Chapter One : The Phone Call
In the oak-paneled suite, Ross Madison rose from his leather chair. With practiced grace he offered his arm to the white-haired lady seated in front of his desk. The woman's stooped form made it difficult for her to maneuver, but, pulling herself to her feet, she juggled her wooden cane to her left hand so she could extend her right hand to Ross.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Madison." A dignified smile graced her finely-wrinkled face. Her blue eyes twinkled. "It's good to know my husband's medical bills will be covered. If he wasn't bedridden he'd come and thank you himself."
Ross returned a warm smile and gently shook the small hand. "You're very welcome." He held the door open for her.
His elderly client retreated toward the exit, pausing again to speak courteously to the receptionist. Ross eased his office door closed and nodded approvingly to himself. He was pleased with the closure of this case. But there was little time for self-congratulation. As he was returning to his desk the phone buzzed. He answered before sitting down.
"Mr. Madison," his matronly secretary drawled, "I believe it's your wife on the line."
Ross's eyebrows shot upward. My wife?
He hadn't really thought of Tessa in that way for many years. He tried to recall the last time she had phoned him. For some time now he'd been thinking of calling her. But he sure hadn't expected her to call him. In the past, if she'd needed to talk to him, she'd always asked one of the boys to call and talk with their father; then they would hand the phone to her.
So why is she calling now? What could she want?
His secretary was waiting. "Thank you, Lana. Please put her through." Ross walked round the desk, sank into the massive chair, and the call was transferred. "Tessa?" he ventured, but there was nothing to greet him but silence.
He was about to try again when a voice sobbed through the speaker.
"Tessa, what is it? What's wrong?" he urged, feeling a tremor growing in his own voice.
Ross listened to her cry and tried to remain calm as he anticipated the message that Tessa must be struggling to deliver. "It's all right, Tess. Breathe slowly. Take a moment to gather yourself." He ran his hand through the thick waves of his brown hair and heard her taking in big gulps of air.
"It's Jeremy!" she finally blurted out. "He--he has a tumor . . . a brain tumor!"
"How can that be?" he questioned. "Jeremy was just here two months ago, and he was fine." His son had complained about headaches, but they didn't seem that serious. "Tessa, he's only fifteen years old, how can he possibly--"
"I know how old he is, Ross!" she shouted. "Do you think I would make up something like this?"
"Ross, please. I don't want to argue with you again. Here's the doctor's number. Call him yourself if you don't believe me." Between sniffles, she rattled off a phone number, and Ross pushed a few papers aside to find a pen.
"It's not that I don't believe you, Tessa, I just wonder--"
"Ross, will you stop cross-examining me! I just wanted to let you know. Call me back when you've talked with the doctor. I can't handle talking to you right now."
The phone clicked and the dial tone droned the end of the call. Stunned, he slowly lowered the phone to its carriage. It was uncharacteristic of Tessa to be short and upset. Could their son really be as ill as she described? Apparently Tessa believed it to be true. He covered his face with his hands momentarily before reaching for the phone again.
The doctor confirmed the diagnosis--a pituitary tumor, probably non-malignant, but at present, very invasive. It was pushing out the frontal lobe, threatening his son's vision, interfering with sinus and nasal passages. The mass was entwined around the carotid arteries on both sides of the head. Surgery was necessary and imminent.
As the waning sunlight that had been shining through the skylight faded, darkness gradually enveloped him. Am I being punished for my errant past? But if so, why does Jeremy have to suffer? He loved his blond-haired son, so full of life and laughter. Jeremy could make a joke of anything. His visits always brought a bright ray of sunshine into Ross's life. . . . How was Jeremy taking this?
"Ross, you idiot! Why have you hesitated so long?" the usually cool, composed lawyer growled to himself. He reached for the phone and punched in the familiar number. It rang several times, and Ross imagined Tessa was reluctant to answer, knowing it was probably him. As Ross waited for someone to pick up the phone, questions ran through his head. The biggest question and the most frightening one was, how would Tessa respond to him?
Finally, he heard the phone click. "Tess, I'm sorry," he said before she could even say hello.
"Oh, Ross!" she cried. "Please, let's not fight."
Those words struck him as odd. Had they ever fought? Not really, Tessa had always yielded to his wishes. Gently he asked if Jeremy knew about his condition. She assured him that Jeremy seemed to accept the circumstances and that he had gone over to his friendks house for the afternoon.
