Stories of the Heart Page 2

  For whatever reason, the cancer was back and Amanda would be the one dealing with it. This wasn’t a trig problem she could pass off to Lance in study hall to solve for her. Her parents couldn’t help her, either. She was alone, and that was the most frightening thing of all.

  Ten minutes later, the phone rang. Even with the music turned up full blast, Amanda could hear it. She ignored that, too. When her mother came into her room, Amanda reluctantly removed the headphones. “What?” she demanded.

  Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “That was Annie.”

  “I don’t want to talk right now.” She was seventeen and she was dying and if she didn’t want to answer the phone she shouldn’t have to.

  “I called your father....”

  Amanda closed her eyes again. She didn’t want to hear it. “Mom, please, give me a few minutes by myself. Just a few minutes.” She didn’t know why her mother was doing this. A little time alone shouldn’t be that much to ask.

  “I can’t,” her mother sobbed. Joan sank onto the edge of the bed, covered her face with both hands and began to cry.

  Amanda bit her lower lip and knelt on the carpet at her mother’s feet. After a moment she laid her head in her mother’s lap. It occurred to her then that this diagnosis wasn’t only about her. Her cancer affected everyone in her life.

  Slowly Amanda’s arms went around her mother’s waist and she straightened. Her mother clung to her, burying her face in Amanda’s shoulder, still sobbing.

  Surprisingly, Amanda shed no tears. The emotion was there, just beneath the surface, pounding, throbbing, pulsing. What shocked Amanda, what threw her completely off guard, was her mother’s reaction. This was the second time she’d faced cancer, the second time for her and her parents. You’d think her mom would know how to cope. Or maybe it was the exact opposite; maybe knowing what to expect made it worse.

  “I’m going to be fine,” Amanda cooed softly.

  “I know.”

  Amanda had been too young the first time to remember how her mother and father had dealt with everything. Certain memories were strong: the pain, throwing up, losing her hair—and her mother at her side. Other memories had faded. The one constant had been her mother’s devotion. She’d desperately needed it then and Amanda knew she’d need it now.

  “I’m…sorry,” her mother whispered. “I didn’t mean to do this. You need me—but I’m so frightened. I can’t bear to see you go through this again.”

  Amanda gently kissed the top of her mother’s head. “It’s all right, Mom. It’s all right.”

  “I should be the strong one.”

  “You are.” In the months to come, Amanda would need to lean on her mother’s strength. Her mother would be her advocate, her nurse, her coach and her friend.

  Chapter Two

  Dumbfounded, Annie Hamlin hung up the phone and gazed blankly at the wall, trying to assimilate Amanda’s dreadful news. Surely this was all a horrible mistake. Amanda looked fine. Okay, she’d been a little tired lately, but then so was Annie. Everyone was these last few months before graduation.

  Her mother walked into the kitchen, humming “Home on the Range.” That meant Bethanne was getting ready for a Wild West Birthday Extravaganza. This particular party involved a cookout over a campfire, plus a bale of hay where Annie sat strumming a guitar and singing cattle-drive favorites. Little boys loved this theme because they got to wear cowboy hats and sheriff’s badges, and the villain was quickly found out when the cake was sliced. Her mother dropped a black jellybean into the batter and whoever got that slice was declared the bad guy.

  Bethanne walked past her, paused and then glanced back. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

  At those words involuntary tears welled in Annie’s eyes. “Amanda just phoned. She had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

  “I remember. You were upset because she was supposed to go shopping with you.”

  Annie nodded, hardly able to believe she could’ve been angry with her friend over something so meaningless. “Mom, she told me…” She blinked hard and tried again. Even saying the words caused her pain. “Amanda has cancer.”

  Her mother stared at her. “Cancer?” she repeated slowly.

  “It’s leukemia.”

  Her mother pulled out a chair and sat down at the table next to Annie. “How long has she known?”

  “She just found out.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Her mother frowned. “Has anyone in her family ever had cancer?”

  “Yes.” Annie swallowed. “Amanda has. Don’t you remember me telling you she had leukemia when she was in second grade?”

  Her mother wrinkled her brow, suggesting that if Annie had mentioned it, she’d forgotten. “Her poor mother,” she said.

  Annie wasn’t sure what Amanda’s mother had to do with it, but she didn’t ask. “The cancer’s back and according to the doctor, it’s worse than before.”

  “Oh dear.” Her mother’s eyes met hers.

  “You know what’s really sad?” Annie whispered, glancing away from her mother. It was embarrassing to confess this, even to her own mother.

  “What?” Bethanne asked.

  Annie felt horrible. Her friend had cancer and might not survive and when Amanda had told her, all Annie could think about was herself. “My first thought—my very first thought—was that I’d have to find someone else to double with for prom night.” She paused and waited for her mother to berate her. Bethanne didn’t.

