The Art of Saying Goodbye - Ellyn Bache [16]
It was a long, slow healing for Paisley, painful to watch, even after Melody made her untroubled entrance into the world—the child Paisley had waited so long for—and grew into a sweet but willful little tomboy with Mason’s cleft chin and Paisley’s springy dark hair.
Does Paisley really think silence, now, will be any better?
Finished cleaning up her mess, Courtney caps her bottle of polish and holds out both feet for inspection.
“The most fertile fungus breeding grounds I’ve seen in ages,” Andrea says. “Now get up and clean the counter with Clorox like you promised.” She puts the potatoes on to boil. “Wipe it six or seven times so we don’t all get gangrene.”
“Gangrene isn’t contagious!”
“With those feet, I wouldn’t be too sure.”
“I’ll do it in a minute.” Courtney gathers the manicure things into a green-and-white cosmetic case that was part of a bonus gift from Clinique. “I’ll be right back.” She walks out of the kitchen on her heels, trying to hold her toes apart to keep the polished nails from touching each other and smearing.
Andrea knows she won’t see her daughter again for hours. She ought to call her back. As often happens when she means to stand firm, especially before Courtney’s annual screenings, she’s visited by an image of her daughter at three, being lifted onto the gurney for surgery, her face frozen with terror and trust.
She conjures a picture of Paisley in those days, saying over and over again, always with that note of certainty in her voice: She’s going to be fine.
Getting the disinfectant from under the sink, Andrea sprays the countertop so thoroughly that no germ will have the slightest chance.
She knows the word that forms in her mind very rarely applies to her daughter, but it comes to her all the same: carefree. Let Courtney be carefree while she can.
Chapter 5
October 17
When Iona goes to her front door and sees Marie Coleman standing there, her first inclination is to slink back into the house and pretend she’s not home. Marie, in a simple but expensive-looking brown sweater and trendy jeans that hug her shapely bottom, doesn’t look like the local do-gooder church lady, but she is. Marie doesn’t just go to church, she lives and breathes it.
If this is a God thing, Iona thinks, I’m out of here.
But how can she hide? Her car is in the driveway. Her blinds are open. If Marie looks hard enough, she’ll see Iona’s half-full coffee cup on her desk in the office. When you work at home, in a room right off the front hall, you’re easy to find. Iona notes the clipboard in Marie’s hand even before she fully opens the door.
“Marie!” she says brightly. “What’s up?”
As Marie begins to offer the clipboard, Iona backs away, using her hand to motion Marie inside.
“I can’t come in. I have a lot of ground to cover.” Polite, but all business. “I guess you know Mason and Paisley are out of town seeing a specialist. They get back tonight.”
“Of course I know. Everybody knows. The news was probably in this morning’s paper. Mason probably wrote the article himself.”
Marie endures this with placid forbearance.
“I made this sign-up sheet for people who want to make dinners for them.” This time she thrusts the clipboard into Iona’s hand before Iona can react. A handsome Excel spreadsheet lists available dates and provides space for the donor’s name, phone number, and e-mail address. Fastened at the bottom of the clipboard is also a stack of instruction sheets for the volunteers, giving pointers on how to deliver the meals without disturbing the family during this difficult time.
“I thought Paisley’s mother came to watch the kids. Doesn’t she know how to cook?”
“Of course she does. But Mason goes back to work on Monday, and Rita will have the whole household to run. She’ll be busy driving the kids around and taking Paisley for her treatments.”
“Sometimes it’s good to be busy.” Iona knows this for a fact. “What kind of treatments are