The Faded Photo Page 12

  Together, they would tell the children. She’d have to figure out how to explain why she had kept it from them in the first place, without making Nicholas feel any worse for not having made the time. Would they accept her explanation that she hadn’t wanted them to worry? That everything was going to be fine? But knowing the children, they would see through that. How would she explain the fact that their father had been too busy, too irritable, too Nicholas to have a moment’s time for her to tell him? What she had started, a simple delay in discussing the situation, he had unwittingly continued.

  It was almost noon when her phone rang. She reached for it, half expecting it to be Nicholas checking in on her and only half surprised when she heard Charlotte’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hey, girl. How are you doing today?” The concern and empathy in Charlotte’s voice touched Frances.

  “I think I lost five pounds already.”

  Charlotte gave a hollow laugh. “That’s some diet.”

  “I don’t recommend it.”

  It sounded as if Charlotte shifted the phone. Frances could envision her holding it to her ear with her shoulder while doing something else with her hands. Charlotte was, after all, a perpetual multitasker. “Look, I’m running out for a few things. I plan on stopping by, so what can I bring for you?”

  “I . . .” Frances hesitated.

  “Don’t start that with me, Frances,” Charlotte blurted out. “If you need something, let me know. That’s what friends are for, right?”

  Even though she was alone in the room, Frances shut her eyes and nodded.

  “Yes, you’re right. Of course,” she said. Then she took a deep breath. “I have a prescription here, Char. I really could use it filled. It will help with the nausea.”

  “Easy enough. I can swing by in a little bit to pick it up.”

  “It’s in my purse. In the kitchen, I think.”

  “Got it. Anything else?”

  “And Nicholas’s dry cleaning . . . it’s at Willow’s on Elm Place.”

  Charlotte sucked in air as if she had been caught off guard. “It’s one thing to help you, Frances,” she said in a slow, even voice, “but quite another to ask me to be a personal assistant to Nicholas.”

  Frances raised her free hand to her forehead and rubbed at her temples. “That would be helping me, Charlie. Please?”

  “Fine!” But her tone didn’t sound fine. In fact, she sounded as irritated as Nicholas had that morning.

  “Thank you.” Frances knew that it sounded meek, but it was the best that she could offer.

  “You get better, and then you owe me, girlfriend.”

  She managed a small smile, even though Charlotte couldn’t see her.

  “Yes. Yes, I do,” she whispered as she heard the phone click on the other end.

  Two hours passed before the front door opened and she heard the sound of a woman’s shoes clicking against the floor. The dogs didn’t bark, which surprised Frances. She had managed to fall asleep after she’d spoken to Charlotte. Now, as she tried to sit up, her body ached and her head felt as if someone were twisting a vise around it.

  “Charlie?” she managed to call out, her voice barely audible. “I’m upstairs.”

  Within minutes, Charlotte poked her head around the bedroom door.

  “You look awful!” she announced as she pushed her way into the bedroom and marched over to the bed. “You should call your doctor, Fran.”

  But Frances wasn’t about to do that. “It’s nothing, really. All the research I did said that it’s normal. That’s why they prescribe the medicine.” At the mention of the medicine, she glanced at Charlotte’s empty hands. “You did get the medicine, right?”

  “Relax. Yes. It’s downstairs.” She sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to touch Fran’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you look horrible.”

  “You already pointed that out.” She pulled the comforter up, tucking it farther under her chin. “I really could use that medicine, Charlie.”

  “Right.”

  Frances watched as she hurried back into the hallway. Her heels made a sharp clicking sound on the steps, and Frances shut her eyes, willing the pain in her head to disappear. She needed to feel better to face the weekend; there was too much that needed to be done. Carrie had ballet practice, and Andy had two football games. Nicholas would want to play golf on Sunday morning before he flew to Chicago later that evening. She needed to feel better to face the upcoming week. There was only so much she could ask him to do until he had to leave for the airport; then everything would fall back onto her shoulders.

  She would have no backup.

  “Here’s some ginger ale,” Charlotte said as she reentered the room, carrying a glass. “No ice. It will help you feel better.” She handed it to Frances and then dropped a white bag on the bed. “Some of those medicines . . .”

  “What?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I asked the pharmacist about them. You really need to talk to Nicholas. He shouldn’t be going on that trip, Frances. You could have severe reactions to them.”

  But Frances didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t want to think about what might happen. She recalled when her sister had attended Alcoholics Anonymous meetings during her late teenage years because she’d hung out with a bad crowd and got arrested for underage drinking. Her mother, appalled at the social stigma of having a troubled teenager—with an arrest record!—made the entire family shuffle into church. One by one, they had gone into the confessional to admit their sins, and then, as if that wasn’t enough, her mother had made them attend family counseling with Father Pat for six months.

  If her mother had wanted to scare the rest of the family into walking the straight and narrow, it had worked.

  But there was one thing that Father Pat had said that still resonated with her. “With any addiction,” he had said, “you take it one day at a time.”

  At the moment, even though she was battling something other than addiction, that was exactly how Frances felt. It was the most that she could do: take one day at a time.

