Reunion Read online

  He covered her hand with his, his teeth clenched. The figure was still finding its way to the recesses of Erin’s mind when Dave delivered the final blow.

  “Five thousand in twenty-four hours.” He flashed a smile that fell far short of his eyes. “Or the deal’s off.”

  * * *

  The blood test had been the doctor’s idea.

  Not because he doubted whether she was HIV-positive. In fact, since he’d taken over Ashley’s case, the doctor had called the original lab and discovered that they had done two tests with the original blood sample. Both were positive. Rather, he wanted a complete panel on her, a breakdown of her enzymes and mineral levels and every other test that might determine how healthy she was, how compromised her immune system. And most of all, what method of treatment to take.

  Ashley expected the results to come by phone, the way they had the last time, but this warm Friday morning stuck in the middle of a stack of mail was a thick envelope from the lab. Ashley studied it as she made her way back into the house.

  Cole was inside, writing his alphabet on a piece of paper. He grinned at her from the dining-room table as she walked in. “Hi, Mom.” His feet didn’t quite reach the floor, and he swung them under his seat. “I’m on T already.”

  “Really?” Ashley’s eyes were back on the envelope. “That’s great, buddy. Tell me when you’re done so I can check it.”

  She went into the kitchen and set the rest of the mail on a desk by the telephone. She stared at the thick envelope, slipped her thumb beneath the flap, and pulled out the stapled document.

  Next to her name, the top sheet read “Lab Results.”

  Ashley had no reason to feel nervous or strange about the results. She already knew she was HIV-positive; it was only a matter of how her blood was holding up under the compromise of HIV, and whether any sort of progression toward full-blown AIDS could be seen.

  Her eyes darted over the page, anxious for the summary lines, the places where any untrained person could make sense of the numbers and calculations. Then, at the bottom of the first sheet she saw it. A simple few lines with only a few words that made Ashley’s heart skitter into a strange and unrecognizable beat.

  She sucked in a quick breath and blinked hard.

  It was impossible; she couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. Someone had to have made a mistake.

  Her head began to spin, and she gripped the counter to keep from falling to the floor. She had to find Landon, had to tell him.

  “Mommy . . . I’m all done!” Cole’s singsong voice called out to her from the adjacent room. “Come check.”

  “Okay.” Ashley’s face was hot and tingling, the way she felt when she got too close to a campfire. “Just a minute.” She pressed her hands against her cheeks and jerked back. Her fingers were freezing. She found the results line again. They couldn’t be right, could they?

  A chill made its way from the back of her head, down her spine, and into her feet. God, is it true? Is it really true? Then one last time she studied the lab results and began to imagine that maybe—just maybe—they were right. It wasn’t possible, but still . . . what if? What if she’d come this far, given up so much, only to find out this? She wasn’t sure whether to scream or shout or break down on the floor and cry.

  But she was sure of one thing.

  If the results were accurate, from this moment on, her life would never be the same again.

  Chapter Two

  Dr. Steinman was still talking, still explaining her results, but Elizabeth hadn’t heard a single word. She could only think of what this meeting would mean to her family.

  The doctor stopped talking and looked at her, waiting. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Elizabeth?”

  She glanced at John, still sitting beside her. He had a tight grip on her hand, but his face was cast down, his eyes closed. She wanted to shake him, make him look up and smile and tell her everything was going to be okay. The way he’d been telling her that before the doctor told them the results.

  But the doctor was waiting. She turned to him and gave a slight shake of her head. “I . . . I guess I don’t understand.”

  A tired breath came from Dr. Steinman. He was a friend of John’s. This couldn’t be easy for him, either. “What I’m saying is yes, Elizabeth, the cancer is back. The mammogram showed a shadow on your other breast, and the biopsy tells me that whatever we’re dealing with, it’s stronger, more aggressive than before.” The doctor bit his lower lip and looked from Elizabeth to John. “I’m sorry; there’s no other way to say it. I’m recommending a double mastectomy. I’d like to do it Monday.”