  “It was…so unexpected,” Annie continued, as the beginnings of this new reality settled in the pit of her stomach. “I didn’t know what to say and neither did Amanda. Then she started to cry and asked if I thought she should tell Lance so he could ask someone else to the prom.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I didn’t say much of anything. I just muttered something and she seemed to think I said yes. But I didn’t… If I were her I wouldn’t know what to do, either. I feel awful, like I’m going to throw up.” Annie almost wished her mother would chastise her for being so self-absorbed.

  “Amanda’s still in shock.”

  Annie knew that had to be true.

  One of her dearest friends was desperately sick, and she had no idea how to help her.

  “What’ll happen now?” Bethanne murmured.

  “I asked Amanda that.” Well, it was one point in Annie’s favor. “She said there’d be a series of chemotherapy sessions and she’d lose her hair and then she’d have to go through a bone-marrow transplant.”

  “There’s a good donor in her family?”

  “I hope so,” Annie said, wishing she’d asked more intelligent questions. “The thing is, Amanda doesn’t want anyone other than me to know.”

  “People will find out. That’s unavoidable, don’t you think?”

  Annie agreed. News like this would spread in about five minutes once Amanda stopped attending classes. Everyone would want to know where she was and why. Annie couldn’t understand Amanda’s reasons for not telling her friends.

  “She wanted me to lie to Lance for her.”

  Bethanne’s eyes widened. “Did you say you would?”

  “No way.”

  Her mother nodded approvingly. “Good.”

  Refusing Amanda had been difficult. Still, Annie didn’t feel she could lie to Lance. He genuinely cared for Amanda and in Annie’s opinion, Lance was entitled to the truth.

  “She’s afraid, you know,” her mother said.

  “Of cancer?” Annie asked and then answered her own question. “I would be, too.”

  Bethanne shook her head. “The cancer’s scary enough. But I was talking about everything else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Other people’s reactions.” Bethanne took a deep breath. “After your father moved out,” she said, “I was afraid to leave the house.”

  “But why? You didn’t do anything.”

  “I didn’t want people to know Grant had left. For the first couple of months, I pretended he was away on an extended business trip. If anyone asked, I made up this elaborate story about Grant’s heavy traveling schedule. I even invented a date when he was supposed to return.”

  This was all news to Annie.

  “In my mind, I actually came to believe that within that time frame, your father would realize what he was doing and move back home. After two months, I was forced to admit that Grant meant what he said. He wanted out of the marriage.”

  Bethanne so rarely mentioned the divorce, Annie actually felt privileged that her mother had shared this with her.

  “In some ways,” Bethanne continued, “I think Amanda is afraid of people talking about her and pitying her, just like I was. It’s difficult enough to accept devastating news, but then you have to handle everyone else’s feelings about it, as well.”

  Annie frowned in puzzlement. Some of this made sense to her, but part of it didn’t.

  “When people hear bad news, their first reaction is usually shock and sadness. Sometimes curiosity. And sometimes they think they can fix it.”

  Then Annie understood. She hadn’t even disconnected from her conversation with Amanda when she’d begun making plans. She’d get all their friends together and they’d make a huge get-well card and fill a basket with gifts and… It was an automatic response. Looking for an easy fix. She was still trying to figure out how to deal with this shock.

  “Other people aren’t as kind,” her m
other said. “They want to find a way to blame you. One friend suggested…” She paused. “Never mind, that isn’t important now. My point is that once the news is out, Amanda will be confronted with everyone’s reactions—family, friends, teachers—not just her own.”

  Annie had a renewed respect for her mother’s insight. “That’s deep.”

  Bethanne laughed softly. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No,” Annie said. “I meant it. You’re so right, Mom. About people’s reactions. All I could think about when Amanda phoned was what her cancer would mean to our friendship.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable.” Her mother stood and checked her watch. “If you need to talk more about this, let me know.”

  “I will. Thanks, Mom.”

  Her mother went to open the kitchen cupboard. After shuffling several things around, she asked, “Do you remember if I used the last of the liquid smoke?”

  “No, you didn’t.” Annie’s mind was back on Amanda and how she could best be a friend to her. Not a fixer or a comforter. Not a weeper or a gawker. Just a friend.

  “Just a minute,” Bethanne said, whirling around. “You know who you should talk to?” Before Annie could answer, she said, “Lydia Hoffman.”

  “The lady who owns the knitting shop—A Good Yarn?”

  Her mother nodded enthusiastically. “Lydia had cancer as a teenager, too.”

  Annie vaguely remembered her mother mentioning that.

  “She’s been through this herself. Twice, in fact. She was only sixteen when she was first diagnosed.”

  “Did she have leukemia, too?”

  “Brain tumor.”

  “And she survived…” Knowing that her mother’s friend had come through this encouraged Annie.

  “Yes, and she didn’t have an easy time of it, either. She’s never said much about it to me. Margaret’s the one who let certain details slip.”

  “Who’s Margaret?”

