| |
Kali breathed deeply—keeping her eyes opened. The best news in the past two years and a strong contender for the worst of her life, all in the course of an hour.
The water from the bathroom sink cut off. Footsteps padded across the hall. Her good boy. Her precious boy—getting ready for bed and going to his room, just like Mommy asked. Is this what she'd have to rely on for the rest of her life, hearing him? Always attuned to every step, every sigh, every smile. Could you even hear a smile? What about a silent tear?
But he'd spoken. If he'd done it once, he'd do it again. That's what she'd cling to. He'd talked once. He'd do it again.
She wanted to pepper him with questions, let him know she knew. But if he wanted her to know, if he was ready, he'd say something, wouldn't he?
Kali peeked her head into Theo's room, her face all smiles. “Hey, baby. You ready?”
One huge nod.
“Pick a story?”
He held one up.
“Oh, I love that one.” Talk, baby. Talk.
Theo smiled up at her and Kali nearly broke in two, his voice forgotten—how could she live without seeing that smile?
She climbed into the bed, savouring the warmth that emanated from Theo's little body, savouring the scent of him. That distinct smell had faded as he grew, would one day cease to exist, she imagined. But tonight she breathed it in. The scent of Theo.
He snuggled over and she curled an arm around him, nestling him close.
“There was a mother who had a new baby and she piiicked it up and rocked it ...”
Theo tilted side to side, his gaze on the page. How would she read to him? Kali smoothed her hand over his cheek. Did children's picture books even come in Braille? The words were always dispersed across the page. Would he have to guide her fingers?
“And flushed it down the toilet.” Kali shook Theo, “ju-ju-ju-ju.” He giggled. “Sometimes the mother would say, 'This kid is driving me craaazy.”
Dr. Manning had shaken her head, the MRI results in her hand. I was wrong, Kali. You need to start making plans. Plans. But not an answer. Not a solution. Just plans. The growth is rapid. Rapid. The word wasn't used lightly. Kali knew that. When a disease's progression was rapid, hope often flew away. Your life is about to change. But life always changed, right? And people adjusted.
“I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as you're living, my baby you'll be.”
Months of vision, she said, if Kali were lucky. Possibly weeks. But it could be days. Days. What could Kali plan for in days?
“She would pick it up and rock it, back and forth, back and forth ...”
Kali rocked Theo here, as she always did. But would she be able to when he was nine? Fifteen? Twenty-four?
Tell your employer as soon as possible. For now it's fine to work, but you'll have to monitor your sight carefully. And you need to let them know.
And what if they thought it wasn't fine to work? Would their liability cover a nurse who was going blind? Would their insurance cover the bills to come if they tossed her aside? We'll keep with your weekly appointments for now. The growth may slow. May. May. But not likely, the doctor’s eyes said. Not at all.
Any change in vision, any at all, you need to document. Kali had nodded. You'll see me weekly until you can start treatment, which will be soon. As soon as possible. Another shake of Dr. Manning’s head. Four millimetres in just under two weeks. Soon, maybe at your next visit, I’ll likely have to take your license.
That had hit like a smack in the face. Kali was a nurse. Outside of being with Theo, nowhere did she feel more whole, more her, than when she was helping people. And she was good at it. Damn good.
Kali? Dr. Manning had stared at her. Kali, are you—
Sure, sure. Kali held up her chin. I'm fine. I only spent five years in University, half of those as a single mom, juggling tests and clinic hours with diaper changes and late night feedings. And in one moment it'll all be gone. I'm just fine.
Dr. Manning's brow had furrowed. She opened her mouth, closed it, spoke. There may be capacities in which you could remain a nurse. Not direct patient care, obviously, not like you're doing now. But with support, assistance ... She hesitated. I meant your driver's licence.
Kali had nodded. It wasn't worse. But close.
Theo tugged on her shirt sleeve, a question on his face. Kali forced out a chuckle. “Sorry, Sweetie. Where were we?” She focused on the page. “Ah. And it had straaange friends, and it wore straaange clothes ...”
