Reconstructing natalie, p.19
Reconstructing Natalie, page 19
The romantic wood earned a place of honor in the center of Mitch and Jane’s dresser.
Zoey’s contribution to the bedroom sanctuary was a small rock-garden fountain. “The sound of the cascading water helps relax the mind, body, and soul,” she explained. Faye, who’d surprised all of us by showing up, added unscented cream candles. “Romantic lighting is always nice.” And Rashida said that Jane liked listening to praise music before she went to sleep, so we brought in a portable CD player and set it on her side of their bookshelf headboard.
In the bathroom, I’d noticed a Scripture on a sticky note in the center of the mirror, and I’d asked Mitch about it when Jane was out of earshot. “She likes to see that every morning when she brushes her teeth,” he said.
This time it was Constance’s turn to work some artist magic. After we’d finished painting the bathroom a shade lighter than the cool bedroom green, she lettered the verse above the bathroom mirror in beautiful calligraphy: “For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. 2 Corinthians 4:17.”
We added thick, fluffy towels and plush area rugs to the room, and Mitch’s family invested in a portable whirlpool machine that would turn the basic tub into a luxurious Jacuzzi bath where Jane could soothe her aching body. As a final touch, Nurse Johnna, our group leader, placed a certificate on the counter that entitled Jane to twice-weekly therapeutic massages from her own certified fingers.
Anita and I were on stepladders in the bedroom, hanging the simple tab curtains I’d found at Target, when Antonio rushed over. “Hey, babe,” he said to Anita, “you don’t need to be straining your arm like that.” He helped her down and nodded at me. “You either. Let me do that for you.”
I arched my starting-to-grow-in eyebrows at Anita as we walked down the hall.
Her cheeks pinkened. “Things are getting better,” she whispered.
At the end of the day, I looked around at everything we’d accomplished, and it was good. It was just what I wanted for Jane—still her house, but now more peaceful and serene. And with the touches of beauty she needed.
Glancing out the front window, I noticed Andy pull up in his truck with Josh in the passenger seat. He’d told me awhile ago that he had to go run an errand, but I’d forgotten all about it. Now as I watched, he motioned one of the teenage boys to help him remove an unwieldy object covered with an old army blanket from the back of his truck. The two carried it in through the front door, an excited Josh close on their heels.
“What in the world?”
Josh jumped up and down with delight. “It’s a surprise.” He grabbed my hand and led me after his dad and the mysterious box that had just disappeared into Luke’s room.
Merritt, Rashida, Anita, and the straggle of remaining workers followed behind us Pied Piper fashion.
“Let’s set it in the corner,” Andy instructed his helper. He looked around the cluster of curious faces for his son. “Okay, Josh, you ready?”
“Ready.” Josh raced over to the other side of the box opposite Andy, his eyes sparkling, and started to lift the blanket.
“Not yet, buddy. On the count of three, okay?” Andy grabbed his back corner of the blanket. “One, two—”
“Three!” Josh shrieked as they removed the covering.
Beneath it was a large wooden box, painted red, with a hinged lid and Luke’s name stenciled in blue at the top. The whole thing was plastered with crooked stickers of toys.
“Daddy made this for Luke and decorated it with stickers ’cause he’s my friend, and we both like Legos and Thomas the Tank Engine,” Josh said proudly. “And Bob the Builder too.”
Behind me I heard a chorus of sniffling.
I knelt down and hugged Josh, blinking back my own tears as my eyes sought Andy’s. “Thank you. It’s absolutely perfect. I knew we were missing something, but I just didn’t know what it was.”
chapter twenty-three
You done stopped going to church?” Rashida shot me a penetrating look.
I had accepted her decorating-job offer and was over at her house taking measurements for the window treatments. “Hang on a sec.” I held the metal tape between my thumb and forefinger. “Write this down before I forget.”
She did, but I wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. “Why’d you stop?”
