Cracks in the Sidewalk(29)

~

Later that night Claire told Charlie, “I stopped by to see Jeffrey.”

“Oh,” Charles answered, waiting for bad news.

“I told him Liz would like to have her clothes and jewelry and personal stuff now that she’s home from the hospital. He said okay. He’ll bring them over.”

“He agreed?” Charles gave a sigh of relief. “Good. Maybe he’ll come around. One step at a time, Claire, that’s all we can hope for. One step at a time.”

She struggled with whether to tell Charlie what JT had said about not allowing Liz to see the kids, but in the end decided against it. Jeffrey had agreed to bring the things Liz needed and there was always a chance he would change his mind about the kids, especially after he saw how well she was doing.

~

Although Elizabeth’s left side remained paralyzed, she began to take interest in things she’d ignored for months. She slept less, listened to radio talk shows, and read—books, magazines, even the daily newspaper’s advertising inserts. Each night she’d cream her face with moisturizer and in the morning apply lipstick as pink as the peonies on her bedspread. She hadn’t done these things in the hospital. Her smile returned, rosy as the glow of the walls in her new bedroom.

Claire told her daughter Jeffrey would bring her clothes, and Elizabeth tried calling on the pretext of thanking him. He never answered. Instead of giving way to depression, Elizabeth began telephoning friends she’d not spoken with for months and asking if they’d come for a visit.

After just one week at home, she said, “Nancy’s coming over this afternoon. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Claire smiled. “Why, I’m delighted.”

That afternoon when Claire heard the ripple of Liz’s laughter, she began to believe in the impossible. Somehow, some way, the tumor’s size would continue to decrease. She imagined it shrinking, shriveling to the size of a pea, and then disappearing altogether. Claire still heard the far-off echo of Doctor Sorenson’s warning, “Not a cure,” but it disappeared beneath the sound of her daughter’s laughter.





The Following Month


For the first ten days of April Westfield awoke to an abundance of bright sunshine, each morning more glorious than the previous one. Then on the eleventh day, a Saturday, it began to rain. It started before dawn and grew heavier as darkness puddled into a watery gray morning.

Claire heard the rain pinging against the gutters and sensed this would be a bad day. Damp weather always brought a flare-up of the arthritis in her back, but she had the premonition of something far more troublesome waiting to happen. For a long while she lay there listening to the rain and trying to convince herself she was being foolish. Suddenly a loud crash splintered her thoughts.

She jumped from her bed shouting, “What happened? What—” But before an answer came Claire saw the puddles of water and shattered glass strewn across the floor.

Elizabeth was already becoming teary.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I was trying to pick up that glass of water, but something’s happened to my hand!”

“Don’t cry,” Claire said, moving across the floor without regard for the shards of glass. “It was an accident; accidents happen.”

“But I don’t understand,” Liz said, sobbing. “What’s happened to me?”

After making an obvious effort to lift her left arm, she finally reached across with her right hand and lifted the useless arm.

“Look at this!” she screamed. “I can’t even move my arm!”

Suddenly Claire realized Liz had no memory of her paralysis. She wrapped her arms around her daughter and gently explained, “You’re sick, sweetheart. There’s a tumor pressing against the side of your brain, and it causes this type of temporary paralysis.” Claire weighed each word carefully so she could explain without discouraging Liz.

“Actually, the treatments you’re taking have helped a lot. Why, in no time you’ll probably be back to your old self.”

Elizabeth looked at her mother, saying nothing.

“Do you remember the chemotherapy treatments?” Claire asked.

Still wearing a blank expression, Elizabeth shook her head side to side.

“Do you remember the hospital? Or Doctor Sorenson?”

“Oh.” A flicker of recognition suddenly registered. “Yes,” she said moments later, “of course I remember.”

Claire smiled. “See, you’re doing much better. You’re not expected to remember every single thing, that’s why—”

“But how could I possibly have forgotten something as important as this?”

“Doctor Sorenson told us these temporary memory lapses are to be expected. Once you’re better, they’ll stop.”

“I’ve done this before?”

“Only a few times. Never for more than a minute or so.”

Liz hesitated a moment, then brought her right hand to her face and covered her eyes.

“Oh, my God,” she moaned. “Now I remember. I remember it all.”

“Well, then, you know this is no time for feeling down,” Claire said. “You’ve made good progress, but you can’t expect to be totally self-sufficient—that’s why you’ve got this little bell alongside your bed. Jingle it, and I’ll help with whatever you want.”