Cocoon (27 page)

“You're going to have to explain yourself to me, Zoe. I don't exactly know how to respond to you. There's a vast difference between socially hanging out and romantically hanging together.”

“You're opposed to being romantic with me?”

“I didn't say that, did I? Those are your words.”

Zoe felt like screaming with frustration. “This was a bad idea. I think I should go.”

Before she could rise, he had her by the arm, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. Against his hard strength as his mouth trailed from her neck to her mouth and back again, taking her breath.

This time the kiss was deliberate and thorough.

I fit perfectly into his arms
, she thought, romantically giddy and knowing beyond doubt in that moment that she'd been waiting all her life for this man.

“Is this better?” he murmured against her ear, scattering goose bumps all over her.

“Mm. Much better,” she murmured.

Then suddenly, he pulled back and led her to the sofa and deposited her there. He sat beside her, angled toward her. “Now, tell me what brought this on?”

Still feeling the disappointment of his abrupt withdrawal, she dragged in a deep, shuddering, steadying breath. “Yesterday, during the counseling session with Pastor Keith, Barth shared some really deep, hairy times he'd struggled through. You know, during his first wife's betrayal and her murder?”

Scott nodded once.

She licked her dry lips and continued. “Well, he said some things that really got to me.” Her eyes misted as she looked at him. “Like when Betty left him for another man. And then – he chose to forgive her and wished her happiness.”

A tear splashed over and trickled down her pale cheek. Scott reached up to catch it with his finger. “A-and I was sitting there thinking what a coward I am. Oh, Scott. I've been so stupid, pushing you away when all I wanted was to pull you to me and never let go.”

Scott began to grin. “Go on.”

“I've compared you to the jerks I've known in my life.” She stopped and shook her head. “No. I shouldn't feel that way about them. They were who they were.” She shrugged. “I wasn't always a prize, myself. Too bull-headed at times. Too – controlling. I saw things differently after hearing how Barth had decided to forgive Betty and love her anyway, even after she'd cut his heart to shreds and stomped on it.”

“I can see how that would be difficult,” Scott murmured.

“Yes. But he did it. He didn't take it all personally.” She shook her head and scowled. “No, that's not what I meant to say. It's just – Barth
knew
who he was. And Betty's rejection of him did not determine how he faced his future. Didn't change his concept of who he was created to be. Does that make sense?

Scott nodded slowly, his eyes drinking her in. “That makes perfect sense.”

“Well, he could have gone off to live in a cave and never looked at another woman.” She waved her hands dismissively. “That's the way I reacted to my situations. But he didn't.”

She looked at him. “Barth later met Mother and – you know the rest. He even put up with my hatefulness and still showed kindness and love to me.”

She sighed and gazed at him, heart in deep blue eyes. “Scott, I've been such a coward. And so despicable.” Her voice broke and she began to quietly weep.

“Ah, honey,” he gathered her into his arms. Zoe felt something she'd not felt since her courtship days with her ex. And that had proved to be only temporal.

No, what Scott gave her was permanent. Somehow, she recognized it.

Haven.

Then a niggling little thought splattered against her brain.

Will it last?

What about Stacia?

Never one to withstand suspense, Zoe pulled back and locked eyes with Scott. “What about Stacia Dietrich?”

Scott, dadblamed his hide, had the audacity to grin. “What about Stacia?”

“You jerk.” She slapped at his shoulder.

Scott hauled her into his arms again as she struggled to get free and pummel him. He was laughing so hard he nearly lost his grip on her.

“Stacia is engaged, Zoe,” he gasped, catching his breath while gripping her flailing hands. “She's just a friend who's endured my Zoe-angst during these past months.”

Zoe grew still but still angled him a look of doubt.

“She's as whiney as me, with Joe away in Afghanistan right now. He's a buddy of mine. I'm gonna be best man at their wedding next year.”

Zoe pulled back again to gauge his truthfulness.

He looked as guileless as a newborn lamb.

Only then did she snuggle back into his arms, sighed contentedly and said, “Put something sweet on to play.”

He moved to his stereo and slipped in a selection.

And as he returned and pulled her up and into his arms to dance, Zoe was suddenly certain it was not by chance that the tune was Manilow's “Looks Like We Made It.”

