine time to take a vacation. He took a deep breath and his tone became flat and deliberate. Please try to understand where I was coming from. I didn’t think either one of us could go through that again.

We wouldn’t have had to. What part of Dr. Jones telling us it was perfectly safe for me to get pregnant again didn’t you understand? Kat asked hoarsely. Her throat was raw from crying and it hurt to talk.

The part about having a caesarian. Being cut open. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Excuse me, but it wasn’t your body under consideration, Kat said. To her dismay, she began to cry again. It was how every quarrel with Jordan ended. The angrier she got, the calmer Jordan became, until she began to feel that she was the one at fault.

I was only trying to keep you safe, he said. And really, Kat, Jay is a beautiful, healthy baby. We couldn’t have done any better. Why can’t you be satisfied with that?

Kat had no answer. If she said she wasn’t happy with Jay, she would seem ungrateful for the son she loved with all her heart. If she agreed, then all her accusations meant nothing and Jordan had been right in his decision to spare her. You should have talked about it with me first, she said. Or at least told me afterward. Excuse me, Jordan said. It wasn’t your body under consideration.

So angry she literally couldn’t see, Kat walked out of the room, the familiar clink of glass on glass accompanying her exit.

Apparently unconcerned, Jordan was pouring himself a rare second drink. When’s dinner? he called after her.

It was their first major quarrel, and Kat had held on to her anger and resentment, giving one-word answers to Jordan’s questions, turning away from him in bed. Her certainty that he had been wrong gave her strength to ignore his tentative gestures toward reconciliation. What she wanted was for him to back up his apology—weak as it was—with a promise to reverse the surgery.

This, however, he had refused to consider, saying that his mind was made up.

Finally, one morning after she had put Jay down for a nap, she heard his step in the hall. Figuring he had forgotten something, she walked past him and was startled when he grasped her arm and jerked her to a halt.

I’ve had enough, he had said in a terse voice. You need to choose, Kat. Either be a wife to me or I’ll find someone who will. It hadn’t taken Kat five seconds to nod acquiescence. She had no education, no marketable skills, and she was under no illusion that Jordan would be generous with alimony while his business was still struggling. And, while she had been hurt and angry, she still loved him. He had come into her life like a knight in shining armor. If that armor was slightly tarnished, she could accept that. What she could not accept was his riding back out of her life again.

Somehow, things had returned to normal. Jordan’s business expanded, and he hired secretarial help. Jordan Jr.—shortened to Jay before he left the hospital—began to crawl, to walk, and to say Mama and Daddy. To all outward appearances they were a devoted couple, a happy family. And Kat had resolved to keep it that way. She learned to smile and hide her hurt at a careless remark Jordan made to their friends or a disparaging refusal whenever she offered to help out at the office. After a while, it became a habit and she didn’t even think about it anymore.

Still, there were moments when grief swept over her again like a rogue wave. Once, when they were leaving McDonald’s where they had taken Jay as reward for a good report card, a family had come in with three little red-haired boys about a year apart in age…what her mother called stair-step children. The father carried a little girl, a moppet with a head full of red curls and huge blue eyes. Kat had lost it, running to the car and sobbing.

Jordan had ignored her outburst, but Jay had patted her hand and asked, What’s wrong, Mommy? What is it?

But she couldn’t tell him. How could she tell her son that he should have had brothers and sisters, to squabble with and play with, to go through life with? She had been an only child, and she hadn’t wanted that for Jay.

She had never told anyone, not even her mother, why they never had another baby. Just fate, I suppose, she’d said when anyone was rude enough to inquire.

Kat forced the unwelcome memories away. Instead, she deliberately recalled how happy she had been Christmas Eve. They had been invited to a party, and in getting ready she had looked in the mirror, wondering if the neckline on the dress she had bought for the occasion was a little too low.

Jordan had come up behind her, and for a moment she allowed herself to admire what she saw: a handsome man with dark hair silvered at the temples and dark blue eyes, and a pretty, slightly plump woman with azure eyes and blonde hair swept back in a chignon. Jordan looked trim and athletic, thanks to his weekly golf game. They made, she allowed herself to think, a handsome couple in the prime of life.