  This time every word hit its mark. Elizabeth couldn’t remember how to exhale, couldn’t react or speak or do anything but sit there, frozen. Double mastectomy? Monday? It was impossible, utterly ridiculous. She’d been cancer-free for more than ten years, well past the five-year mark that deemed a person winner of the battle.

  The doctor was waiting for her response, but she couldn’t talk, couldn’t move or even blink her eyes. If she said anything at all, then the doctor’s diagnosis would be real. She would be sitting across from him in his office, John at her side, receiving the worst news of her life. And so she said nothing, only leaned hard into John’s arm.

  That’s when she saw his eyes. For the first time in those awful minutes, Elizabeth caught a look at her husband’s face and saw how grim the situation truly was. John’s eyes were filled with fear. On occasion, she had seen John cry, seen him weep when Luke returned to the family or tear up when he walked Kari down the aisle. But this was the first time she’d ever seen raw, terrifying fear in her husband’s eyes.

  Dr. Steinman put Elizabeth’s file back together and looked at both of them. “If Monday won’t work for you, I’d like to do the surgery as soon as possible.” He stood up, hesitated, and moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you alone so you can talk about it.” Another awkward pause. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, John . . . I’m sorry.”

  When he was gone, John stood and helped Elizabeth to her feet. She gathered her purse and like wound-up robots, they left the office hand in hand, silent. John drove and all the way home they said nothing, the shock of the news still detonating in Elizabeth’s heart and soul and mind, the way she was sure it was detonating in John’s.

  It was a school day, and Cole—in his last year before kindergarten—was at home with Ashley because of her appointment. Just a checkup, they’d told the kids when she went in for her mammogram. They didn’t say a word about the biopsy or the reason for today’s appointment. The last thing Elizabeth wanted was a rash of phone calls the moment they heard the news.

  Better to let them believe—for a little while longer—that their worlds were finally running smoothly, that the woman they loved and counted on wasn’t about to undergo the battle of her life. She opened the car door, got out, and began to walk. Only when she heard John’s voice did she turn around.

  “Elizabeth . . . wait.” He climbed out and leaned against the car. “We need to talk.”

  “Fine.” She closed her eyes and breathed in, long and slow. The air smelled sweet, of early spring and damp earth giving way to life. Her knees trembled, and the ground beneath her felt suddenly liquid. The façade could only hold up for so long. She blinked her eyes open.

  “Where are you going?”

  Only one place would do for this conversation. “Follow me.” Each word was an effort, an exercise in control. “Please, John.”

  She waited until he was at her side, until his hand was in hers. As they set out, he had a sense of purpose, a way of taking the lead, and something about that touched Elizabeth’s heart. Because he knew where she wanted to go. He was reading her mind, even now. Especially now. When she was reeling from the worst news of her life.

  They walked across the gentle slope of their backyard to the footbridge that crossed the stream behind the house. There, not far from the bridge and framed by a hedge of brush and budding trees, was a bench
still covered in leaves from the previous fall.

  “Here?” He looked at her, his expression blank, frozen.

  Words wouldn’t come so she simply nodded.

  Years had passed since they’d come here. Long ago—when the kids were still in school—the bench was their private place, the spot where they talked about Kari’s schoolgirl crush on Ryan Taylor, where they prayed that Brooke would develop social skills to go with her bright mind and determination. It was the spot where they shared talks about Ashley and her teenage rebellion, where they came when Elizabeth wondered if Erin’s meal skipping indicated the early stages of an eating disorder. Finally, it was the place where they prayed for Luke, that he’d find the compassion he sometimes seemed to lack.

  The bench had heard it all.

