June Still Sucks

"What?" I asked defensively.

"Oh, nothing," Mom said, shaking her head.

I felt my face burn. "Don't get any ideas," I told her.

"Uh-huh. You really do care something for her, don't you?" Mom asked.

"No, not really. I just thought this might help her feel better, that's all."

I rechecked the change to make sure the cashier hadn't shorted me.

"Sure," Mom replied in the way that mothers have. She patted my arm and said quietly, "Mike, the opposite of love is not hate; it's indifference. When hate dies, that's a lot of emotion with nowhere else to go. And it's okay for you to still feel something DECENT for who you THOUGHT she was. AND your secret is safe with me."

From there, we went to Daisy's room. She was awake but looked like a wrung-out dishtowel. Mom kissed her cheek and handed her the card we had bought. Her eyes lit up when I showed her the flowers.

"My favorites. You remembered," she exclaimed in a surprised tone. Her voice was hoarse and weak, but the tone was pleased.

"Yeah," I said before handing her the novel. "As I recall, you were reading this when you left with Bruce," I added without emotion, though my gut was churning a little.

"Yes, I was. And I never got a chance to finish it. Thank you," she said quietly, avoiding looking at me and thumbing through the paperback.

"Any news?" Mom asked.

"Not yet," Daisy said, shaking her head. She closed the paperback but didn't let go of it. In fact, she clutched it like a Teddy bear. "They said I probably wouldn't hear anything for at least a day."

"That's normal," Mom agreed. Then the nurse part of her added, "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," Daisy moaned. "I'm exhausted, my whole side is sore, and my stomach hurts."

"They'll figure it all out," Mom reassured her.

"What about Bruce?" Daisy asked, still not looking at me.

"He was declared dead at the scene," Mom told her.

"Good," Daisy said firmly, finally showing a little strength. "I'm glad he's dead." I saw a dark look on Mom's face, but she said nothing. She simply patted Daisy's hand and nodded her head. I remained silent as the two women spoke.

Part of me was glad to hear my ex-wife turn on Bruce. Her declaration helped to defuse the hatred I had been holding onto. But it wasn't enough to turn back the last ten years. A nurse came into the room and looked at Daisy's vital signs.

"It's time for your meds, Mrs. Williams," the young woman told Daisy as she handed a cup with some pills. Daisy took the drugs and washed them down with water. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," Daisy sighed. "And I would prefer 'Daisy' to 'Mrs. Williams' if you don't mind. I can't pretend it didn't happen, but I can try to leave it behind." I could hear the exhaustion in her voice, but she summoned up some determination for that last part.

"I will pass that along to the rest of the staff," the nurse said with a smile. "Maybe it's time you got some rest," the nurse added. I presumed she was hinting that it was time for us to leave.

"When will we know the results of her tests?" Mom asked the nurse.

"Dr. Samuels is consulting with her oncologist, so they should know something for certain by tomorrow morning," the nurse said. "You have our number and we have yours."

We said our goodbyes, and I noticed the expression of longing Daisy gave me before we left. I offered a wan smile before closing the door. I dropped Mom off at her house, then went home to finish my weekend chores.

We met in Daisy's room at the hospital the following morning. Being a part-time volunteer at the hospital, Mom arrived a couple of hours before me. Two doctors came into the room shortly after I did. I met Dr. Samuels, the surgeon who operated on Daisy and was introduced to Dr. Kincaid, Daisy's oncologist. They tried to look professional and confident, but even I could tell they were worried.

"So, what's the word?" I asked, hoping for some good news despite their expressions.

Doctor Kincaid answered first. "Well, the word is that Ms. Williams is suffering from a combination of peritonitis and diverticulitis, which explains some of the symptoms you've mentioned to us in the past, Mrs. Carpenter."

Doctor Samuels took up the report. "Our scans revealed several huge pockets of infection in Daisy's abdomen. In addition, we believe that her gall bladder has been perforated and will need to be removed."

"How did this happen?" I asked as I felt my Mom's grip tighten on my arm.

"There's probably several causes, but we believe she had an underlying condition which was exacerbated by the cancer and the medications used in her chemotherapy," Dr. Kincaid replied.

