The last time I remember being this tired was during final exams at the end of my physical therapy program at SU. It's the kind of paralyzing exhaustion that seeps into the marrow of your bones. Even though my weary body begs for the sweet release of sleep, my mind refuses to let me slip into unconsciousness. Feeling suffocated by the thoughts I cannot seem to escape, I pace the floor of my room, teetering on the brink of collapse as I reach out to feel the silky softness of a yellow rose petal beneath my fingertips.
Reaching for the purse on my nightstand, I locate the appointment card that Dr. Sedwick handed to me over twenty hours ago, forcing myself to read the words over and over again. "Outpatient Surgery. Two o'clock PM. Friday." Numbly, I walk to my bathroom, pulling my nightshirt over my head as I flip on the light and stand profile in front of the mirror. Letting the card drop to the floor, I press shaky fingers into the creamy white flesh of my left breast, locating the lump once again. Squeezing my eyes together tightly, I lean against the cool surface of the mirror, wondering how this could have escaped my attention.
Realizing that I cannot continue to face this battle alone, I dress quickly and watch as the minutes tick by excruciatingly slowly on the bedside clock, waiting for the house to come alive. Straining, I hear the muffled sound of abuela's voice as she calls for Olga over the intercom.
Bolting from the bed, I enter abuela's room without knocking and rush to her side, throwing my arms around her neck. Sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder as she envelopes me in her arms, I feel instantly comforted in her loving embrace. The release feels wonderful. Still, not a word has passed between us as she smoothes my tangled hair with her fingers and rocks me back and forth.
When I break contact and lean back to look into her eyes, she wipes the tears from my face and asks, "What's the matter, mi hija?"
Turning my face into her palm as I feel fresh tears spring to my eyes, I manage only to choke out, "My doctor's appointment yesterday."
Grabbing some tissues from the box next to her bed and handing them to me, she waits for my eyes to focus on her once again before imploring, "What happened?"
"She found something," I begin, taking a deep breath before continuing. "A lump... in my breast," I say, clutching a hand to my chest as I wait for the air to return to my deflated lungs.
I see the worry that briefly clouds her eyes before she removes my hand and pulls me tightly against her, letting me absorb her strength. Finding my voice, I turn my lips to her ear and whisper, "I have to have it removed on Friday afternoon." Feeling her grip on me tighten, I reassure her, saying, "It's probably just a cyst, but she wants to be sure." I am surprised by the newfound confidence I hear in my voice.
Sitting back, I see that the worry behind her eyes has given way to reassurance, and I return the same warm smile that plays upon her lips. "I only wish that you'd told me this yesterday," she scolds.
Despite feeling like I'd just been handed a death sentence, I made it to the afternoon therapy session yesterday, diving headlong into my work. Afterwards, while sitting in the lonely solitude of my beautiful bedroom, I found myself wishing that mom was alive. I contemplated calling Rick but decided against it when my finger pushed the sixth digit of his telephone number. Staring at the receiver, I could hear the conversation in my mind... Rick sounding more like a doctor than a concerned brother. Picturing myself sitting in stunned silence, I could hear Rick rattling off statistics about the rarity of breast cancer in women my age. Next came a discussion about treatment options followed shortly by survival rates. Abby's sweet face popped into my mind as I lifted the receiver to my ear once again, listening to the hum of the dial tone. But I redeposited it in its cradle when I realized that her reaction to my news would be to call Rick to the phone.
Grabbing the photo album beside me for comfort, I leafed through several pages, stopping to look at mom's smiling face staring back up at me. Suddenly, a picture of Bill and me in a bathtub labeled 'circa 1979' caught my attention, and I lifted the phone's receiver for the third time. I hung up when his voice drifted over the line, telling me to leave a message after the beep. Defeated, my eyes skated over every inch of the room, coming to rest on the two vases on either side of the fireplace mantle, each holding a dozen of my yellow roses. I briefly entertained the thought of finding Danny and telling him my news but decided against it, not being able to predict what his reaction would be... knowing that I couldn't bear it if it was pity that I saw in those piercing, dark eyes of his. And so I climbed under the covers at 8:30 PM, feeling numb and more alone than I've ever felt in my entire life, only to find myself unable to get a bit of sleep.
