The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ZARA

Richmond, Virginia

Tuesday, June 8, 9:00 a.m.

Gina’s doctor’s appointment was scheduled for nine in the morning. She had thought she would go alone, but Nonna had insisted on accompanying her, so after walking the dogs, texting Nicolas, and rescheduling his visit for the afternoon, Zara pushed Nonna’s wheelchair to the car while Gina trailed slowly behind. Since her confession about her illness, the walls of pretense had crumbled, and her body had seemed to wither overnight.

How had she not seen Gina’s illness earlier or heard it in her voice when they’d spoken on the phone? She had been distracted by the illness of her last patient and had not had the energy to peer beyond the surface. Perhaps she simply had not wanted to hear it.

Zara followed Gina, pushing Nonna’s wheelchair into the waiting room, which was thankfully empty. As tempted as she was to speak to the receptionist for Gina, she hesitated, allowing her sister as many dignities as life still offered her.

She parked Nonna’s wheelchair by a stack of magazines and handed her the latest People.

“Who are these people?” Nonna asked, waving her hand over the starlets on the cover. “They look like children.”

“They’re singers.”

“They must not be so good if I have not heard of them,” Nonna said as she leafed through the pages. “These women are half-naked. Nothing left to the imagination.”

Gina sat beside Zara. “I can go in alone.”

“No,” Nonna said. “I did not come all this way to see half-naked ladies in People magazine. I want to hear your doctor.”

“Nonna’s right,” Zara said. “Like it or not, you need extra sets of ears now.”

“I’m aware of my condition,” Gina said.

“And now we all will be,” Nonna said.

Gina shook her head. “Okay, you can come, but do not make a thing of this.”

“A thing?” Zara asked.

“You’re dying,” Nonna said. “We do not have to make it a thing. It’s a thing all unto itself.”

When the nurse opened the door, Gina and Zara stood, and Nonna set her magazine aside. The nurse was a young woman with long brown hair tied back into a ponytail. “We normally only let one family member back.”

“I can’t leave my ninety-eight-year-old grandmother here alone.”

“I am not ninety-eight until next month,” Nonna said.

“You get the point,” Zara said.

The nurse studied them all and finally waved them back. “Just this once.”

And so the three Mitchell women walked to the exam room and waited while the nurse weighed Gina, noted she had lost eight pounds, and then escorted them to an exam room. “Change into a dressing gown, but you can keep your underwear on.”

“I know the drill,” Gina said.

When the door closed, Zara settled Nonna’s chair in the room’s corner.

Gina pulled off her shirt, revealing her thin torso and the red lace bra. “Basically, I’m a very fit person. It’s my pancreas that’s going to hell.”

It was easy for Zara to treat patients as if they were not sick. She had never known them before their illnesses. But with Gina, she had to concentrate on not crying. “I like your bra.”

Gina glanced at the red lace. “Thanks. I love this shade of red. Note the panties match, Zara. Keep that in mind. Always makes a statement when you’re pulled together in the places most don’t see. Gives you confidence.” Gina slid on the white paper gown, which immediately drained the remaining color from her face. Gowns had a way of making the healthiest among us look sick.

Nonna reached in her purse and pulled out two shades of lipstick. “To brighten your face.” Gina selected a shade and began to apply. “You too, Zara. You look the sickest of us all.”

Zara glanced at her reflection in the stainless steel paper-towel dispenser. “Really?”

“Pick one,” Gina said.

To keep the peace, she selected a red and applied it, and when she glanced in the reflection again, she was a little surprised it suited. “Thanks, Nonna.”

“We must look our best,” she said.

A knock at the door, and when they all said, “Enter,” it opened to the nurse practitioner. She was a young woman in her early thirties and wore her hair short. It was hard to see much of her face behind the mask, but her eyes were bright and alert. “Gina, it’s good you have your team with you today.” She introduced herself to Zara and Nonna. “Debra Winchester.”

“I’m Zara Mitchell, and this is our grandmother, Renata Mitchell.”

“They wouldn’t let me leave home without them,” Gina said.

“That’s a good thing,” Debra said. “You need your family.”

