Life Happens (16 page)

Dean felt such love for this woman-child who was his daughter. “I noticed you’d rather ask for forgiveness than for permission. You’re half Laker, all right.”

She placed the cap on her head. Adjusting it low over her eyes, she met his gaze. “I’m half Donahue, too.”

He nodded, his gaze on the fire, not her.

They sat in the cozy nook, quietly watching the flames, not saying a word. Dean never rushed her. She liked that about him. She had a lot to think about. To sort out. Finally, she said, “Mya’s probably waiting for me, huh?”

Dean doused the fire then offered Elle his hand. “She’s been waiting nineteen years.”

“At least there’s no pressure.” Nineteen years, Elle thought. She didn’t want to make Mya wait until morning.

M
ya’s shadow glided soundlessly against the living-room wall where headlights flickered momentarily. Outside, two doors slammed, and two sets of footsteps thudded on the side porch.

Elle and Dean both glanced in her direction as they came through the door. Dean didn’t look away, the expression in his eyes including her in whatever had transpired between this father and his child.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” He kissed Elle’s cheek, squeezed her hand. And when his gaze next went to Mya, there was a tangible bond between them, stronger than it had been when they were kids, and no less intense.

Elle closed the door behind him. She removed her coat and hung it up. Having run out of diversions, she stood before the rocking chair and slowly removed the baseball cap. Her clothes carried the scent of the ocean breeze and fog and the island. Her hair was mussed, and she still wore the cotton tank and baggy sleeping pants she was so fond of.

“So,” she said.

“So,” Mya said softly.

“Do Donahues have a traditional symbol of their right of passage, too?”

With a shrug, Mya said, “Nothing as prosaic as the Red Sox.”

Elle’s smile wobbled as she looked at the baby, her baby, sound asleep in Mya’s arms, her bottle nearly empty. “She can hold her own bottle, you know.”

“I know. I like to hold her.” Tonight, she’d needed someone to hold.

Rising, Mya carried Kaylie back to the sleeping porch where she lowered her gently into a well-worn crib used by all but one of the Laker babies.

“I haven’t given her the best life.” Elle spoke softly, sadly.

“I disagree.”

“Figures.”

They stood shoulder to shoulder at the rail, looking at the sleeping child. And Mya thought, this was probably how Elle had looked at this age.

“Dean told me why you did it,” Elle said. “I know you wanted me. You didn’t stay away from the island to punish him, did you? You did it because you knew you would always yearn for it, and me. I didn’t have the strength to give Kaylie up. I thought you were selfish. Turns out it’s the other way around.”

“All any mother can ever do is what she thinks is best.”
Doubts. Regrets. And yearning. Ah motherhood. “I’ve always wondered if I did the right thing. Maybe I shouldn’t have given you up.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have kept her,” Elle said.

“You did the right thing, Elle.”

“So did you.”

They smiled, and they were filled with such understanding.

Kaylie hummed in her sleep. And Elle yawned. “I think I’ll go to bed, too.”

And that was that.

Or almost.

“There’s something I’d like to do first,” Mya whispered.

“What?”

“I’d like to hold my little girl.”

There was a moment of awkwardness, but only one. And then Mya’s arms went around her daughter’s back, and Elle’s arms went around her mother’s. Mya tried not to hold on too tight, but try as she might, she couldn’t keep the tears from running down her face as the feel of Elle soaked into her. Mya was thin; Elle was thinner. Mya was young; Elle was younger. Mya was warm; Elle shivered. Both were five-four, belligerent, proud. Both had made choices that had had far-reaching consequences that continued to impact their lives. Both were too emotion filled to speak.

Elle was the first to draw away. Having no choice but
to let her go, Mya thought this must be how it was for all parents. Mothers would always wish they could hold on longer. And children would always grow up too soon.

She’d taken several steps toward the door when Elle said, “You know how everybody says you and I are a lot alike? Maybe that’s the Donahue right of passage. Anyway, being like you isn’t an insult.”

Mya smiled. “That was almost a compliment.”

“I’ll be more careful in the future.”

God, Mya loved this girl. “Good night, Elle.”

“’Night.” She paused. “Mya.”

She couldn’t call her
Mom.
She didn’t have to. They understood one another perfectly. Mya had had a child, but she’d never been a mother, until now. And now it didn’t matter how Elle referred to her: Mom, Mother or Mya. What mattered was that they were family—mother, daughter, alike but different, allies, adversaries and friends, at long last.

