I always serve these with sour cream, guacamole, Mexican rice, and salsa. I’m including the recipes for the Mexican rice, guacamole, and salsa, but you’ll need to make the salsa way ahead of time. Remember how much time that always took? But remember how fresh it tasted and how much we’d laugh at Dad’s impersonations? His Johnny Carson would leave us in tears! Now that you kids are grown, I haven’t made this in ages. With just your dad and me here at home, meals are much smaller and quieter, but he still makes me laugh with his horrible impersonations. My sweet girl, I hope you have a noisy kitchen like I did! I loved those days. They went so fast. Enjoy these with your family!
Lauren feels a pang of sadness as she reads the words and can’t imagine how the owner of these cards feels, no longer having these recipes. She reasons that maybe these cards are much older than she thinks and perhaps “sweet girl” has passed away. While the enchiladas bake, she moves on to making the Mexican rice and guacamole. Homemade salsa will have to wait until another day, along with any impersonations that Travis might try.
July 1972
Joan walks to the front desk at the doctor’s office, holding Christopher in her arms. Gigi stayed with John to “help Daddy with the table.” Joan can only imagine how happy John will be to see her pull into the driveway after her appointment. The doctor’s office called her this morning, leaving a message with John, saying she needed to return to the office. She had her yearly checkup just last week and realized she had not given the office their newest insurance information. “I’m Joan Creighton,” she says to the receptionist. “I was here last week but forgot to give you my new insurance information. Someone called my husband this morning.”
“Mrs. Creighton,” the receptionist says, holding a finger in the air. “One moment.”
Joan is surprised to see Dr. Burns walk to the front of the office; she normally stays busy going from one room to the next, visiting with her patients. Dr. Burns has delivered both of her children and has short dark hair peppered with gray and has always had a kind, gentle way about her. “Hi, Joan,” Dr. Burns says, squeezing Christopher’s chubby thigh. “Come on back.” She leads Joan into her office, a small space filled with pictures of Dr. Burns’s family and pictures drawn by her granddaughter.
“I forgot to leave my new insurance information,” Joan says.
Dr. Burns indicates the sofa and Joan sits down, holding Christopher on her lap. Dr. Burns walks to her desk, lifts a manila file folder off it, and sits next to Joan on the couch. “I’m sorry there was confusion with the phone call this morning, Joan. This isn’t about insurance. We got the results back from your mammogram. You have breast cancer.”
Christopher turns to pat Joan’s face and she realizes she isn’t breathing. “What does that mean … exactly?”
“It means we’re going to get you in to see the best cancer doctor in the area. I’ve already called Dr. Kim and have made an appointment for you to see her on Friday. Is that okay?”
Joan is still processing the words. “Yes. Of course.” Her eyes are full when she looks at Dr. Burns. “I’m awfully young for breast cancer, right?”
“Cancer has no respect for any of us,” she says. She squeezes Christopher’s foot. “But this little guy makes you brave.” Joan pulls the baby to her and kisses his head. “I’m here anytime you need me, Joan.”
After setting Christopher on his little car seat and buckling it, she sits next to him in the backseat of the car and feels the tears forming. He pounds on the padding in front of him and Joan wipes her eyes before the tears fall. “That’s right!” she says, smacking the padding. “Let’s go home!” She kisses his hand and exhales loudly. It’s time to make dinner for her family.
NINE
July 1972
John pulls into the garage and turns off the car before jumping out and running around to the passenger side, where he helps Joan out, wrapping his arm around her waist. Dr. Kim wasted no time in beginning chemotherapy, explaining that she wanted to reduce the tumor inside of Joan’s breast before performing surgery. This is Joan’s third week in a row, and each time she’s left nauseous and depleted of energy the day following treatment, but on this Saturday, she woke up feeling more energy than usual, and while her mom took care of Gigi and Christopher for a couple of hours, Joan thought that she and John could enjoy lunch at their favorite restaurant. Their time together was cut short; Joan got sick halfway through, too nauseous to eat. She holds on to John as he leads her up the garage stairs and into the house, where he helps her to their bedroom and into the bed. He unties her sneakers and slips them off her feet. She lies back on her pillow and covers her face with her hand, moving it through her hair. Wisps, fine and long, entwine between her fingers, and she holds her hand