Olga's knocking interrupts my train of thought just as I am about to speak, and I stand up and walk to the patio door to look out at the morning as abuela says, "Come in." Intent on not spilling the cup of coffee in her hands, Olga is unaware of my presence until she sets it down on the bedside table.
"Good morning Ms. Maria... Michelle. You're up rather early. Everything all right?" My eyes fly to meet abuela's and I can tell that she understands my silent plea to keep our conversation between just the two of us.
Turning my eyes to Olga, I smile broadly and fold my arms across my chest involuntarily as I nod my head, saying, "It's fine. Couldn't sleep... that's all." She seems satisfied with the answer, though not entirely convinced as she excuses herself to start breakfast.
Reclaiming my position next to abuela on the bed, I gather her hands in mine, saying, "Thank you. I don't want to worry anyone unnecessarily." She nods in understanding as a sudden wave of guilt washes over me. "I'm sorry that I burdened you with this. Especially since it will probably turn out to be nothing."
Her brow furrows as she silences me with a finger against my lips. "Don't ever apologize for telling me what you're feeling. I want you to feel like you can come to me with anything." I mouth the words 'I do' when I can't find my voice. "I'm glad that you chose me to share this with, dear," she whispers into my ear as she pulls me into another comforting embrace. This time when the tears threaten to fall, I am able to fight them back.
"Me too," I answer, not knowing what more to say.
As I stand and start to leave, she catches my arm, begging, "Wait. Don't leave. Sit with me." I obey, watching as she opens the top drawer of the nightstand and pulls out her bible and rosary. "Do you believe in God, Michelle?" she asks as my eyes drift back up to meet hers.
Despite the fact that I can count on one hand, the number of church services I've attended in my entire life, I do believe in an omnipotent, merciful God. I nod in reply and watch a smile spread slowly across her face.
I watch as she makes the sign of the cross, kissing the small crucifix on the end of the rosary before wrapping the beads around her hand and opening her bible to a highlighted scripture. "Would you mind if I read you my favorite passage from 'The Bible'?" she asks, and I nod for her to continue.
Her soothing voice floats from her lips into my ears like the sweetest song I've ever heard and I listen intently, savoring each word that she reads,
***"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."***
"That's beautiful," I whisper, watching as she repeats the sign of the cross and closes her bible, placing the rosary delicately on top of it in her lap. "Thank you."
Smiling, she reaches for my hands, saying, "We are going to put this in God's hands now. Let Him be your shepherd. Whenever you start to feel defeated... like you want to give up... He will carry you. Let Him. You know... He never gives us more than He knows we can bear. Remember that."
Fascinated and inspired, I study this woman who has seen more tragedy in her life than anyone I've known, yet is unwavering in her faith. My eyes drift heavenward and I offer a silent prayer to God to put my problem into His hands, and to quit wallowing in my own self-pity. Talking to abuela is exactly what I needed. She didn't take pity on me or try to solve the problem herself... she merely listened to my fears and offered words of comfort. Words that I will draw strength from between now and my surgery on Friday.
When Olga returns with a tray of breakfast, I leave abuela's room and return to mine for a quick shower. Despite my lack of sleep, I feel refreshed... like a huge weight has been lifted from my heart. I turn off the faucets and step onto the plush rug next to the bathtub, wrapping one towel around my wet hair and the other around my body. Smelling like a vanilla bean from head to toe, I hum as I walk into my bedroom, stopping in front of the fireplace to savor the delicious fragrance of the beautiful yellow roses. Plopping down on the bed with an enormous smile plastered to my face, I dial Bill's number like I did last night and wait for him to answer.