Mya picked up the cat on her way into the living room, then nearly dropped him at the sight of Dean on the sofa. Once again, it occurred to her that he looked good on her living-room couch. His jaw was squared, his gaze on her face.

“So,” he said.

“So,” she agreed.

He rose. Gesturing to the overweight white cat, he said, “I thought you were a dog person.”

No one else could have made her smile right then. “So did I.” She ran her hand down the length of Casper’s back. “A dog would have let me know you were here.” Casper purred, utterly content. “Why are you here?”

“Good question.”

The wind crooned, a foghorn sounded. And Mya sighed. “Thank you, Dean.”

“I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t have done a long time ago.”

He came toward her, all male swagger and masculine intent. He, too, smelled like the ocean breeze and fog and the island. Stopping a hairbreadth away, he bent down and kissed her gently, the cat purring between them.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mya.”

He let himself out while she was still smiling. Headlights flickered on the living-room wall. Tires crunched over the crushed seashell driveway. Mya was falling in love. Or perhaps she’d never fallen out of it. Regardless, she couldn’t remember when
tomorrow
had held such promise.

This week, Sunday dinner was at Dean’s house. And as he always did when it was his turn to feed this small army, he ordered pizza. As usual, he took a lot of ribbing from his sisters-in-law. As usual, the boys loved it.

It had rained part of the afternoon. Like all true Down Easterners, the Lakers did their fair share of complaining about it, especially the kids, who were confined to the house. It didn’t make for a very quiet afternoon for any of them.

Mya didn’t mind. In fact, she enjoyed the warmth of the fire, the complaints and the laughter, the rejoinders and the food and the scent of melting cheese, even the pungent odor of damp dogs.

Gretchen had developed the photographs she’d taken all week. Accustomed to being photographed and then being forced to view them, the kids had done so quickly. But Elle lingered over them, utterly silent and serious. Mya wondered what she was thinking.

She knew what Dean was thinking.

Every time his gaze met hers, the pull was stronger. Being in the same room with him sent anticipation and a heady sense of urgency racing through her. If there hadn’t been a blind woman, a photographer, four kids, two men and three dogs between them, she would have walked straight into his arms.

She really needed something else to do. She rose at the first whimpers Kaylie made upon awakening from her nap.

“I’ll get her.” The steely determination in Elle’s voice stopped Mya in her tracks.

Everyone else heard it, too, and stopped what they were doing. Even the dogs roused. Mya felt pinpricks of trepidation.

When Elle returned with Kaylie, Dean was at Mya’s side.

Kaylie held out her hands to him, and he lifted her easily into arms. Suddenly, Elle didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. Like a warrior without her shield, she moved from one foot to the other. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat.

“Something wrong, Elle?” Ruth asked from a nearby chair.

Elle glanced around the room. Since the eldest Laker had asked, she started with her. “I’ve spoken to Dr. Andrews.”

All eyes were on her. Even the little boys’.

“The test results are in,” she said.

“Who matches?” Brad asked.

She shook her head. “Nobody.”

“None of our bone marrow matched yours?” Cole stumbled to his feet. “Not even mine?”

His arrogance was overshadowed by the enormity and gravity of what was lurking behind Elle’s eyes as she said, “’Fraid not.”

“Are they sure?” Millicent asked.

For some reason, Elle’s gaze went to Mya. “I’m sure,” Elle said.

Elle wasn’t prepared for the warmth and weight of Dean’s hand on the back of her neck. He squeezed gently, his palm grazing the new lump.

He wasn’t prepared, either, for he went perfectly still.

She looked at him. The question in his eyes nearly buckled her knees.

“I was wondering how I was going to tell you.”

“Tell us what?” one of the boys asked.

“You know that treatment you all bullied me into agreeing to? It starts again pretty soon.”

“How soon?” somebody asked.

“You’re leaving?” somebody else said at the same time.

“But you’re coming back, right?”

Mya stood on one side of her, Dean on the other. “Of course she’s coming back,” Dean said sternly.

Everybody knew better than to make something of that.

And Elle said, “I’m taking the early ferry in the morning.”

Silence.

Finally, Mya said, “How long have you known?”

“A couple a’ days.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sylvia asked.

Looking around the living room at these people who’d been strangers a month ago, Elle said, “I didn’t want to spoil your reprieve.”