  “Oh, sorry, her sister. She works at the shop, too.”

  Annie thought she might’ve seen her once.

  “Lydia’s just the person who could help you be Amanda’s friend.”

  “I’ll call her, Mom. Thanks.”

  She might have faltered when she’d first heard the news about Amanda’s cancer, but Annie was determined that wouldn’t happen again.

  Chapter Three

  LYDIA HOFFMAN GOETZ

  I’ve known Annie Hamlin for over a year and I’ve never seen her looking this serious. Or this sad. She phoned me earlier in the afternoon and asked if she could come and visit after school. The request surprised me. Annie is the daughter of one of my customers and friends, Bethanne. I’ve often chatted with Annie but always on a casual basis.

  She arrived at the store just before five. I needed to finish up with a couple of customers, so Annie waited for me. She strolled through the shop, studying the hand-knit socks and sweaters on display, and leafed through a pattern book. After I rang up the last sale of the day, I locked the front door and turned over the sign to read Closed. I was now free to talk to my friend’s daughter.

  “How about a cup of tea?” I said.

  “Sure.” Annie followed me into my small office. There really wasn’t room for us to chat comfortably, so once I’d made the tea I carried two cups out to the table where I teach my knitting classes. I’d met Annie’s mother in a sock-knitting class. Bethanne was an emotional wreck at the time, her self-esteem in the gutter after her divorce. Annie had experienced her share of emotional trauma, too. I was proud of the turnaround in both their lives.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked.

  Annie set her cup carefully back in the saucer. “Mom suggested I talk to you about my friend Amanda. She’s one of my best friends and, Lydia…” Her voice shook, and she paused long enough to regain her composure. “Amanda just learned she has cancer.”

  So that was what had upset Annie so much. It also explained why she’d come to me. I’m a two-time cancer survivor. When I went into remission after the second bout, I opened A Good Yarn. You see, this store is an affirmation for me—an affirmation of life.

  “The thing is,” Annie went on, “Amanda had cancer when she was eight.”

  “So this is her second time facing the beast.”

  Annie nodded expectantly. I wished I knew what to say. “How can I help?” I asked.

  “Amanda didn’t want to tell anyone, not even me. One reason she did was because we were supposed to double-date on prom night.”

  “She can’t go now?”

  “She didn’t seem to think so. This hit her out of nowhere.”

  That I understood. I’d been sixteen when the first brain tumor was discovered and in my early twenties the second time around. The second diagnosis was the hardest to accept; it blindsided me and my family. I think that’s partly because I was sure I’d triumphed over cancer, and it seemed so unfair to go through it again. To this day, I believe it was my second bout with cancer that killed my father. The death certificate says it was a heart attack. Medically that’s accurate, but I’m positive the underlying cause was dealing with my cancer. I could well understand Amanda’s shock and horror at learning the disease had returned.

  “Did she tell you what kind of cancer she has?”

  “She had a technical name that I couldn’t repeat if I tried. She explained it’s a rare form of leukemia.” Her gaze held mine. “She’s acting all weird. Like I said, Amanda doesn’t want anyone to know—not even Lance, and he’s her boyfriend.”

  “Give her some time to adjust to the news,” I advised.

  “That’s what Mom said I should do, and I’m trying.” Annie didn’t seem satisfied with that, however. “She’s reeling from this. I want to be a good friend.” Annie leaned toward me as if I had secrets to share. “I want to say the right things. I don’t want to…to be insensitive, but I don’t want to act like I pity her, either. Do you know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “Amanda’s fortunate to have you for a friend,” I said, searching for suggestions that would help Annie feel she was contributing in an appropriate way. “It might not seem like she wants her friends around just now, but in a little while that’ll change. She’s going to need you.”

  “I haven’t said a word to anyone at school.”

  I realized it must’ve been hard on Annie to keep this to herself.

  “Lance is pestering me to tell him what’s up. I told him he should talk to Amanda.”

  “Has she been to classes?”

  Annie shook her head. “Her mom’s homeschooling her for the rest of the year. She did say she wants to graduate with our class, but she doesn’t know if that’ll be possible now.”

  I knew that keeping Annie’s friend away from school protected her from any unnecessary exposure while her immune system was compromised. At the same time, I was aware that Amanda was now isolated from everything familiar. The same thing had happened to me. I couldn’t attend classes, either. My friends had stuck around for a while. But later, as my treatment wore on, they lost interest. There wasn’t much entertainment in a cancer ward. It was awkward, too, because my life in the hospital was so completely unlike their carefree times.

  When I was a teenager I was first put in a pediatric ward, along with the little kids. I didn’t appreciate visits from clowns who thought their antics would amuse me; I felt humiliated when my friends showed up to find some ridiculous-looking character at my bedside, blowing up a balloon for me. Nor did I appreciate the Sesame Street drawings on the wall. I was a teenager, and everyone treated me like I was a three-year-old.