“So what’s the deal?” Gina adjusted the folds of her gown. “What’s the time left on the clock?”

“Let me get your vitals first,” Debra said. She listened to Gina’s heart, took her blood pressure, and then palpated her belly. “How’s the pain?”

“Manageable.”

“And the appetite?” Debra asked.

“Fair.”

“Can I ask what tests she’s had done?” Zara asked.

When Gina nodded, Debra ran through the list. “We’re trying to keep the swelling in her belly to a minimum so she will be comfortable.”

“It seems to work pretty well,” Gina said, adjusting the folds of her gown again. “But the chemo pills make me sick.”

“It’s the lesser of the two evils.” Debra wound her stethoscope around her neck. “The tests confirm that the cancer is spreading.”

“How much?” Gina asked.

“It’s about thirty percent bigger,” Debra said. “And it’s migrated to your right lung.”

“That’s one hell of a jump. I’d hoped the chemo might slow it more,” Gina said.

“We knew from the original diagnosis we were going to focus on quality of life. Have you been slowing down?” Debra asked.

“Burning the candle at both ends,” Gina said. “I’m trying to squeeze in what I can.”

“I can appreciate that,” Debra said. “But you have to rest more. Your body needs it.”

“Why?” Gina asked. “It’s going to be dead pretty soon.”

“Will rest halt the progression of the disease?” Nonna asked.

“Not really,” Debra said. “But rest will help her feel a little better. She doesn’t have the reserves for extra anything, and that’ll become more pronounced very soon.”

“You never answered Gina’s question. How much time?” Nonna asked.

Debra looked shocked by the direct question, and when she glanced at Gina, she simply nodded for her approval to answer. “You know we don’t like to talk in time.”

Nonna glanced at Zara. “What does that mean?”

“It means they really don’t know,” Zara said. It also meant Gina did not have much time left on the clock. “I’ll make sure she keeps up with her meds and rests.”

“She’s sitting right here,” Gina said.

“I don’t mean to talk over you,” Zara said.

“Then don’t.” Then softening her tone, she said, “The downside is I’m going to be spending the summer binge-watching movies. But on the bright side, I won’t have to worry about Christmas gifts.”

“You could make a bucket list,” Zara said.

“Bucket list?” Gina asked. “My bucket has overflowed the last twenty years. I have nothing else I need to do.”

“Make one for Zara,” Nonna said.

When they both looked at Nonna, she shrugged. “You did it for Catherine and Nicolas. Why can’t Gina do one for you? No time like the present.”

They were a somber trio when they arrived at Nonna’s house. Nonna was exhausted and decided to take a nap, and Gina also looked pale and drawn. However, when Zara returned to the kitchen after putting Nonna to bed, she found her sister pouring a glass of bourbon.

The time for lectures about eating clean were long past for Gina. This was about quality, not quantity.

“I need to run the dogs,” Zara said. “Pour one for me.”

“Will do.”

She took her trio outside, and to her relief they did their business and were ready to return to the air-conditioning. While each lapped water, Zara reached for her glass of bourbon and sipped. “This is smooth.”

“It was Papa’s. I found it a few months ago. It’s thirty years old and never been opened. Seemed a shame to waste.”

Zara held up the glass to the light, admiring the play of ambers and golds. “He loved his bourbon.”

“There’s another dozen bottles like this one in his study. I plan to finish them all off before I go.”

Zara pulled out a piece of paper and scribbled #1. “Number one on the bucket list: drink bourbon. You see, lists often make themselves.”

Gina took a liberal sip. “Do you do bucket lists for all your clients?”

“Those who want one.”

“What did they want to do for themselves?”

“For themselves, not that much. My last client was worried about his dog, Little Sister. I wasn’t his first choice, but it seems to be working out.”

“The runt is better off with you,” Gina said. “If I had a dog or a kid, I’d want you to have it.”

“Thanks.”

“What about Catherine, Nicolas’s wife? What was on her list?”

“Mostly travel experiences. She was worried that he would drown himself in work after she died. She didn’t want him to become his father and thought seeing the world might open his eyes up to a different life.”

“Has it worked?”

