Between Friends (21 page)

She was silent.

“Ali? Oh, please, please talk to me,” I pleaded. “Oh, God, I couldn’t stand to tell you, I’m so sorry.”

“Just,” she said, holding her hand out as if she were going to pat me on the knee, but she didn’t touch me. “Just hold on, okay, just, give me a second here. I just need a second.”

“Okay,” I said. “Do you want to—do you want to pull off the road for a minute?”

“Shhh,” she said.

“Okay.” I nodded my head, agreeing with her. I needed to shut up. I was just about to go into a hysterical babbling of apologies and long-winded explanations. I stared ahead at the road, occasionally looking over at her. She kept her eyes forward, driving with extraordinary concentration now.

When she finally spoke, her voice was very calm.

“What are the odds?” she asked.

“Fifty percent,” I answered.

She nodded and was silent again for several minutes.

“How do we find out?”

“There’s a genetic test,” I said. “If she has it, it doesn’t mean she’ll develop the disease—”

“Stop.”

“Okay.”

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and made the humming noise again. I didn’t look at her.

“Okay,” she finally said. “There’s a genetic test.”

“Yes.”

“But what does it tell you?”

“It tells you if she has the gene, my gene.”

“Okay. And if she does?”

“It only says she has the gene. Nothing can tell you if she will eventually develop the disease or not.”

“Eventually?”

“If she does develop it, it likely wouldn’t start until her thirties or forties.”

“She couldn’t have it now?” she asked, and I heard the edge in her voice, heard the as-yet-unspoken accusation that if I’d known, why hadn’t I told her earlier.

“It would be very, very rare, incredibly rare, for this particular kind to begin at her age,” I said.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “So a fifty percent chance.”

“Yes.”

“All right, so we’ll get the test.”

“I will, of course, pay for whatever needs to be done,” I said, but I regretted it as soon as it was out of my mouth. This was what she was finally able to sink her anger into.

“Well, yes, obviously that’s my major concern,” she said, giving me a look I’d never seen directed my way before. “Yes, that was exactly what I wanted you to say.”

“No, Ali, I just thought—”

“You wait six months to tell me that my daughter might have this disease, but it takes seconds for you to reassure me that it won’t hurt my pocketbook. Good to know you’ve got your priorities straight here.”

“I know, I know,” I said. “It was the wrong thing to say. Please, I am so sorry.”

She put her hand over her mouth, and when I dared to look at her, I saw that tears were spilling over it.

“Oh, Cora,” she finally said, wiping her face. “I’m so sorry, I am so sorry you’re so sick.”

“No, I’m sorry,” I said, handing her tissues from my purse, using some myself. “I’m sorry I waited, I’m sorry I—I’m just sorry for all of it.”

“I know,” she said, sniffing, then blowing out a long sigh. “All right, so, we need to get ourselves together and go get Letty. Not a word to her, okay?”

“Of course not,” I said. “No, we just need to get her home.”

“Right,” she said. “We get her home, and then we figure out the rest.”

By the time we got to Venice I had convinced myself that Letty didn’t have any little ticking time bomb genes in her perfect young body. Fifty percent.

Back in my twenties, when all my friends were getting pregnant, there was much discussion of how to influence the sex of the baby. Everything from eating meat for a boy and sweets for a girl, to the position on the compass the woman is lying in during conception, was bandied about and either sworn by or dismissed.

One friend, desperate for a boy, was convinced that having sex on even days ensured a girl, and odd days assured a boy. I’ve never been a particularly superstitious woman, and I wasn’t going for it, but she continued to insist that it was scientifically proven, and that the odds were impressive.

“Okay, what are the odds?” I’d asked.

“Fifty percent!” she exclaimed, which made me nearly breathless with laughter. I never could get her to understand that her odds were fifty percent no matter what, as there were only two choices, but she had sex on odd dates and she did, by God, have a boy.

Those odds had seemed so frivolous to me then. It wasn’t even statistically interesting. Besides, actually being pregnant and deciphering the odds meant so little to me. I was
pregnant
. Who cared whether it was a boy or a girl? It was a
baby
! I was one hundred percent pregnant, and that was all I cared about.

But now fifty percent really meant something. Like the choice between boy and girl, there were only two choices: good gene or bad gene. I suppose had the actual sex of a baby meant anything to me, I would have already understood the importance of that fifty percent. I felt badly for laughing at my friend.

By the time we took the exit that would take us down to the beach in Venice, it was all that was in my head.

I wasn’t thinking much about Cora. I simply could not absorb the knowledge of her illness into a mind so full of concern for my daughter. I’d thought I could protect her by grounding her. The morbid absurdity of it was infuriating.

Even the reason we were going to pick her up had escaped me. What did it matter? All that mattered was that I got her home and got that test. Everything else would just have to wait: Benny, Cora, even the embryos.

I felt a twinge at that, an extra niggling grief trying to worm itself into the anxiety over Letty, but I snuffed it out. Fifty percent.

I looked over at Cora. She looked more miserable than I felt. I wanted to help, but there was nothing I could say. She was right. As soon as I realized that Letty might, just might, need a kidney one day, I immediately felt a hoarding instinct kick in. There was Benny, of course, but kidneys rejected, I knew that. What if I gave Cora one, betting on Benny being able to provide if Letty got ill, and then Letty’s body rejected Benny’s? What if she had the gene,
did
develop the disease, and by that time, what? Her forties, like Cora? What if by that time Benny wasn’t healthy anymore, or even alive? What if none of us were matches for either of them?