"So what happens now?" Mom asked quietly.

"Ultimately, she'll need surgery to remove all of the infection and repair the damage. But we'd like her body to heal a little more from the surgery she just had. So, we're going to keep her here on antibiotics for the next couple of weeks and see if that reduces the infection. Of course, her chemotherapy will be put on hold during that time," Dr. Samuels explained.

"What are her chances?" I asked, trying to keep my tone level.

The doctors looked at each other before answering. I didn't like the expressions their faces held.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat this," Dr. Samuels said. "Without the surgery, she has no chance. Her body is pretty delicately balanced right now. Giving her the maximum possible doses of antibiotics will probably throw off her metabolism and weaken her even further, possibly fatally. The dosage she is on right now has stopped the spread and is slowly pushing back the infections, as best as we can determine, but even if it totally clears up, the antibiotics won't repair any damage.

"There are no outright perforations of the gut wall, or we'd already be in extremely high-risk emergency surgery right now. But it was probably on the verge of perforating when we caught it, and the gut wall is probably 'leaky' in one or more places. Exploratory surgery to try and put eyes on what the machines can't show is nearly as high risk right now.

"Manipulating the coils of the intestine could literally break open the weakened sections and cause what we are trying to avoid. We need to clear up the infections as much as possible and repair any damage when she is strong enough to survive the surgery. Then, she needs to get stronger.

"I won't say she needs a healthy body, but she needs to be reasonably well before we try tackling the cancer again. The malnutrition she suffered for months weakened her entire body dangerously. She won't survive the chemo without clearing up the infections and getting her body's other systems functioning. Peritonitis alone is life-threatening. Combined with the cancer..." He shrugged.

"The surgery itself is risky," Dr. Kincaid added. "Very risky. We estimate that with the level of infection in her abdomen and the damage done to her internal organs, her chances of surviving are about 30 to 40 percent."

"So I have no chance without the surgery or less than even chance with it. Is that what you're saying?" Daisy asked soberly. Her eyes were wide open, and I could see her sweat, but her voice was steady.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Dr. Kincaid confirmed. "However, once you've recovered from the surgery, you should be able to complete the chemotherapy without any further problems."

"Then I suppose there's no option but to have the surgery," Daisy said weakly, sagging back into her bed.

"All right. We'll make the necessary arrangements," Dr. Samuels said. They left the room, and Daisy broke down crying. Mom held her close and comforted her.

"Don't worry, Daisy. You've got the best doctors in the hospital on your side. You'll be just fine," she said as Daisy wept.

I had a lot to process and couldn't do it here. Strange, not all that long ago, I would've celebrated news of Daisy's passing with gusto. But now... my emotions were all over the place.

"Listen, I need to get going. School starts tomorrow, but I'll come by and visit from time to time... if you want," I offered.

"Yes, I'd like that, Mike," Daisy cried. Mom smiled as she glanced up at me. We left the room, and I walked Mom to her car and waved as she pulled out before heading home.

I kept my promise and visited with Daisy several times over the next two weeks. We talked about many things during our visits - my teaching, the students, my book, her failed marriage to Bruce, our failed marriage. We also discussed our feelings and everything that brought us to this point. During one visit, I brought up the subject of her family.

"I'm curious about something," I said.

"What's that?" Daisy asked.

"What's the deal with your family? Why do they hate you so much? Mom's called them, but they apparently don't want anything to do with you."

"Remember I told you they disowned me after the class action suits against us hit?"

"Yes, I remember that," I replied.

"What you don't know is that they knew about Bruce from the beginning. They promised to help keep you in the dark and in return, Bruce promised to help support them when they retired. He even offered to buy my parents cruise tickets when they retired."

"And you and your sister knew all about this at the time?" I asked, my anger starting to rise.

Daisy looked down, embarrassed. "Yes," she whispered before looking back at me. "It was another knife in your back, I know. And I'm so terribly sorry."

"So your family was using you and Bruce the way you used me," I observed.

"So your family was using you and Bruce the way you used me," I observed. My tone wasn't cold; it was frozen. She winced and looked purely miserable. I controlled myself. If you don't want the answer, don't ask the question.

