Betrayed (Rosato & DiNunzio, #2)(8)

“She’s not even a nurse,” Judy’s mother interrupted.

“I don’t need a nurse. I just need someone I can rely on.”

Judy’s mother scoffed. “You could have called me, Judy, or any one of your friends from work, like Colleen Connor. We would have helped.”

“Colleen’s busy with young kids, and Iris has become a friend.” Aunt Barb gestured at the platter of chocolate chip cookies. “She baked cookies because she knew I was having my family in. She cares about me.”

Judy’s mother rolled her eyes. “Stop paying her and see how much she cares.”

Aunt Barb pursed her lips. “I pay her, but she cares.”

“She doesn’t pay taxes, none of them do. They burden the system.”

“She’d love to become a citizen, but she can’t. She’s not a political issue, she’s a person.” Aunt Barb raised her voice, though it sounded reedy and thin. “She goes to church every Sunday, and actually, I go with her. I began going when Steve got sick, and it comforted me.”

“What?” Judy’s mother arched an eyebrow. “You go to a Spanish church?”

Judy cringed. “Mom, don’t—”

“Judy, please, stay out of it,” her mother shot back. “This is between Barb and me.”

Judy clammed up, torn between disagreeing with her mother and upsetting her aunt, their sisterly disagreements in the very DNA of sibling rivalry.

Aunt Barb pursed her lips. “Yes, the congregation is mostly Latino, but so what? Both priests, Father Keenan and Father Vega, have welcomed me. They’re kind and wonderful people.”

Judy’s mother frowned. “So you’re not a Protestant anymore? You’re Catholic now?”

“Do you have to label it?” Aunt Barb shot back, angering. “Nothing gets you to church like a cancer diagnosis, and now I have one of my own. Are you seriously blaming me? And why is it any business of yours, how or where I pray? It’s a very vibrant congregation. In fact, they performed 467 baptisms last year, the most in the Archdiocese.”

Judy’s mother pursed her lips. “Sorry if I’m not overjoyed that they have so many children, because they’ll be in the schools, which I’ll have to pay for.”

“That’s not what’s bothering you, Delia. Not really.”

“Of course it is.”

“Bull.” Aunt Barb turned to face Judy, her thin skin mottled with emotion. “Your mother and I had a fight before you came today, because I would like Iris to help me recuperate after my mastectomy. Your mother wants to do it instead, but I think she should go home after the mastectomy.”

Judy’s mother pursed her lips. “Iris isn’t family.”

Aunt Barb frowned. “She’s a friend.”

“Stop saying that. Friends have things in common.”

“We do.” Aunt Barb threw up her hands. “We’re about the same age, both widows, no children, and we love to garden and bake. She’s teaching me Spanish, and I’m teaching her English. We have fun, and I can depend on her.”

Judy’s mother snorted. “You can depend on me, Barb. When have you not been able to depend on me?”

Judy couldn’t take it anymore. “Mom, enough, let’s not fuss. Aunt Barb, I think we can all help, but either way, we should make a truce right here and now. No more quarreling. We need to pull together. Don’t you agree, ladies?”

Judy’s mother fell stone silent.

Aunt Barb only looked worriedly away, where Iris had gone.





Chapter Four

After dinner, Judy ducked out of the kitchen to make some phone calls, leaving her mother and Aunt Barb at the kitchen table over mugs of tea. The afternoon had passed without event, and their interactions had been limited to getting ready for the hospital and making the small talk that came easily to blood relatives. Judy couldn’t help but sense that Aunt Barb’s illness loomed over their heads all day and she had learned from her experience with her uncle that a cancer diagnosis changed the very air in a room, present but invisible. She’d learned, too, that for all the upbeat chatter about clear nodes and early detection, cancer could be cruelly unpredictable; her Uncle Steve’s lymphocytic leukemia had been in remission when it morphed like a shape-shifter into the deadly Richter’s Syndrome, striking him down within weeks. She prayed she wouldn’t lose her aunt to the disease.

Judy tried to shake off her anxiety but couldn’t, and she headed into the living room for the couch, seeing Aunt Barb’s hand everywhere. The living room was tiny but super-cozy, with a loveseat and an easy chair with faded chintz slipcovers, piled with woven jacquard blankets that she collected. Her framed floral needlepoints covered the walls, which were of white plaster, and her gardening books filled the white-painted shelves. A rustic brick fireplace with a blackened surround left a permanently charred, woodsy smell in the air.

Judy slid her phone out of her back pocket, scrolled to her phone log, and pressed the number to return Linda Adler’s call. It rang and rang, but the call went to voicemail and she left a message. Next she pressed in the number for her boyfriend Frank, whom she had already called on the drive to her aunt’s, but he hadn’t called back. He liked Aunt Barb, and Judy knew he would be upset by the news about her cancer, which was why she hadn’t left it on his voicemail or sent him a text.