“Lots of reasons.” I sighed. “I’ve been there my whole life. I needed a change. But mainly I just wanted to be somewhere where everyone wasn’t staring at me.”
Rashida’s church wasn’t exactly the place for that. As the only white face in the crowd, I felt like the lone vanilla wafer in a sea of Mallomars. But there was no help for it. Rashida had insisted I get my skinny white butt back to church, and to make sure I did, she was taking me to hers.
“My butt’s not skinny,” I had protested.
“Well, it sure ain’t bootylicious.” Rashida snorted. She patted her own slim-but-rounded behind. “You white women got no butts at all.”
“Uh-huh. What about Jennifer Lopez?”
“Don’t count. She’s Latina.”
“Marilyn Monroe?”
“And she’s been dead for how long?”
She waved a finger at me and feigned a frown.
“You better give up now, girl. You know you don’t have a case.”
“Preach it, brothah! All right now. Go ’head. Yes, Jesus.”
Rashida’s church was the most talkative church I’d ever been to. And the singingest. And the dancingest. And Rashida was right there in the thick of it—singing, clapping, waving her arms, and dancing in the aisles.
I shook my head. Hard to believe she was a buttoned-down lawyer during the week.
Well, sort of buttoned-down.
“C’mon girl. Go ’head and move,” she whispered to me.
“I am moving.”
She took in my feeble step-slide from one foot to the other. “Ya call that movin’? Get down.”
But I was a little too white-bread to get down, although I sure enjoyed watching everybody else. Talk about the Spirit moving.
After the service, Rashida was introducing me to some of her friends when I noticed a good-looking man smiling at us and trying to make his way in our direction. “Oh my,” I whispered. “Be still, my heart. That guy looks like Denzel Washington.”
“Who?” She looked up and grunted. “Oh, that’s just Fred. He’s no Denzel. Too short.”
“Short, tall—I don’t care. He’s drop-dead gorgeous.”
“You think?” Rashida tilted her head and critically surveyed the Denzel look-alike as two Faith-and-Angie types waylaid him to talk.
“Have you ever gone out with him?”
Rashida pulled herself up to her full five foot nine. “Do I look like a short woman?”
By the time Fred managed to extricate himself from the flirtatious duo, we were starting to walk out the door, but he fell into step with us as we started down the outside stairs. Rashida introduced us, and we made small talk for a while.
But Fred, although warm and polite to me, only had eyes for her.
Sunday afternoon
Sometimes I think the nuns and monks have the right idea—that whole quiet and contemplative bit.
Today after weeks of visiting myriad churches and worshiping in multiple styles, I’m sitting near the duck pond at McKinley Park enjoying the sun on my legs and a cool breeze coming off the water.
Just me and God.
I need this time alone. Seems like I’m surrounded by people all the time. And I know my friends and family mean well, but they’re taking such good care of me that I never seem to have a moment to myself. Even in my own home.
And I desperately need that.
To think.
And be.
And pray.
And heal.
Thank you for this sanctuary, Lord.
“How’s that cinnamon roll, Dad?”
“Delicious as always.” He wiped icing from his mouth. “You sure know the way to your dear old dad’s heart. Or should I say stomach?”
“That’s an only daughter’s job.” I held out the teapot. “More tea?” I’d had to declare my house a coffee-free zone for the chemo duration, and I hadn’t restocked it after the chemo ended.
He shook his head, drained his Earl Grey, then looked at me over the rim of his mug. “So what is it you have to tell me that you don’t want your mother to know?”
“What do you mean?” I widened my eyes. I might not have had eyebrows or eyelashes anymore, but that didn’t stop me from trying my standard wide-eyed look of innocence.
He chuckled. “I’ve been your father for twenty-seven years. I think I know you pretty well by now.”
“Busted.” I returned the teapot to the counter, then sat down across from him. “Well, you see . . .” I worried a hangnail between my teeth.
