Two by Two(81)

I kissed her goodnight and went back downstairs. I turned on the TV, but  the photos that Emily had taken seemed to call to me. I pulled out my  phone again and lingered over the images with a smile on my face, more  grateful than ever to be the father to such an amazing little girl.





Emily waved as soon as I walked into art class with London the following  morning. London ran over to hug her, then went to chase down Bodhi.

"That was fun last night," she said. "I think we're a good team when it comes to keeping the kids entertained."

"Agreed," I said, reflecting that I'd been happily entertained as well.  "And thanks for the photos-I'm probably going to get one or two framed.  Even with just an iPhone, you clearly have an artist's eye."

"Maybe …  or maybe I just sent you the best of the hundred or so I shot," she said with a mischievous smile.

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the strip mall. "You want to grab a cup of coffee while the kids are occupied?"

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do," I said, holding open the door for her. And I meant it.





"It's the cancer," my mom insisted. "I just know he has the cancer."

Standing in the kitchen, my mom was reprising her usual worries in  particularly urgent tones. We'd barely walked in the door after art  class when she pulled me aside for a hushed conference.

"Was he having trouble breathing again?"

"No," she said. "But I had the dream about the hospital again last  night. Only this time, there was no purple pig. And this time, the  doctor was a woman. She was talking about the cancer."

"Did you ever think it might just be a dream?"

"Do you have the same dreams twice?"

"I have no idea. I don't remember most of my dreams. But I wouldn't read  too much into it unless you've actually noticed something amiss with  Dad."

She looked at me with a mournful expression. "The cancer sometimes doesn't show many symptoms until it's too late."

"So you're saying that because he feels fine, he might be sick?"

She crossed her arms. "Explain to me why I dreamed it twice."

I sighed. "Do you want me to talk to Dad again?"

"No," she said. "But I do want you to keep an eye on him. And if you see  something, I'll need your help getting him to the doctor."         

     



 

"I'm not sure I'd even know what to look for," I protested.

"You'll know it when you see it."





"Did Mom waylay you about the cancer?" Marge asked, pouring herself a glass of sweet tea from the pitcher on the table.

I'd just joined her and Liz on the back porch, after sending London off  to help my mom in the kitchen. As usual my dad was in the garage,  probably lifting an engine out with his bare hands.

"Oh yeah," I said, holding out a glass of my own for Marge to fill.  "It's been a few months since she last brought it up, so I guess I  should have expected it." I rubbed a hand over my face. "I hope I never  get like that."

"Like what?"

"Living in fear all the time."

"She has good reason," Marge said. "The cancer knocked off her entire side of the family. Don't you ever worry about it?"

"I don't think I've ever had time to worry about it."

"I think about it," Marge said. "I don't worry, but it does cross my  mind from time to time. But I have the sense that if Dad ever starts to  develop cancer, the healthy cells will strut over, tap the bad cells on  their shoulders, and then proceed to beat the crap out of them." The  afternoon sun played across Marge's amused expression, throwing her  cheekbones into sharp relief.

"Hey, you're looking good, by the way," I remarked. "You've lost some weight."

"Thanks for finally noticing," said, preening a little bit. "You didn't say anything yesterday."

"I'm paying attention now. Are you on a diet?"

"Of course. I'm going on vacation-meaning, I'll be hitting the beach,  and a gal's got to look her best. Besides, with all that running, you  were starting to look better than me and I just couldn't have that."

I rolled my eyes and turned to Liz. "And how are you doing, Liz? Marge said you're drowning at work."

"Yeah, I've been covering for another therapist who's been on leave.  Lately I spend most of my free time fantasizing about our getaway to  Costa Rica. I've even been trying out some Latin American recipes, but  Marge won't eat any of it because of the carbs. I keep reminding her  that people in Costa Rica aren't as overweight as they are here in US,  but to no avail."

"I know my body," Marge countered. "And it helped that I was sick, since  my appetite was nonexistent. On a more interesting note, though, did  you see the fair Emily today? At art class?"

