Maine - J. Courtney Sullivan [93]
“Yeah, thanks, Daddy.” She wondered whether he ever asked Alice that same question, but figured the answer was no. For Alice, quitting drinking hadn’t really been a choice. Kathleen knew she resented Daniel for it.
“I’m proud of you,” he said.
They walked toward the shore, and when they reached the water, he slipped out of his Top-Siders, letting the waves pool around his feet.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he said, and before she could respond he added, “Sunshine, there’s something I need you to know.”
“Okay,” she responded, thinking of other things—that it was nice to be up here, that there was nowhere else on earth where you could see so many stars.
“I’m dying,” he said plainly. “I have cancer.”
For a moment, she thought it was just one of his stupid jokes.
“That’s not funny,” she said, but when she looked into his eyes, she saw tears there for the first time she could remember.
Her heart sped up. “You’re serious?”
“I found out on Tuesday,” he said. “Well, the doctor sent me in for tests two weeks ago, and to be honest I had a feeling even then. But I hoped I was wrong. Anyway. Turns out I was correct, as usual.”
He gave her a wink.
“Daddy,” she said. “What type is it?”
“Pancreatic. Same as your uncle Jack had.”
Her head was swimming. “How did this happen?”
“Well, remember I told you I was having some chest pains?”
“Yes.”
“They started to get really bad. I’d wake up at night and the pain would be sort of all the way through to my back. Your mother thought I was having a heart attack every darn night. I thought, maybe, you know, heartburn. Anyway, Alice kept nagging me to go see Dr. Callo. He sent me in for an ultrasound, which I thought was excessive, but then he told me it was cancer. Then there was another test to determine what stage. And that’s all she wrote.”
She could tell he was trying to sound cheerful, as if a light tone might soften the blow of his words.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t want to worry you kids.”
She could swear she heard her heart thump against her ribs. “What now?”
“Now we wait.”
“What do you mean, we wait? Wait for what?”
“There’s not much they can do for it, sweetheart. It’s spread to my lungs. It’s everywhere. There’s almost no chance of recovery.”
“Well, almost no chance is better than no chance,” she said. “You can’t just leave it. They’re doing amazing stuff these days.”
She was beginning to feel hysterical. He was usually the one to make sense of life for her.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Listen to me: I have given it a lot of thought. I don’t want any of that—no hospitals, no tubes, no radiation microwave bull crap. I just want to keep going. I feel fine, really. This is what I want.” He gestured back toward the cottage. “I want all of you together. I want to see your mother’s smile as many more times as I possibly can.”
“What does she say about all this?” Kathleen asked. “Why hasn’t she tried to talk sense into you?”
“She has,” he said. “Believe me, she’s livid. But from now on, I want us to pretend nothing’s happening, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay. Are you saying there’s no chemo, no surgery that will—”
“No. Radiation might help to shrink the tumor a bit, but not in any meaningful way. Surgery’s not an option. I’m too far gone for that. Anyway, I never believed in surgery. My father used to say that once they cut you open, you’re done for. I think there’s some truth to it. Something about the air getting in.”
She wondered whether he might have brain damage, if maybe this was one of those moments in life when the child was supposed to do the opposite of what her parent said. But then he continued: “Kathleen, if I thought there was even a shred of hope that all that junk would make me better, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But the doctor made it very plain that it won’t. I’ve known him forever. I asked him, ‘Jim, if this were you—,’ and before I had even finished the sentence, he said, ‘I would just try to enjoy the rest of my life to the fullest.’ Fact is,