A Walk Along the Beach(58)

    Despite our prayers, every day the results were disappointing. It was hard to hold on when it was bad news followed by more bad news. We were left to watch Harper grow weaker and sicker every day.

It shocked me how quickly my sister had declined. She was bald now and wore a cute lilac-colored bow on the side of her hairless head.

“Leesa and Carrie are coming on Saturday,” I remembered. Their visit was sure to raise Harper’s spirits, and mine, too.

“Any more word from Sean?” Chantelle asked.

I shook my head. Although our conversation had been brief, Sean and I were fortunate to have had those few minutes. Remote as he was, I didn’t expect to hear from him again. I kept my phone tucked away on silent at the bottom of my purse, checking intermittently. If Sean had phoned during the day, I would have missed his call. Because it came in the middle of the night, we’d been able to talk.

“Did you hear back from the hotel?” I asked, knowing Chantelle had been waiting to hear about the possibility of changing the wedding date. It would be difficult at this point, seeing that the invitations had already been mailed out. That Lucas and Chantelle were willing to consider rescheduling their wedding said a lot about the kind of people they were.

Chantelle’s eyes immediately skirted away from mine. “The hotel is booked solid. I’ve checked every other venue in Oceanside and there’s not one available. I’ve looked in Seattle, too. Unfortunately, this late in the game, it’s impossible.”

    After much discussion in the end it was decided that it would be best to keep the original early-December date.

As hard as I tried, I couldn’t make myself entertain the notion that Harper wouldn’t be alive come December. The words nearly stuck in my throat; nevertheless, they needed to be said. “I don’t know if Harper will be up to participating as a bridesmaid.”

“Are you suggesting I make contingency plans?” Chantelle asked.

I bit into my lip so hard I was afraid I’d drawn blood. “I…think that might be best.” Although Lucas and Chantelle did their part to support Harper, I was the one who’d spent the most time with her. Seeing her decline a little more each day, I feared the worst while doing my utmost to remain positive.

“We need a meeting with Dr. Carroll and John,” Chantelle announced, wanting to hear for herself what we should expect.

My mind was stuck on the fact that the lab results had showed no improvement. Harper seemed to be losing ground, when we’d fully expected her to be gaining. After the first chemotherapy session, we all accepted that Harper was far too weak to endure another round. Everything that could traditionally be done to help had already been tried.

Chantelle walked over to the nurses’ station and spoke to the supervisor. When she returned, she said, “Dr. Carroll has asked to meet with all of us tomorrow afternoon. John will be with him.”

By “all of us,” I knew she meant that Harper would be in on the meeting. That made sense, although I’d prefer to keep her in the dark for as long as possible. If the news was debilitating, then I’d rather she not hear it. I felt it was my duty to protect my sister from as much of the negative as I could. She’d hate it if she knew that was what I was doing. She’d insist I was mothering her again, and I was. I couldn’t help myself.



* * *



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    Wednesday afternoon, Lucas got off work early and met Chantelle and me in Harper’s hospital room. She had a private room, which was decorated with cards and gifts from family and friends. Our father had found a stuffed white kitten so Harper would have Snowball by her side. It sat by her head, next to her pillow.

As we awaited the two physicians’ arrival, Harper’s phone rang. When she answered, a smile came to her.

“Hi, Daddy.”

Our father had talked to Harper only a few times. He checked in with me every night to ask for an update. When it came to Harper, he found it painfully difficult. I knew this was hard for him, and I loved him even more for making the effort.

“Better, I think.” She listened for several moments while Dad spoke.

She was still on the phone when John and Dr. Carroll came into the room.

“Sorry, Dad, I need to go. The doctors are here. Thanks for calling. Love you, too.” She disconnected and set the phone aside. Seeing that she was sitting up in bed was a good sign. It seemed a bit of her strength had returned. That was an encouragement when we badly needed one.

Dr. Carroll, unlike John, was middle-aged, probably early fifties, tall, slim, with warm blue eyes. Over the course of the time Harper had been hospitalized I’d had numerous conversations with him, and even more with John, as he was closely following Harper’s treatment strategy. Although Dr. Carroll was in charge of Harper, it was John who spent most of the time caring for her, although he wasn’t the physician in charge.

Ignoring the rest of us, John’s gaze immediately went to Harper, and he smiled. As I watched the two, I realized how strong his feelings were for my sister. It showed in the way he looked at her, as if he didn’t notice that she was bald and shockingly thin; he saw her as the beautiful woman she was. In that instant I fell a little in love with him myself.

    “Dr. Carroll, this is my family. You’ve met Willa.” Harper motioned toward me. “This is Lucas. He’s usually here after you’ve left for the day. And this is his fiancée, Chantelle. You’ve probably seen her around now and again.”