Evidently, Dr. Andrews wasn’t afraid of spoiling anything. He didn’t sugarcoat anything, and he sure as hell didn’t mince words.

“Okay, Elle,” he said. “I believe that covers everything for now. Do you have any questions?”

Elle sat completely still, quiet as a mouse. Mya sat still, too, but she wanted to scream, “Why?” Better yet, “Why Elle?”

Bryce Andrews wasn’t one of those physicians who hid behind a heavy desk. He sat in a straight-backed chair opposite a sofa where Dean, Mya, Elle, Kaylie and Millicent were lined up stiffly. The test results were back. As Elle had said yesterday, none of the Lakers matched Elle’s bone marrow close enough to be a donor. There were alternatives, the doctor had said, treatments, options. As the hospital scents and sounds closed in on Mya, she concentrated on taking one breath, and then another.

“The lymphoma is getting more aggressive. My treatment plan is aggressive, too. I’ve reviewed your chart Dr. Patel’s office forwarded, and we’ve conferred at great length. I’m starting you off with intrathecal induction. We’ll hit the cancer cells, and hit them hard. We’re going to do everything we can to get you back into remission. We’ll buy you some time, get you on the allogeneic blood cell transplant list. I have a room reserved for you on the sixth floor. If you have no more questions, you can go to Admitting.”

“Today?” Elle’s voice quavered.

“This morning.”

“I planned to begin tomorrow.”

Dr. Andrews shook his head. “Today. By tomorrow, the
medicine will already be starting to eradicate those new cancer cells. You can’t afford to wait, Elle.”

The words held warning, planting doubt and fear where there was already more doubt and fear than any of them could bear. It was a glorious May morning outside, but a cold, dark despair followed Mya as she made her way with Elle, Kaylie, Dean and her mother, down the elevator, through a labyrinth of hallways, to Admitting. Elle’s expression was stoic. Mya wasn’t fooled. Millicent cried softly. Mya didn’t allow herself that luxury. Dean looked shell-shocked. Mya knew the feeling.

Perhaps Kaylie sensed the tension. Or perhaps she didn’t like hospitals any better than Mya did. Whatever the reason, she wanted nothing to do with the place, and cried inconsolably. Elle couldn’t hold her, and the baby didn’t want Millicent or Dean. For once, only Mya would do.

“Take her home,” Elle said.

“What?” Mya called over the forlorn cries.

Elle looked up from the papers she was signing, straight into Mya’s eyes. “This is no place for a baby.” She was choking up, and fighting it so valiantly. “I can’t take her home. Would you?”

Mya didn’t want to leave her child, not even for this precious baby. She turned to Dean, who was having every bit as much trouble with his voice as Elle was. “I’ll stay with Elle, Mya.”

Millicent stepped forward. “So will I. We’ll all do our part, whatever that is. It’ll change from day to day, honey, but we’re in this together.”

Mya did something she did far too rarely. She hugged her mom.

She left the hospital with Kaylie. Keeping a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, she maneuvered through traffic, her foot steady on the gas pedal. Kaylie cried all the way. Alone in the car with the baby, Mya joined in.

The atmosphere in Mya’s living room was subdued. She didn’t remember a day passing so slowly. Millicent had called several times with updates. And Suzette and Claire came over as soon as school let out for the afternoon. Mya didn’t know how she would have gotten through the afternoon and evening without them.

Kaylie had clung to Mya, refusing to warm up to the other women. It was unusual behavior. These were unusual circumstances.

With every tick of the kitchen clock, Mya was reminded of the drip of the chemicals seeping into Elle’s veins. Every so often Suzette spouted all the positive words Mya needed to hear. Mya knew things were serious when Claire joined in.

Kaylie had finally calmed down after supper. She’d refused a nap all afternoon, and by eight o’clock, she’d
wanted to hold her own bottle, and had only needed to be changed and put to bed.

Mya didn’t know what she needed, until a knock sounded on her door, and Suzette opened it to Dean. He looked as lonely and haggard as she did.

“How is she?” she asked.

“Sleeping. How’s Kaylie?” he asked.

“Sleeping.”

Since Mya was obviously beyond social niceties, Claire made the introductions while she was steering Suzette toward the door.

Later, Mya would vaguely recall her friends saying goodbye. But right now, she had eyes only for Dean.

For a moment, time stood still.

They started toward each other. Meeting in the middle of the room, they stepped into each other’s waiting arms.