Then Jordan had slipped his hands around her neck and she felt the weight of something cool and startling. When she looked in the mirror again, she gasped at the diamond pendant that graced her neck.

Merry Christmas, darling, Jordan had said.

That night, conscious of the admiring glances sent her way, she had felt like a queen.

Jordan does love me, she thought.

Lulled by this happier memory, she flipped her pillow to the cool side and fell asleep.

When Kat woke the next morning, Jordan had already left for the office. She looked for a note on the dry erase board on the refrigerator, but there was nothing. He had probably forgotten what today was. She put the omission out of her mind, as she had so many others, and dressed for her appointment.

Dr. Sanders’ practice was in Monroe, a larger town some thirty-five miles from Wymess. The office was located in a medical complex, which was on a street lined with identical redbrick buildings. Kat dutifully filled out the required forms, signed her name on a dozen lines, and waited to be called. The office looked like any other office: some dusty-looking plants that probably needed watering, out-of-date Newsweeks, Reader’s Digests and Guideposts, and pale, quiet people pretending to read them. She picked up a copy of a nearly year-old Family Circle magazine featuring tips for Fourth of July entertaining and stared at the red, white, and blue cover without opening the pages.

Kat was called sooner than she had expected. Dr. Sanders was one of four doctors in the practice and evidently scheduled his patients with enough time so he didn’t run over. She revised this opinion after the nurse had made her remove her sweater and bra, and replaced them with the ubiquitous paper half-gown. It was nearly half an hour before the door opened after a preliminary knock that barely gave her time to squeak, Come in.

Aha. Mrs. Knightly, I’m Dick Sanders. He held out a hand and pumped hers vigorously. Without giving her a chance to answer, he looked at her chart. Little bump, huh? We’ll just take a look-see.

Kat thought his examination was less than cursory…how could he tell anything by a single glance and inquiring poke? But the doctor sat back and wrote on her chart as if he had spent hours studying her breast.

Kat examined him instead of worrying about what he was scrawling on the pad of paper. Dick Sanders was large man with the look of an ex-jock whose muscles were slowly turning to fat. His hair was cut short and stood straight up as if he had just received an electric shock. Kat couldn’t tell if it was purposeful or if he had applied gel and forgotten to comb afterward. He had thick, dark brown brows that matched his hair, and hazel eyes set in a fan of fine lines. Probably about fifty, she guessed. His mouth was wide and mobile, and looked as if it were used to smiling.

Her eyes widened as he put down the chart and grabbed an ominously large needle.

This won’t hurt, he promised, plunging the needle into the lump.

Surprisingly, she felt nothing. After a few seconds, Dr. Sanders withdrew it and gave the syringe to a nurse who had appeared as suddenly and silently as an owl. She looked like an owl, Kat thought, with her round eyes magnified by the enormous round frames of her glasses.

There. We’ll get the lab work back next Monday, and you can come in Tuesday and we’ll talk about it, he said, pulling off his latex gloves. Bring your husband with you when you come. You may need some emotional support. Or, you need someone to celebrate with if the news is good. Either way… He rose, dismissing her with a warm smile.

Nodding, Kat waited until the door was shut before dressing with clumsy hands that refused to do her bidding. She finally managed to zip up her jacket, retrieve her purse, and flee.

The drive home was a blur. Kat had hoped for a definitive answer, but now she had to wait again. She fought back tears, wiping angrily at her eyes. She hated uncertainty. Couldn’t Dr. Sanders see that she needed an answer now? She gulped down the rising bile in her throat and concentrated on driving. By the time she reached Wymess, she had calmed down. A week wasn’t that long, after all. She could do it. She had to do it.

Once home, she decided to run some long-postponed errands. She gathered up clothes for the cleaners, and a shoe that needed a heel reattached. There was a bag of clothes that had been on the bed in the spare room for weeks, waiting to be dropped off at the crisis ministry. She drove from place to place, concentrating on her list.