He answers on the fourth ring with a full mouth and I know that I've interrupted breakfast. "Hey Bill... it's Michelle," I begin, giving him a chance to swallow. "I'm sorry to call so early. I know that you're getting ready for work, but I needed to ask you a favor."
"What? You want to invite me over for the weekend again so I can watch you play Susie Homemaker? No thanks... I'll pass," he says with a snort.
Sighing, I say, "Look... I told you I was sorry about the weekend. I'm through apologizing." I can't stand it when he pouts and if he wasn't my best friend, I'd hang up right now. Instead, I continue, "Listen... what's your schedule like on Friday afternoon?"
Hearing the rustling of pages, I know that he's looking in his appointment book. "I've got a business lunch with Dad, Josh, and a new client. Why?" he asks, taking another bite of food.
"Never mind," I insist. "I was just going to see if you could drive me to Cedars."
"Cedars? What's wrong, Michelle?" There is panic in his voice now and I can hear him breathing heavily into the phone.
I'm surprised that I don't feel sad in the least as I explain, "It's nothing major. I've got to have some minor outpatient surgery, that's all. Dr. Sedwick found a lump in my breast yesterday at my appointment and she's going to remove it on Friday."
After a long pause, Bill clears his throat, saying, "Shit, Michelle." The Lewis' aren't really known for mincing words, I think, suppressing a laugh as he continues, "Don't worry about a thing, Michelle. I'll be there. What time should I pick you up?"
Shaking my head from side to side, I say, "No, Bill. That's all right. Really... I'll get Rick or Abby to take me. I don't want you to miss your meeting."
"Screw the meeting," he insists. "Lewis Oil isn't going to go belly-up just because I miss a meeting. Dad and Josh can handle it. Besides... my place is with you."
My heart feels like it's going to explode when I hear the sincerity in his voice. "Thanks Bill," I say meekly. "Well, I'll probably spend the weekend with Rick and Abby, so why don't you meet me at their house on Friday at one o'clock?"
Drawing in a deep breath, he says confidently, "I'll be there." After a brief pause, he adds, "Is there anything I can do for you before then?"
"No, Bill. You're doing plenty." Glancing down at the clock, I watch as the numbers change to 7:42 AM before adding, "I've really got to get going. Thanks again, Bill. You'll never know how much I appreciate this."
"Take care of yourself. See you Friday," he says, and I hang up, staring at the receiver briefly before walking to the bathroom to dry my hair.
With therapy more than half over, I wrap my arms around abuela's waist and help her into a standing position in front of her walker. "You look much better now, dear," she whispers in my ear, and I smile knowingly as I move to support her from behind.
I watch as her feet move slowly but steadily across the cushioned mats on the floor. Gradually, I ease my hold on her and soon she is walking without any assistance from me, whatsoever. Following closely behind her, I watch for any signs of weakness or fatigue in her right leg. Navigating the entire perimeter of the room, she stops briefly every few feet to rest before finally making it back to where the journey began. Backing up, she seats herself in her wheelchair, a look of victory dancing in her eyes. Exhausted and short of breath, she waves her hands above her head and says, "Ta da!"
Laughing, I kneel in front of her and wrap my arms around her neck, whispering, "You've made my day." Sitting back on my heels, I say, "You know what this means, don't you?" As a look of confusion crosses her face, I finish, "No one's going to have to push you through the doors of St. Michael's on Friday. You're going to be able to walk in and choose a seat front and center for the christening of your great-granddaughter."
Tears glisten in her big, round eyes and she places her hands on top of mine as they rest on her knees, asking, "You'll be there, won't you Michelle? I want you to come."
Standing, I walk to the door and turn around to face her, saying, "I appreciate the invitation, but I don't want to intrude on a family moment. Besides... Friday's the day of my appointment."