Tears stung Ross's eyes. When he tried to speak, his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and began again. "Tessa," he asked softly, "how are you?" The silence on the other end shouted out to him the pain Tessa was experiencing. How could she answer? Ross thought. She wasn't accustomed to sharing her feelings with him. In fact, she wasn't accustomed to his asking about her feelings. He decided to just come out and tell her:
"Tessa, I want to fly down and be with you and the boys."
He heard her sniffle. He continued, "The doctor gave me the names of several specialists. I've already made some calls. I hope that's all right with you."
"Yes, of course. . . ." she said, her voice softening. "I have to admit it's all so overwhelming and I don't know how to deal with everything myself. . . ."
"Well, it might be easier to bring the whole thing together if I'm there in Southern California. Fortunately, you have a wealth of quality health care in your area. They'll most likely want to do the surgery very soon. . . . I'd like to be there." He thought of his older son, who was attending Arizona State University. "When is Todd arriving home for the summer?"
"Tomorrow." She sounded numb.
"Good. I'm glad he'll be there with you. Is he all right?"
"He seemed to be when I talked to him. I know he's worried about me. I hate to think of him driving all the way back here with this on his mind."
"Todd will be fine. I'm going to call the airlines and make flight arrangements. I'll let you know my plans."
There was a pause. Then with a slight edge to her voice, Tessa asked, "Can you get away?"
How could she ask something like that? This was their child--what kind of father would he be if . . . Ross closed his eyes tightly. His track record in earlier years had not been good. He had put his own interests before those of his family on many occasions. That was one of the things that he had recently discovered, one of the things that for months now had been pressing him to call Tessa.
"There's nothing more important than Jeremy right now," he assured her.
Ross spent the next day contacting specialists and researching this type of tumor. He rearranged his appointments and made travel plans; then in the early evening, he called Tessa. His older son answered.
"Hello, Todd. I'm glad to know that you made it home safely."
"Yeah," Todd answered flatly.
Ross could easily picture the young man on the other end of the line, this nineteen-year-old who looked so much like Ross did twenty years ago: high cheek bones, strong jaw line, square chin, and light brown eyes. He was mild mannered, but at that moment he probably had a look ofdisdain on his face.
"Your mother really needs you right now."
"Like you really care what she needs."
Ross sighed. "Todd, I know what she doesn't need right now, and that's anything that's going to upset her more. You and I need to talk when I get there."
Todd started to answer, then just blurted, "Jeremy wants to talk to you."
Ross swallowed hard. He heard the phone being given to his younger son.
"Hey, Dad," came the cheerful voice. "Heard any good brain tumor jokes lately?"
Ross couldn't help smiling."No, Jeremy, but I'm sure you'll be able to tell me a few good ones. How are you feeling, son?"
"Not bad. Still getting those head pains, but at least now I know what's causing them."
Ross recalled Jeremy's Easter vacation visit, how he would suddenly put the heel of his hand to his eye and give a sharp yell. Jeremy had described it as a head pain that he got now and then; brief, but intense, that seemed to burst forth from his eye.
They talked for a few minutes and Ross found that his son was doing most of the encouraging. Then Jeremy's voice grew serious.
"Dad, don't pay any attention to Todd. He's just being lame again."
The last time Ross had been with Todd was the customary month-long summer visit when he had flown the boys to San Francisco from their home in Southern California. He had planned to take his sons to Lake Tahoe, but he and Todd had quarreled on the first night, and Todd had refused to go. Todd said that he was tired of the token visits that his father offered him, and he didn't intend to be a part of them anymore. It had ended with Ross putting Todd back on a plane the next day. They had spoken a few times on the phone since then, but Todd's position was clear.
Jeremy's cheerful voice jolted Ross back to the present. "Here's Mom. I gotta go. Todd's takin' me to the movies, and he said I could drive his truck. Hey--you haven't ridden with me yet, have you? Well, don't worry. I can drive as good as Todd, even with my head full of mush!"
Ross heard Tessa telling the boys to be careful as she took the phone again. "Hi," she said softly.
"Hi. Do you worry about Jeremy driving?"
She laughed guardedly. "Almost as much as I do about him having a brain tumor. I can't believe he has his driving permit already. I'm really not looking forward to the time when he can drive by himself. . . ." Her last words trailed off to a whisper.
Ross wondered, What other issues has she worried about alone over the years?
"Tessa, I'm flying down there tomorrow. I've made reservations at the Best Western in San Juan. It's near you and the boys and also has easy freeway access."
"What time do you arrive?"