“Death is a butterfly in its cocoon,
waiting to fly.”

– Maria Housden

“L
et's have the Thanksgiving meal at Mama's house,” Zoe suggested as they milled around after the Happy Feet Dance Studio's Friday night party. “We used to have it there and it was always special.”

“Great,” Barth agreed, obviously pleased.

“Super!” Ashley's clasped hands pressed to her blossoming bosom as she twirled with joy. “Like old times.”

Peyton, busy with cleanup, raised his dark head from trussing up and tying a packed garbage bag. “What?”

“We're going to Nana's for Thanksgiving,” Ashley supplied.

“Neat,” he said, giving a thumbs-up, and finished carrying the bag to the back dumpster.

“I think it's time we started giving you an appropriate tag, Barth,” Zoe said, taking him by the hand and tugging him to sit with her at a table already tidied up.

“Like – Papa, or Pops or –” She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Y'know,” Barth looked thoughtful, “I kinda like the sound of Pops. Sorta fits.”

“You got it, Pops,” she said grinning. Then her features fell solemn. “How much medication is Mom on presently?”

He sighed heavily. “A lot.”

Zoe nodded. “I thought so. I want to get her doctor to provide me a list of everything she's taking and give it to me to study. I want to look up everything about each drug. You know, side effects and such.”

Barth nodded. “Sounds good to me. I've never believed that pills cure everything. Some, in fact, can hinder. And, in Seana's case, they haven't helped enough to move her toward any improvement. I've been so frustrated at times.” His head lowered in despondency.

Zoe reached out to touch his hand. “You're not alone anymore, Pops. We'll even get Billie Jean involved. That ol' pit bull is just what Mom needs to help shake her loose of overmedication and underactivity.”

Barth roused, then laughed, as Zoe had hoped. And she felt Scott's arm slide around her shoulder from behind. He leaned to kiss her neck. “Count me in, too,” he whispered.

And Zoe felt that kiss warm her from head to toe. But what she felt the most was his caring. His support. Oh how she'd needed it. And lo and behold, she wasn't ashamed to admit it.

They were a team now. And she laughed with joy.

What a wonderful turn of events.

• • •

Barth frowned at Dr. Welton, the latest physician to handle Seana's case.

“What do you mean Seana will never drive again?” They stood outside the office door, out of Seana's ear shot.

Dr. Welton looked at Barth, eyes filled with sympathy. “Exactly that. You're going to have to face reality at some point. She's never going to come out of this state she's in. Remember her memory tests indicate she's in early stages of dementia.”

Barth drove home sinking to a new low. Feeling as though he'd been punched in the gut and hadn't yet gotten his breath back. Seana didn't seem to notice, and he was glad, for once, that these things drifted unnoted past her.

Later, he called Zoe. “That's what he said?” she exclaimed.

“To the word.”

Zoe was quiet for a long time. Finally, she spoke. “I'd like to go with you the next time she has an appointment. Okay?”

“Okay,” Barth replied, already feeling some of the terrible weight lifting from his tired shoulders. “Sounds good.”

Two weeks later, Zoe stood outside the office door, in the quiet hallway as the doctor passed along more dark tidings. Barth stood beside her, his nerves quaking like a war survivor.

The prognosis was grim. “Your mother is dying a slow death, Zoe.”

“No way,” she croaked, covering her mouth with her hand. Beside her, Barth felt the iciness of shock splice through him.

Dr. Welton nodded solemnly. “I'm afraid so. She won't survive this.”

Zoe blinked back dizziness. She swayed.

Barth caught her by the shoulders. “You okay?”

She took a deep, shuddering breath and slowly shook her head. “I'm okay. Just a little dizzy.”

“Would you like to lie down inside for a few minutes?” asked Dr. Welton.

“No. But thank you,” she said weakly. Barth was feeling pretty wobbly himself, but it was truly an out-of-left-field experience seeing Zoe's vulnerable side.

“Would you please give me a complete listing of Mom's medications and the purpose of each?” Zoe requested, squaring her shoulders.

The physician nodded. “Of course.”