Wheeling herself next to me, she pulls me back down to my knees in front of her, insisting, "You... are part of this family, Michelle. I want you there. And you said that your appointment was in the afternoon on Friday, right?" When I nod my head 'yes', she says, "Well, then it's settled. Isabella's christening is at eleven o'clock, so you'll be able to come and watch me take my first steps outside of this room before your appointment. I'll inspire you." You already do, I think as I move to the back of the chair and begin pushing her to her room.
Like clockwork, we find Olga with an enormous tray of lunch, waiting for us on the other side of the door. She studies me warily as we deposit plates and glasses on the picnic table outside but she bites her tongue, not wanting to pry into what was wrong with me earlier this morning. As she breezes past me to leave, she gives my shoulders a light squeeze and I reach up and pat one of her hands, never turning around to make eye contact with her.
Abuela and I share a delightful lunch, and I marvel at how well this day is turning out despite its beginning. Looking over at her face, I see that she too is lost deep in thought. "Penny for your thoughts," I say, wiping my mouth with my napkin.
Smiling, she says, "I wonder if it would be too much for me to ask you to do me a favor."
Shocked, I answer, "After what you did for me this morning, I'll do anything for you."
"Thank you, dear," she says, clasping my hand in her trembling one.
Curious as to the cause of her nervousness, I ask, "Abuela... what's wrong? What do you need me to do?"
Releasing my hand and looking me directly in the eyes, she says, "Well first, let me explain the predicament. You see, dear... every Santos child - my children and their children - have been christened in a gown that I made in 1936, shortly before the birth of my first child, Carlos Ramon." I nod in understanding before she continues, "Since Ray is Isabella's uncle and is going to be the one performing the christening, his sister, Josefina, wants the child to be christened in the Santos gown rather than the Ramirez gown of her husband's family. She called me yesterday and asked me to bring it to St. Michael's with me on Friday."
Not understanding the predicament inherent in abuela's recitation, I ask, "And you don't want to let Josefina use the gown for Isabella's christening?"
Patting my hand, she closes her eyes before focusing on me again, saying, "No, no, no. Oh dear... I'm afraid I'm not doing a very good job explaining myself. You see... I want nothing more than to see my first great-grandchild christened in the same gown that her grandfather and mother both wore. Nothing would please me more. But," she says, pausing to take a sip of iced tea. I'll be dead from the curiosity before she's even done swallowing, I think. "The gown is hanging in an air tight bag in the third floor hall closet."
Swallowing hard, I remember that the third floor was Pilar's living quarters, and I brace myself for the inevitable favor that I know is seconds away from falling from her lips. "I wouldn't dream of asking Daniel to go up there... it's much too painful for him. And obviously, I'm not going to be able to retrieve it. Do you think you could get it for me?"
"I don't think Danny would appreciate that. He had Ray to ask me on his behalf to not go up to the third floor." The words, 'tell her to keep her ass off of the third floor', echo in my mind as I remember Danny's note to Ray.
Dropping her eyes, she says, "I understand." I can hear the disappointment in her voice and can read the defeat in her body language, and a tremendous pang of guilty hits me in the gut.
Knowing that I owe this woman a huge debt of gratitude for lifting me out of the paralyzing funk that I was in this morning, I consent even as my heart starts to flutter and my palms begin to sweat, saying, "I'll do it. Don't worry about it for another minute. I'll bring it to you as soon as you wake up from your nap."
A tremendous grin slowly works its way across her face as I walk solemnly from the room and head for the staircase, steadying myself as I grip the wide mahogany railing. Reaching the second floor landing, I tiptoe to Danny's door and press my ear to it, straining to hear any sound on the other side. Hearing nothing, I breathe a huge sigh of relief as I take long strides, quickly closing the distance between myself and the ascending staircase. Hesitating at the bottom, I reassure myself, saying, "You can do this, Michelle. Just get up there, get the gown, and then get your ass back down. Five minutes, tops."
