Chapter 24

Cleveland, Ohio

August 1953

Harry knew he was not in his room when he woke, but it took a few seconds for him to remember they were at the neighbor’s apartment. His three-year-old sister slept soundly beside him in the twin bed. The bluish glow of the television faintly illuminated the hallway. He got out of the bed and followed the light to the living room.

The rotund, elderly woman dozed in her big, threadbare armchair. Her knitting had fallen to the floor. Harry tugged at her skirt, and she stirred. “Mrs. Miller, where’s my mom? When are we going home?”

She pulled the five-year-old boy onto her lap. “I don’t know, dear. They said they’d be back hours ago. I hope they come before too long. I gave the baby the last of the formula, and she’ll be hungry again soon.”

“I want to go to my own bed,” Harry said. “It’s dark in there. The streetlight shines through our bedroom window.”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t know you were afraid of the dark,” the old woman said.

“I’m not afraid!” he said, bristling. “I just don’t like it.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Miller said, smiling. “When my boy was your age—that was his room you’re in—he was afr … he didn’t like the dark either.”

“Where is your boy, Mrs. Miller?” Harry asked.

She paused and looked away. “He didn’t come back from the war, dear.”

Harry did not know what that meant, but he had heard his father say it about friends of his. A lot of men must have stayed somewhere after the war.

“But we should get you back into bed, Harry. It’s late.” He slid off her lap. Mrs. Miller slowly hefted herself from the armchair. “And I’ll put the bathroom light on for you. It makes the hall nice and bright.”

As she tucked him in, Harry asked: “Where do my mom and dad go when they leave us here? They’re always loud and their breath smells when they come back.”

Mrs. Miller sighed. “They just go out and meet their friends, dear. You know, the way you see your friends at the playground, except they go to … to restaurants.”

“I wish they’d stay home and play with me more,” Harry said as he nestled under the wool blanket.

“I know, Harry,” the woman said. She patted him lightly on the shoulder. “But I’m always glad when you and Laura and Elizabeth come to visit.”

“I like it too, Mrs. Miller. You always make us good food. Mom doesn’t like to cook so much.” He rolled over and then sat halfway up. “And cookies! Can I have another cookie?”

“You really shouldn’t, Harry,” Mrs. Miller said, though her tone indicated she was not firm on the decision.

“Please?” he begged. “I won’t tell.”

She hated to deny any request from Julia and Art’s children because she knew they frequently went without so many things children should have in their lives. “Well, I suppose half a cookie won’t hurt,” she said.

When Mrs. Miller returned from the kitchen, Harry already was asleep again. She switched on the bathroom light for him and returned to her armchair in the living room.

* * *

November 1954

“For Christ’s sake, Julia, can’t you do something with those kids?” Art shouted. “They’re tearing the place apart.” Six-year-old Harry and four-year-old Laura were playing a raucous round of tag in the cramped apartment.

Julia, with two-year-old Elizabeth on her hip, came into the living room. “Are your legs broken?” she snapped.

“I’m trying to watch TV here,” he moaned. Art motioned toward the flickering black and white screen in its big, wooden casing.

“Well, I’m trying to wrestle some food into her, and I’m fucking exhausted,” Julia said.

“You’re always fucking exhausted,” Art grumbled. “Maybe you ought to go to the doctor. I’m tired of listening to you complain about it.”

“I am, Art,” she said bitterly. “On Tuesday.”

He had not actually meant it. Art knew she was constantly occupied with the children, and it weighed on her. Mothering did not come easily to Julia. Still, whenever Art tried to express his frustration, it came out as an attack. “You are?” he asked, his tone shifting from anger to concern.

“Yes, Art, I am.” Julia was still angry. “Something’s just not right. My stomach is killing me all the time, I ache all over, and every little thing tires me out.”

“Well, with this gang of kids, I’m not surprised,” Art said. “I’m sorry, Julia, for sniping at you like that.” He got up and extended his arms. “Give me Lizzy. I’ll finish feeding her. You sit down here and have a rest.”

Julia’s tone softened as well. “Thank you, Artie.” She shivered as she sat down. “And I’m always cold. Or burning up.”

Art awkwardly clutched Elizabeth in one arm and handed Julia the flannel throw from the sofa with the other.

“I hope the doctor can figure it out,” she said. “Surely, I’m not going though the change of life already. I’ve been having a lot of female problems, too.”

“Oh, hell, Julia, of course you’re not,” Art scoffed. “Your mother was only halfway through having babies when she was your age. You’re just worn out by this pack of wild animals. Harry! Laura!” he yelled back through the apartment. “Knock it off! Your mom doesn’t feel good.”

* * *

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Kelley,” the doctor said. Julia had returned to his office three days after her initial appointment to learn the results of the battery of tests. “I … this is always so difficult, especially with a woman of your age.”

“What? Spit it out, doc. You’re scaring the shit out of me,” Julia said.

“Mrs. Kelley, I wish more than you can know that there could be some mistake, but the tests are clear.” He paused. “Where is your husband, by the way? Are you here alone?”

“Yes, doc, I’m here alone,” Julia said impatiently. “He’s at work. For Christ’s sake, you act like I’m dying.”

The doctor took a deep breath and looked at his hands resting on the desk, his fingers interlaced. He looked back up at Julia. “I am afraid you are, Mrs. Kelley.”

As Julia had lain awake in bed the past three nights, that possibility kept worming its way into her mind, but she immediately pushed it away. “No, no,” she said slowly to the doctor. “There must be some mistake. I … I’m only thirty-five. I’m just tired from the kids. You know I have three under the age of six.”

