Cracks in the Sidewalk(40)

Charlie shrugged and cranked up the air conditioning to maximum. “Is that better?”

“A bit,” she answered, although her face still felt flushed and her blouse soaked through with perspiration.

They talked about stopping for milk, paying the paperboy, and that evening’s television programming, but neither of them said a word about Doctor Belleau’s questions.

~

Two days later the telephone rang while Claire folded laundry in the basement, so Elizabeth answered it.

“Missus McDermott?” the caller inquired.

“No, this is her daughter,” Liz said.

Doctor Belleau then identified himself and explained that he had actually hoped to speak to her.

“The court has requested that I interview all parties involved in your plea for visitation,” he said. “I was hoping you’d have a few minutes. Of course, if you’d prefer to do this in person—”

“No, no,” Elizabeth answered nervously. “This is fine.”

They talked for several minutes, and then Doctor Belleau asked why Elizabeth thought her husband refused to let her see the children.

“Do you know I have a malignant brain tumor that’s terminal?” she asked.

“Yes, I am aware of that.”

“Well, that’s why. He claims he wants to wean the children away from whatever attachment they have to me so they won’t notice when I die.”

“Not notice? Is that what you think?”

“No, that’s what Jeffrey said.”

“What about you, how do you feel?”

“I believe my sweet babies need every good memory of me that I can cram into their heads. Then when I’m gone, they’ll be able to remember how much their mother loved them.”

For several heartbeats Doctor Belleau said nothing. Finally he cleared his throat and asked if Elizabeth thought she was physically strong enough to hold the baby or care for the older children.

“I’d have to sit to hold Christian,” she answered. “Mom and Dad are here to help me, so I don’t think that’s a problem. David and Kimberly adore Mom, and they’d be no trouble at all.”

“Your mother seems quite stressed,” he said. “Do you think she could handle taking care of you and the children at the same time?”

“You don’t know Mom,” Elizabeth replied laughingly. “She could run a hospital and a nursery school at the same time if she had a mind to.”

“Ah, yes,” Doctor Belleau said, chuckling. “I know what you mean. My mother raised five sons, and she’s the same—tough as nails but soft as an old shoe.”

Elizabeth laughed again. “You’ve got it.”

They talked for a few minutes more, not about Jeffrey or the plea for visitation, but about Liz’s love for her children and how she missed them. Eventually the doctor thanked her for her time and hung up.

When Claire came from the basement carrying her basket of freshly-folded sheets and towels, she asked, “Was that the telephone?”

“Yes,” Liz answered, “but it was for me.”

Claire smiled and continued upstairs with her basket.





Elizabeth Caruthers


This hateful thing inside my head is tearing my family apart, piece by painful piece. Mother and Dad think I don’t see this, but I do. In the evening they sit across from each other for hours without speaking. That’s not like either of them. It used to be that Mom would chatter endlessly—telling Dad about all the things he needed to repair, gossiping about a neighbor, making plans for the weekend. Now she’s got nothing to say, because of me. She and Daddy think about me all the time but it’s too painful to discuss, so they sit there and say nothing.

The irony is if you measured my tumor it would be small enough to hold in your hand, like a bird’s egg or crabapple maybe. But inside your head it becomes enormous, bigger than anything you could ever imagine. It takes over your life and spreads itself into the center of everything. People start edging their way around it, the way they would an elephant standing in the middle of the room. We all know it’s there, but given its size and capacity for destruction we pretend not to notice. We don’t even speak of it because calling attention to it might unleash its fury.

Dad’s worse than Mom in some ways. He’s convinced himself there’s a cure right around the corner—a new drug or some miraculous regimen of chemotherapy they’re hiding from us. Me, I know better. I know if such a thing existed, Doctor Sorenson would have given it to me.

I feel sorry enough for myself, but I feel even sorrier for Mom. I’m her whole life. She’s been like that as far back as I can remember. Most moms shoo their kids out to play, but not my mom. If I asked to make cookies, she’d stop whatever she was doing just so we could make cookies together. I can’t remember a single instance when she was too busy to spend time with me or my kids. So I keep asking myself, what is she gonna do with all that empty time when I’m gone? Hopefully, she’ll be able to spend time with the kids. My babies are the only part of me she’ll have left.

I know JT believes seeing me will upset the children, but I can’t understand why he wants to keep them away from Mom. She’s never done anything except love and care for them. But, no, Jeffrey would rather pay Missus Ramirez to watch them and then complain about how he has no money.