“He’s interviewing with his father’s firm later this week. Looks like he’s returning to his old life.”

She finished off her glass and poured another. “Did Catherine want anything for herself?”

“Time. But when that was running out fast, she wanted Nicolas to live for them both.”

Gina regarded Zara over the rim of her glass. “I could make a list for you?”

Zara sipped her bourbon. “Yeah, you could.”

“And would you do it?”

Zara nodded slowly. “For you, yes. Though I’m not doing all the work. You have to participate as well.”

Gina raised her finger. “Flip that paper over. We can put your list on the other side.”

Zara turned the paper over and wrote the number one.

Gina grinned. “Zara will bang Nicolas Bernard.”

Her pencil froze. “What?”

Gina grinned, much as she had as a teenager when she and Zara had skipped out on their father’s funeral reception to get ice cream. “Come on; you know you want to. Nonna said you blushed around him.”

Heat rose in Zara’s cheeks, but she blamed it on the bourbon. “I did not.”

“Like a ten-year-old schoolgirl. Tell me, have you been practicing kissing on your hand or the bathroom mirror like you did when you were fourteen?”

Zara stared into the depths of her glass. “He’s a good-looking man.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with you wanting him sexually.”

“He was in love with his wife. He’ll never love another woman.”

“We’re not talking about marriage and a picket fence. We’re talking about good old red-blooded sex. When’s the last time you had mind-blowing sex?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Gina glanced at the clock. “It’s been less than forty-eight hours for me.”

“A few years ago.” And mind blowing would not be the correct adjective. Pleasant. Comforting. Forgettable.

“No wonder you’re so uptight.” Gina swirled her bourbon but was not drinking.

“I have a high-stress job,” Zara said. “I move around a lot. I have dogs.”

“You’re on your way to being the dog lady who lives in a van. Please tell me you’re still shaving your legs.”

“Yeah, of course. I only missed today. And I like the pups.”

“So do I, but there has to be balance. We’re both out of balance. I have too much fun, and you have none. Somewhere between us is a normal person.”

Zara shook her head. “Do either one of us know what normal looks like?”

“I’m not so sure it really exists.”

“You’re turning into quite the philosopher.”

“Dying has a way of focusing life, Zara. You’ve worked with the dying, but you’ve never seen it from my side. It’s different.”

As Zara regarded her sister, anger, frustration, and sorrow mashed up inside her. “You’re right. I don’t know what it feels like.”

“Enough about me. Let’s get back to you. I’ll go through my contact list and see if we can get you waxed and manicured so Nicolas won’t see you as just nurse Zara.”

“I had my hair cut.”

“No doubt that was Nonna’s doing.”

“You can dress me up all you want, but Nicolas won’t go for it.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself, Zara. Or me. Or Nonna.”

“Any other item you want to add to my bucket list?”

“That should do it for now.” Gina rose and poured the remains of her glass down the sink. “Sorry, Papa. I don’t have the tolerance I once had.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Zara said. “He’s probably sorry he saved all that good bourbon and never drank it.”

“Finish yours,” Gina said.

“I intend to. Are you going to rest?”

“Just for a few minutes.”

“I’m cleaning out the last of the attic later this afternoon with Nicolas, and maybe finally I’ll find the trunk Nonna wants.”

“What trunk?”

“Wooden and about a foot long. That’s all I know.”

“Well, that’s something to look forward to.”

“She has more secrets than the two of us put together.”

“You know it.”

Zara waved to Gina and then sat in the quiet of the house, listening to a clock tick in Papa’s study. She sat in the chair, drained the contents of her glass, and then refilled it. Zara thought about the attic, hoping if she cleaned it out, the world would right itself in some way. Maybe if she were organized enough, worked hard enough, or prayed hard enough, it would all correct itself.

And then she realized what she was doing. Like many of her clients, she was striking a bargain with God. I do this; you keep my family alive.

Tears welled and spilled as she drank half the glass, savoring the smooth burn in her throat. She was wholly unprepared to lose the two most important people in her life.

It was not fair. She had lost her parents, her grandfather, and soon her sister and grandmother. “Shit, what the hell am I going to do when they’re gone?”