"Pretty much," Daisy admitted sorrowfully. "It all went south when we got sued. After we lost everything, my family wanted nothing to do with me."

"That explains the treatment I got from them after you left," I told her.

It also explained how Daisy thought it was okay for her to use me while she waited for Bruce. Everybody made out but me. It also reinforced my belief that there was no way I would reconcile with her - not after everything she had done.

Daisy also realized that and made no effort to rekindle what I thought we once had. But we did manage to make peace with each other, and I saw... sparks? Flashes of the woman I had fallen in love with a few times.

In the process, I found my hatred of her and Bruce had diminished considerably. With his death, my hatred of Bruce had faded a bit, though I still hoped that he was facing some pretty dire eternal punishment for all he had done, and not just to me and Daisy.

Mr. Smith let me take the day off for Daisy's surgery and arranged for a substitute teacher. I got to the hospital early that morning and spoke with her before she was taken into the operating room. I was unaccountably anxious but doing my best not to show it.

"I know I said a lot of mean and hateful things since you came back," I said. "And I just want to apologize for that. I really do hope you make it through all this." Part of me was surprised that I didn't have to fake the sincerity.

"Thank you, Mike. That means a lot to me," Daisy replied with a weak smile. "I deserved everything you said, so I accept your apology. And I want to apologize for destroying the best man I've ever known. I know it's too late for us, but I really do love you. You stuck it out with me when you had no reason to." She took a deep breath. "Please promise me something."

"What?" I asked.

"No matter what happens, I want you to find someone to love. You deserve that," she said earnestly.

That surprised me. She kept looking at me so intently that I finally said, "I promise I'll try." She nodded slightly as if granting herself some small measure of absolution.

"We need to get her to the operating room, sir," an orderly politely said.

"Of course," I said. "Just one moment." Entirely spontaneously, I bent down and kissed Daisy on the cheek. "You can do this," I said as she smiled back. I froze, bewildered. For just the flash of an instant, she looked exactly like I remembered her on our wedding day.

A deeply buried part of me wondered if there were times when she had truly loved ME and I hadn't just been a placeholder and breadwinner. I stood up, a little dizzy, and the orderly pushed her gurney out of the room.

"That was very sweet, Mike," Mom said gently as we followed the orderly to the operating theater. They wheeled her inside, and we sat in the waiting room. We sat there for hours as the operation progressed.

I tried to watch the television mounted on the wall, but I couldn't concentrate on what was being said. All I could think about was the events of the last ten years. My mind endlessly churned over everything, again and again. As Mom worked on her latest afghan, I paced back and forth, drinking one cup of lousy vending machine coffee after another. I was caught in an endless loop, reliving the last few months.

Six hours later, Dr. Samuels came out of the operating room. I instantly didn't like his expression. He walked over and asked us to join him in a small room. Closing the door after we were inside, he sat at the small table across from us, rubbed his eyes, and sighed heavily. I thought he was going to break down crying. Mom squeezed my hand hard enough to make my fingers ache, and I knew what he would say before he said it.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Carpenter, Mr. Carpenter. We did everything we could for Daisy. There was just too much infection and damage to her internal organs," he said sadly. "Her body just... shut down. She signed a DNR and a form donating her body to cancer research if she didn't make it. Her heart stopped, and we went as far as we ethically could but were never able to get it started. Again, I'm sorry for your loss."

Mom instantly broke down crying, and I felt a tear threatening to break free from my own eye, but I refused to shed it. I held Mom as she sobbed and nodded at the doctor.

"Thank you for everything you've done," I told him. We shook hands, and I saw a tear escape his eye.

After Mom settled down, we trudged back to Daisy's room in a near-trance. Nothing was said as we packed up her things. Nothing needed to be said. I found a small envelope with "Mike" written in Daisy's handwriting in the drawer of her bedside stand.

I opened the envelope and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Daisy had written a note in case she didn't survive the operation.

"Mike," the letter began. "You will only ever see this if I don't make it. Thank you for being there these last two months, especially the last two weeks. You owed me nothing, yet you and your mother were there for me when everyone else abandoned me. I know what I did to you ten years ago was unforgivable, and I'm terribly sorry for the pain I caused you.