"I'll get to John Wayne International about noon. I'm renting a car there and will go directly to Dr. Anthony's office to pick up Jeremy's MRI and other medical records. I'm impressed with the surgeon at UCLA. I'm going to meet with him the next morning."
"Ross . . ." Tessa paused. "Would you like to come for dinner tomorrow night? Both of the boys will be here."
He reflected for a moment, envisioning his former home. For family meals they used to regularly pass up the dining room, with its Ethan Allen furniture, for the large comfortable kitchen where Tessa most likely stood now as they spoke. Ross remembered his insistence that the boys were too young and too careless to be allowed to eat at the costly table that stood on the hand-woven English rug covering the hardwood floor of the dining area. He wondered where they ate their meals these days. . . .
She broke the silence. "Jeremy'd be excited to see you."
"Tessa, I'm sure you know that Todd and I are not on very good terms right now. That's the only reason I'm hesitating to accept your invitation."
"Well, I know you want to see Jeremy, and dinner would at least have us all sitting down together. I'll talk to Todd. I'm sure he'll want to be considerate of his brother's feelings right now."
"In that case," he finally answered, "I would like very much to come for dinner . . . if you feel itks not intruding."
Later, Ross joined the other commuters leaving the city for the night and drove his dark green Jaguar north across the Golden Gate Bridge toward Marin County. It was his custom to arrive at his Embarcadero Square law offices early and stay late enough to allow the traffic to thin before he left for home. Shadows were lengthening and street lights coming on when he pulled into the driveway of his Corte Madera home.
Ross retrieved his mail from the box, waited for the garage door to open, then parked inside. Lights set by timers brightened the lifeless house. He told himself that having lights on would discourage anyone from breaking in, but he had to admit that he liked the illusion that someone was there to greet him, that he was not really alone.
He tossed his keys on the kitchen counter and played the messages on his answering machine.
"Hi, Ross," an enchanting female voice cooed, "it's Gloria . . . as if you didn't know! I realize you said you were making some lifestyle changes, but I just can't believe that excludes me. Call me if you get lonely. I miss you."
"Nothing important here," he said aloud, flipping through his mail. "Or here," he added, erasing the message before going to the refrigerator to peer inside, settling on a small carton of orange juice for now.
He crossed the living room and stepped out onto the deck. The lush hillsides of Marin County had often brought him solace at times when he had struggled with God and his life choices. Guilt continued to cloud his direction even now. For several months he had wrestled with the thought of calling Tessa. Now she had called him with bad news about their son's health. . . . What could it all mean?
Suddenly, he felt a great need to be close to his family and thought of the photographs in the den. He had family pictures sitting out on the credenza, but he remembered another photo that he had tucked away in his desk drawer and now went to find it.
There was the photo, face down, under a file folder containing his current bank statement. He gently removed it and carried it to his favorite maroon leather recliner in the living room, dropped into the comforting chair, and stared at the photo. It was a picture that Jeremy had given him of Tessa and the boys in front of their Christmas tree five months ago. Obviously, Jeremy had thought nothing wrong with giving him a picture of his mother, but Gloria had been present when Ross had opened the letter containing the photograph, and she thought otherwise. She'd insisted he get rid of it and they'd quarreled. He'd finally told her he'd throw it away, but he'd placed it instead in the desk drawer.
His thoughts returned to the phone conversation with Tessa earlier in the day. So many uncertainties awaited him . . . awaited them all. First there was Jeremy to consider. The surgery was certainly serious. His condition was not life-threatening at the moment, but there were many possible complications. Todd's reaction to his father's impending sojourn was predictable, and though Ross was not looking forward to the confrontation, he knew it was inevitable--and even necessary.
Then there was Tessa. The thought of being in close proximity to her both scared and excited him. They really hadn't had any face to face contact for years. The four hundred-odd miles between them had been a buffer in their relationship. Over the course of the past ten years they each had grown accustomed to putting the boys on a plane to send them to the other parent.
He raked the fingers of both hands through his hair before pushing back in the chair and elevating his feet. There was so much he wanted to tell Tessa, needed to tell her. Why have I let so much time pass? I should have called her. Why would she believe that I want to be there for her now? Ross sighed. It isn't just now that I want to be with Tessa. But what approach should I take? I can't expect her to just open her arms wide and welcome me back.
Gently, he ran his fingers back and forth over the faces in the photograph and closed his eyes, imagining his own likeness there with them in front of the Christmas tree in what used to be his home.