Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(4)

She broke into a jog as soon as she saw her aunt, who looked so different from the last time she had seen her, only five months ago. Barbara Elizabeth Moyer was a tall, strong woman and had always been on the huggably beamy side, but no longer. Her fisherman’s sweater and jeans drooped on a much thinner frame, and her long, thick silvery hair had vanished, replaced by a red bandanna knotted at her nape, over a newly bald head. She was only in her early fifties, but her face had acquired the gauntness of an older person, emphasizing the prominence of her cheekbones and her large, deep-set blue eyes. She sat alone at her wrought-iron table with a glass top, surrounded by the fading reds, pinks, and yellows of her beloved roses, now past their season.

“Aunt Barb!” Judy called out, tears returning to her eyes. She threw open her arms just as her aunt stood up and gave her a hug.

“Honey, don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right.”

“No it’s not!” Judy blurted out, burying her head in her aunt’s bony shoulder, knowing that she was saying the exact wrong thing at the exact wrong time.

“Yes, it will, you’ll see.” Her aunt clucked softly, patting her back. “Don’t worry.”

“What happened?” Judy sobbed. “When did this … happen?”

“About nine months ago. Don’t cry, really, sweetie.” Aunt Barb gave her a final pat on the back. “I’m going to be well again, you’ll see.”

“You will be, I know you will be,” Judy said, her words slightly blubby, but her tears subsiding. She let her aunt go and wiped her cheeks with her hand. “So, I mean, can you explain? How did I not know? I mean, what’s going on? And where’s Mom?”

“In the kitchen. Here, sit down and I’ll catch you up.” Aunt Barb pressed Judy into the wrought-iron chair opposite her, her eyes glinting in the bright sun. “So … I found a lump in my left breast, a puckering, kind of. Turns out, it was stage II breast cancer.”

“Oh my.” Judy swallowed hard, trying not to cry again. Stage II sounded terrifying, though she wasn’t about to ask what was the highest stage. She would look it up later online.

“We thought we could get it with chemo, and it melted the tumor considerably, but they still found abnormal cells in my left breast, in my ducts.” Aunt Barb paused but didn’t tear up, strong and in control. “My cancer isn’t encapsulated, which means it’s not contained in one tumor, but throughout the tissue.”

Judy tried to stay calm. She knew she was about to become familiar with terms like encapsulated, which she would look up later, too. She noticed for the first time that her aunt no longer had eyebrows and that her fair skin had a grayish tinge.

“The good news is it’s not in my lymph nodes, including my sentinel node, so my prognosis is good. Everybody’s cancer is different, that’s what I’m learning. My doctor expects the mastectomy will do the trick, and I might not even need radiation.”

Judy knew radiation was a cancer treatment, but it horrified her to think about irradiating a human being, especially one she loved so much.

“The mastectomy is scheduled for Monday.”

“This Monday? In, like, two days?”

“Yes, but don’t let it scare you. It doesn’t scare me. Frankly, after seeing what your uncle went through with blood cancer, I feel lucky to have a surgical solution.” Aunt Barb paused, her forehead etched with grief that was still fresh. “So I try to look on the bright side. I have to lose my breasts, but what I really care about is my life. And after all, every plant needs pruning, so that it can thrive as a whole. I’m just getting pruned, that’s all.”

“There you go,” Judy said, pained. “You’re a rose, Aunt Barb.”

“Exactly.” Aunt Barb smiled. “Besides, I know a lot of women who have had mastectomies, so there’s no mystery. It should last about a few hours, and they’ll discharge me on Wednesday, with a few drains.”

Judy hid her fear. She didn’t know a person could have a drain. Showers should have drains, not people.

“A lot of people have reconstruction, implants, or have expanders put in, but I decided not to.” Aunt Barb set her mouth, a Cupid’s bow, albeit determined. “I don’t want to put myself through that. I hate the idea of more surgeries, or longer recovery, or spending more money. I mean, what’s the point? I’m already so flat, and I can deal with padded bras.”

“I see that,” Judy said, meaning it. She couldn’t imagine a more personal decision, and she didn’t know what she would do, but she knew it was so like her aunt. “Why didn’t you tell me, or Mom?”

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Aunt Barb frowned with regret. “That’s why I canceled dinner on you, last month. Sorry.”

“But on the phone, you never said anything.” Judy talked to her aunt at least twice a week, checking in.

“I hid it.”

Judy tried to think back in time, bewildered, as if understanding the chronology would lend her any comfort. “But I saw you on my birthday. You looked fine. You looked great.”

“I was just starting chemo, and I didn’t tell you then because I didn’t want you to associate your birthday with news like that.”

“Oh no.” Judy almost burst into new tears, at the memory. They had celebrated in this very backyard, sharing a double-cheese pizza and a few cold Miller Lites among the lovely roses, in full bloom. Her aunt was an expert rosarian, and her heirloom Gallica rosebushes drooped now with the last of their massive crimson blooms, shaped more like a peony to the untrained eye.