"I want you to know that even after all this time, a huge part of me still loves you, and all of me regrets what my infatuation with Bruce put you through. I know you will never feel the same towards me, and I understand -- completely. I can only hope that you will finally find peace through my death.

"All my love, Daisy," the note concluded. I began shaking as I looked at the words on the paper. I saw drops of water hit the note and realized I was crying. I felt Mom's hand on my shoulder.

"What's wrong, Son?" she asked.

I felt a dam burst inside, and I wept hot, bitter tears as I showed Mom the note. I cried for the first time since Dad died six years ago. Mom started crying again after she read Daisy's note, and we ended up crying together as we held each other.

I realized something else after we calmed down enough to finish gathering Daisy's things. All the anger, hatred, and bitterness I had carried for ten years was gone. Completely. For the first time in a decade, I felt calm. It was as if my hatred died with Daisy, as if I had been lost in a bleak and barren maze, and her death caused a section of wall to fall down and offer me a way out. Strangely, her death healed me.

We finished collecting her things, signed the paperwork, and left the hospital in a daze. I followed Mom to her place and helped bring Daisy's things inside. We ate a somber dinner of leftovers, saying very little to each other. After I helped her clean the dishes, she went into her room and handed me something when she returned.

I looked at what she gave me - a small photo of a smiling Daisy in Mom's recliner. It had been taken shortly after she began her chemo.

"I just thought you might like something to remember her by," Mom said.

"Thanks," I said, hugging her. "By the way, do you want to call her folks, or do you want me to?"

"Would you mind doing it?" she asked. "I spoke to them once, and that was all I could stand."

"Sure," I said. "I'll call as soon as I get home." Mom handed me a piece of paper with the number, which I put in my pocket. We shared another hug, and I left.

I called Daisy's parents after I got home. Her father answered after the second ring.

"Fred, this is Mike Carpenter," I said.

"What do you want?" he asked angrily. I wondered what had crawled into his skivvies as I considered my words. After all, I wasn't the one who reneged on financial support and a cruise in retirement.

"Your daughter, Daisy, died in surgery today," I said.

"I don't have a daughter named Daisy," Fred hissed. "Not anymore. Why are you calling?"

"I just thought you might like to know."

"So, what do you want from me?" Fred asked. "You want us to claim the body or something?"

"No, she donated her body to cancer research," I said, barely holding my temper.

"Well, at least her life wasn't a total fucking waste," he growled. "Don't call here again." I heard him curse before he ended the call. I felt like calling back and ripping him to shreds, but I figured it would be a waste of time.

Sighing, I called my principal at home and told him the news.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mike," he said. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better," I said. "But I'll be okay."

"Listen, why don't you take the rest of the week off, and I'll put it down as paid bereavement leave. I'll arrange for the substitute."

"Thanks, I really appreciate that," I said. We ended the call, and I grabbed a beer from the fridge. I opened the bottle and looked at the photo Mom gave me for quite a while. "Here's to you, kid," I said before taking a long drink.

...

Epilogue - The following June:

I was never perfectly comfortable in a cemetery, which was probably expected. The endless reminders of mortality could be oppressive to someone with an ordinary imagination. I parked my car in the center lane under the broad limbs of an ancient maple tree and walked the distance.

The sun was bright on the cemetery's main road, but everything got just a bit grey when I drove through the ornate wrought iron gates. It was one of those mysteries of life. I found the marker quickly enough. It was small but much newer and cleaner than the surrounding stones.

I sighed as I looked at it. I remembered my mother looking at me as I filled out the form at the monument company. I didn't want to bury her under "Williams" because I was sure my ex-wife would return to haunt me.

But the cemetery administration insisted the name "Williams" be used since that was the name on Daisy's death certificate. So that's the name that was used. So far, no ghosts had shown up.

A little bronze tube for flowers was next to the marker, and I slipped in the white carnation I had brought. The grass on the small plot was still not much more than green fuzz, and the soft earth hadn't settled yet. When they were finished, the medical college cremated Daisy's remains and returned them in a simple urn with a letter of thanks. Mom and I decided to bury her rather than scatter her ashes after nearly an entire bottle of wine, more than a few tears, and a few chuckles.