“I’m not going.” Mary avoided Grant’s eyes. She’d already made up her mind and didn’t want to debate it.
“You’re not going to the council meeting?”
The censure she detected in Grant’s tone irked her. It wasn’t as if that’s what she wanted. She didn’t enjoy reneging on commitments. He knew that.
“Right.”
“Why not?”
She pushed the hair back from her face and shot him an impatient glance. “Love, really. Isn’t it obvious? The cane. My wrist. It’s…it’s too much.”
Grant sat down across from her and rubbed a hand over his chin. “Too much what?”
“Too much to explain,” she said, her voice rising. “Can’t you imagine all the questions? People will want to know what happened, what’s wrong.” Her lips trembled, as tears welled in her eyes, making her all the more agitated. She wasn’t a crier. And not a whiner. She didn’t want to stay at home and sulk, but the thought of fielding all the questions, being under scrutiny, made her head pound. “How can I tell people what’s going on when I don’t even know?”
She’d already had a taste of it in the days since she broke her wrist. The phone rang almost non-stop. She appreciated the outpouring of concern and good wishes. In fact, the stream of flowers and cards cheered her immensely, and helped her get past the disappointment that had still been gnawing at her over the failure of the career workshop. But she’d grown weary of laughing off the fall as a clumsy mishap. As her appointment loomed, it rang more and more false to her ears.
Grant rose from the chair and stepped behind her, his hands lightly kneading her shoulders. “I’m just surprised. Thought you planned the appointments in Kansas City around this meeting.”
Mary let her head fall forward. She had. She’d planned to go to the meeting. But she hadn’t expected to be so tired. Thanksgiving with Dana and Kent had been low-key and fun, but it still took energy to be social. It was ridiculous how much mental energy it had taken to simply play a game of gin rummy. And the trip to Kansas City, the hospital visit and MRI had worn her out – and shaken her more than she cared to admit.
All those nurses and technicians wore a kind of soft, sympathetic smile like a uniform. They knew something was wrong with her or she wouldn’t have been there. It was possible they’d seen something in the images, that they already had information about her illness that she didn’t. That in itself annoyed her.
And then a nurse had called to schedule another test – a lumbar puncture, or spinal tap. With little to no explanation other than the doctor had ordered it. That was to happen Thursday morning, before she saw the doctor – before she knew the results of the MRI. As far as she could tell from her online research, the spinal tap was fairly common in this situation, and would confirm whether or not she had MS. That was not reassuring.
It’d be a lot easier to put it out of her mind if she could go about her usual routine. But she could hardly even take a shower by herself. With the cane, the cast, and a cart, going to the grocery store would become a juggling act. The irony of it was that she could hardly do anything except talk – the one thing she didn’t want to do. Funny how curling up with a good book or in front of the TV sounded good until those were your only choices. She felt trapped, unable to be herself.
And now she faced another trip to Kansas City. More tests. More waiting. More wondering. If she could get some concrete information, she could get her head around it, and get a plan of action. She needed some answers.
* * *
On the day of the appointment, they drove straight to the doctor’s office. No time for or interest in sightseeing.
Just when Mary was about to lose patience, Dr. Gray entered the small office-like room without apology or explanation for the wait. A tall, thin man with glasses and a full head of coarse salt-and-pepper hair, he was the quintessential neurologist. Looked to her as though they’d both acquired a few more gray hairs since they’d met the previous week to go over her symptoms and discuss the MRI.
“Morning, folks. Good to see you.” He extended his hand first to Mary and then Grant.
He tapped the keyboard of the computer on the small desk beside him, then looked at Mary. She appreciated that he looked her squarely in the eye, made her feel that whatever he had to say was the honest truth. She didn’t want sugar coating or coddling.
“We’ve got the MRI results here.”
Colorful pictures of Mary’s brain sprang to life on the computer screen. She stared at the images. Her brain. In vivid color. Bizarre.