“Would this have anything to do with your wanting to quit your job, by any chance?”
I bit down on my finger. “How’d you know?”
“I watched you at Jane’s, and you were in your element, sweetheart.” Dad covered my hand with his. “You were so animated and clearly loving every minute of it.” He chuckled. “I don’t remember ever seeing you that excited around the office.”
“It’s not that I—”
“Hey, I’m not complaining, just making a simple statement of fact. It was wonderful to see you come so alive.” He squeezed my hand tight. “Wonderful. Life is short. You’ve got to grab the gusto!”
“You sound like a beer commercial,” I teased.
“Where do you think I get all my words of wisdom?” My tee-totaling dad winked. Then he grew serious. “Honey, I was never more proud of you than when I saw what you did for that family.” His eyes misted.
“I just wanted to help. That was the only practical way I knew how.”
“You did help—a beautiful job. You definitely have a gift.” He wagged his finger at me. “We can keep you on the books awhile because of your insurance, and we can probably work out some kind of arrangement to hold you until you get another job. But I’d rather not see you back in the office again.” He eyed the plate of cinnamon rolls. “I think that merits another cinnamon roll, don’t you?”
I pushed the plate his way. “Sure do. Although there’s something else—”
“There you are, Jim.” Mom poked her head in the door. “I’ve been looking all over for you.” Her eyes crinkled when she approached and saw the sticky rolls. “Should have known you’d be here satisfying your sweet tooth. Just make sure you don’t spoil your appetite. We have dinner reservations at Scott’s.”
Mom turned her attention to me. “Everyone was asking after you at church today, honey. Mrs. Wheeler said to tell you that you’re in her prayers, and so did Pastor Dave. He misses you. Everyone does.” She fiddled with her wedding ring. “Do you think you’ll be coming back to church soon?”
“Maybe,” I hedged. “Hard to say.”
She beamed, certain of victory, then plucked up one of my home magazines and began riffling through it. “You know, I was thinking that maybe we could remodel your bathroom. Maybe put in a shower-and-tub combo so you could take baths too. And perhaps a pretty pedestal sink?” Her eyes danced. “What do you think, Ms. Decorator?”
“Well, uh, that sounds really nice. But”—I sent Dad an apologetic look—“actually, I’m going to be moving out.”
She dropped the magazine. “What?”
“What?” Dad echoed.
Mom’s mouth opened and closed.
“You can’t move out,” Dad protested. “You’ve just finished your chemo.”
“It’ll be two weeks on Tuesday.” I laid my hand on his. “Don’t worry,” I said gently, “I’m not moving out tomorrow.”
“When, then?” Mom asked. “And why?”
“End of the year, after Jillian’s wedding. And as for why”—I squared my shoulders—“it’s high time I was out on my own. Although, technically, I won’t be on my own, since I’m going to move in with Merritt.” I smiled with anticipation. “We’ll be two single girls on our own.”
Mom whirled on Dad. “Did you know about this?”
“First I’ve heard of it.”
I decided I might as well go for broke. “I’ve actually started taking a night class at the community college. They let me miss the first class because of the chemo.”
“A night class?” Mom furrowed her brow. “In what?”
“Interior design. The teacher actually has his own design firm and great contacts in the area. He said that if I do well, he might even be able to land me an internship.”
“But why would—”
“And something else. After I finish my reconstruction, I’m going to find a tap-dancing class.”
“Tap dancing?” Mom arched her eyebrows. “What—are you Ginger Rogers now?” She threw up her hands. “Next you’ll be saying you’re going to quit your job.”
Dad and I exchanged a look.
Later, after my folks left, I took a deep breath and started doing a clean sweep of my cottage. Although I wasn’t a clutter bug like my mom, I did have a lot of stuff. Too much stuff. And I spent way too much time dusting it, cleaning it, and taking care of it.
Now that I was going to make a fresh start, it was time for some serious purging. Nothing too extreme—stark minimalism is not my style—just a little less-is-more action.
