“Sheee did.”
“Can I help do your makeup next time?”
“Ohhh, ummm…. Suuure, you caaan helppp next time.” She pauses a moment, and what she says next has all of our smiles falling from our faces. “Whaaat’s yourrr name?”
Before any of us can recover and save Molly from the awkwardness and devastation that she’s sure to feel once she realizes what she’s done, Violet’s head pops up and she giggles.
“You know my name, silly. I’m Violet.”
Molly stiffens in my lap, and my heart cracks wide open. She shakes her head more violently than I thought she was capable of in her condition. “IIIII’m soooorrryyyy,” she mumbles, her words more sluggish than normal. The grip I have on her waist tightens.
Jenna gets up from her chair, Bryant following suit. She approaches Molly and bends down until she’s in her face. “Don’t apologize, Molly. Don’t ever apologize for something you can’t control.” After laying a kiss against Molly’s forehead and gazing deeply into her eyes for a moment, she straightens back up. “I’m going to go help Gemma pack a bag for the night. We’ll be back in a little bit.”
Grabbing both of the girls’ hands, she talks animatedly as she leads them to the house. Bryant doesn’t say anything as he walks past us to follow her, but he stops and grips Molly’s shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze in understanding.
Once we’re alone, I place a finger under Molly’s chin and lift her face until she’s forced to look at me.
“It’s okay,” I say gently.
She again shakes her head hard. “Nooo, it’sss not.”
“Molly, baby, do you think anyone here blames you for any of this?”
She doesn’t answer at first and instead bites her lip. “Nooo,” she says after a moment. “Buuut how cannn Jennaaa be okay with meee forgetting who her daughttter is?” Her bottom lip wobbles and a tear leaks down her cheek. Her voice is lower when she speaks again. “Whaaat happennns if I forgeeet youuuu?” She closes her eyes, and her face scrunches up in pain. “Whatttt if I fooorget Graaaay or Gemmaaa?”
“We’ll deal with that if it ever happens.”
Molly’s done really good since we’ve been at the lake house. On a normal day lately, she usually has several memory lapses, but they’ve all been minor. Getting the numbers mixed up on the remote. Not remembering our mailman’s name, who’s been the same person for the last ten years. Forgetting the month Gray was born. The lapses usually only last a few seconds to a couple minutes at the most. But each time Molly ends the episode feeling drained and depressed. I understand her worry about one day forgetting the kids or me—it’s one of my fears too—but what I told her is the truth. We’ll get through it if it does happen.
My only hope is that Molly will forgive herself if that day ever comes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
MOLLY
Breast cancer. You know it’s there. That it exists. Thousands of women each year get it. But you never really stop to think that you will end up with it. It’s possible, of course, but out of the millions of women, you never really thought you would be one of the unlucky ones. I really thought the lump I found on my breast was a cyst of some sort.
When the doctor gave me the news, I actually turned around and looked behind me, expecting him to be talking to someone else. When I realized he wasn’t, I think my heart dropped from my chest and landed with a thud in my stomach. And poor Charles. He tried to hide it behind a brave facade and reassuring words, but I saw the worry and devastation on his face. I don’t want to admit it to him, but I’m scared. No, I’m terrified.
I close my eyes when the pages begin to blur. My heart breaks for Clara and Charles. From my own experience with my illness, I know what they are going through with not knowing what their future will be like. The survival rate for women with breast cancer in the nineteen-fifties was lower because the world wasn’t as medically advanced as it is today.
As crazy as it sounds, given my own terminal illness, I don’t envy Clara. She’s left with the knowledge that she may live, or she may die. To be in limbo like that…. At least with me, I know. I’d give anything to not die, to not leave my family behind, to not hurt them, but at least I know there’s no chance for me. It would be worse to have hope, then have it ripped away.
I wipe the single tear from my cheek and flip to the next entry, dated several days later.
Charles is driving me bonkers. He hovers, and his constant worry over me is exhausting. But I won’t tell him to stop. This is what he needs to make it through the stressful and uncertain times we’re facing. I can’t imagine what he must be feeling, knowing that his wife has a deadly disease in her body, and she may not survive it. I know if the situation were reversed, I’d be a blubbering mess.
The kids are almost as bad. Again, what do you do? How do you act when there’s a possibility you may lose your mother way before her time? I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. Do I try to act normal and pretend like nothing is wrong? I refused to sit around depressed, constantly thinking about the possibilities of my uncertain future.
I’m scheduled to have surgery in a couple of weeks. I don’t want to think about what the surgery entails. Will Charles look at me the same way after one of my breasts is removed? I can just imagine the scowl on his face if I ever told him of my fears. Charles is a good man. The best man and husband a woman could ask for. It’s silly of me to think he’d love me any less with only one breast, but I can’t help the niggling of doubt in the back of my mind.
There are a couple more entries before her surgery. I’m utterly absorbed as I read them. After I finish the last entry, which is the day of her surgery, I pause. I don’t know why, but I’m scared to read on. The two women I read about before I started Clara’s journals ended in tragedy. There’s a sharp pain in my chest when I think about Clara’s life ending just as badly. Her and Charles’ love story was just as beautiful as the other two. I know there’s at least one more entry because I can see writing on the next page. I just don’t know what is says.
My eyes drift to Gemma when her giggles fill the room. She’s on her stomach on the floor with her iPad in front of her. Her little legs kick back and forth while she watches Frozen Two. She’s been obsessed with the movie since it came out.
I can’t believe she’ll be nine soon. It feels like she was just learning to walk only weeks ago. Mom always told me time flew by for her when it came to watching Lindsay and me grow up. As a kid, I always disputed her claim because it seemed time went by slow for me. She told me I’d feel differently when I had my own kids. She couldn’t be more right. I hate that they are growing up so fast, but I’m also grateful that I’ve gotten to see them grow to where they are now.
According to some medical reports Lincoln and I found online for a few patients with GSS, they developed symptoms in their late twenties. One woman died when she was thirty-one. That could have been me. I could have missed out on the last few years of Gray and Gemma’s lives. I’ve been blessed in that regard.