Nodding my head a few times to bolster my courage, I release a shaky breath and begin to climb. My eyes scan the family pictures as I take each step but I am careful not to hesitate for very long, remembering my mantra. "Get up, get the gown, get back down... up, gown, down." The walls are painted a lovely shade of yellow that is somewhere between the color of my roses and sunlight and as I walk down the hallway, turning the knobs of every door that I pass, I admire several of the oil paintings that hang from the walls. There are children playing, flowers blowing in the wind, waves crashing against the shore; but there is a definite theme to Pilar's choices of artwork. Each one contains a beautiful sunrise in the background. Looking at these paintings, I feel connected to her somehow and I know instantly that we would have been great friends.
I finally find a doorknob that gives when I turn it and I know that this must be the hall closet. Looking down, I realize that I can see the second floor hallway from where I stand and I let my eyes wander in all directions, making sure that no one is around before I open the door. Opening it gently, I cringe at the loud creaking it makes as I grope in the blackness for a light switch. Locating it just inside the left side of the door, I flip it up and watch as the treasures inside are illuminated by the soft, orange glow of the dangling bare bulb.
My fingers slide over several vacuum sealed garment bags. A royal blue graduation gown catches my attention and I recognize it as the one Pilar was wearing in the portrait on abuela's mantle. Pushing it delicately aside, my fingers move over a tiny, white crocheted christening gown that has been passed through three generations of Santos' for sixty-four years now. Smiling broadly, I imagine Danny wearing it as a baby when Carmen and Miguel dedicated him to God. Removing the gown, I hook the hanger on the doorknob as an exquisite wedding dress begs for my attention. Through the thick plastic that protects it from light and moisture, I trace a finger over the intricate beading and delicate lace patterns of the bodice.
"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" comes a familiar loud, booming voice from the floor below, and I drop my hand and stumble back in shock. "Get your ass down here." I open my mouth to explain but Danny cuts me off, screaming, "Now, Michelle. I mean it!" Gathering what little strength I've got left, I turn off the light and shut the door, and prepare to face my executioner.
Seeing Danny's angry countenance waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, I grab the railing to steady myself with my left hand, the tiny white gown dangling from the other. I make my descent very slowly, fearing that my trembling legs will give way. When I reach the next to last step, Danny reaches out and grabs my right forearm, forcing me to keep up with his huge strides as he pulls me behind him. Pushing me up against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, he sends the briefcase in his hand flying, and I watch as it bounces off of the thick wood of his bedroom door and lands with a loud thump on the floor.
"What the fuck is this, Michelle... huh?" he asks, turning eyes steely with anger to mine. "I come home during my lunch break to retrieve some papers that I forgot to take with me to work this morning, and I find you pilfering in a part of the house that I specifically asked that you be told to stay out of."
Pushing off of the wall with my palms, I bring my face within inches of his when I bark, "I know what you asked Ray to tell me about the third floor. But he was too decent to say such filth, so he cleaned it up for my benefit." Placing his hands on my shoulders, he shoves me away from him and I clutch at the wall behind me for support. He lifts his right hand to run it through his hair in frustration, but for a brief minute, I think that he's going to hit me. I can actually see in my mind's eye, his fist making contact with the flesh of my cheek, and I close my eyes to brace for the impact. But it never happens, and a tear trickles out from under my lid before I open my eyes to look at him.
There's pain behind those eyes and I can tell that he regrets the volatility of his temper. He says nothing as he walks to the other side of the hall and stands with his back against the wall, facing me. When I feel my voice return, I hold the gown out in front of me and say meekly, my eyes averted, "I wasn't pilfering, Danny. Abuela asked me to get this for Isabella's christening on Friday."
His eyes drift from my face to the outstretched gown, and then back up to my face again as he says, "I'm sorry that I got so angry... I didn't mean to frighten you. Are you ok?" I nod my head, still unable to make eye contact with him as I drop my hand back down to my side. "If I'd known that Josefina and Guillermo were going to use the gown, I would have gotten it to them myself."
Trying to choose my words carefully, I offer, "Abuela thought that it would be too hard for you to go up there." Pointing to the floor above us, I finish, "So I told her that I'd get it for her. I promise, Danny... I didn't bother any of Pilar's things while I was up there."