There were too many
ifs
to take a chance. I was her mother, and this was exactly what I was here for. It had never crossed my mind that I might have to allow my friend to suffer in order to save my child.

But I would. It wasn’t even a question, no hesitation.

But what I didn’t feel, and it was something that I couldn’t articulate to her right now—but I would, once I could think straight again, I would—was the need to assign blame. I did not blame Cora for this. The only enduring emotion I would ever feel when it came to Letty and Cora was gratitude.

There had been other emotions that popped their heads in over the years—the most recent, on this trip, being a cautious and uncomfortable jealousy. But even now, oddly, especially now, I felt a nearly overwhelming tide of gratitude for the fact that I had a daughter to begin with.

I reached over and grasped her hand, and she held on. We stayed like that until it was time to turn onto the road leading to the restaurant where Letty waited for her Aunt Cora to come save her.

I drove past it quickly, hoping Letty wasn’t so sharp-eyed and paranoid that she would recognize my car and disappear, then turned into a hotel parking lot.

“If you don’t find her right away, call me, okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “Of course. I’ll be right back with her.”

I nodded, watching her retreating back as far as I could, hoping that Letty would be where she’d said she would be.

I kept an eye on the sidewalk and prayed, but when I saw Cora come around the corner of the hotel and Letty wasn’t with her I cried out loud and jumped out of the car, running to meet her. She held her hand up, stopping me, and then slung Letty’s backpack off her shoulder, holding it out to me.

I backed up to the car, looking around for my daughter, and grabbed the backpack as soon as Cora was close enough. “What happened?”

“It’s okay,” Cora said. “She’s in the restaurant. She isn’t finished eating, so I told her I’d drop her pack in the car. Look, we both need to eat anyway. Why don’t I go back in, and I’ll take the seat across from her, and it’ll pretty effectively block her view of the door, plus I’ll be talking to her so she won’t be looking for you. She’s less likely to run if we’re all in public, and she’d have to get by you anyway.”

I leaned against the car in relief. I’d have agreed to anything.

“Okay,” I said. “How does she look? Is she all right?”

Cora smiled and grasped my arms lightly. “Honey, she’s fine, just fine, okay? She’s been gone for a day, not a week. Everything is going be okay. Give me a minute, and then come get your daughter.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and bit my lip, then leaned against her for a moment. Finally I pulled back.

“
Our
daughter,” I said. “That’s what she is, Cora. Only a mother does all this. Thank you.”

She didn’t answer. She just shook her head and turned away. I slung Letty’s pack into the trunk and patiently counted to one hundred before I headed toward the restaurant. The closer I got the faster I went, and when I hit the door I nearly plowed over the hostess who had kindly opened it for me.

I saw her immediately, and despite Cora’s good intentions and newly bloated body, she still wasn’t enough to block my daughter from seeing me. Her face fell instantly and she was on her feet, and I braced myself, like a football player, to block her attempt to get past me.

But to my amazement and relief, rather than flying past me she nearly knocked me down flinging herself into my arms.

“Hey,” I said, stroking her hair. “Okay, all right.” I looked over her head at Cora and mouthed
It’s okay
at her.

“Come on, sweetie,” I said. “Let’s go to the ladies’ room, huh?” She nodded her head against my collarbone and we made our way, with her clinging to me all the while, through the swinging door and into the blessedly empty restroom. I leaned against the counter, feeling the pool of water on it soaking through my jeans, and Letty leaned against me.

I grabbed some paper towels, pulling her hair out of her face and scrubbing her tears away.

“All right, now here’s what’s going to happen: You’re going to wash your face and pull yourself together, you’re going to stop worrying about anything, we’re going to go out there and we’re all going to have something to eat, and then we’re going to drive home and you’ll tell me about it all, okay? It’s time to come clean, sweetie, and I promise you’re going to feel better about it when you’re all done.”

She started to say something, but then she just nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

“I’m going to step outside the door and give you a minute.”

“Okay,” she said again.

When I opened the door, she was already running water in the sink. I leaned against the wall just outside the door and took a deep breath. I could see Cora just around the corner, occasionally taking a look over her shoulder, could hear the water in the restroom running, and thought about the fact that Benny was likely sitting at home waiting for the phone call I’d promised him.

For just this second the ratty little hallway outside the bathroom was my only refuge. I enjoyed it while it lasted. Cora caught my eye, and I held up a finger to indicate we’d just be a moment, and then the bathroom door opened, and my cell phone rang.

I knew it was Benny even before checking the screen and quickly hit the mute button—I couldn’t talk to him yet. I checked Letty’s face, making her give me a tentative smile before I winked at her and led her back to the table.

“Hey,” Cora said brightly, as if we’d just arrived for a lunch date. “I ordered us a couple of salads; I hope that’s okay?”

“That will be great,” I said, meeting her eyes across the table. “Thanks.”

She nodded and looked down at the table. Letty’s eyes were on the old laminate tabletop also, and I gave in to it for a moment as well, gazing at the advertisement for desserts propped up by the salt and pepper shakers, wishing Cora had ordered a giant slab of gooey chocolate cake for me rather than a salad.

We maintained a solemn and exhausted silence until the food came and then ate in silence, paid the bill in silence, and all filed out of the restaurant without a word. I handed the keys to Cora and she led the way to the car, with Letty and me following behind. Letty slipped her hand into mine, and even at fifteen, at my height and a woman’s weight, it still felt the same way it felt when she was six: as though all the trust in the world were caught in the palm of my hand.