  “Look, Charlotte, this isn’t so bad.” Frances wondered if she sounded convincing. “I mean, what’s the point of upsetting everyone in the family, anyway? What purpose will it serve?”

  Charlotte cocked her head, staring at Frances with a mixed expression: one part awe and one part disbelief. “Am I hearing you correctly?” she asked. “Are you saying that you don’t intend to tell them? That you want to go through this without them knowing?”

  Frances played with the napkin under her glass. How could she explain that, for once, she felt in control of something? “I’m . . . I’m considering it.”

  Charlotte’s expression changed from incredulity to concern. “Frances, you have to tell your husband!”

  “Do I?” Frances felt emboldened. “Every time I try to talk to Nicholas, something comes up.” She ignored Charlotte’s eye roll, so reminiscent of Carrie. “Maybe God wants me to walk this journey alone.”

  This time Charlotte’s mouth fell agape with incredulity, and her eyes grew wide. “That’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “Is it?”

  Frances had given it a lot of thought and had even prayed about it. When the idea first struck her, she took comfort in the fact that, perhaps, that was the plan: fighting cancer alone. And while she knew she would have preferred the support of her family, in many ways it was easier without their involvement. She didn’t have to worry about being pitied or talked about behind her back. She didn’t need to fear turning into Mrs. Bentley, with self-absorbed church members competing to see who could do more for the Snyder family while Frances was undergoing treatment.

  Charlotte shook her head and stood up.

  “We’ll see how this pans out, Fran. I’m not certain you’re thinking clearly. But I’m not going to tell you how to live your life.” She started walking toward the bedroom door, pausing to look back. “Why don’t you rest a bit? I�
�m fixing supper for everyone, and I’ll leave it in the refrigerator. One less thing for you to worry about, OK? We can talk about this more next week when Nicholas is away. You just don’t know what’s ahead of you. You’ve only had one treatment after all.”

  Frances hesitated. In her mind, she knew what she intended to do. But Charlotte’s words were marked with wisdom.

  “Fair enough,” she said.

  “Good!”

  As Charlotte left the room, Frances called out, “Oh, and Charlotte?”

  “Hmm?”

  Frances gave a soft smile. “Thank you.”

  CHAPTER 12

  “I spent most of the weekend in bed,” Frances confessed to Charlotte. She sat across the café table from her friend, toying with the white paper napkin next to her coffee cup. “It was awful.”

  Admitting that the weekend had been horrible was almost as painful as having lived through it. Between the vomiting, dehydration, and stomach pains, Frances could do nothing more than suffer on her own.

  “Even with the medicine?”

  She nodded. “Even with the medicine.”

  “And what did Nicholas say?” Charlotte asked.

  Averting her eyes, Frances tried to find the words to respond. How could she admit that, after dropping both kids off at their respective sports, her husband had gone to the office on Saturday, where he spent the entire day, then woke up at the crack of dawn on Sunday to play a round of golf with his country club buddies? Frances knew he had plans to play golf but had hoped he would cancel when he saw she was still feeling sick. But with Nicholas, there was no such thing as being inconvenienced, and he had gone anyway. He hadn’t even acknowledged that she had spent most of that night wrapped around the toilet bowl.

  “It was better that no one was home all weekend,” she finally said, avoiding the truth.

  Charlotte’s mouth fell open as she stared at Frances. “Are you seriously telling me that he still doesn’t know?”

  “I’ve tried, Charlotte. It’s just not that simple.”

  “No, it is just that simple. You tell him. No excuses. Because if you don’t, I will.”

  Frances sighed. “He’s away, anyway.”

  “Away.” It wasn’t a question, just a flat statement. “Even with you so sick.”

  She didn’t want to go into details with Charlotte. She didn’t feel like having every comment dissected and torn apart by her friend. It wasn’t as if Charlotte’s opinion fell on deaf ears. It was just that Frances was tired of hearing what she already knew. Long ago, work had become Nicholas’s lifeblood, his means of escape. And while it hadn’t happened overnight, it had evolved to this point, the point of her not being able to attract his attention long enough to tell him that she was in the midst of a battle for her life.

  “I think”—Charlotte began slowly, taking her time to choose her words carefully—“that you’re afraid to tell him.”

  Frances laughed. “Afraid? Oh, this is interesting! Please. Do tell.”

  “You might laugh, Frances, but it’s not funny. In fact, I’m starting to realize just how sad this situation has become. It’s pathetic.”

  Pathetic. The one word that Frances despised almost as much as the word pity. Her heart beat rapidly, and every nerve in her body felt as if it were on fire. No, she wasn’t particularly liking the direction of this conversation. After their discussion on Friday, Frances had thought they’d come to an agreement, that Charlotte understood her dilemma, but clearly that was not the case.

  “I think you don’t want to tell him because you’re scared of his reaction. Or, rather, the possibility that he won’t react.”

  Frances caught her breath.

  Charlotte arched one of her eyebrows. “That’s right, Frances. When, not if, you tell him, what will you do if he doesn’t react? If he doesn’t offer you the support that you need?” Charlotte leaned forward and grasped her hand, holding it between both of hers. “Have you considered that?” There was a long pause. “Is it possible that’s the real reason why you haven’t told him? Let’s face it, Frances. You married your father, and you’ve become your mother.”