Nodding his head, he responds with a quivering voice, "I know you didn't. I'm sorry that I accused you."
Knowing that I should leave while we're on a high note, I turn towards the stairs with him watching my every movement. Suddenly, I remember the words from abuela's poem about doors and windows, and my promise to God to help Danny find a window to open, and I turn my eyes to him as I address him. "You know... this wall you've built around yourself isn't healthy, Danny. Believe me... I know what it's like to want to preserve the memory of the people you love when you lose them. But this shrine you have to Pilar is not the way to do it. Life is for the living. I'm sure that Pilar would want you to embrace her memory and move on with your life, not wallow in regret and guilt and lock off your heart from the rest of the world." Pausing to gauge his reaction, I find his eyes to be unreadable. "You need to let someone in to help you deal with all of these feelings you're having. I'm sure that Ray would be there for you if you needed him, or maybe a counselor if you would rather talk to a disinterested third party." Turning to leave, I look back over my shoulder as I finish, "And I'm here too, Danny. If you ever want to talk, I'm here."
"Wait a minute, Michelle. I've got something to say." Facing him, I can now read his eyes and I see that the anger has returned. The venom has returned to his voice, but this time there is an edge of control that wasn't there before as he says, "First of all, Michelle... you never met my sister, so you have no idea what she would or wouldn't want me to do, right?" He's not fishing for an answer, so when I open my mouth to explain what I meant, he waves a hand in front of his face to silence me.
"Secondly... this is my home and I will run it as I see fit. I expect you to respect my wishes, even if that means that you are forbidden from setting foot in a particular place." Again, I open my mouth to explain and he silences me, saying, "I know, I know, I know... the gown. Look... bottom line is, you should have come to me when abuela asked you to get it for her. You knew how I felt about you going up to the third floor, yet you ignored my wishes." I suddenly feel like a little kid who is being scolded for misbehaving.
"Lastly," he says, rubbing the twitching muscle in his jaw, "Let me give you a little friendly advice. Taking a couple of psychology courses at SU, doesn't make you a shrink. So no more of this psycho-babble about 'putting up walls' or 'locking your heart' in my presence. Understood?"
Nodding my head, I suppress the urge to click my heels together and salute. As he begins walking to his bedroom, I say sweetly, "Now that you've cleared the air, mind if I have a go at it?" Looking at me curiously, he bows at the waist, encouraging me to continue. "Just so you know... I know that you called Cedars to check up on me. You see... my friend, Gracie told me that on Thursday, she spoke to a Mr. Santos who told her that he was considering hiring me to work for his grandmother." Laughing sarcastically, I continue, "Well you and I both know that that's ludicrous for two reasons. First of all, I've been working for abuela for well over a week now. And secondly, Ray hired me... not you."
It is now he who is avoiding my stare and I am on a roll as I continue, "But the real butt-kicker is the questions that she was asked. For example... was I romantically entangled with anyone that she knew of?" Pausing briefly, I finish, "I just want to make myself crystal clear here, Danny. Who I see... is none of your concern. You got me?"
My mind screams, 'You got the last word. Walk away.' But when I hear him clear his throat, a morbid curiosity of what he's going to say next, forces me to stay. "I beg to differ. Who you see is a definite concern of mine... especially when you bring them here to my house to fuck on the weekends."
"You're a pig!" I scream, flying down the stairs.
"You smell nice, by the way," he hollers down, leaning against the railing. "Guess you got my presents, huh?" My eyes fly up to meet his, and that damned smirk of his is back in place. "Aren't you going to say 'thank you', Michelle?"
"Bastard!" I scream, and I can feel the echo of his laughter bouncing off of the walls as I storm to my bedroom and fling my body across the bed.
Glancing down at the delicate white gown clenched tightly in my fist, I say with a snort, "So much for windows and doors. When I help Danny Santos find that window to open, I'm going to throw him out of it."
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