The Shadow Wife - Diane Chamberlain [61]
“Not in the beginning,” Carlynn said. “But once people began going to great lengths to try to see me, hoping I could heal them, he really worried that I was either overdoing it, or that some loony person might try to kidnap me or heaven knows what.”
Joelle smiled to herself. It was funny to hear someone who claimed to be a healer refer to anyone other than herself as loony.
“Are you…forgive me for prying,” Joelle said. “Is your illness very serious?”
Carlynn nodded. “I have hepatitis C,” she said. “Apparently I contracted it thirty-four years ago, when I was hospitalized after the accident and needed a transfusion. But it was silent until a couple of years ago.”
Joelle remembered that hepatitis C was serious, but knew little more than that. “What about treatment?” she asked.
“I’m done with that,” Carlynn said. “I had a couple of rounds of the best drugs medicine has to offer, but the side effects were horrendous and the treatment simply didn’t work for me. I could go through it again, but frankly, I’d rather live a comfortable six months or so than a miserable year or two.”
“I’m sorry,” Joelle said. “It sounds as though it’s been pretty frustrating for you.”
“Well, I feel fairly good these days,” Carlynn said with a nod. “So much better than I did when I was taking those drugs. Then I could barely get out of bed.”
“Seeing Mara might tire you out terribly, though.” Joelle suddenly wondered if she should have paid more attention to Alan Shire’s concerns.
“I’d like to do some good before I die,” Carlynn said.
“You’ve already done a great deal of good, though,” Joelle said.
Carlynn smiled and turned to look at her. “I want to see Mara, Joelle,” she said firmly but kindly. “And that’s the final word.”
She obviously didn’t want sympathy, so Joelle changed the subject.
“How long have you and Alan been married?” she asked. They were nearing the Pacific Grove gate, and Carlynn waved at the toll taker as they passed by.
“Forty-three years. We met when I was in medical school. I was keeping my abilities to myself back then, but he sensed there was something different about me.”
Joelle glanced at her again and saw that she was smiling, perhaps at the memory. Today, Carlynn wore a yellow T-shirt beneath denim overalls, a blue-and-yellow-striped scarf tied at her neck, tennis shoes and small, round sunglasses. She looked very thin, yes, and her skin was probably more yellow than it should be, but otherwise it would be hard to guess that this was a woman with a terminal illness.
“I envy you for being married so long to someone who cares enough to protect you,” Joelle said as she turned in the direction of the nursing home.
That coy little smile again. “Yes, I’ve been lucky. And I’m sorry about your divorce. It must have been difficult for you.”
“Yes, it was,” she said. “I think I told you that we were unable to have children. So, my husband found someone he could have children with.”
“Oh, my, I am sorry.” Carlynn shook her head. “Alan and I could have no children, either, so I know how you must have felt.”
“But Alan didn’t leave.” Joelle turned the corner into the parking lot of the nursing home.
“No, I think our generation was quite different from yours. And Alan and I were bound together by so much… So very much.” Carlynn looked lost in her own thoughts for a moment, then she suddenly sat up straight in the seat. “Is this the nursing home? Let me shift my mental gears, then,” she said, taking off her sunglasses and folding them in her lap. “Let me sit quietly. I want to get ready to meet your Mara.”
Joelle parked the car and turned off the ignition. “Shall I leave you alone?” she asked.
“Just for a few minutes,” Carlynn said. “I’ll open my door so I don’t suffocate.” She giggled like a little girl as she opened the passenger-side door.
“There’s a bench by the front door of the building,” Joelle said. “I’ll meet you there, all right?”
“Fine.” Carlynn leaned her head against the headrest, folded her hands around her sunglasses in her lap, and closed her eyes.
Joelle walked slowly up the path to the bench