“Do you want to go to Europe with me, when you start feeling better?” She smiled at him. He was so good to her. And the crazy thing was that she didn't feel bad now. All she felt was tired. And she was dying.
“I'm so sorry to do this to you … to put you through all this. …”
He smiled through his tears. “Now I know you're my wife.” He laughed. “You're beginning to sound Jewish.”
Chapter 18
“Grandma Ruth?” Her voice was very little in the darkened room as Ruth held her hand. They had just said a prayer for her mommy. Bernie was spending the night at the hospital, and Hattie, Ruth's old housekeeper, was helping with the baby. “Do you think Mommy will be okay?” Her eyes filled and she squeezed Ruth's hand. “You don't think God will take her away, do you?” She let out a horrible gulp as she sobbed, and Ruth bent down to hold her, her own tears falling onto the pillow beside the child's head. It was so wrong, so unfair …she was sixty-four years old, and she would so gladly have gone instead of her … so young, so beautiful, so much in love with Bernie …with these two children who needed her so badly.
“We just have to ask Him to leave her here with us, don't we?”
Jane nodded, hoping that would do the trick, and then she looked at Grandma Ruth again. “Can I go to temple with you tomorrow?” She knew that their day was Saturday, but Ruth only went once a year, for Yom Kippur. But for this she would make an exception.
“Grampa and I will take you.” And the next day, the three of them went to the Westchester Reform Temple in Scarsdale. They left the baby at home with Hattie, and when Bernie came home that night, Jane told him solemnly that she and Grandma and Grampa had gone to temple. It brought tears to his eyes again, but everything did now, everything was so sweet and sad and tender. He held the baby in his arms and he looked so much like Liz, Bernie almost couldn't stand it.
And yet, when she was back with them again, things didn't seem so tragic. She came back from the hospital two days later, and suddenly there were the same bad jokes, the throaty voice he loved, the laughs, the sense of humor. Nothing seemed quite as terrible, and she wouldn't let him get maudlin. She was dreading the chemotherapy, but she was determined not to think about it before she had to.
They went into New York for dinner once, and went to La Grenouille in a limousine he had rented for them, but he could see halfway through dinner that she was absolutely exhausted. And his mother urged him to cut the dinner short and take her home. They were quiet on the way back, and that night in bed she apologized again, and then slowly, gently, she began touching him, and fearfully, he reached out and held her, wanting to make love to her, but afraid to do her any harm.
“It's okay …the doctors say we can …” She whispered to him, and he was horrified at himself when he took her with force and passion, but he was so hungry for her, so hungry to hang onto her, to pull her back to him, as though she were slipping away slowly. And afterwards he cried and clung to her, and then hated himself for it. He wanted to be brave and strong and manly and instead he felt like a little boy, nestled at her breast, needing her so badly. Like Jane, he wanted to cling to her, to make her stay, to beg for a miracle. Maybe the chemotherapy would do that for them.
Grandma took Jane to Schwarz once before they left and bought her an enormous teddy bear and a doll, and she had her pick out something she thought Alexander would like. Jane selected a big clown that rolled and made music. And when they got home, he loved it.
Their last night together was warm and comfortable and touching. Liz insisted on helping Ruth make dinner, and she seemed in better shape than she'd been in a long time, calm, and quiet, and stronger. And afterwards, she touched Ruth's hand and looked into her eyes.
“Thank you for everything….”
Ruth shook her head, wanting not to cry with her, but it was so difficult. After a lifetime of crying for everything, how could one stop for what was really important? But this time, she knew she had to hold back. “Don't thank me, Liz. Just do everything you have to.”
“I will.” She seemed to have grown older in the last weeks, more mature somehow. “I feel better about it now. I think Bernie does too. It won't be easy, but we'll make it.” Ruth nodded, unable to say more, and the next day she and Lou took them to the airport. Bernie carried the baby, and Liz held Jane's hand, and she walked onto the plane unaided, as the elder Fines struggled not to cry. But once the plane was gone, Ruth fell sobbing into her husband's arms, unable to believe their courage, and the evil fate that had befallen people she loved so much. Suddenly it wasn't the Rosengarden's grandson … or Mr. Fishbein's father … it was her daughter-in-law …and Alex and Jane …and Bernie. It was so wrong and so unfair and so unkind, and as she cried in her husband's arms she thought her heart would break. She couldn't bear it.
“Come on, Ruth. Let's go home, sweetheart.” He took her gently by the hand and they went back to their car, and suddenly she looked at him, realizing that it would be them one day.
“I love you, Lou. I love you very much….” She began to cry again and he touched her cheek as he held open the door for her. It was a terrible time for all of them, and he was so damn sorry for Liz and Bernie.
When they arrived in San Francisco, Tracy was waiting for them with their car, and she drove into the city with them, chatting and laughing and holding the baby close to her.
“Well, it's good to have you guys back.” She smiled at her friends but she saw easily that Liz was exhausted. She was to go into the hospital the next day to begin the chemotherapy.
And that night, as she lay in bed, after Tracy went home, Liz rolled over, propped her head up on her elbow, and looked at Bernie. “I wish I were normal again.” She said it like a teenager wanting to wish away pimples.
“So do I.” He smiled at her. “But you will be one of these days.” They were both putting a lot of faith in the chemotherapy. “And if that doesn't work, there's always Christian Science.”
“Listen, don't knock it,” she said seriously to him. “One of the teachers at school is a Christian Scientist, and it really works sometimes …” Her voice trailed off, thinking about it.
“Let's try this first.” He was, after all, Jewish and the son of a doctor.
“You think it'll be really horrible?” She looked scared, and he remembered how frightened she had been, and in how much pain, when Alexander was born, but this was very different. This was forever.
“It won't be great.” He didn't want to lie to her. “But they said they were going to give you stuff to knock you out. Valium or something. I'll be right there with you.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
“You know, you're one of the last great husbands.”
“Oh yeah? …” He rolled over and slid a hand under her bed jacket. She was always cold these days, and she wore his socks to bed. And he made love to her gently this time, feeling all his strength and love go into her, wanting to give her a gift of himself, and she smiled sleepily afterwards. “I wish I could get pregnant again. …”