Dr. Gray leaned forward. “The reason I ordered the lumbar procedure is that the MRI doesn’t show the kind of lesions that would typically be consistent with a diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis.”
Mary nodded and glanced at Grant.
He linked his fingers with hers and gave a gentle squeeze.
The doctor pointed to various areas on the images, explaining what the different colors represented, and where the lesions would have shown up. Then he tapped the keyboard, and a different image popped up. A chart of some sort.
“These are the preliminary results of the lumbar puncture,” the doctor continued. “We’ll have a more detailed analysis by the end of the week, but so far, they also don’t show the proteins we’d expect to see in a patient with MS. Therefore, at this time I think we should rule out MS as a diagnosis. We can revisit later if necessary. These things don’t always show up right away.”
That sounded like good news to Mary, but the doctor’s tone didn’t seem encouraging. She raised her brows, needing more. “Isn’t that good?” she asked.
“I can’t say for sure. We need to explore further. We can back up and send you to a rheumatologist, though that doesn’t seem right to me. And you don’t seem to have the tender points typical of fibromyalgia. From what you describe, we’re seeing a neurological situation, not a muscle or joint problem.” He paused, and looked at Grant for a moment, then back to Mary. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to have to consider ALS as a possibility. Loss of function in limbs is a key component.”
Mary gasped, and Grant squeezed her hand again. ALS had certainly come up in her online research, but she’d avoided in-depth reading. Didn’t want to go there. Still, she’d read enough to know it was bad. Probably worst-case scenario. The disease had no cure. It was degenerative. Your muscles basically wasted away until you couldn’t eat or breathe anymore.
“I don’t mean to scare you,” Dr. Gray continued. “But I want to be honest. You may know it as Lou Gehrig’s disease. The medical term is amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.”
Nodding, Mary swallowed hard, and kept her eyes fixed on the doctor. Could not look at Grant. Before she could respond, Grant spoke up, his voice strained but calm.
“What’s the next step? How can we know for sure?”
The doctor rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to tell you, it’s tough. There isn’t a definitive test for ALS. It’s something we watch, see if the symptoms progress. At this point, it’s mostly a process of elimination. The next test we need is an EMG.”
The doctor’s voice was foggy, distant, and Mary fought to comprehend his words. This alphabet soup was getting tedious. “What– What does it do?” she managed. She pressed her lips together hard, forcing herself to breathe.
“It’s an important part of the diagnostic procedure. Unfortunately, this one isn’t as comfortable as the MRI. Small electric shocks are sent through the nerves to measure how fast they conduct electricity and to find out whether there is any nerve damage. The shocks tend to feel like the kind you get from static electricity, maybe a little stronger. That will tell us if you have any “nerve block,” and whether the nerves that communicate sensation are affected, which could indicate a disease other than ALS.”
“Okaaay,” she said. Sounded like no fun at all. But if it could prove she didn’t have ALS, she was all for it.
“The second part of the EMG tests the electrical activity of selected muscles. This is done by inserting a fine needle into your muscles and using it to “listen” to the pattern of electrical activity in the muscles. If we find that your motor nerves aren't functioning, but the sensory nerves are normal, it’s generally a sign of ALS.”
“Can you do it now?” Grant asked.
The doctor looked as his watch. “I doubt it but let me get one of the nurses to call over to the hospital and see. Is tomorrow a possibility? Or, we can wait and schedule it for when we have the rest of the lumbar results, and go over everything at once.”
Mary wet her lips. If they could avoid another trip to Kansas City this week, she’d prefer that. But what would they do in Kansas City all day? They’d already seen the Plaza lights, and she didn’t have the stamina for shopping. She let out a heavy sigh. The waiting around was the worst.
“Do we necessarily need to be here to get the results?” Mary asked. “Would a phone conversation work?”
“We could try that,” Dr. Gray agreed. “Let me see what I can do.”
