Darlene Graham - No Ordinary Child

“Andrea?”

“Yes. Hi, Sam.”

“Uh, hi.” His tentative greeting echoed the tone of his ex-wife’s. She sounded strange.

“I hope I’m not interrupting something important.” Her politeness only increased the feeling of dread building in Sam’s chest.

“It’s okay. What’s up?”

“Sorry to disturb you at work. Your secretary gave me your cell number. I hope that’s okay.”

“I said it’s okay.” Sam didn’t mean to sound abrupt, but he wanted Andrea to just get to the point. Prior to their divorce three years ago, they had been married for eight intense years, and—dammit—he could tell when something was wrong. “What is it?”

“Meggie’s fine, Sam. You need to know that first.”

Sam released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Meggie’s fine. Okay. Maybe something had happened to Lorna or Bud. Andrea’s parents were nice folks, and he wished them well. “That’s good. So what’s the matter, Andrea?”

“I…I have a kind of an emergency.”

“Okay. You need my help?” His anxiety level dropped a notch. Maybe she only needed money. This wasn’t the first time he had given Andrea a little help beyond her alimony and Meggie’s child support. He didn’t mind. He found that sending them extra money actually lowered his guilt quotient.

“Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact I do need your help. I need to have Meggie live in Tulsa with you for a…for a little while. At least, I hope it’s only for a little while.”

Sam drew in a cautious breath. Held it. This was a bit of a shock. Then he frowned, as consternation and suspicion set in. After all the times he’d begged Andrea to let him have Meggie half the year, to let him make some kind of life for his child with him here in Tulsa, difficult as that would be. And now, suddenly, Andrea was calling, asking him in this strange voice to take their child. Not now. He couldn’t quash the unbidden selfish thought. Not now, when I’m finally getting ready to start on my dream project. Maybe he could negotiate with Andrea and make the move easier on everyone, maybe even negotiate a permanent joint custody of Meggie—only later. Later. Like a year from now.

“Andrea, listen. You know I’m always willing to have Meggie with me—to share the burden. But this is a really bad time right now. I’m starting a restoration project that involves nothing short of resurrecting an entire town from the bottom of a lake. I’m not sure I can meet Meggie’s special needs while I’m trying to finish a project of this magni—”

“Sam, I’m sick,” Andrea interrupted.

“Sick?” What did she mean, sick? Sam’s chest tightened.

“Yes, I’m…I’m afraid I’m actually very sick.” Andrea’s voice, normally controlled and cool, sounded incredibly soft now, even vulnerable. And kind. Too kind. As if she wanted to soften the blow for him, as if this were an apology. “You see, I have cancer.”

“Cancer?” At the word Sam’s heart sped up, but still he hoped against hope that Andrea was dramatizing or something. She sometimes did that, except, of course, when it came to Meggie. And this was about Meggie, wasn’t it? Or was it? Suddenly he hoped there was some big mistake, some miscommunication. His mind flashed around in denial. His ex-wife, the model-sleek beauty who had snagged him straight out of high school, the overprotective mother of their needy child Meggie, simply had to be okay. Meggie was the one who was not okay. Ergo, everybody else had to be okay.

“Cancer?” he repeated. Weren’t there all kinds of cancer? One of the junior architects had beaten malignant melanoma only a couple of years ago. “What kind of cancer?”

“The doctors call it soft-tissue sarcoma.”

Sam was so stunned that he lowered a hand to the rock ledge. “Is that…is that really serious?” he said, already sensing that it was. There was a brave finality about Andrea’s voice.

“I’m afraid so, Sam.”

He sat down, knees raised, head lowered, holding the cell phone to his ear, staring at the mossy lichen growing on the rock between his legs, thinking, No.

“But there’s good news.” Andrea altered her tone, lightened it—clearly a front, which scared Sam all the more. “The doctors tell me it is treatable.”

Every time she used the plural of the word doctor, his anxiety level kicked up. What kind of cancer was this soft-tissue sarcoma that Andrea needed doctors, plural, to treat it? “What do you mean, it’s treatable?”

“I mean, it’s treatable,” she said lightly. But she didn’t sound convinced. She sounded scared. “I’m going to the City of Hope in Los Angeles tomorrow.” Suddenly, her tone changed again and she sounded weird. Calm. Mature. Not like the Andrea he knew. Irrationally, he longed for the whiny, temperamental woman he had once called his wife. But she allowed herself only a cleansing sigh before she continued. “But my treatment won’t be easy. First extensive surgery. Then some pretty heavy chemotherapy. That’s why I need you to take Meggie for a while. The treatment that will save my life is going to take a lot out of me at first, I’m afraid. And Daddy hasn’t been well, so Mother and Daddy and I discussed it, and—”

Save her life? Save her life! Good Lord, what was Andrea facing? But he suppressed his own panic and concentrated on listening to her.

“—and I don’t think I can keep up with our daughter. You know, with her needs.”

Sam did know. The familiar guilt clenched his gut. When it was his turn to have Meggie with him in Tulsa, life slowed down to her pace, the pace of a severely damaged child forever stuck in the chaotic world of a three-year-old. In short, when his daughter Meggie was visiting, he got next to nothing done.

“Andrea.” He fought to keep the emotion in his voice under control. Was he going to cry? He sure as hell felt like it. “I…I’ll help you in any way I can. You know that. You know I…I still care about you.”

“I know that, Sam. You’re a good man. You always have been. I know you care. And I know how much you love Meggie. So, here’s how you can help me. Take her.”

His answer was resolute. “Sure. Anything.”

“I’m putting her on a plane tomorrow afternoon.”

“Tomorrow?” As soon as he uttered the word, Sam regretted it. He wasn’t going to complain about or question anything in this deal, dammit. He was going to help.

“Yes. It seems the timing is critical, and I am checking into the hospital very early in the morning. Actually, Daddy will take Meggie to LAX airport in L.A. I really hate putting her on a plane by herself in these uncertain times—” At last Andrea’s voice grew emotional, but she quickly recovered. “You’ll need the flight number and arrival time. Got a pen?”

Sam patted the pockets of his windbreaker. “I do, but it’s in my car. I’m out at a building site.” Sam didn’t wanted to tell her that he had been standing on a rock overlooking a beautiful lake, dreaming his dream, when she called with her terrible news. “Where are you? Can I call you back?”

“I’m staying at Mother and Daddy’s house in Huntington Beach. We’re going to have dinner now, but just call me back anytime this evening. Meggie will arrive about 7:00 p.m. your time at Will Rogers.”

“Will Rogers? Down in Oklahoma City?”

“Yes. It was the only way to put her on a direct flight. There was nothing from here to Tulsa.”

“That’s fine.” It wasn’t. Tomorrow afternoon he had an important meeting with the developers of Moonlight Grove that would undoubtedly run late. But what could he say? “It’s just fine.”

“Sam, I know this puts you in a bind, as far as child care and all. Maybe your mother could help you out.”