Though the radiation treatments themselves lasted only a few minutes a day, they monopolized Claire’s life. By the fourth day, she was tired and nauseated. But the side effects weren’t half as bad as the phone calls.
Every day, she called home at precisely noon. Ali always answered on the first ring and asked if the owie was all better yet, then Dad got on the phone and asked the same question in a different way. The strength it took to pretend was already waning.
Meghann stood beside her for every call. She hardly went to the office anymore. Maybe three hours a day, tops. The rest of the time, she spent huddled over books and articles, or glued to the Internet. She attacked the issue of a tumor the way she’d once gone after deadbeat dads.
Claire appreciated it; she read everything that Meghann handed her. She’d even consented to drink the “BTC”—brain tumor cocktail—Meghann had devised based on her research. It contained all kinds of vitamins and minerals.
They talked daily about treatments and prognoses and trials. What they didn’t talk about was the future. Claire couldn’t find the courage to say, I’m afraid, and Meg never asked the question.
The only time Meg seemed willing to disappear into the woodwork was at 2:00. The designated Bobby Phone Call time.
Now, Claire was alone in the living room. In the kitchen, the 2:00 buzzer was beeping. As usual, Meg had heard it and made an excuse to leave the room.
Claire picked up the phone and dialed Bobby’s new cell phone number.
He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re two minutes late.” Bobby’s voice poured through her cold, cold body, warming her.
She leaned back into the sofa’s downy cushions. “Tell me about your day.” She’d found that it was easier to listen than to talk. At first, she’d been able to laugh at his stories and make up pretty lies. Lately, though, her mind was a little foggy, and the exhaustion was almost unbearable. She wondered how long it would be before he noticed that she spent their conversations listening to him, or that her voice almost always broke when she said, I love you.
“I met George Strait today. Can you believe it? He passed on a song—one called ‘Dark Country Corners’—and then mentioned that it’d be a good match with my voice. I listened to the song and it was great.” He started to sing to her.
A sob caught in her throat. She had to stop him before she burst into tears. “That’s beautiful. Top 10 for sure.”
“Are you okay, baby?”
“I’m fine. Everyone here is fine. Meg and I have been spending a lot of time together; you’d be surprised. And Ali and Sam send their love.”
“Slap ’em right back with mine. I miss you, Claire.”
“I miss you, too. But it’s only a few more weeks.”
“Kent thinks we should have all the songs chosen by next week. Then it’s into the studio. Do you think you could come down for that? I’d love to sing the songs to you.”
“Maybe,” she said, wondering what lie she’d come up with when the time came. She was too exhausted to think of one now. “Are you loving every minute down there?”
“As much as I can love anything without you. But, yeah.”
She was doing the right thing. She was. “Well, babe, I’ve got to run. Meg is taking me out to lunch. Then we’re getting manicures at the Gene Juarez Spa.”
“I thought you got a manicure yesterday?”
Claire winced. “Uh. Those were pedicures. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Claire. Is … is everything okay?”
She felt the sting of tears again. “Everything’s perfect.”
“I made us a picnic lunch,” Meghann said the next morning after another treatment.
“I’m not very hungry,” Claire answered.
“I know that. I just thought …”
Claire hauled up the will to think about someone else. Sadly, that was becoming difficult, too. “You’re right. It’s a beautiful day.”
Meghann led her to the car. Within minutes they were on the freeway. To their left, Lake Union sparkled in the sunlight. They passed the Gothic brick buildings of the University of Washington, then raced over the floating bridge.
Lake Washington was busy today. Boats zipped back and forth, hauling skiers in their wake.
On Mercer Island, Meghann exited the freeway and turned onto a narrow, tree-lined drive. At a beautiful, gray-shingled house, she parked. “This is my partner’s house. She said we were welcome to spend the afternoon here.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t fired you, with all the time you’ve taken off lately.”
Meghann helped Claire out of the car and down the grassy lawn to the silvery wooden dock that cut into the blue water. “Remember Lake Winobee?” she said, guiding Claire to the end of the dock, helping her sit down without falling.
“The summer I got that pink bathing suit?”