As soon as the doctor left the room, Grant put an arm around Mary’s shoulder. His other hand rested gently against her cheek. “You all right?”
She attempted a smile, though the concern in his eyes tugged at her heart. She refused to feed the fear. “Yeah, except for this tornado spinning in my head, I’m great.”
Grant pulled her closer. “Don’t worry. We’re going to figure this out.”
Dr. Gray returned. “Jenna will let us know about the schedule in a few minutes. Now, what questions do you have for me?”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Grant asked. “Until we know for sure what we’re dealing with, is there anything you can start her on to make her feel better?”
Blowing out a deep breath, Dr. Gray turned to Mary. “I see you’re using a cane. That’s good.” He frowned, looking down at her feet. “You might want some sturdier shoes. Something with a little more support.”
Mary also stared at her feet, covered by her cute and comfortable red slip-ons. What did he expect? Clunky tennis shoes or hideous orthopedics like the women in the nursing home wore? She’d never understood that. If a woman was just sitting in a wheelchair all day, why couldn’t she still wear cute shoes?
“Here’s the biggest problem right now,” the doctor said.
Mary’s head snapped up, her attention back on target.
“Without a diagnosis, I can’t treat. I’ve got to code for a specific situation and treat for that, or chances are your insurance won’t pay for it. We’re walking a fine line.”
He went back to her chart. “We clearly have fatigue and numbness. But you’ve not had slurred speech? Any difficulty swallowing?”
Mary shook her head, though she felt as if she’d choke simply talking at the moment.
“We’ve still got a lot of ground to explore. Even if turns out to be ALS, we won’t know right away. We’ll need to monitor your motor skills, re-test periodically, and track any new symptoms. I’m going to be as vague as I can on the charts. We’ll call it an autoimmune disorder and at least get you started on some meds to help you sleep and manage muscle spasms. Also, you should feel free to visit your primary care physician again, and get a second opinion, perhaps see a neuromuscular doctor. If we get any more confirmation that ALS is likely, I would recommend an evaluation at Mayo Clinic.”
Mayo Clinic? That was– Mary’s head spun with the implications. More tests, more doctors, and medication. This wasn’t going to consume their lives for a little while. It was going to consume their lives. Period. Possibly the rest of her life. Stop, stop, stop, she told herself. She drew in a deep breath, vowing that she would not panic. Whatever it was, she’d give it her best kick in the ass.
“And, of course,” the doctor continued, “physical therapy is going to be very important to strengthen and monitor your muscles and motor skills.”
“What about driving?” Mary asked.
“As long as you feel you have the control and reflexes to drive, it’s fine for now. But, obviously, the more you can limit it, the better. If your muscle control in your leg worsens over time, you may want to consider a car with hand controls, but I think we’re a long way from that.”
A nurse interrupted, handing Dr. Gray a note. He nodded and smiled at Mary. “How about tomorrow at ten-thirty for the EMG?”
“That’s fine.”
“All right. I’m sending a report, and a recommendation for physical therapy to your primary care doctor. Work with her to get something set up at a facility near you. I know it’s a lot to take in, and you may be feeling overwhelmed. Feel free to call with questions. If you see another doctor, please make sure I’m copied on all results so that we can work together for the best possible diagnosis and treatment.”
“Yes. Of course,” Mary murmured.
When Dr. Gray stood, so did Grant, and Mary followed his lead. Apparently, that was it.
“Jenna will be in with some literature and directions for your procedure tomorrow. And a couple of scripts. Let’s see if we can increase your energy level.”
That would be something at least. She had so much to think about, so much to process and learn. But all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and go to sleep.
* * *
On Monday morning Mary crawled out of bed and braced herself for a new form of torture – physical therapy. The current plan called for three days – two at the community center in Whitfield, and one day at the hospital in Paxton. She’d be lucky to even make it there. Her back still ached from the lumbar puncture and she had bruises from the poking, prodding and needle sticks. Barely moving, how could she possibly do an exercise?