She was surprised to see Jordan’s car in the garage when she pulled in, and glanced at her watch. It was after five.

Jordan was in the den, sipping at his Glenlivet and scanning the morning paper for anything he had missed earlier. He looked up and said, Oh, there you are, in a voice that managed to convey both irritation and disinterest.

I went to see Dr. Sanders, she said. Then I had some things to do around town. She sat across from him, suddenly weary, and folded her hands in her lap.

Dr. Sanders? His gaze was vacant, as if he were digging deep into his memory. Isn’t that the doctor Jill Cohen recommended?

The surgeon, Kat said flatly, wondering if he had really forgotten or was play-acting. Either way, she wouldn’t remind him. What was done, was done.

What did he tell you? Jordan set his drink down, splashing a little onto the coffee table. He had finally noticed her pale face and trembling lips, and his disinterest became focused attention.

He couldn’t tell me anything today, but he did do a biopsy. I’ll have to wait until Tuesday, when he gets the lab results back to find out... She hesitated. He said you should come with me, just in case.

Jordan frowned. Just in case of what?

In case it is bad news, she said, her voice shaking in spite of her resolve. I don’t want to hear it by myself, Jordan. Please?

Kat, he sighed, wiping at the spill with a left-over Christmas cocktail napkin, you know we’re getting into tax season. And it isn’t going to be bad news; I hate to see you getting all upset about nothing. But I’ll see what I can arrange.

Chapter Two

Kat had heard that trying not to think about something was the surest way to keep it on your mind. She wasn’t sure if Jordan was also thinking about the upcoming consultation…he hadn’t mentioned it except to tell her he had had to juggle several appointments to be able to take the afternoon off. Kat had thanked him, her gratitude mixed with guilt for having upset his schedule.

Then, on Sunday, Jordan told her that couldn’t go with her to Southern Pines to visit her mother. The fact that he waited until after church to tell her wasn’t a surprise…he had done this before when a cloudy morning had changed into a sunny afternoon. And, it was surprisingly warm for January; Jordan wouldn’t be the only golfer on the course.

She’ll understand, Kat said. Secretly, she was relieved. Things had been strained enough without enduring an hour-long ride each way, each of them trying to pretend nothing was wrong.

And, Kat thought as she drove up Highway One, I can play my music. Jordan didn’t care for music; he preferred listening to sportscasts, the game depending on the season. She slipped a favorite CD into the slot and concentrated on driving, letting Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze soothe her jagged nerves like a balm until she reached Cypress Terrace. The facility was as familiar to her as her own home since the accident five years ago that had claimed her father’s life and left her mother crippled. The shattered bones had healed, but had left Eleanor with nerve damage that was as painful as it was debilitating.

Kat walked in the door, greeting the receptionist with a warm smile. Eleanor was in her apartment, seated in a wheelchair that almost dwarfed her fragile body. She was dressed in a comfortable micro-fleece top and pants, the light pink lending color to her pale cheeks.

Hi, Mom, Kat said, dropping a kiss on the white curls. Hello, darling. Eleanor peered behind Kat. Jordan didn’t come?

It’s a pretty day…what do you think? Kat teased.

I think he’s enjoying the wonders of nature as offered by the Wymess Country Club, Eleanor responded. Good! Now we can visit without him whining to go home every ten minutes. She made Kat’s husband sound like a child, but Kat had to agree. Jordan got restless after the first half-hour and went to badger the aides about the state of the shrubbery or carpets, or to inform them that a light bulb had burned out. What he didn’t know was that the aides had a code for his visits. A discreet summons for Dr. Crank warned all but the unwary or unlucky to check the corridors before setting forth.

How are you feeling? Kat asked as she sat down in the padded rocker reserved for company. Oh, you have a new plant. A miniature azalea bloomed on the top of the small bookshelf that held more medicine bottles than books or magazines.

From my old Sunday School class. Isn’t it pretty? Eleanor brightened. Clearly it meant a lot to her to know she hadn’t been forgotten. Then she grimaced. To answer your question, about the same. They’re trying a new therapy that’s about to kill me. I like the whirlpool, but now they have me trying to do exercises instead of just relaxing.

