"We'll move her to Boston later today and begin pre-op," Doctor Covington said.
"Does she know?" I asked.
"Yes," Doctor Covington said. "I don't believe in hiding a diagnosis from the one person it concerns the most," he said.
"You told her? But she'll be so sad," Belinda moaned.
"Actually, she took it rather well," Doctor Covington said. "Your mother looked up at me and said, 'So you'll fix it. I'll blink my eyes and it will be gone.'
He started to smile. Tears came to my eyes. Just like Mother to be that way, I thought.
"That nor'easter the other day," Daddy said with a deep sigh as we left the doctor's office, "wasn't anything compared to the storm ahead."
We followed the ambulance that took Mother to Boston. At times I thought Belinda was more excited about us staying in a Boston hotel, eating in restaurants and having time to do some shopping than she was worried about Mother. No matter how I snapped at her, she continued talking and acting like a child on an exciting trip. Finally, at the hotel, she burst into tears after I chastised her for flirting with the bellhop.
"I'm just as frightened as you are, Olivia, and just as worried. I'm only trying not to think about it. You don't care if you think about it. Your brain is like . . like a castle compared to the little house mine is. I don't have as much room in mine and I'm not as strong as you are, so stop yelling at me!" she pleaded, her face twisted in pain.
I stared at her a moment. She was right, I thought. "Let's not argue now," Daddy pleaded. "We've got to look strong and cheerful for your mother."
"Well, tell her to stop picking on me then," Belinda moaned.
"I won't say another word. Do whatever you want. Make a fool of yourself all day, for all I care," I said. She was satisfied.
Eventually, Daddy gave in to some of her requests and whenever we were away from the hospital, he took her shopping or gave her money to go to department stores herself. The boxes piled up in the hotel room. Running out of ideas, she even bought things for me.
The surgeon told us that the operation went well, but results and prognosis would have to wait until after the chemotherapy. As soon as she had made a complete recovery from the operation, therapy was to begin and that could take place at a hospital closer to home.
The third day after the operation, Mother was more buoyant and alert than we had seen her for a while.
"See," she told us, "I knew the doctors would fix things."
Belinda saw this welcomed buoyancy in Mother as an opportunity to talk about all the things she had bought and all the places she had been. It did amuse Mother, and I began to wonder if Belinda being the way she was wasn't better after all. They laughed a lot and Daddy's spirits rose as well.
He hired a special duty nurse
to care for Mother when she was brought home, and for a while it looked like we had come through the storm. Daddy and I returned to a regular work schedule and Belinda picked up where she had left off on her social life. Every night we had discussions about what her future might bring. Our optimism blew out of proportion, I know, because we even talked about having her enroll in one of the better universities. Daddy promised to talk to some of his influential associates and see what he could do.
Mother began her chemotherapy, which in the very beginning was quite devastating. She lost her hair rapidly and was back to being listless and exhausted most of the time. The house began to look more like a wing in the hospital with the nurse rushing about, the paraphernalia to care for Mother's needs, and the doctor's frequent visits.
I almost didn't notice the first days of spring, but Mother reminded me when she asked to be taken out to see her flowers and hear the birds. The daisies bloomed and the petunias spread. Sunlit lawns filled with crocus clusters. The tulips, jonquils and daffodils burst colorfully from the earth. Our trees were full and green, and once again the junipers swayed on the hills in rhythm with the warm breezes. Sailboats were seen more frequently on weekends now. It did look as if the world had come back to life and with it came a reason to hope and be happier, a time to give birth to romance and relationships, a time to expect something wonderful to happen.
However, I was still taken by surprise one day when a young man, Samuel Logan, the son of a man who owned a small lobster boat fleet and distribution company came to visit Daddy, but spent most of his time talking with me. He was a tall, well built man a little over six feet tall. He had devilish green eyes highlighted by his dark complexion and light brown hair. I thought he was by far the best-looking man who had ever shown any interest in me.
"I think it's very nice how you work side by side with your father," he said. "I know from just a few conversations with him that he puts a high value on your service. Most of the women I know are just window dressing. I mean," he added quickly, "there's nothing wrong with looking good. You look real fine, but it's nice to have something more in the package."
I didn't reply and he looked flustered.
"I don't mean package like some sort of merchandise. I mean to say, a more complete person. I guess I'm not the best at expressing myself," he concluded when I still sat there staring.
"I understand," I finally said. His smile flashed on, happiness brightening those green eyes even more.
"Good," he said. "So, what do you say to having some dinner with me tonight?"
"Excuse me?"
"Urn . . . going to dinner. You'd choose the restaurant, of course," he added.
"You're asking me to dinner?"