She had new empathy for people dealing with chronic illness. With a hand to her chest, Mary leaned against the dresser. It still sent shock waves through her to think that she might be joining those ranks. Could that really be her future? Constant therapy, doctor’s appointments, treatments, and medications just to get through the day?
Or worse. What if her number of days was reduced? Or she lost her mobility and independence. What if–
Mary didn’t indulge in self-pity, but she couldn’t help the quiet tears that rolled down her cheek when a horrible thought slammed into her brain. What if she didn’t get to see her grandchild grow up? She expected to hear final results of the lumbar puncture and EMG in the next day or two. Swiping at her eyes, she had to admit that phone call scared her. If the news was bad, there would be no more denial. She’d have to face a new reality.
It took about thirty minutes longer than usual to shower and get herself put together these days. Sometimes closer to an hour. Today she left herself plenty of time to get out the door and to the community center.
In Whitfield, the strengthening class was a joint project between the clinic and the senior center. Mary and the senior society, she grumbled under her breath as she smiled politely at the other attendees and took her place against the wall. In the sea of white, gray and blue-tinted heads, Mary was the lone brunette.
She did as many of the routines and stretches as she could, but the cast was definitely a handicap. Star of the class she was not.
“Don’t worry,” the instructor told her. “There’s no prize for completing the exercises. Just do what you can.”
Most of the stretches she could manage as long as she was on the floor, but the equipment kicked her butt. Gratefully, she hung onto the bar along the wall when her legs began to tremble. Sweating, she rested while the others moved to weights.
By Friday, she figured if her condition didn’t kill her, physical therapy would.
Still lacking a definitive diagnosis, she’d taken to calling her illness a “condition,” though disorder seemed more appropriate, considering the havoc it was wreaking in her life.
She’d managed to get herself to the classes in Whitfield, but Grant was acting chauffeur for the trip to Paxton. For this session, she’d be working one-on-one with a physical therapist. One look at Jeremy, and she considered running for the door. Never mind that she couldn’t run if her life depended on it. Jeremy was a bear of a man – thick and solid with strong hands that she was sure could snap a bone in half.
Turned out those hands could also hold her up, and massage deep into her muscles. One hour, and she was smitten. She thanked him profusely as he helped her into the car.
“You take care, Miz Mary, and I’ll see you next week.”
Mary lifted her hand with a final wave, and sank into the seat, smiling at Grant. “Wow. I feel drugged.” Her entire body tingled. Sadly, the workover meant she might not be able to move tomorrow.
“Think you can come out of your high for lunch and Christmas tree shopping?”
She wasn’t entirely sure, but that was the plan. “You might have to drag me.”
“As you wish.”
Mary snorted a laugh. “Let’s hit the little diner downtown.” It was usually a quick in and out.
After lunch, they stopped at the 4-H lot on the outskirts of town.
Grant turned to Mary. “Why don’t you sit tight, and I’ll surprise you?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Surprise me? I don’t think so.”
“You know, I’ve done this a time or two. I’m pretty confident I could pick out one you’ll like.”
“No. I’m okay. Besides, I’ve seen the kind of tree you like, Charlie Brown.”
“How about I pick out a couple and bring them over for your decision?”
It was a sweet offer, but her confidence was not high. “Grant, I want to do this.” Sheer willpower forced her upright. Choosing a tree was one of her favorite Christmas traditions, and she was determined to participate.
“Not too tall,” Mary reminded him as they slowly meandered the fragrant rows of pines and firs. “No one’s getting on a ladder.” Dana and Claire were coming to help decorate the tree. One of them could probably be persuaded to use a step stool if necessary. Claire had offered to help with the decorating, and they decided to invite Dana as well. It would be the first holiday gathering of the season, and Mary could hardly wait to get the party started. She’d missed the mayor’s tree lighting, and she hadn’t seen Claire since Annie’s wedding. Time for some holiday cheer.
