small bedrooms and the office. The bathroom door was open.
Maybe Andrea was on the phone. Madge had taken only a few steps toward the hallway on her way to the office when she finally got a response from her sister.
“I’m in here. In my bedroom. Come on in.”
Madge smiled with relief and hurried her steps. “Finally redecorating? I warned you that you’d get tired of that dark green paint.” She stopped just inside the doorway of Andrea’s bedroom. The light in the room itself was far too dim, with the shades pulled tight behind the white lace curtains. Andrea was not checking new paint colors or hanging new curtains or even changing the sheets on the bed. She was lying flat on her back in bed with her cats settled beside her.
All three cats looked up at Madge, stretched or yawned and settled back down with Andrea, who offered a weak smile and patted the bed next to her. “It’s just a headache. I was trying to nap. Here. Come sit and talk to me while I wait for the aspirin to kick in.”
Madge narrowed her eyes. Her heart began to race the moment she remembered that Andrea had been waiting for the results of her biopsy. “You don’t get headaches. You never sleep on your back. And you…you haven’t taken a nap since you were six months old.”
Andrea closed her eyes. “How would you know I stopped napping when I was six months old? You weren’t even born yet,” she teased.
“Mother told me. And don’t try to change the subject. What’s really wrong?”
Andrea let out a sigh. “I told you. I have a headache. Maybe it’s…it’s my first.”
Madge tiptoed to the bed, set her pocketbook down on the mattress and eased herself to sit beside her sister. Gently, she stroked the top of Andrea’s head, and she knew—she just knew—that the results of the biopsy were not good. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Emotion choked her throat. “You’re sick. You’re sick again, aren’t you?”
Andrea moistened her lips, opened her eyes and took hold of Madge’s hand. “I feel fine. I’ll be fine. The nodules they removed…well, I have to have a few treatments and then I’ll be good as new again. I had my first one this morning. That’s why I’m in bed. I have to lie in four different positions for half an hour each to coat the inside of my bladder. I set the alarm—”
The alarm in the bedside clock went off, interrupting Andrea but startling Madge. As Andrea sat up, all three cats scattered. One knocked Madge’s pocketbook to the floor and the contents spilled out. Her keys hit the floor with a clang and something, presumably her lipstick, rolled away, but all Madge could think about was the fear that wrapped around her heart.
Andrea had cancer.
Again.
“Why? Why does this have to happen again?” Madge cried, and dissolved into tears as Andrea’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.
“Hush now. It’s not so bad. Really,” Andrea crooned.
When Madge’s tears were spent, she sat back, hiccuped and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a baby.”
“Yes, you are,” Andrea teased. “But you’re a lovable baby.”
Madge hiccuped again and swiped at her cheeks. “Jenny’s supposed to be the baby. She’s the youngest. I’m older. I should be…more in control.”
“You’re younger than I am.”
Madge chuckled. When it came to age, she had no desire to be a single day older than she really was.
“And you certainly look a lot younger than me,” Andrea said.
Madge ruffled her sister’s hair. “You could look younger, too,” she whispered, then realized Andrea had done it again. “You’re changing the subject. Just like you always do.”
“You’re not crying anymore, are you?” Andrea countered.
For some unknown reason, fresh tears welled and Madge tugged on her sister’s hand. “It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair. We just lost Sandra. We can’t lose you, too. We just can’t!”
“God has His plan for each of us, and with His grace, I’ll make a full recovery,” Andrea responded.
Madge listened attentively while Andrea explained what the course of the next year would be like. Doubt tugged at her spirit even as her heart grew hopeful. “Your doctor does sound more positive than Sandra’s did,” she ventured.
“She is. All cancers are not the same. I’m blessed to have a good one.”
Madge leaned back, pulled her hand away and stared at Andrea as a chill raced up and down her spine. “A good one? There’s no good cancer, Andrea. There’s awful cancer. Horrid cancer. Debilitating cancer. Disfiguring cancer…”
“And curable cancer. Mine’s curable. Or it should be. And it will be,” Andrea added. She took a deep breath and her expression grew serious. “I’ll…I’ll need a little help.”
Madge brightened, hiccuped again and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did I hear you right? Did you say ‘help’? You’ll need a little help?”
Andrea sighed. “Yes, I did. A little. Only a little help.”
“Caretaker duty is all mine,” Madge insisted.
Andrea rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to drive me back and forth to the doctor’s office for treatments. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. I told you. These treatments are different. I was thinking maybe—”
“Sandra let me take her for her treatments.”
Memories. Bittersweet, but precious memories of the months she had spent with Sandra washed over Madge. “I can’t take the cancer away. If I could, I would give anything to make that happen. But I can be there with you. Keep you company when you have to wait at the doctor’s office. Take care of your referrals and insurance forms. I can take you home, tell you stories to help pass the ‘rolling time.’ Let me do something. Anything,” Madge pleaded.
She watched Andrea carefully. First, she saw her sister’s backbone stiffen as if her spine had been laced to a broomstick. Andrea’s dark brown eyes hardened. Her lips pursed. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and when they opened, she looked at Madge with soft and misty eyes.
“You win. I hereby appoint you Chief Caretaker, in charge of transportation, but you can never, ever be late. Ever.”
Madge frowned, even as her heart began to fill with hope.
“All right.” Andrea gave in further. “You can handle the doctor’s referrals and the insurance forms, too.”
Half a smile.
Andrea narrowed her gaze, but Madge knew her sister was very close to a line she would not cross. “And my gardens. You can tend to them. Such as they are. But that’s all. That’s my final offer.”
Madge grinned from ear to ear. “I’m a much better gardener than I am a storyteller anyway.” She got off the bed, scoured around the floor to retrieve her keys and the
