Chapter One
Vinnie Cooper dropped her panties and bra to the bench and reached for the paper vest. The only sound in the tiny exam room was the crinkling of the pale green drape clutched to her hips as she climbed onto the examination table.
Gripping the stiff vest between her breasts, the real one and the reconstructed one, she stared at the wallpaper pattern and waited for it to come alive for her.
Wallpaper patterns always did.
She never discussed this phenomenon with anyone. Frankly, she was a little afraid to. Her secret talent just screamed to the world that she had way too much time on her hands and way too little to occupy her mind if she could sit around and study wallpaper until it did something.
The nurse bustled in and slapped a folder on the desk. “Hi, Mrs. Cooper. How are you?”
Vinnie lifted her shoulders. “Pretty good.”
Nodding, the nurse opened the folder and checked something with her pen. “Last menstrual period?”
A flash of anger heated Vinnie’s cheeks. “Twelve months ago.” Funny how women almost always said they wouldn’t miss having periods. But not many of them experience having the major life change forced on them. And even fewer confess to the sense of loss they feel.
Vinnie missed the familiar feminine cycle. Almost as much as she missed other things she’d lost in the last year.
Still scribbling, the nurse asked, “Any change in sexual partners?” She swished her ponytail over her shoulder and adjusted her baby-print scrub tunic.
A routine question for the nurse; a routine answer for Vinnie. “No change.” Nope, no change at all. Nothin’ from nothin’ leaves nothin’.
Like sex. She missed having sex. Missed feeling loved. Missed being touched. At the same time, she was terrified just thinking about what sex would be like for her now.
The nurse took her time unwinding the blood pressure cuff then fastened the Velcro around Vinnie’s arm. Pumping the attached rubber bulb, the nurse focused on the dials. Vinnie’s gaze was drawn to the wall covering, like a magnet to iron.
The nurse scribbled in the folder again and said, “The doctor will be in soon.” She closed the door with a click, leaving Vinnie alone to commune with the wallpaper.
The gyno’s wallpaper sharpened now, the pattern sliding, seeming to separate into distinct forms and shapes. The colors alone would give a pop-psychoanalyst a field day. Yellow, soft purple, and sea foam green. Now, doesn’t everyone know what those colors meant?
Yellow for happiness, purple for introspection, the green for tranquility. Especially when they provided background to such distinct shapes as those appearing like magic.
The joined squares topped by triangles in the soft purple blotches? A house, of course. A home.
The single green leaf with well-defined veins? Life, fertility.
This pattern was just too easy.
She sighed. She’d had those things. A home filled with laughter and activity when her two boys were growing up. A full and rewarding life. Now her house was empty. Her boys now men. The oldest a newlywed, and the youngest starting his career as a software designer.
They made her proud. They made her happy. They were on their own, and so was she.
The stiff paper covering the exam table crackled as she squirmed, trying to ease the numbness creeping up her dangling legs.
Briefly she thought about lying back and propping her feet in the stirrups. Really, that was the most comfortable position in these stupid offices. But then she realized how awkward the greeting might be.
She’d murmur, “Hello, doctor,” then crane her neck to see him, most likely between her knees.
He’d glance up from his paperwork and Voila! He’d crane his neck to see her. Well, her face anyway.
No, she’d just sit here and wait. Arching her back, she brought her attention back to the wallpaper again.
Swimming in the sea-foam green was a double swirl design. Infinity.
Home.
Life. Fertility.
Infinity.
A sharp pain stabbed in region of her heart. She clutched at the paper vest again. Shutting her eyes against the symbols, she bit her lip. Hard.
Clearly, she was just plain crazy. She’d ask the doctor for something for craziness, instead of a refill on her anti-depression medication. She was entitled, wasn’t she? Menopause could make women crazy, right? Okay, if menopause didn’t, then the whole abandonment issue could.
Her throat went dry. Her eyes filled with tears. Her reconstructed breast throbbed. She pressed her arm against it as she clutched the paper vest tighter. They said these phantom pains would stop soon.
Another stupid symbol of something lost, replaced, and crying out in pain because it wasn’t as good as the original.
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw in the wallpaper was a diamond. A bright, perfect diamond shape in the center of the splash of yellow.
Then a single swirl in a smaller patch of purple.
Frantic, Vinnie dropped her gaze to her lap. She needed to make another appointment with her shrink. Or maybe she’d had one too many appointments with the shrink already. She was beginning to Rorschach herself.
Diamond. Marriage, naturally. That made her think of John. And then herself. Them together, then not.
And the single swirl was Vinnie. Alone, spiraling down into herself, away from everything and everyone else. Isolated, sinking into the small, deep purple.
The door burst open and Vinnie jerked so violently, her back spasmed. She gasped with pain.
Dr. Devrone grinned and adjusted his red striped tie with manicured fingers. “Mrs. Cooper, I hope I didn’t startle you. How are you today?”