“You can leave the star for me,” Grant told her.
“Will do. I hate for you to miss out on the whole decorating thing.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. With the kids out of the house, she practically had to hold a gun to Grant’s head to get him to help trim the tree.
“I’m hurting, let me tell you.”
Mary stopped and pointed to a Fraser Fir with a perfect cone shape and full from base to top. “Want to stand next to this one?” Grant stepped into place, and Mary evaluated the tree with a critical eye. Hmmm. About even with Grant’s six-foot frame – and at least a foot shorter than what they usually chose. Wouldn’t be as dramatic, but it seemed manageable.
“Let’s take this one,” Mary said.
“Looks good to me,” Grant said. “What time is Claire coming?”
“I told her not before five o’clock. I’m going to need to work in a nap this afternoon.”
“I’ll bring up the boxes while you do that.”
Mary’s throat tightened, and she sent him a soft smile. “Thanks, love.” She couldn’t help but note that his response was proof how much her condition had changed things. At one time, an announcement that she was going to bed in the middle of the afternoon would have prompted a teasing gleam in his eyes – at the least. And sadly, by the time she actually got there, sleep would be the only thing on her mind. Already the afternoon fog was settling in her brain. It was that, more than anything, that had Mary agreeing with the doctor’s assessment of a neurological problem. How could the fog that overcame her be muscular?
She gestured around the lot. “And could you ask them to gather up a couple of armloads of loose branches, too?” Those would go on the front porch. She’d have to skip the pinecones this year unless she found some in last year’s boxes.
Mary retreated to the car and let Grant and the strapping 4-H helpers take care of the details. At home, she helped Grant wrestle the tree into the stand as best she could, then crawled into bed. Two hours should do it. Then she’d start the pot of potato soup she’d promised her guests for supper.
* * *
When she heard a car on the drive, Mary glanced at her watch, and smiled. About a minute after five o’clock. Blowing out her breath, Mary picked up the cane, and met Claire at the door. Might as well get this part out of the way so they could move on to the fun.
A wide grin covered Claire’s face, and she waved all the way up the walk. On the top stair, she stepped back with an obvious look at the leopard print cane. With a hand on her hip, Claire shook her head. “You always have the best accessories.”
Laughing, she drew Mary into her arms. They clung to each other for a long moment, until Mary’s bare hand became cold on the hard handle of the cane.
“Inside,” she said. Mary let Claire hold the door while she stepped up to the entryway.
Claire took off her coat and hung it in the closet, then walked back to Mary. “On second thought, my dear, you may be a little over-accessorized.” She grazed a hand over the cast. “When do we get rid of this lovely arm candy?”
Mary sank into a chair. “Not soon enough. Looks like first week of January.”
“Good. How’d therapy go?”
“Ah, well, Jeremy was incredible today. He has good hands.”
Claire raised her brows. “That’s a good start. So, you don’t mind him touching you. Can you stand to look at him?”
Mary chuckled. “He’s a large forty-something-year-old man with a nice smile. Not exactly sexy, but not too hard on the eyes, either.”
“That’s something, at least.”
“Strengthening class at the community center is a different story, however.”
“I’m sure.”
“I bring the average age down a couple of decades, and I’m no spring chicken.”
“Do you think it’s helping?”
“Oh, not yet. Especially with this cast. I can’t do all the moves. But, hey, they assure me it doesn’t matter because there’s no prize.”
“Well, why not?”
“That’s what I want to know. What the hell? For that much effort, I want a prize.”
“I should think so. Hey, I’m going to help myself to a drink.”
“Sure. You want hot or cold?”
“How about I put on some coffee?”
“Be my guest.”
“The wind sure picked up right before I breezed into town,” Claire said from the kitchen. “I think the temps are supposed to drop tonight.”
“I know. We might get a little snow. Nothing major, though.”
Claire shrugged. “I could think of worse places to be stranded. When did Grant leave?”