They returned to the waiting room, where Barth's gaze immediately flew to Seana, who sat watching the clock. A death sentence? He tried not to let his mind wrap around it. It was too horrible to entertain. He blinked back the horror of it and saw Zoe struggling, too, for composure. The two of them kept silent as the doctor returned with the data for Zoe.

Quiet prevailed on the drive home. Except when Seana kept looking over her shoulder at Zoe, who sat in the back passenger seat. “Why're you crying?” she repeatedly asked.

“Just hay fever, Mama,” she kept saying, but Barth, too, kept shooting worried looks at her in the rearview mirror. He was concerned at this fragile side she'd exposed today. As long as she didn't go into hysterics, he could handle it all.

Suddenly, he was astounded at the paternal feelings surfacing inside him.

At the house he left Zoe in the kitchen and settled Seana down on the sofa, turning on the television. He joined Zoe in the kitchen where they could keep their voices down below the ball game racket.

Zoe phoned Billie Jean to come up for the powwow. “Be right up,” was the welcome response.

Barth put on a pot of decaf green tea as Billie Jean plodded up the steps, Brutus on her heels. The red Lab stayed with her sometimes when Barth and Seana were both gone. Other times, too, when Billie Jean pined for his company.

“So?” she prompted as she took her seat at the bar. “Hey man, this looks serious.”

“It is,” Zoe replied. “Need any help, Barth?”

“No. I've got it.” He efficiently poured three cups of hot water and placed them on the bar next to tea bags, sugar, honey, and cream. They each added tea bags. Zoe was the only rogue amongst them, adding artificial sweetener, which she carried in her purse, knowing she'd not get it at her mom's house anymore. Barth and Billie Jean both spooned a small amount of honey into their creamy, steaming liquid.

Zoe quietly informed the two of them what the good doctor had said, fighting tears the entire time

“Huh.” Billie Jean's bosom heaved and swelled with indignation. “What does he know?”

Zoe caved in, fresh tears puddling her lower lids. “I keep telling myself that but –” Her voice faded into a quiet sob. Barth reached over to pat her shoulder.

“But nothing.” Billie Jean lowered her voice but not its intensity. “You've gotta get a grip, Zoe. Now's not the time for the faint of heart. She needs us.”

Barth went into the den, gauged Seana's alertness as he picked up the Kleenex box. Her eyes were as vacant as always, staring unseeing at the busy screen.

He returned, pushed the box toward Seana, and snatched one himself to blow his nose.

Zoe did the same. Billie Jean's features blazed with purpose. “We all know that doctors are just people. They don't have all the answers. Look at me. I'm still cancer free after four years. And they didn't think I'd last out a year in the beginning. Remember, Barth?”

Barth nodded, hands nursing the warm cup.

She addressed Zoe then. “You got that list of medications, did you?”

“Sure did.” Zoe sipped her tea, sounding stronger and looking more confident with Billie Jean's reinforcement “It's in my purse.” She slid from the stool and went to fetch the list.

Pushing their cups aside, they spread out all the medical data of Seana's treatment for the past four years.

“Now.” Billie Jean took charge. “We've got our work cut out for us.”

• • •

At first the task looked like a jungle maze. What to do first?

“First order of business is to get Barth some time off,” Zoe insisted.

“I second that motion,” echoed Billie Jean. “We tried that before but we weren't militant enough about it. This time, we'll get all the family involved.”

They held court that day at Zoe's duplex, three days before Thanksgiving. Scott made coffee and, with the holidays upon them, Peyton was home to help sort out important goals.

Zoe had tried to lighten up on the dance parties to set aside some time to help in the care of Seana. Scott had jumped in like a trooper to assist. He not only treated Zoe like royalty, he regarded Seana with utmost respect, even when she reacted to him as she would a meddling cockroach.

“It's okay, honey,” he repeatedly told Zoe. “I understand. Things'll soon get better.”

Oh, how Zoe hoped it was true. Billie Jean, Scott, and Peyton kept pounding that it would happen. And Barth was picking up on the litany. But at face value, Seana was not showing any signs of change.

“We've got to get an extreme agenda going,” Billie Jean insisted today as they sat circled around Zoe's heavy cedar coffee table, four sets of bare feet propped atop it.