You need to strengthen those muscles, Mom. Why? It isn’t as if I’m going to walk again.

No, but it will let you sit up longer in your chair without hurting. Wouldn’t it be nice to play a full afternoon of bridge without having to stop and lie down?

I’d like to lie down for an entire night without having to get someone to help me sit up, Eleanor retorted. One full night of sleep…that’s my idea of heaven.

You don’t want much. I plan on being twenty pounds lighter and being able to eat all the Dunkin’ Donuts I can stuff in my mouth, Kat said. One of every variety.

As Kat had hoped, Eleanor shed her poor-me mood and laughed. Oh, Kat, you always had a sweet tooth. I had to hide anything I made for the PTA or church, remember?

Kat smiled at the image of herself as a chubby little girl, begging to lick the spoon or scrape the bowl whenever Eleanor baked. Those were good days.

Oh, her mother said suddenly, clapping her hands. I almost forgot. Someone brought the most delicious coconut cream cake this morning. They’ve put it out in the dining room. Let’s go down and have a piece with some tea.

Kat took the handles of the chair and pushed Eleanor down the hallway. There were several other people maneuvering in similar chairs or walkers. There was no set age, the patients—residents, Kat corrected herself—ranged from a teenager to nonagenarians, all victims of disease or accident. There were other visitors, too, as well as aides and an occasional nurse. Although the staff members were dressed in almost identical fashion to the visitors or residents, you could tell them by their purposeful stride and slightly harried look.

Kat kept up a light conversation as they ate a generous slice of cake and sipped Earl Gray tea. Eleanor seemed to enjoy the fuss the dining room attendant made over her, and Kat again blessed providence that they had found Cypress Terrace.

Too soon, however, Eleanor showed signs of pain and fatigue. Back in her room, she brushed off Kat’s offers of assistance. The nicest young girl comes every day about now; she’ll be here soon. She looked into Kat’s face. Is everything all right, honey?

Why shouldn’t it be? Kat asked with a nervous laugh.

I guess I’m just being…a mother. Eleanor sighed. "And that reminds me, I got the sweetest note from Jay. He says he’ll be

home for Easter. I’m so looking forward to seeing him and hearing all about his classes."

Me, too, Kat admitted. I said I was fine with his not coming for Christmas, but I really missed him. It just wasn’t the same.

Once they go off to college, it never is the same, Eleanor agreed.

As if her words were a cue, a young aide came into the room. Time for bed rest, Mrs. Whittaker, she said, sending Kat a warm smile over Eleanor’s head.

Kat rose and kissed her mother’s lined cheek. Bye, Mom. I’ll see you soon.

Drive carefully, Eleanor warned. And Kat… Yes, Mom?

If you need to talk, you know my phone is right by my bed. Don’t worry about disturbing me, you know what a light sleeper I am. All right?

Of course. But everything’s fine. You’re imagining things. On her way back to Wymess, Kat wondered at her mother’s intuition. She didn’t want to bother her with what might turn out to be a false alarm, but she missed being able to lay her head on her mother’s breast and sob out her fear.

Kat, you’re a big girl, now, she chided herself aloud. Mom has enough to worry about. She selected a Mendelssohn CD and let the music lift her. By the time she reached the house, she felt relaxed and was able to spend the evening without thinking of the ordeal ahead…too much.

Tuesday came at last. Jordan grumbled, but picked her up at the house an hour before her appointment. Kat had selected black slacks and a slimming black and gray patterned top, hoping it would disguise her extra pounds. The cake she’d eaten Sunday hadn’t helped, either, she thought ruefully.

For once, Jordan didn’t turn on the radio. He talked about his work, and repeated a joke someone had told him that morning. Kat knew he was trying to make her feel at ease, and was grateful. Still, her stomach was in knots as they finally sat across from Dr. Sanders’ desk…which was surprisingly neat compared to the torn pocket of his white coat and the unidentifiable stain that decorated his tie.

We found some atypical cells, he said without preliminary. "We’ll need to