I was in the bedroom examining my “Boob Voyage” poster— definitely a keeper—when I heard a light rap at the screen door.
“Is it safe to come in?” Andy called.
“All clear.” I carried the poster into the living room and propped it up against the armoire.
“Cool artwork. Merritt’s, I assume?”
“Yep.”
“The woman sure knows how to paint.” Andy gave me a cautious look. “Hey, it sounded like World War III in here earlier. I didn’t want to get hit by any exploding Ruth-bombs, so I took cover. So what was the big battle about?”
“I just told my folks I was moving out and quitting my job.”
“Just, she says?” He grinned. “If I’d known, I would have taken even better cover.”
“It’s time for me to get out from under my parents’ thumbs.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I mean, I love them, but I’m nearly twenty-eight years old, and I’m still living in their backyard. What’s wrong with this picture?”
“Nothing’s wrong with it. Nothing at all. You and your parents are just really close.” He smiled. “But you’re right. I do think it’s time for you to spread your wings a little. To find out who you really are, apart from your parents.”
chapter twenty-four
Look! There’s Mickey!” Josh waved frantically. “Mickey, Mickey! Over here!”
Andy, Josh, Merritt, and I were at Disneyland celebrating the end of my chemo. It was Josh’s very first time at the Magic Kingdom, and seeing the park through the eyes of a child was fun for all of us. Seeing it from the seat of a wheelchair was another thing entirely. But I was still pretty weak and didn’t have a lot of stamina, so the wheelchair was a necessity.
Anyway, Josh thought the wheelchair was cool. Especially since it let us go to the front of all the lines.
Merritt gave me a wry look. “We should have tried the wheelchair trick years ago.”
We made quite an interesting foursome. I was the only baldy remaining now, but I kept my chilly head covered with a silk scarf and a cute denim cloche hat. Everyone else’s hair had grown back in, although Josh liked his short cut so much he’d told his dad he wanted another buzz cut “just like it” next summer. Andy’s hair, which he’d always worn a bit longish, had now grown out into sort of an updated crewcut.
And Merritt had gone spiky platinum blonde.
Wherever we went, people stared—or started to, then flushed and quickly looked away.
“Gee!” I gave my platinum pal a wry grin. “You’d think they’d never seen a woman with no eyebrows or eyelashes in a wheelchair before.”
“They’re just trying to figure out what rock group we belong to.”
I giggled. “Chemo Girl and the Buzzheads.”
“No, we’re the Skin—” Josh clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Dad. I forgot.”
I bought Josh, Andy, and Merritt a set of Mickey Mouse ears from one of the stores on Main Street.
Josh gave me a puzzled look as he reached up to feel his new headgear. “Where’s yours, Aunt Nat?”
“They wouldn’t fit over this.” I gestured to my hat.
“I think we can fix that.” Andy whipped a plastic princess tiara out of a Disney bag and clipped it over my hat.
“Aw, thanks, Andy. You’re such a prince. But it’s coming loose.” I reached up just as the little crown lost its hold on the denim.
“Hey, no problem.” Merritt pulled a couple of safety pins from her shoulder bag and handed them to Andy, who carefully secured the tiara back in place.
“You keep safety pins in your purse?” I asked Merritt suspiciously.
“A Girl Scout is always prepared,” she recited.
“You weren’t a Girl Scout.”
Merritt winked. “I know. That’s ’cause I was prepared.”
Josh laughed excitedly on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, but with a hint of nervousness. “It’s really dark in here.”
I put an arm around him and whispered. “Don’t worry. Aunt Natalie will protect you.”
He turned in his seat. “Nuh-uh. You’re a girl. I’m s’posed to protect you.”
“Well then,” I told him solemnly, “I really need you to cuddle up close.” And I smiled to feel his little body mold itself to mine. Maybe we need to protect each other, I thought as the little boat bounced around the bend.