“Yes, I know, Mrs. Kelley,” the doctor said. “I am very, very sorry. But the tests are definitive.”

Julia felt as if she were sitting in a vacuum chamber with all the air sucked out. “But how? What? What is it?”

“We really should get your husband here,” the doctor told her. “Nurse!” he called out from his office then looked back to Julia. “What is the telephone number for your husband’s workplace, Mrs. Kelley? Nurse Davis here will call him for us.”

“Uh, it’s, uh.” Julia could not call it to mind. “Oh, that’s not necessary, doctor,” she said.

“Please, Mrs. Kelley,” the doctor insisted.

She thought about it hard and came up with the number at the garage. The nurse wrote it down and returned to the reception desk.

Regaining some of her composure, Julia asked: “So, what is it?”

“Wouldn’t you prefer to wait for Mr. Kelley?” the doctor asked.

“No,” Julia replied. “I want to know now.”

“I really believe it would be best—” the doctor began.

“Damn it, doctor, just tell me,” she ordered

“Okay, Mrs. Kelley,” the doctor relented. “It is cervical cancer. This is the source of your extreme abdominal pain. And I am sorry to say it has metastasized.”

“What does that mean?”

“It has spread, to other organs, and to the bones, which is why you have been aching generally.”

Julia began to cry. “I don’t understand, doctor. Why’s this happened to me?”

The doctor reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. “There is no explanation, Mrs. Kelley. I know it is little comfort, but it seems to strike randomly, and often among women around your age. There is nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

The doctor was correct. His explanation provided no comfort. “So, what do I do now?” Julia asked.

The doctor’s calm faltered. “In a less advanced case, I would recommend surgery and chemotherapy.” He paused.

“But?” Julia said.

“But in your case, with it so advanced, I think this route of treatment would merely deprive you of any quality time you have left, with your husband and your children, without offering any real hope of extending your life.”

The nurse stuck her head through the doorway. “I reached Mr. Kelley, and he is on his way.”

“Thank you,” the doctor said. He rose from his tufted leather chair, came around the desk and sat in the seat next to Julia. He always tried to maintain a certain distance and detachment from his patients, but her distress was overwhelming. He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “I promise you, we will keep you as comfortable as we can and give you as many good days as possible.”

* * *

Pilar came to Cleveland to care for her sister. Julia’s son Richard had joined the Air Force the day he turned eighteen, and he made no effort to get leave to come see his mother. Julia died on a bitterly cold January day in 1955 at a hospital in Cleveland. She had just turned thirty-six.

For half a year, Art struggled to care for their three children by himself. He and Julia had generally been poor parents when they were trying to do it together. Alone, he was a disaster. By June, he could not go on.

Jim and Pilar were out in their back yard, working on the fish pond they had dug the summer before. Pilar dashed into the house when she heard the telephone ringing.

“Hi, Pilar. It’s Art.”

“Hello Art,” Pilar said, out of breath from her sprint to the kitchen. “It’s good to hear from you. How are you? How are the kids?”

“Well, that’s why I called, actually,” he said in a dejected voice. “I … well … it’s … ah. Oh, hell, Pilar, I just can’t do this on my own.”

She and Jim had been braced for this call since Julia died. “I know it’s hard, Art. I thought your sister was going to help you.”

“She did, for a while, but she couldn’t stay here forever, and I’m at the end of my rope.” He went silent on the other end of the line, waiting for Pilar to make the suggestion.

“What exactly do you want us to do about it, Art?” She anticipated what he had in mind. But if he was going to make this decision, and so dramatically alter the course of her and Jim’s life, he would certainly have to ask.

He hemmed and hawed, never getting to the point.

“What, Art?” Pilar finally interrupted him. “What do you want?”

“Well, I know it’s more, a lot more, than anybody could reasonably expect. But, could you … will you … will you and Jim take them?”

“Oh, Art. Mercy,” Pilar said. Expecting the question did not make it any easier to swallow when it came. “Richard’s barely been gone two years, and that was so difficult for us. And then Julia was sick. We’re just beginning to feel that we have a life of our own.”

“I know, Pilar. And I swear to God, I wouldn’t ask this if I thought there was any other way.” Art sounded so exasperated, she could not help feeling sorry for him. “But there’s not. I’m not asking for myself. I’m asking for them. I can’t give them the attention and life they deserve.”

Pilar did not doubt the accuracy of that observation. “Let me talk to Jim,” she said, “and I’ll call you back.”

Jim was up to his thighs in the fish pond when Pilar wandered back out into the sunny afternoon. When he saw the strained look on her face, he quickly sloshed out over to her. “Who was it?” he asked. “What’s the matter?”

“It was Art.”

Jim’s thick jaw clenched. He slowly shook his head as he looked at the ground without speaking. When his eyes returned to Pilar, his jaw relaxed, and Jim reached out and gave her a bear hug. “You don’t have to explain, or ask,” he said. “We knew this day would come, and it’s fine.”

Pilar craned her neck up to look at his face. “Honestly, Jim? You don’t mind?”

“Hell, no, I don’t mind,” Jim boomed, grinning. “Those little ones aren’t Richard, and we’ve both wanted a family since the day we married. Well, now we’ll have one.” They had been trying to have children without success for a decade. Jim knew adoption had become their only option, and what better than to take in Pilar’s nieces and nephew? Jim also thought Art was about as shiftless and useless a man as he had ever met. It would be the right thing to rescue those children.

Pilar loved him more at that moment than she thought it possible to adore another human being. She rubbed Jim on his thickly-muscled back. “I knew I was smart to let you buy me that cup of coffee back in Clarksburg.”

Jim laughed and said as he waded back out into the pond: “Best decision you ever made.”