“About thirty minutes before you got here. I’m so glad this worked for you, or I’m sure he would’ve cancelled.” Grant and a couple of buddies had tickets to a car show and a Kansas City Chiefs game and planned to eat as much barbecue as possible in a two-day period. Mary figured it was good timing – Grant needed time to decompress, a break from worrying about her, and she loved having time with her friends.
Mary and Claire fell into easy conversation, catching up on all the kids, as usual. They visited for about an hour before the doorbell rang and the door opened.
“Helloooo,” Dana hollered.
“Come on in,” Mary said. “Go ahead and lock the door behind you.”
Dana shed her gloves, then rubbed her hands together. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Toasty in here,” Claire said, standing to hug Dana.
“Don’t get up,” Dana told Mary, squeezing her shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“Hanging in there,” Mary said, aware it was an answer that said nothing really. “You have no idea how much Grant praises you two for doing this. The man simply does not comprehend the finer details of holiday décor.”
“Shocking,” Claire said, laughter in her voice.
“Hey, let’s get drinks and munchies before we start working,” Mary said. They all gravitated toward the kitchen, and Mary put extra effort into walking as smoothly as possible.
“Work? Are you kidding? This is fun,” Dana told her. “I just did that scrawny table-top tree last year, remember? And this year, a big tree would be in the way, so I’ll have to wait until next year for a nice one.”
“She needs a Christmas tree fix,” Claire said.
“What about a beverage fix? I’ve got flavored waters, tea, and hot cider.”
“The cider smells amazing,” Claire reached for mugs. “Dana?”
“I agree.”
“Make it three,” Mary told her. “And I’ve got sliced oranges in the fridge.”
Claire placed three mugs on the bamboo tray on Mary’s counter, filled them, and headed back to the family room. “Starting to smell a lot like Christmas in here,” she said.
“Come on,” Dana said. “It’s about to look like Christmas, too.”
With the three of them spaced around the tree, they began winding yards and yards of tiny white lights into the branches.
“When are the kids arriving?” Dana asked.
“Oh, they’re all coming about the same time this year. I thought Sara might come a few days early, but it looks like they’re getting in Friday. Sara’s driving, but Grant’s picking Jason up at the airport in Kansas City. I wanted him to fly to Dallas and drive in with Sara, but they couldn’t get the times to work out.” Normally, as traffic coordinator, Mary would’ve jumped in and figured out the flights and schedules herself, but she’d left it to the kids. And it didn’t happen.
“What about Evan and Maddie?” Mary asked, trying to steer away from negative thoughts.
“Everybody in on Saturday. I keep wondering if Evan might announce that he’s bringing a guest. I get the feeling he’s dating someone, but he hasn’t mentioned it.”
Brows arched, Mary peeked around the tree, and met Dana’s eyes. “That’s interesting. Isn’t he the one who usually shares?”
“Exactly. But lately, I ask a simple question like ‘what’d you do this weekend?’ and get a really vague response. Then he changes the subject. Makes me wonder.”
“Hmm. You’ll have to keep us posted,” Mary said. “It’s your turn for a wedding, you know.”
Dana grinned. “Ahem. Perhaps you’ve forgotten. It is my turn for a wedding.”
Laughing, Mary smacked her palm against her forehead. “Oh, good grief, maybe I should be tested for Alzheimer’s. Tell us about Hawaii. Is everything all set?”
“I think so. Flights are scheduled two days before the wedding in case of any weather issues. You won’t believe what I did. I don’t believe it.”
The excitement in Dana’s voice was obvious, and Mary stared at her friend. “I’m dying here. What did you do?!”
“I bought all new clothes. Swimsuit, sun dresses, shoes…everything. I can’t wait to wear it all.”
“Good for you,” Mary handed her a spool of ribbon. “I can’t wait to see the pictures.” Splurging on herself was something Dana rarely had the opportunity to do. Until now, money had always been tight, and she’d always been afraid she’d run short for her kids, or her ex would somehow get his hands on what little she had.