Vinnie managed to stammer a response just as another doctor walked in.
Dr. Devrone interrupted her. “This is Dr. Jason Snyder, he’s shadowing me today. He’ll be observing your examination. You don’t mind, do you?”
The intern smiled, looking like a shy college freshman, so young and well, inexperienced. He folded his hands behind his back and gazed at some point over her shoulder, a technique they taught, no doubt, on the first day of medical school.
Tension ratcheted her back spasms up another five notches and rage jacked her body temperature up another ten degrees. Perspiration beaded on her brow. She should be good, she knew. She wanted to be good.
She was always good.
Dr. Devrone bent over the sink and washed his hands once, twice, three times.
Damn it. Look where being good had gotten her. All the way to forty-eight, divorced, alone, depressed, menopausal and a specimen for a student doctor to gawk at, write papers about and gain experience from.
Anger roiled in her stomach. She ground her teeth and clutched the paper lap drape. The doctor looked up from the sink in time to see her struggle to adjust her expression to mask the unwanted shift of her emotions. He flicked his gaze back to the paper towels and stepped to the side so the youthful Dr. Snyder could take his turn at the sink. With a crumpled paper towel covering his fingertips, Dr. Devrone pressed the switch to call the nurse. She bustled into the room and flipped open the file folder once more.
As the doctor’s cold fingers walked over her real breast, Vinnie shut her eyes and saw the swirling patterns of the wallpaper in black and white against her eyelids. She tried to let her mind go blank.
Devrone moved over to examine the reconstructed breast, gently rolling his fingers over the flesh surrounding the implant, checking the healed incision site. He moved away from her and said, “Mrs. Cooper, Dr. Snyder is going to do an exam also. It’s part of his training.”
Vinnie cringed to think of this man-child, so close to her youngest son’s age, looking at her aged and scarred breasts. His overgrown crew cut and small square glasses made him look like he should be hanging out in a coffee shop instead preparing to examine her.
Vinnie shivered when the intern’s icy fingers touched her. She felt like she was shrinking. His touch demoted her from patient to specimen. She opened her eyes. The young doctor’s gaze was fixed on the wall. He couldn’t even look at her.
His stiff fingers marched to her armpit and probed deeper. It seemed those icy fingers searched for trouble, hoped to discover something out of the ordinary, to make the young doctor’s training complete. When he moved to examine her healthy breast, his gaze dropped to follow the movements of his fingers.
The flash of pity in his gaze further ignited her anger. Why couldn’t she tell Dr. Devrone she didn’t want to see a student doctor? Or more to the point, she didn’t want the student doctor to see her? Why couldn’t she, for once, stand up for herself?
For a year she’d been pushed from one doctor to another, she’d been obedient and docile, never wanting to cause problems, never wanting to be branded difficult.
She was so sick of it. She wanted to yell, to scream at the boy to get his hands off her, to leave her the hell alone.
Instead, she closed her eyes again and held onto the anger. It was better than self-pity.
Finally, Dr. Devrone replaced the flimsy vest over her chest. “Well, everything seems fine,” he murmured as he looked at her chart. He put down the clipboard with a sharp slap and turned to her. Crossing his arms, he said, “These follow-up exams are crucial, you know. Are you doing the breast self-exams like they showed you in the hospital?”
“Yes, I am.” At least she’d resisted saying yes,sir.
“Good. Your prognosis is excellent, but there’s always the possibility of a recurrence. After the five year mark, we can breathe a little easier, but until then we all have to be on our toes.”
Vinnie nodded. She knew he was right. The Reach to Recovery program was adamant about self-exams and follow-ups. And she was doing everything they suggested. She’d been through a course of counseling. She met with the breast cancer support group at least twice a month. She’d even given the macrobiotic diet a shot, though she could only stand it a couple of days.
Vinnie intended to be a survivor.
Dr. Devrone turned back to the sink and washed his hands once again before putting on his gloves. The nurse uncovered a tray of equipment and prepared the light. “Dr. Snyder will leave now.” The door clicked and Vinnie breathed a prayer of thanks. At least she’d been spared that much embarrassment.
The pelvic exam went quickly. The drape rustled down over her legs and the nurse helped her sit up. Snapping off his gloves, the doctor wrote some notes on her chart. “The chemo threw you into menopause. Any problems?”
Besides raging against the fates for making me old before my time? Besides having a personal understanding of how the term dried-up matron came about? Besides going slowly crazy? Oh no, Vinnie Cooper was just dandy.
She shook her head and forced civility into her reply. “Not really. I’m still having some big temperature swings and night sweats, but the headaches have eased up.”
He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I wish there was something I could give you to help, but you can’t take any hormones, you know. That must make the whole process harder on you.”
“I think I’ll be okay.”