I pointedly turned to Liz. "Do you know what I like about you?"

"What's that?"

"You don't seem to feel the need to pry into my personal life every time we talk."

"She doesn't have to pry," Marge said. "As a general rule, you blurt out  everything you're thinking or feeling without prompting."

Marge probably had a point, but still. I sighed. "I not only saw her  today, but we also went to the aquarium last night. With the kids. We're  friends, that's all."

"And you probably haven't even noticed how pretty she is, either."

Liz laughed. "Whatever the reason, I'm happy for you, Russ. You seem to be in a much better place these days."

"I am," I said, surprising myself. "I really am."





After Vivian FaceTimed with London, I asked her to call me back to  discuss London's upcoming birthday party. When she did, her tone was  markedly icier than it had been over the previous weekend.

"I've already made all the arrangements," she said. "I've rented one of  those bouncy houses to set up in the backyard, I've set up the catering  and I've ordered a Barbie birthday cake. I sent out email invitations as  well."

"Uh, okay … ," I said, caught off guard by her chilly demeanor. "Can you tell me what time the party is going to start?"

"Two."

Nothing else. She seemed to be trying to make me feel purposely uncomfortable.

"All right," I said slowly. "I assume you sent my parents and Marge and  Liz an Evite, but I'll confirm with them just in case." When she didn't  answer, I went on. "And you're still planning to stay in the guest room,  right?"

"Yes, Russ. I'm staying in the guest room. We've already talked about this."

"Just making sure," I said before she abruptly ended the call.

I let out a long, slow breath. Despite the truce of the previous weekend, it seemed that all bets were off again.         

     



 





CHAPTER 22





The Eye of the Storm


As a kid, I always loved thunderstorms.

Marge thought I was a kook, but when thunderstorms approached, I would  feel an electric sense of anticipation, akin to what my dad felt before  the World Series. I would insist on turning out all the lights and would  move the armchairs closer to the big picture window in the living room.  Sometimes, I would even toss a bag of popcorn into the microwave, and,  together, Marge and I would snack while we watched the "show."

In the darkness, we would sit riveted as lightning split the sky in two  or flickered in the clouds like strobe lights. During the best storms,  the strikes would be close enough for us to feel the static electricity,  and I would notice Marge gripping the armrest of her chair. Always,  though, we would count how many seconds passed between a flash of  lighting and the thunder, tracking the progress of the storm as the  center drew near.

In the South, thunderstorms don't usually last very long. Typically,  they would pass in thirty or forty minutes, and when the last rumble of  thunder faded away we would reluctantly rise from our chairs and turn on  the lights, going back to whatever it was we'd been doing before.

Hurricanes were a different story, however. My ever-cautious dad always  boarded up the big picture window, so we couldn't watch the full extent  of the spectacle. But I remained fascinated by the apocalyptic winds and  torrential rain …  and especially the approach of the eye-that surreal  moment when the winds abated entirely and it was sometimes even possible  to see blue skies overhead. But the calm is only temporary, for the  back half of the hurricane still lies in wait and with it, sometimes  even greater destruction.

Which, I wonder, is more analogous to life? Or, rather, to my life that  terrible year? Was it a series of violent storms, bursting in quick  succession? Or was it a single massive hurricane, with an eye that  lulled me into believing I'd survived intact, when, in fact, the worst  was yet to come?

I don't know.

All I know for certain is that I hope never to experience another year like it, for as long as I live.





London loved her birthday party. The bouncy castle was a hit, she  clapped with delight when she saw the cake, and she had fun playing with  her friends, especially Bodhi. Emily brought him by, but didn't stay,  claiming that she needed to meet with the gallery owner to finalize some  things for her upcoming show. Another one of the kids' parents had  already promised to bring Bodhi home. She apologized for not sticking  around, but I think we were both eager to avoid any awkwardness with  Vivian.