Second Chances in Lavender Bay (The Lavender Bay Chronicles #3)

17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

S ix cycles of chemotherapy at three-week intervals was scheduled, to be followed by thirty radiation treatments. Angie had no idea what to expect but wanted it started and over with. It was a shame that she’d be going through this during the holidays, but there was nothing that could be done about that. Cancer did not defer to Thanksgiving and Christmas.

And true to form, her mother, with Aunt Gail’s help, had arranged Angie’s transportation for the first week and promised to set her up for the rest of the sessions as well.

Debbie was her first driver on Monday morning. She was all bundled up and had a car blanket waiting on the passenger seat.

“In case you’re cold,” she explained when Angie got into the car.

“Thanks.”

For the first week of November, it was colder than usual, and there was a pretty dusting of snow on the ground. Angie was quiet on her side of the car.

“Are you nervous?” Debbie asked.

“A little bit. I just want to get the first session over with. And I’m worried about the cat.” Once she started chemo, she’d have to keep her distance from him. Apparently, chemo wreaked havoc on your immune system.

“Angie, where’d you go?” Debbie asked. “You just zoned out on me.”

“Sorry, just thinking,” she said, glancing out her window. Some houses already had their Christmas decorations up and they hadn’t even had their Thanksgiving dinner yet.

“About what?”

Angie explained the dilemma about the cat.

“I can understand your concern. You don’t want to get too near him. You don’t know what he might have,” Debbie said. “But Melissa and Iris will make sure he gets fed.”

As they pulled into the hospital parking lot, Debbie said, “Maureen is picking you up, so make sure you text her when you’re finished.” Apparently, everyone and their brother had a copy of the roster.

She pulled up to the main entrance. “All right, good luck, Ang.”

“Thanks, Deb. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Send me a text. I know you’ll have a lot of people to call.”

Angie laughed. “That’s for sure. Thanks.”

She waved her friend off and headed into the hospital. She took a deep breath, then wandered through the lobby to the bank of elevators.

The chemotherapy infusion lab was in a large room. Recliners were placed in a line against the wall with infusion stands behind them. The chairs were upholstered in a hospital-grade vinyl material that could easily be wiped down.

She was directed to a seat by a friendly nurse. A few days ago, a mediport had been implanted just below her collarbone for the chemotherapy. There was some apprehension when the infusion started. She took some deep breaths and closed her eyes.

This is it.

It was an all-day affair, like putting in a shift. She’d brought some magazines to read and had downloaded some music on her phone. Although she did text her staff occasionally, she tried to back off and not bother them too much.

When the infusion was complete, Angie was surprised that she felt okay. Slightly queasy but other than that, she didn’t feel as bad as she thought she would. Of course, she’d had no idea what to expect, but she’d known it wouldn’t be pleasant. The nurse told her that the next day might be the worst day of it: nausea or fatigue or weakness. Or all three.

“How are you feeling?” was Maureen’s first question when Angie slid into her passenger seat. Angie hoped that wouldn’t be the script every time she climbed into someone’s car.

“I wish it was next year,” she said.

“I’ll give you a piece of advice that Everett’s counselors have given him,” Maureen said as she pulled away from the curb. “Take it one day at a time. Don’t look too far ahead.”

“I know.”

“Just get through the day in front of you,” Maureen reiterated.

“Easier said than done.”

“I know. But we’re all here for you.”

“And I appreciate it,” Angie said truthfully. She could not begin to imagine going through something as epic as this alone, without any support. She shuddered at the thought.

As they pulled out onto the main highway, Maureen said, “Home?”

Angie shook her head. “No, I’ll go to the café.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Maureen asked, worry etched along her forehead. It made Angie feel like she was five years old again and her sister was leading her by the hand to the kindergarten classroom.

Angie tried brushing her off with a laugh. “I won’t know until I get there.”

“Why don’t you go to Mom’s if you don’t want to go home.”

Angie sighed. She didn’t want to argue with her sister. “I want to go into work while I still feel able for it. For a little while, while I feel okay.”