  Elizabeth and John would slip out for an evening walk, taking in the boundaries of their property, talking about their day, and always they would wind up at the old bench. From the bench Elizabeth could see the back of the house, and her children busy inside it. The bench was quiet, removed from the chaos and constant disarray that their house had been back then. Their conversations could take place uninterrupted, graced only by the background music of flowing creek waters, rustling leaves, and the cry of an occasional lone hawk.

  Several years back—when the kids moved away and privacy was no longer an issue—their evening talks moved to their bedroom and the overstuffed chairs in front of their small fireplace. But that place would never do now. Not when her entire house would be screaming with memories, each room and corner shouting about all she had to lose.

  No, the bench was as close as she wanted to be.

  John turned to her and said nothing, just studied her, his face masked in shock. Then, without another word, he drew her close. “Elizabeth . . .”

  She slipped her arms around his waist and they came together, their bodies finding that familiar fit Elizabeth loved. The fit that would change when the surgeon was finished with her. A million thoughts welled up, demanding expression. But when she opened her mouth, the sound that came out was a gut-wrenching, broken cry, desperate and mournful and so powerful it made her weak at the knees.

  “John . . .” His name was more wail than word. She held her breath, grasping for even a modicum of strength. “Why?”

  He held her up, the way he had always held her up whenever life was hard. They stayed that way a long time, Elizabeth allowing just the surface of her sorrow to spill onto John’s shoulder. As she wept she could feel him shaking, feel his shoulders trembling against hers, because this—this was bigger than anything they’d faced yet.

  But even now it wasn’t bigger than the God they’d spent a lifetime serving.

  She steadied her knees and placed her hands on his chest. Prayer. They needed to pray before she could even begin to consider the future. She searched his tearstained eyes. The sun beat down on them, but it did nothing to ward off the chill in her bones. “Pray, John . . .” She sniffed twice and stared at the brilliant blue sky overhead. When her eyes found his again, she looked to the depths of his soul. “Pray before we lose another minute. Please.”

  He hesitated, but only for a heartbeat. “God . . .” He closed his eyes and his voice broke. He worked his hands around her waist, chin trembling. “God, you know why we’re here.”

  Elizabeth kept her eyes open, watching him, hating how their lives had been turned upside down by a single diagnosis. They weren’t really doing this, were they? How could the cancer be back?

  John stood straighter, clinging to his composure. “You are not limited by medical reports or statistics or cancer. We trust you, God. Please—” a shaky breath slipped through his lips—“please give Elizabeth a miracle.” His voice was strained as he finished. “In Jesus’ name . . . we beg you, God.”

  They stayed that way until both their tears were dry, holding on to each other so neither of them would fall. Then John brushed the bench clean, and they sat down.

  Elizabeth had never felt this way in all her life. A strange mix of adrenaline and sorrow and anger and panic welled within her and coursed through her veins, so that part of her wanted to weep, and another part of her wanted to run for her life.

  John wove his fingers between hers. “Will you do it?” He turned to her. “The surgery?”

  Her throat grew thick as she watched him, the only man she’d ever loved. She kept her eyes locked on his. “Of course I’ll do it. I’ll do it Monday, like he asked. I’d let them cut my arms off if it meant more time with you and the kids.”

  “How—” he sighed in a way that made him sound far older than his nearly sixty years—“how do you feel?”

  “About the surgery?” Her body was still cold, still shivering. She snuggled closer to John. “Or the cancer?”

  “All of it.”

  “Scared.” Elizabeth leaned her head on his shoulder. “Mad. Desperate. Determined.” A sad sound came from her throat. “It changes every few seconds.”

  “The surgery is better than it used to be, more accurate.” John turned toward her. “But still . . .”

  “Still I lose my breasts.”

  “Yes.” Defeat and frustration and helplessness jumbled his expression.

  “I guess I’m not thinking about that yet.” Elizabeth lifted her head and studied the old house a hundred yards away. “I’m thinking what if it doesn’t work?” She looked at him. “What if it’s already spread?”