“Sounds wonderful,” Claire said. “But I’m still miffed about the tiny guest list.” She nudged Mary, who, fortunately, had propped her bum knee on a footstool, and remained upright. “I don’t see why we couldn’t book flights that just happen to coincide…”
Mary sucked in her breath. She and Grant were supposed to go to Hawaii at the end of February before the spring break crowds hit. Could she go? The cast would be off by then, but if she felt the way she did in Phoenix, it would be a complete waste of time and money. Then again, a little “vitamin sea” might be therapeutic.
“I’m in,” she said brightly, knowing there wasn’t a chance. But it was a good segue into the topic she hadn’t yet broached. “That’d be a great way to thaw out after I spend a few days in Minnesota in January. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
“Minnesota?” Claire screeched. “In the winter? Why in the world–”
Dana’s arm stopped, and the ribbon unfurled to the floor. The look of dismay on her face told Mary she knew what a trip to Minnesota meant.
“Oh, Mare. Are you going to Mayo?”
Claire turned wide, shocked eyes on her, and Mary felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
The look turned to accusation. Mary hadn’t told Claire everything. And didn’t intend to. What was the point of worrying everyone until they knew for sure what was going on? Claire was her dearest girlfriend. Had been for years. Yes, sharing the good and the bad was important. That’s what friends were for. But Mary refused to burden her friend with too much information.
“You’re going to Mayo Clinic?” Claire demanded. “Why?”
“Because they have a lot of experts all in one place, and the doctors here and in Kansas City can’t seem to figure out what’s wrong.”
Claire turned to the tree, and placed an ornament on a branch, dusted her hands on her jeans, and reached for another.
Mary knew Claire was processing, probably counting to ten to neutralize before she spoke again. She was good at that.
“So, they think it’s something serious?”
Mary shook her head. “That’s the problem. We just don’t know. But it’s possible. I mean, there’s something wrong. I can’t put my full weight on my leg. I’m dragging my foot. And I’m tired all the time. I feel like I’ve had the flu for a month, and it isn’t getting better.”
Claire stared. “Do you feel bad now?”
Mary attempted a smile. “I’m pacing myself. I’m achy, but I took some meds, and I should be able to stay awake for a couple more hours. But then, I swear, I will drop like a deflated balloon.”
In a second, Claire was beside her, arms wrapped around her. “You are ridiculous,” she said in a violent whisper. “Arthritis? Why didn’t you tell me how bad it’s gotten?”
She handed Mary the cane, and then took her other arm. “All right, you’re taking a load off.” She brandished the cane. “This is a multi-purpose tool. You point. We’ll place. Enjoy while you can. You know how much I love to take orders.”
She practically pushed Mary into the nearby chair, then lifted Mary’s cider mug. “I’m going to freshen this up for you.”
When Claire headed to the kitchen, Mary sensed Dana’s eyes on her.
“Do you know what tests they’re doing, or what they’re looking for?” Dana asked, her voice quiet and tentative.
“Not sure what all they’re planning to do. I’ve already had a complete alphabet of tests, and so far, nothing is conclusive.”
“For what?”
“It’s a process of elimination game.”
Dana nodded but didn’t push for more. “Well, you’re going to the right place. Best doctors anywhere. I’m glad you’re going.”
Claire returned and set the mug on the side table.
“Hey,” Mary said. “As long as you’re doing my bidding, want to push play on the stereo? It’s hooked to my iTunes, and I’ve got a Christmas playlist ready to start. We need some jolly.”
“I’m on it.”
Mary rested a few minutes before the toe-tapping music of Mannheim Steamroller compelled her to get moving. She pushed herself from the chair and picked up a box of ornaments, large sparkly gold balls. “Let’s do these next,” she said, handing one box to Claire, and another to Dana.