“That’s understandable,” Maureen said. She offered no more protests and headed in the direction of Coffee Girl. “But if you start feeling unwell, you’ll go home?”

“I will. I promise.”

As Maureen turned the corner onto Main Street, she said, “Mom wants you to move in with her for the time being.”

“That’s good of her, but I prefer to be in my own home,” Angie said.

“I get that, but you know how she is. She wants to feel like she’s doing something.”

“She’s already doing a lot for me,” Angie said. “And I’m grateful.”

Her mother had stopped over on the weekend and done two loads of laundry, the ensuing ironing, and a little cleaning, despite Angie’s protests. The woman was almost seventy years old; Angie didn’t expect her to clean up after her or take on any extra work just because of this cancer diagnosis.

“It must be hard for her,” Maureen said. “As a mother, it’s hard to watch your children suffer.” Angie knew her sister spoke from personal experience after everything she’d been through with Everett and his drug addiction.

“Luckily, I’m not suffering,” Angie said. Yet . Although the scar on her breast brought home to her how serious her diagnosis was, she was no longer in that surreal phase of disbelief. Since the surgery, she felt like she had cancer. Like she had a serious health problem.

As they pulled up behind Coffee Girl, Maureen said, “What I mean is that you should let Mom help you as much as she can. It will take her mind off it and make her feel useful.”

“Noted,” Angie said, opening the car door. “Thanks again, Maureen.”

Maureen leaned over the console between the two seats. “Did Mom give you a copy of the driving roster?”

“She did,” Angie said, trying not to think about the grueling half year ahead of her.

“Good. You’re all set then.”

“I am. Thanks, Maureen.”

She waved her sister off and approached the back door, looking for the stray cat, but he was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t yet time for dinner, so he might be off gallivanting. She went inside, thinking he’d be back later. He never missed a meal.

She made her way to the kitchen, feeling relief in being back in her own café. This was home. Melissa and Joel and Erica were surprised to see her. But she reassured them that she felt all right and promised she would go home if that changed. By the looks on their faces, they didn’t seem convinced. But she jumped right into work, and they had no choice but to carry on.

Angie popped outside to see if there was anything inflammatory written on Java Joe’s sandwich board.

Home of real coffee lovers .

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered. She wiped off her board, grabbed the chalk, and wrote:

Home of Java Joe’s ex-customers.

With a smirk, she returned to work.

She went out back later to give the cat his dinner, but he didn’t turn up. Her heart sank. She hoped nothing had happened to him.

It was too cold to be standing around outside, and her teeth were beginning to chatter. As soon as she stepped into her office, her phone started ringing. Debbie’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hey, Deb, I thought you told me to text you tonight,” Angie said. She’d already been on the phone that day with her mother, Nadine, DeeDee, Aunt Gail, Esther, and Suzanne.

“I wanted to let you know that I have your cat,” Deb said.

“What? Why?”

“I thought about what you said, about not being able to get too close to him. So I took him to the vet this morning. He’s had his vaccinations, he’s been dewormed, and he’s had a flea dip. Tomorrow morning, he’s being neutered.”

“I can’t ask you to do all that. It’s too much,” Angie said.

“You didn’t ask. I went ahead and did it on my own. It’s important to neuter these strays. Too much inbreeding and it wouldn’t be long before the town was overrun with stray cats with three eyes.”

Angie stifled a snort and remembered her manners. “Thanks, Debbie, I appreciate all the trouble you’ve gone to.”

“It’s not a problem. You know I love to do stuff like this.”

Angie did know this about her friend. “How did you manage to catch him?”

Debbie laughed. “A little tin of wet cat food in the carrier. It works every time.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Anyway, after he’s neutered, I’ll keep him here at my house for a night or two. He’ll be fine.”

“I suppose it would be better than sleeping outside,” Angie said.

“Yes. It’s too cold. And when I bring him back to you, I’ll bring something for him to sleep in outside.”

“It sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

“I’m trying,” Debbie said with a laugh.