“Oh, baby,” Yolanda said, and she opened her arms, and suddenly Josh had his head on her shoulder, his body stiff, his face aching with the effort of not crying. “I’m so sorry, honey. She was the sweetest thing.”
He straightened up before he broke. Nodded.
“Let me check you out, hon. Come on.” Yolanda led the way, opened a register and started ringing him up.
He hadn’t brought the grocery bags. They were in the back of the car, but going to get them seemed akin to running a marathon. He stood, staring at the floor, as Yolanda bagged. “That’s $159.23, hon.”
“Sorry?”
“You need to pay, hon. Did you bring your wallet?”
He didn’t know. He felt for his back pocket. “Uh . . . no. I don’t think so.” He could feel himself shutting down, powering off.
Yolanda smiled sadly. “Okay. I got you this time. Just pay me back when you come in again. Take care, Josh. Take care of yourself.”
“Thank you,” he whispered.
When he got home, he shoved all the bags in the fridge, gave Pebbles some water and went into the guest room. He got into bed fully clothed, pulled the covers up and prayed that he’d dream of his wife once more.
6
Lauren
Eight months left
June 5
Dear Dad,
A lot has happened since the last time I wrote.
When Josh and I came back from the Caribbean in March, and just after Octavia was born in April, I got pneumonia again. I don’t know how. Everyone cleans everything these days, Josh and I still swab down everything with good old Clorox wipes. Nevertheless, two days after we got back, I had a fever and chills. My O2 sat was crap, so we called Dr. Bennett, and she said to head for the hospital.
I had to be intubated. That is no fun, Father. I hate it, because I’m sedated, you know? It steals time. Plus it worries Josh and Jen and everyone else. I lost four days, but we beat the pneumonia, at least.
I’m on Ofev, which is one of the only medicines that seems to slow IPF down. I’ve been eating organic food only for two years, and I take those Chinese herbs and exercise, and still, Dr. Bennett said my lung function tests were “lower than we’d like,” which sounded ominous. Also, I’ve lost weight, courtesy of a side effect of the meds . . . diarrhea like Old Testament wrath, Dad. Not that you want to hear this, but who else can I tell? Dr. Bennett added another medication, which stopped the weight loss, but it makes me a little dizzy. The steroid inhalers make it a little easier to breathe, but also give me insomnia.
And every time I lose a little lung function, it’s gone forever. IPF is a greedy bastard.
Stephanie, who is the world’s best mother-in-law, got me a Himalayan salt lamp, which is supposed to help with breathing. Let no stone go unturned, right? She’s also big on the healing wonders of Vicks VapoRub, which, let’s be honest, is a miracle drug. I love the smell. She said to rub it on my feet at night. Mrs. Kim agreed, so it must work, because she had four kids and is a nurse, and therefore knows everything.
Sometimes, I have to sleep in the recliner, because being flat isn’t great for me, but I hate to be away from Josh. He (of course) found a special wedge pillow so I could be more comfortable in bed.
I love him, Dad. He is everything a husband should be. Protective, funny, kind, thoughtful, gorgeous (not necessary but it does NOT hurt that he has cheekbones like a Nordic god and a smile that curls up in the corners and makes my ovaries ache. Sorry, sorry, TMI, I know that). But I want you to know how he is. That I couldn’t be in better hands or with a better person.
Work is great. I started designing the interior of the children’s library wing, and what could be more fun than that? Everyone at work is so nice; Santino and Louise and I go for slow walks at lunch, and Bruce is incredibly flexible with my hours. Oh, you’ll love this—Lori Cantore, the only mean girl of the firm, asked Bruce for my office “down the line.” Second time she’s asked! Can you believe that? I said, “I’m right here, Lori. Still alive, sorry to tell you.” Bruce sent her home for the day and told her to cut the shit or find another job. Best boss ever! Still, I hate her. Before I got sick, I’d try to look for some redeeming qualities, but now, forget it. She’s a bitch, and she deserves nothing from me. I may have taken one of her Diet Coke cans and dribbled the remains on the floor by her desk the other night. You can never really clean that kind of stickiness.
Anyway, the thing about getting sick was that Dr. Bennett, Bossy Pulmonologist, told me she didn’t think I should be tackling airports and hotels for a while.
Which is a big bucket of suckiness, Dad. Traveling is one of the things that almost lets me forget I’m sick. And it lets Josh forget, too, at least for a little while. He’s obsessed with finding a cure. I don’t blame him. If he was the one who was sick, I’d do the same thing. But—and this is a big one—I need him to take breaks from that, because otherwise, I’m just a sick person who needs to be fixed. I’d rather be his wife.
So when we travel, he can forget about trying to invent a microscopic fiber-eater that can go into my lungs, or calling every research hospital in the world to talk about drug trials. When we travel, we get to be a happily married couple with a few health considerations. We’d been talking about going to as many of the national parks as we could—Zion and Yellowstone, maybe Denali, in case the pure, cold air would help my lungs.
Dr. Bennett advised against it. For now, she said.
So guess what my husband did, Dad? He rented a crazy-beautiful house on Cape Cod for the entire year! It has five bedrooms so we could have Jen, Darius and the kids whenever we want! There’s a chef’s kitchen, a screened-in porch and three decks, and it’s right on a cliff overlooking the ocean. One serious winter storm could take it out, but hey, for our purposes, it’s perfect. A house on the ocean. Who knew I’d ever be that lucky? We’re going up next week, and I can’t wait.
So your son-in-law is doing his job beautifully, Dad. Just wanted you to know.
Love,
Lauren
That Cape house made Lauren fall in love, not just with the gorgeousness of the place but with her husband all over again . . . and also, with how they could be here.
They went up the first weekend in June and sat on the deck, staring at the ocean, holding hands. Pebbles jumped up next to her, unaware that she wasn’t a tiny puppy anymore. The day was sunny and clear, so peaceful and so full . . . the gentle roar of the waves, the wind that gusted erratically, the birds twittering and chattering in the trees. The air smelled like lilacs and salt and pine needles, and if it could be bottled, no one would need antidepressants ever again.