“Glitter?” Claire asked. “Oh, boy, these are going to make a mess. I hope Rita gets a hefty Christmas bonus.”
“Glitter. Definitely,” Mary said. “I love these.” She placed one front and center. They made the whole tree sparkle. In the evenings, she and Grant would dim the lights in the house, light a fire, then curl up on the sofa, and watch all the ornaments twinkle and dance. One of the simple pleasures of Christmas.
They broke for soup and cornbread, then put the finishing touches on the tree.
“Girls, you get a gold star,” Mary said. “It’s absolutely gorgeous, and I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Oh, Mare. It really is spectacular,” Dana said. “Next year, I’m copying you.”
“Next year, we’ll help you,” Mary said brightly. “It’ll technically be your first Christmas together, married, that is.” Mary said a quick prayer that next year would be a blissful new normal for Dana, and one of the best holidays ever for Mary – with the worrisome medical mystery behind them, and a new grandbaby to love and spoil.
Then Mary blinked, and the weekend was over. She and Claire, in their pajamas from morning until bedtime, hadn’t left the house all day Saturday, and declined church in favor of a lazy morning on Sunday. That, of course, had lit up the phone this afternoon. Mary ignored the calls with a mixture of guilt and glee.
At two o’clock Claire dropped her suitcase near the front door. “Just need to get the sheets and towels I used out of the dryer. I’ll get the bed made before I leave,” she said.
Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Rita can do that.”
“Uh, no. I’m not creating more work for Saint Rita. Have you seen the glitter on the floor?”
“I call that holiday cheer.”
“Not sure she’d agree.” Claire’s boot heels clacked against the hardwood floors as she headed toward the laundry room.
Mary shook her head. That was the problem with someone who knew everything about your house down to the cupboard that stores your laundry detergent. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the strength or mobility to put up a fight.
When Claire returned, she glanced around the room. “Looks good.” Then she put her hands on her hips and turned to Mary. “You sure you’re okay with this? I can stay.”
“And watch me sleep?”
“I have a book.”
“No. I want you off the road by dark. I’m going to take a nap, and Grant will be here by the time I wake up.” She jerked her head toward the door. “Be careful.”
Claire’s eyes zoomed in on her like a telephoto lens, and Mary braced herself for what was coming. Claire had been way too accommodating. Too quiet. The butt chew Mary had anticipated ever since mentioning Mayo Clinic Friday night, was about to be delivered.
“Before I leave, we need to get one thing straight,” Claire said, her voice low and firm. “I know you don’t want to play the woe-is-me card, and I know you have good-guy Grant to take care of you. But you and I have been friends a long time, and we’ve been through a lot together. Whatever this is, you’re not doing it without me.”
Mary swallowed past the lump in her throat. “When I know, you’ll know.” She leaned against the back of the sofa and held out her arms. “Thanks for coming. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Squeezing Mary hard, Claire nodded. “I’ll text you when I get in.”
Though frigid Kansas air billowed into the house, Mary stood at the door, and watched until Claire turned the corner. Gratitude mixed with sadness, the way it did every time she said goodbye to her friend these days. She missed having Claire close by. Mary had promised to keep Claire in the loop, but how she hated the idea of burdening her friends and family. Instead of sharing information, she vowed to share time. As soon as she could, with every bit of energy she could muster, Mary would visit Claire in Wichita. That was a trip way overdue.
A few days later, a padded envelope came in the mail from Claire. The adhesive was too strong – or Mary’s fingers were too weak – to rip it open, so she trudged to the kitchen for scissors. Sinking into a chair at the table, Mary pulled the contents from the package, and laughed out loud. Several small carnival-type trinkets landed on the table, along with a blue first-place ribbon and a pair of soft, slip-free fuzzy socks that matched her cane. A small notecard read “Grand Prize.” The laughter turned to tears as a wave of nostalgia washed over her. Claire was right. She couldn’t do “this” without her.