July 1972
Joan walks to the front desk at the doctor’s office, holding Christopher in her arms. Gigi stayed with John to “help Daddy with the table.” Joan can only imagine how happy John will be to see her pull into the driveway after her appointment. The doctor’s office called her this morning, leaving a message with John, saying she needed to return to the office. She had her yearly checkup just last week and realized she had not given the office their newest insurance information. “I’m Joan Creighton,” she says to the receptionist. “I was here last week but forgot to give you my new insurance information. Someone called my husband this morning.”
“Mrs. Creighton,” the receptionist says, holding a finger in the air. “One moment.”
Joan is surprised to see Dr. Burns walk to the front of the office; she normally stays busy going from one room to the next, visiting with her patients. Dr. Burns has delivered both of her children and has short dark hair peppered with gray and has always had a kind, gentle way about her. “Hi, Joan,” Dr. Burns says, squeezing Christopher’s chubby thigh. “Come on back.” She leads Joan into her office, a small space filled with pictures of Dr. Burns’s family and pictures drawn by her granddaughter.
“I forgot to leave my new insurance information,” Joan says.
Dr. Burns indicates the sofa and Joan sits down, holding Christopher on her lap. Dr. Burns walks to her desk, lifts a manila file folder off it, and sits next to Joan on the couch. “I’m sorry there was confusion with the phone call this morning, Joan. This isn’t about insurance. We got the results back from your mammogram. You have breast cancer.”
Christopher turns to pat Joan’s face and she realizes she isn’t breathing. “What does that mean … exactly?”
“It means we’re going to get you in to see the best cancer doctor in the area. I’ve already called Dr. Kim and have made an appointment for you to see her on Friday. Is that okay?”
Joan is still processing the words. “Yes. Of course.” Her eyes are full when she looks at Dr. Burns. “I’m awfully young for breast cancer, right?”
“Cancer has no respect for any of us,” she says. She squeezes Christopher’s foot. “But this little guy makes you brave.” Joan pulls the baby to her and kisses his head. “I’m here anytime you need me, Joan.”
After setting Christopher on his little car seat and buckling it, she sits next to him in the backseat of the car and feels the tears forming. He pounds on the padding in front of him and Joan wipes her eyes before the tears fall. “That’s right!” she says, smacking the padding. “Let’s go home!” She kisses his hand and exhales loudly. It’s time to make dinner for her family.
NINE
July 1972
John pulls into the garage and turns off the car before jumping out and running around to the passenger side, where he helps Joan out, wrapping his arm around her waist. Dr. Kim wasted no time in beginning chemotherapy, explaining that she wanted to reduce the tumor inside of Joan’s breast before performing surgery. This is Joan’s third week in a row, and each time she’s left nauseous and depleted of energy the day following treatment, but on this Saturday, she woke up feeling more energy than usual, and while her mom took care of Gigi and Christopher for a couple of hours, Joan thought that she and John could enjoy lunch at their favorite restaurant. Their time together was cut short; Joan got sick halfway through, too nauseous to eat. She holds on to John as he leads her up the garage stairs and into the house, where he helps her to their bedroom and into the bed. He unties her sneakers and slips them off her feet. She lies back on her pillow and covers her face with her hand, moving it through her hair. Wisps, fine and long, entwine between her fingers, and she holds her hand in front of her. John removes the hair, setting it on the nightstand for now, and clasps his hand in Joan’s. Her eyes fill with tears as she reaches for her hair again with the other hand. John stops her hand and holds on to that one as well. A tear sneaks down her cheek and he kisses one of her hands. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll grow back.”
“I’m going bald,” she says, her voice squeaking.
“Big deal. My dad’s bald. You don’t see him crying about it.” She laughs out loud and more tears fall over her cheeks. He wipes them away with his hand and smiles at her. “You could be bald and wear a burlap sack and still be beautiful.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want the kids to watch me go bald.”
His eyes brighten. “Then have them do it for you.” She looks up at him as he nods. “Today. They’ve seen you buzz my hair. They can use the clippers and do it for you.”
“Gigi would love that,” Joan says, squeezing his hand.
“And she can tie her favorite scarf around your head.”
Joan begins to laugh. “She’ll pick that awful bandanna we use to play pirates.”
“And you will be the prettiest pirate I’ve ever seen.” Another tear makes its way down Joan’s cheek and John wipes it away.
July 2012
Gloria walks into her office and discovers a cheeseball surrounded by gingersnap cookies on her desk. A typewritten note on top says: A chocolate chip cheeseball for the hardworking staff and volunteers at Glory’s Place. “Too bad Miriam can’t have some,” Gloria says beneath her breath as she uses the plastic knife left with the cheeseball to put some on a gingersnap and takes a bite. “Mmm! Oh my!” Andrea and Amy hear her as they pass and stick their heads in her door. “Mmm!” Gloria says, raising the plate into the air. “Come try this. Someone left these for us.”
“Who left them?” Amy asks, taking a bite of a cookie.
“The note doesn’t say,” Gloria answers, shoving the rest of the cookie in her mouth. “Has to be Betty trying something new for her catering side.”
“Then why didn’t she put this in a Betty’s Bakery box?” Amy asks, making yummy noises in the back of her throat.
Andrea puts some on a cookie and takes a bite, her eyes widening. “This is yummy!”
“My mother used to make cheeseballs,” Gloria says, reaching for another cookie. “But not like this one.”
Dalton and Miriam peek inside the office to check on the afternoon schedule and to see which station they’ll be manning first. “Dalton!” Gloria yells. “Come get a cookie with this on it.” He and Miriam step toward her and Gloria holds her hand in the air, stopping Miriam. “No Miriam. I’ve seen you eat cookies. Stay back.”
Miriam scowls at her as Andrea laughs. “Be nice, Gloria. She doesn’t eat that many.”
Gloria snaps her head to look at Andrea. “How do you think Cookie Monster got his name?” She points at Miriam. “Right here.”
“You are so rude, Gloria,” Miriam says, snatching a cookie from the plate and putting some of the cheeseball on top, making sure she gets plenty of chocolate chips.
When Lauren enters the front door, Gloria waves at her through the office window. “A sweet for the sweet,” she says, holding up the plate. “And to answer the question you’re about to ask, no, we don’t know where this came from, but I’m thinking Betty’s Bakery.”