“The cancer has spread to your lungs,” Dr. Kim said. “We need to be more aggressive with your treatment.”
Joan’s eyes filled with fear as John said, “Can you stop it? Can it go anywhere else?”
“We will try everything we can to stop it,” Dr. Kim said. “Yes, it could continue to spread. I’ve consulted with Dr. Levy, who is the best surgeon for this type of cancer, and my office will set up an appointment for you to meet with him as soon as possible.”
“I’ll need surgery?” Joan asked.
“If you need surgery,” Dr. Kim said, “Dr. Levy is the most qualified. We won’t know anything until he runs more tests.” She stepped away from her desk and sat next to Joan on the sofa in her office. “We’ll do everything we can, Joan, but you need to fight this. You need to stay positive and strong. Can you do that?” Tears covered Joan’s eyes, but she nodded. “I don’t know everything about this disease, Joan, but I promise you that I’ll fight alongside you.” Dr. Kim squeezed Joan’s hand and a tear fell over Joan’s cheek.
John did not ask about prognosis; he couldn’t bear to hear it, but deep down he knew. He could sense it in Dr. Kim’s voice and see it in her eyes. They set up the appointment to see Dr. Levy early the next week, and he took hold of Joan’s hand, leading her out of the office, through the parking lot, and to the car. He noticed again how fragile her hand had become just in the last month. As each day passed, he was convincing himself that she was getting better, but all that had changed today.
“John.” Joan’s voice was small. “What if—”
“No!” he said. “There is no ‘what if,’ Joan.”
She turned to look at him in the car. “Yes, there is. We both know there is.”
“We will do other things in addition to surgery and medication and treatments and whatever,” he said, grabbing her hand.
“What other things?”
He looked out the front window, staring at the Chevy pickup truck in the parking lot. “I don’t know. We’ll pray.”
“We are not praying people, John.”
“Then we will become praying people!” John snapped, controlling his voice. “We will find people who pray.”
She smiled. “John, you and I both know many people who have been prayed for and they died anyway.”
He nodded. “And lots have been prayed for and they’re still living today. Shouldn’t we at least try?”
John sets the table leg back down and puts his hands on the worktable, leaning on it. Tears drip onto the table, turning brown sawdust into a rich coffee color. “I don’t pray,” he says aloud. “I don’t know how. But I believe in you, God. I always have, I think. Ever since my grandparents told me about you when I was little. Even though my family never went to church, even though Joan and I don’t go, I believe you are who you say you are. I believe that you made the world. I believe that you’re the one who raised Jesus out of that grave. And I believe that you can heal Joan.” He begins to sob as he leans onto the worktable. “I know you can. Will you? Please. Please, God. Will you do something for her that only you can do?” His throat fills and he can’t finish.
September 2012
Gloria enters her office and smiles; a paper plate covered with pieces of cake sits on top of her desk. It looks like a small breakfast cake, filled with blueberries. She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “Mmm,” she says, smacking the desk.
“What’s wrong with you?” Miriam says, sticking her head in the office door. Gloria has taken another bite but points to the cake. “The food bandit strikes again!” Miriam says, reaching for a piece.
“‘Bandit’ is a horrible word,” Gloria says with her mouth full. “A bandit takes things. This is more like a food Santa!”
Miriam bites into the cake and smacks the desk as well. “Do we know who our secret Santa is yet?”
Gloria shakes her head, finishing the last bite in her hand. “No! I wonder if it’s one of those things like you see in movies—where once you find out who’s doing it, everything stops from that point on.”
Miriam stares at her. “What movie has ever had that story line?”
“The one that I just told you about!”
Miriam sighs, shaking her head. “And we’re sure Betty isn’t dropping these things off? Like maybe she’s trying out new recipes for the bakery?”
“She swore to me it’s not her,” Gloria says, reaching for another piece of cake.
“Well, whoever it is, they need to open a bakery!” Miriam says.
“Miriam!” Gloria mumbles with her mouth full. “What if Betty hears?”
“I didn’t mean here in Grandon,” Miriam says, whispering. “I meant in the next town, which is far enough away from Betty’s, but also close enough for me to drive to.”
Gloria nods. “Candy, muffins, cupcakes, orange cake…”
“And it had just a hint of orange! It wasn’t overpowering, but so delicious!” Miriam says, remembering the moist cake left a few days earlier. She makes a satisfied noise in her mouth as she holds up a piece of breakfast cake. “These blueberries are fresh. And there’s a hint of lemon. Do you taste it?”
“Do I taste it?” Gloria says. “Do you think I’m hard of tasting? Of course I taste it!”
As Dalton and Heddy, Amy, Stacy, and Lauren come in for the day, Gloria waves each of them into her office for a piece of cake. “How are we ever going to thank the person doing this?” Dalton says.
“We can’t thank them,” Gloria says. “That would ruin everything.”
“How?” Heddy asks.
“Well, it would be just like that movie that Gloria saw,” Miriam says,