“Yeh,” Scott agreed. “I know I'm no expert at this thing. Not even close. But in training athletes, you – you know, drill them in what they need to do. At first they don't feel like they can reach each small goal. But we, the coaches, nag them into doing more difficult and painful things that strengthen and equip them to move progressively on to their ultimate goal.”

He shrugged. “Could it be that Seana could benefit, too, from being forced to act normal?”

Peyton brightened. “Yeh. Like when we teach people to dance. They're awkward and embarrassed at first. Then little by little, they develop this –” He held up his hands, searching for the right word.

“Capacity? Aptitude?” Billie Jean offered.

“Close enough,” Zoe declared. “Hey, guys,” she shook her head slowly, her eyes misting. “We've got to do something. If not, Mama's going to die.”

“Hey!” Billie Jean boomed. “Don't even go there! Don't even think about it. But I do agree that for us to sit around and just let Seana vegetate is sinful. She's wasting away before our very eyes.”

Scott sat forward, elbows on knees, champing at the bit. “We need to organize and get this thing rolling.”

“Right,” Peyton joined in, his eyes sparkling with challenge. “We need to work in shifts to relieve Pops, first off. Then we need to take turns doing things with Nana that will somehow bring her back.”

Zoe smiled through her tears. “Y'all are sweet to rally like this. It's been so heavy at times for me. And I know that for Pops, it's been like Mt. Rushmore sitting on his shoulders. I'm ashamed I've not done more.”

“You did all you could, Zoe,” Billie Jean reminded her. “You had a job to run and a son to support.” She slapped her knees. “That was then and this is now. A new start.”

“Yeh,” Zoe sighed tiredly. “We'll do what we can do.”

She looked at them, her heart in her blue, blue eyes. “But the rest is up to Mama. In the final analysis, she's the only one who can bring herself back.”

• • •

No Olympic event was ever more organized and carried off than the care of Seana in those next months. News spread of the effort and soon, friends got involved. Sadie Tate's little twisted fingers got great workouts Smartphone-updating the populace of Paradise Springs.

“I think Sadie's mellowing lately, don't you?” asked Billie Jean as she, Joanie, and Chelsea sat at Fred's Johnson's Deli one Wednesday evening following the church prayer service.

“You know” – Chelsea lifted a thoughtful red-nailed finger – “I believe you're right. Her dialogue now seems more …” – she waved a hand, searching – “more ….”

“Generous,” supplied Joanie. “She's not as critical. I do believe this drive to help Seana is doing more than we ever imagined.”

“Huh.” Billie Jean sniffed. “It's doing all it's supposed to do.” She pointed upward. “We've got a great navigator.”

“The best.” Joanie took a bite of her ham and Swiss sandwich. “I'm going over tomorrow to take her to lunch and pamper her.”

“I'm down for Friday,” said Chelsea as she snatched a chip from Joanie's stash.

“Hey!” Joanie smacked at her hand. “Buy your own.”

“Can't,” Chelsea said and grabbed another. “On a diet.”

“You and your freakin' diets,” Billie Jean grumbled and stabbed her fork into her Caesar salad.

“Hi, girls.” Fred Johnson slid into the booth beside Billie Jean. “How's the sign-up going with For Seana's Sake?”

“Great. We can only use so many folks for hands-on care. But the prayer sign-up is just as important. By the way,” Chelsea said, pointing a pickle spear at him, “thanks for organizing that.”

Fred's face flushed with pleasure. “Least I could do.” Then he leaned forward, his ruddy features alight with purpose. “See, here in the grocery store, I see lots of folks from both here and the town outskirts, those not on our church roll.” He shrugged. “So I hit 'em all with Seana's story.”

Billie Jean added, “Peyton, Ashley, and her mother have all contacted Facebook friends to spread the word.” She grinned and shook her bouncy, auburn curls. “Man, with the element of compound interest here, there's gotta be hundreds of folks out there in cyberspace praying now for a miracle.”

She slapped the Formica table. “Holy moley, guys! Something's gotta give.”

Immediately, three more hands slapped and stacked atop hers. And the laughter spilled like popcorn popping as the girls pealed their motto, “
One for all and all for one
.”