  If they hadn’t been out in public, Frances would have jumped to her feet and walked away. However, she didn’t want to make a scene. Besides, she hadn’t driven. She’d be stuck walking home, and despite feeling a little better, her body still ached and she was plagued with terrible fatigue.

  So instead of walking away from her friend and the offensive line of questioning, Frances lifted her chin and replied, “My mother has nothing to do with it.”

  Charlotte leaned back and withdrew her hands. “I think she has everything to do with it.”

  How dare she? While no marriage was perfect, at least Frances tried. And Nicholas wasn’t anything like Charlotte’s ex-husband. How many years had Gary cheated on her? Lied to her? Used her for her paycheck while berating her for not making enough money? The truth was that Gary had spent both of their incomes faster than either of them could make the money, using it to fund his philandering ways instead of paying the bills or investing in their future. And when he was fired from his job, he hadn’t even told her. Instead, he simply pretended to go to work all day when he was actually out carousing with his harem of paramours or hitting up his parents for loans. All of Charlotte’s dreams were shattered by his opportunistic focus on his own needs.

  No. My marriage is not perfect, but I am not as blind as Charlotte was.

  “I haven’t had time to tell him, Charlotte. It’s that simple.” She narrowed her eyes. “Cancer didn’t come at a convenient time for us. He’s been working long hard hours.” She paused before she added, “Really working.”

  Charlotte flinched.

  “And when I was going to tell him, the Brineman deal came through. He was busy, Charlotte.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Too busy for you to talk to him? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Once he finishes that merger, he’ll be promoted to vice president. How can I let him be distracted after all of the years he sacrificed trying to get ahead? His goal is finally within his reach, Charlotte. And he’s doing it for us. For the entire family, not just himself. Only a self-centered person would be selfish enough to prevent their husband from achieving his dream.” This time, it was Charlotte who looked as if she might stand up and walk away.

  “You aren’t thinking clearly,” she whispered. “You have cancer, not a migraine headache. You say that he’s doing all of this for the family, and I say to you, ‘What family?’” She dabbed at her lips with her napkin before setting it down on the table. “There’s a difference between being truly altruistic and being extremely naive. You might want to reflect on that just a little.”

  Neither woman spoke as they left the café and walked to the car. Charlotte grabbed the little white ticket that one of the traffic police had stuck under her windshield wiper and crinkled it into a little ball, which she promptly tossed on the sidewalk. Frances fought the urge to pick it up, too angry at her friend to care if she didn’t pay for the violation.

  By the time Charlotte dropped her off, Frances couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. She barely said good-bye before slamming the car door and hurrying into the house. Once inside, she shut the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes and letting the tears fall down her cheeks. The last thing she needed was to lose the only person she could count on. If it weren’t for Charlotte, she would have no one.

  Still, she couldn’t take any more of the constant criticism. Her marriage was her own problem, not Charlotte’s, and she planned on dealing with it the best way she knew how. She hadn’t put her nose in Charlotte’s marriage when it was going to hell in a handbag. In fact, she’d gotten involved only when her friend asked her to, and even then she was careful not to cross any lines. Every marriage had its ups and downs.

  People changed and grew, sometimes closer together but oftentimes not. Neither she nor Nicholas was the same person they’d been almost twenty years ago. Th
ey’d both grown over the years, and their focus had shifted: hers to the children and his to his career. But she had to believe that deep down they still loved each other.

  She pushed away from the door and set her purse on the table in the foyer. Slowly, she walked toward the kitchen, pausing to open the back door so the dogs could run outside. For a while, she stood and watched as they chased each other around the backyard.

  Did they still love each other? She believed she still loved him. It wasn’t anything like Charlotte suggested; she wasn’t afraid of losing him, or that he wouldn’t be there for her once she let him know. No. Not at all. Besides, even if she was, didn’t that prove how much she loved him?

  Frances had taken their wedding vows seriously. For richer and for poorer, for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. The only problem was that Nicholas wanted only the richer, better, and health. When times were tough and they were faced with poorer, worse, and sickness, he didn’t seem to remember his commitment to love, honor, and cherish her.

  “Mom! What’s for dinner?”

  She was in the laundry room, trying to get caught up on the housework. If she didn’t stay on top of the dirty clothes, it was as if they bred by themselves, like those gremlins on TV. After cleaning the lint out, she shut the dryer door, then leaned over the machine and turned it on.

  “Mom!” Carrie bellowed again.

  “I’m in the laundry room,” Frances responded, before picking up a basket of clean clothes and walking into the kitchen. “There’s no need to scream like that.”

  “Well, you didn’t answer!”

  Her daughter’s sassy tone didn’t sit well with Frances any day, but lately she was too tired to fight that battle. She put the basket on the kitchen table and began sorting the socks.

  “We’re ordering in tonight.” Frances tried to find the mate to one of her knee-highs.

  “Again? You never cook anymore!”

  Abruptly, Frances stopped folding the laundry. She tried to count to ten, but her blood pressure was rising far too rapidly.

  “And there’s like no food in the house,” she added.