  “It hasn’t.” John gritted his teeth and she watched the muscles in his jaw flex twice. “You can’t think that way.”

  “It’s possible, John. You know it.” She looked at the house again. “I was thinking on the way home, you know how we talk at church about heaven and being ready to die? about how heaven will be better, and eternity is where life really begins?” She sat up straighter. “I can’t remember how many times I’ve told myself I wasn’t afraid to die.” Her shoulders lifted in two small shrugs. “I know all the right verses. ‘What is our life but a mist that appears for a little while then disappears’. . . or ‘To live is Christ; to die is gain.’ I’ve spoken them dozens of times and always felt at peace with the idea of death.”

  A breeze sifted through the trees above them. John ran his thumb over the top of her hand. “And now?”

  “Now—” her eyes narrowed, seeing into the distant future—“now I only want to live long enough to see Ashley and Landon set a date for their wedding, to see Cole finally have a father, to know that Hayley’s going to be okay, and to meet Erin and Sam’s new little daughter. To be there for Kari when she and Ryan have their first baby and to help Ashley when she . . . if she comes down with AIDS.”

  Tears filled her eyes again, and once more she turned to John. “I don’t want to be a mist that appears for a little while, John. I don’t want to go to heaven, not yet. I want to see my kids and my grandkids grow up. Not being there scares me to death.”

  John squeezed her hand. “So fight it.” His voice held determination for the first time since they’d gotten the news. He framed her face with his free hand. “Fight it with everything you have. And when you don’t feel like fighting, lean on me and I’ll fight for you.”

  “I will.” She sniffed. “I’ll fight it with every breath.” She searched his face, his eyes. The love coming from him was so strong it felt as if that alone might heal her. “Know what I want?”

  “What?” He lowered his hand to her knee.

  “I want a reunion with all the kids.” She looked up again, seeing beyond the blue sky. “We could go somewhere warm with a beach—Sanibel Island, Florida, maybe. We could go in July or August, when everyone could get away.”

  “Hmmm.” John cocked his head. “Our thirty-fifth anniversary is August twenty-second. Maybe that week.”

  “Yes!” It was the first time she’d felt even a little excited all day. “If we tell them now, everyone would have time to make it work.”

  “Elizabeth . . .” John’s tone changed. “This reunion . . . is it because you�
�re sick? Because you can’t be thinking like that, like you need a last time together. Not now.”

  Fear took another stab at her. “I’ve been thinking about this long before my tests. I want this, John. No matter what happens.”

  “Okay.” His eyebrows relaxed some. “It has been a while since we’ve all been together.”

  Something happened in her soul at the sound of his words. All together. It had been a while since she’d thought of him, but now her heart demanded she take stock of her life. Even the parts she’d spent a lifetime trying to forget. “Of course—” she searched his eyes—“we’ll never really be all together. Not all of us.”

  John’s face went blank. He opened his mouth as if he might argue with her, because they’d all been together hundreds of times over the years. But then he stopped. Ever so slowly the real meaning of her statement struck him. A gradual dawning, an understanding, and then the pain hit. Hard and relentless, she watched it take its toll on his expression. He released her hand, stood slowly, and took a few steps toward the house.

  Instantly Elizabeth regretted saying anything. They’d promised, after all, agreed all those years ago that they could never look back. But if time was running out, Elizabeth had to at least think about it. She couldn’t change the past, but she could acknowledge it.

  Minutes passed before he spoke. When he did, his shoulders were broad and stiff, his voice laced with a new kind of pain. “I knew it.”

  She stood and went to him, looping her arm around his neck and leaning against him once more. “Knew what?”

  He looked at her. “You couldn’t forget.”

  “This isn’t the first time.”

  “I know, but we always promise.” Control eased into his features and he pursed his lips.

  “Sometimes we last a year or two years. It’s been more than three this time.” Elizabeth held on to him, her knees weak again. “But it never quite goes away.”