Once those things were gone—her license and her career, or at least her current career—the weekly vision appointments would stop. What would be the point? Her disease wouldn't be at risk of destroying any lives, except her own of course.
Dr. Manning shook her head when Kali brought up surgery again. She wanted this tumour out of her, though she knew ... knew the risks. Surgery, Dr. Manning reiterated, was no option. Not with the location of the growth. But, she reminded Kali, she’d see the radiation oncologist soon. She wasn’t sure what the treatment protocol would be, stereotactic radiotherapy, perhaps. It wasn’t her speciality. But, she said, Kali should have hope—maybe of renewed vision, definitely of a relatively normal life outside of that. A cessation of growth. Stabilization. Which was why it was so important to act fast. Hopefully, years more to watch her son grow ... figuratively if not literally.
It was a waiting game. Wait to lose her job, wait to lose her license, wait to lose her sight. Wait to see if this treatment could transform her fate. Perhaps, wait to lose her life.
Kali paused the reading and kissed Theo's forehead, smoothed her hand across it once more. He tapped his finger on the page.
She couldn't bring herself to even formulate the thought, process the steps she'd have to take for her son, to make sure he was cared for, to ensure she could care for him, and if she couldn’t ...
More urgent taps.
“Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and sing ...”
Several pages later Theo's fingers were on her cheek, wiping away a tear. She rubbed the heel of her hand across her face. Laughed. Smiled. Kissed him.
“Mommy's so silly. I'm just thinking about the story. About how much I love you. How you'll grow so big.”
She sang. “I'll love you forever ...”
Would Theo sing the song to her one day? If she made it that long, if she survived in a dark world. And would he have to hold her in his arms, not when he was a full grown man, but sooner? Would he be forced to grow up too fast, to guide her, care for her; would he have his childhood stolen?
She was being stupid. Blind. She could figure it out. There was no need to think about any of this yet. She had time. Months. Weeks. Days.
Lincoln. He popped into her thoughts like a Jack-in-the-box. Lincoln kept showing up in their lives, infusing himself into their lives. Theo loved Lincoln. And Lincoln, she was sure, loved Theo. Could he help her through this? Be the answer she was looking for, a better answer than the one that made most sense?
Lincoln wouldn't just take her son, pledge to care for her son, if she couldn’t. But if she could make him fall in love with her before revealing what that love would mean ... She could see it in his eyes, he wanted her. Yet want and love, want and caring, were two very different things.
Could she do that to him?
No. Lincoln was good. Kind. The type of man who might actually stay because he believed it was the right thing to do, not because he wanted to. The type of man who, if she let herself, she maybe could love. But she'd been down that road before and she wasn't about to travel it again.
And guilt, or obligation, or whatever would make him stay, only lasted so long. He would run eventually. That's what men did. Kali gave herself a mental shake. She didn't need Lincoln. She'd work it out. And her son, her sweet boy, he'd be okay.
“... back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And sang, 'I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my mommy you'll—”
Kali couldn't finish. The words caught. Theo was staring at her, she could feel it, but she didn't look down. Couldn't look down. She forced herself to finish the story, her voice shaky. She closed the book and still she couldn't look down. Theo tugged on her arm. Once. Twice. Would he talk for her? He'd talked for Lincoln. Maybe if she did what the psychologist said, refused to look at him. Forced him. “What, baby?”
Another tug.
“Tell Mommy what it is.”
A hard yank.
She gave in, letting their eyes meet. He wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her tear stained cheek. Kali clung to him. When she pulled back he wore a soft smile. A smile too old for him. A smile that carried her pain.
***
ABANDONING HIS PLAN to return to the woods in order to get a full day's work in the next day, Lincoln turned his truck toward the Brunswick Street apartment. The look in Kali's eyes—terror, desperation, sadness—it was none of his business. But he wanted it to be.
He'd get that phone. He'd try again, tomorrow even. He could say it was to ask about Theo, see if he'd talked. He didn't care what she said, something was going on. Something bad. And as far as he could tell, besides a three-year-old boy and a damaged old man, he was the closest thing to a friend that woman had.