“You can always come to my place,” Hilary interjected. “There’s no party there. You could rest in the guest bedroom.”
But Reese wanted to get back to Martha’s Vineyard. “My bed is calling my name,” he said.
Their daughter, Alexa, drove them from the hospital back to the Jessabelle House, where Oriana helped Reese into the passenger side of the car they’d brought. It felt as though they’d only just arrived at the Coleman party, as though they hadn’t soaked up enough of the goodness that they’d been looking forward to. Oriana panged with loneliness, despite being surrounded by people she loved so much. When she entered the Jessabelle House to collect her things—her Tupperware, her bowl — Samantha put one of the bottles of wine she’d brought into her arms and whispered, “Take this. You didn’t get to enjoy it!”
At this act of tenderness, Oriana nearly burst into tears. She felt like a breakable glass bowl.
Their daughter, Alexa, and son, Joel, hugged her goodbye and followed her to the car, where they hugged their father again. Reese reminded them that everything was fine. Nobody believed him.
When they returned to Martha’s Vineyard, Reese went upstairs and fell asleep immediately. Oriana wrote all of his appointments in their shared family calendar and sat on the back porch, listening to the autumn leaves whistle in the wind. Maybe by Thanksgiving—when Isabella would be on the East Coast with her research about Larry Calvin Johannes—she and Reese would be joking about these incidents. Maybe the doctor would give him some medication and clean this up.
She prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before.
The test results came back the first week of November.
Their Martha’s Vineyard doctor, Dr. Randall, sat across from them with his hands folded on his desk and a look of blank kindness on his face. Oriana wondered how many times in his storied career he’d had to deliver bad news. She wondered if he’d practiced delivering bad news over the years, or if he got better at it with each devastating loss.
“It’s prostate cancer,” he told them firmly. “Stage three, which means we need to act quickly and get treatments started right away.”
Oriana gripped Reese’s hand and was surprised to find it limp and loose, as though he wasn’t panicked at all. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. This was the big C, and it was happening to them. It felt impossible.
The doctor outlined the strategy and plan of attack. He spoke about surgery and radiation and chemotherapy, about how Reese would feel during the treatments and how he would feel after. Oriana felt the world crumbling around her. With Thanksgiving and Christmas on the horizon, she’d been looking forward to joyous celebrations with the Coleman family, from watching their grandchildren open their presents to eating their long-held family recipes to laughing together. Now, she knew that she and Reese would spend much of that time in hospitals and cancer treatment centers. She panged with a sense of loss.
That night, Oriana ordered their favorite Indian food and had it split into two large plates. Reese had lost even more weight, and she wanted him to regain some of his strength before his treatments began. He was calm and quiet, his handsfolded on his lap and his eyes on the television. They were playing a college basketball game. Everything felt surprisingly normal, as though it were any other November during their long and beautiful marriage. For a moment, Oriana let herself imagine that Reese wouldn’t make it, that she’d be spending the holidays as a widow for the rest of her time. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she ran to the kitchen to hide them.Stop thinking like that, she told herself.He’ll be able to tell.
As they ate, Reese chewed slowly and often used his napkin to moisten his dry lips. She’d never seen him eat so carefully. After a few bites, he set down his fork and looked at her. He’d hardly said anything since his diagnosis, and Oriana ached for some form of emotion, something to show her what was on his mind.
He said, “I’m sort of relieved to have an answer to all this.”
Oriana set down her fork with a clatter. She hadn’t considered that. “We have a diagnosis,” she agreed, nodding. “We have a plan of attack.”
Reese smiled. “This isn’t a war. It’s just my body, playing tricks on me.”
Oriana was no longer hungry. She wanted to tell him that they weren’t at war with his body. They were at war with cancer, and they would fight it till it relinquished its hold.
“Thank you for being there through all this,” Reese said softly. “I imagine I won’t always be easy to deal with. I imagine I haven’t been easy to deal with since all this began. I remember when we went out to Colorado. I thought I was going to faint. Numerous times.”
Oriana felt crushed. She’d known he was tired. She hadn’t known it was so bad. She felt she should have been able to tell. She took a bite of Indian food and felt that it tasted of sand.
“I love you,” she told him. “We’re going to get through this, like we’ve gotten through everything else.” She rememberedtheir difficulties with their son, the long-ago fire, their daughter’s struggles, their few marital arguments, and their lifelong struggles. Living alongside someone and loving them meant being in the mess of them at all times. She loved Reese. She loved the mess they’d made. She was going to cling to it as long as she could.
Treatments began in earnest a week and a half before Thanksgiving. Oriana was consumed with their cancer treatment calendar and hardly gave a thought to her own work. What she knew was that several buyers had received paintings by the newly beloved Larry Calvin Johannes, and that Larry’s name was being whispered through the artistic circles. The paintings were celebrated. More and more buyers wanted to get their hands on one. Oriana had her assistant, Kendra, manage a few sales for her, thanking her profusely for taking over when things were so grim for Oriana. “It’s what I’m here for!” Kendra reminded her.
And then, a few days before Thanksgiving, Oriana heard from Isabella again.
Chapter Eight
Mercifully, Isabella suggested that she swing by Oriana and Reese’s place for a catch-up and a “chat about our brand-new favorite painter.” This was how she described Larry. The morning before their meeting, Oriana and Reese went to the cancer and radiation treatment center, then returned so Reese could rest upstairs. Oriana had purchased a large-screen television for their bedroom so Reese could chill out in a sort of “at-home theater space.” She stocked him up with plenty of water, vitamin water, Gatorade, and other snacks, then reminded him that she would be right downstairs if he needed anything.
Isabella arrived a few minutes early. She hurried through the spitting snow, wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck until she burst into the foyer and into Oriana’s arms. Immediately after their hug, Oriana felt tears trickle down her cheeks. Isabella looked at her with alarm until Oriana waved her hand and said, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” Isabella said, slipping off her coat and hurrying to the kitchen to make them both tea. It was just like Isabella to take charge of a situation in a home that wasn’t her own.
Oriana sat at the kitchen table with a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of tea steaming between her hands. Isabella had made her own tea as well as a platter of toast with peanut butter, banana, and honey—comfort foods. She looked at Oriana expectantly until Oriana explained that Reese had cancer and things felt grim.
As it turned out, Isabella had experience with this sort of thing. Her father had prostate cancer two years ago. She’d gone home for a lot of his treatment, where they watched old movies and played cards and waited for the cancer to pull back. “He’s okay, now,” she said, squeezing Oriana’s hand. “But it was the most frightening few months of my life. I hope you’re taking it easy on yourself. I hope you’re remembering to eat?” She made eyes at the peanut butter toast until Oriana took a slice and bit down. Immediately, her thoughts calmed down.
Isabella was a good listener. For more than an hour, Oriana spoke about Reese’s fatigue, about their previous belief that nothing was wrong, and about the doctor’s assurance that they were on the right path. “My sister’s nearby, and my daughter’s close, and they’ve been really helpful,” Oriana said. “But I find myself faking it around them. I don’t want anyone to think I’m falling apart. Especially not Reese.”