“Well, we’re just a phone call away. Have you made plans with the surgeon to complete your reconstruction? The nipple attachment and tattoo are simple procedures.”
Now she found her courage. She’d determined weeks ago that she was not going under the knife again. A permanent nipple bud was not important to her. She’d regained her health and she was on her way to being herself again. “No, I’m not having another surgery. I’m finished.”
Dr. Devrone looked up from her file. His patent bedside-manner smile slipped in to a frown. “Are you sure? I always advise patients to complete the process. It makes a big difference in total recovery.”
“Look, I’ve done everything every doctor has suggested to this point. I’m through. I want to move on with my life and not spend another month recovering from another surgery. I’m tired of being a pin cushion.”
“If you’re sure that’s what you want.” He paused, allowing her a few seconds to reconsider her obviously flawed decision. She met the silence with more silence. Finally, he closed the file and released a breath. “I’ll see you in six months then.” He left the room followed by the ponytail-swishing nurse.
******
Outside, the spring sunshine blinded Vinnie and she fished in her purse for her sunglasses. She backed the car out of the medical plaza parking lot and headed toward the San Marco area for lunch with Celia.
As teens, she and Celia had searched for their future with a Ouija board. Now they addressed the future, still as mystical and distant, with Daytimers and financial planners. But Vinnie knew that no matter what happened tomorrow she could count on Celia. And Vinnie needed her friend as much as she needed air.
Celia waited for her at a corner table in The Riverside Tearoom. Glancing over her reading glasses, Celia smiled and wiggled her perfectly manicured fingers at Vinnie. Vinnie took a deep breath and relaxed for the first time since she woke up that morning. She needed a day off from sorting through the baggage of a dead marriage and an empty nest.
As she approached the table, Vinnie felt like the ugly duckling on parade, complete with her fuzzy new hair just beginning to grow back after the chemo.
When they were in school, it was fun being Celia’s friend. Vinnie had easily fit into the role of the smart, wisecracking sidekick to the vivacious Celia. Funny how that had never changed in all the years they’d been friends.
Disturbing, how much that bothered Vinnie today. She seemed to always be following someone, partnering with someone, rather than standing on her own or having someone follow her.
She reminded herself that Celia was a true friend. Celia had stood beside her when Vinnie’s husband, and even her own father and sister, had bailed on her during the fight with cancer.
Vinnie had really tried to understand her dad’s reaction to her diagnosis. Watching his wife die of breast cancer had been torment for her father. She understood why he’d been unable to face the possibility of doing it again with his daughter, Vinnie told herself. She understood why he’d stopped visiting when she began her treatment. She told herself over and over that it wasn’t because he didn’t love her, he just couldn’t bear reminders of his painful loss.
Sometimes she actually believed it.
Even Vinnie felt the acute loss of her mother every time she glanced in the mirror at her bald scalp and her puffy face, visible echoes of her mother’s slow death.
Her sister’s reaction had been much the same, but Vinnie suspected that Rachel’s fear had more to do with seeing her own fate predicted in Vinnie’s.
Yes, Vinnie understood. But flowers and cards were a weak substitute for a visit and a hug. Thankfully, she’d had Celia.
Celia was always cheerful, optimistic, still the perfect cheerleader. Now she rose and kissed Vinnie’s cheek before motioning for the waitress. “You’ll never guess who’s here,” Celia said, skimming a lock of her shiny, blond bob behind her ear.
Vinnie leaned forward and imitated their favorite expression from school. “Ohmigawd, who?”
Celia nodded toward the opposite corner of the small dining room. “John. He watched you come in. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.”
For the second time in two hours, burning rage flooded through Vinnie. She shouldn’t have been surprised that John, her ex-husband, was here. It was inevitable they would run into each other. Even though Jacksonville was the largest city in the South, geographically, it was still essentially a small Florida town.
She stared blindly at the menu teetering on the edge of the small table and took several deep breaths, praying for calm. She should have been better prepared–for John, and the anger. Sometimes she feared the fury would lodge permanently in her soul and she’d become another bitter old woman.
Celia’s fingers slipped over the back of Vinnie’s hand. “You okay?”
Vinnie lifted her shoulders. “I’m just hungry.”
“No, really. You look flushed.”
Vinnie jerked her hand from beneath Celia’s and reached for her water glass. “I said I’m fine, Celia. I’m not sick.”
“Oh.” Celia glanced down at the table.
“I’m sorry,” Vinnie sighed. “It’s been a really bad morning.”
“Didn’t you just come from the doctor’s office?” Worry clouded Celia’s eyes. “Everything’s okay, right?”
Vinnie nodded. “Other than being touchy and furious because John is in the same room as me, I’m okay. I was the training dummy for the intern at the gynecologist’s office.” By the time Vinnie finished relaying the story, the waitress arrived and took their order.
“Thank goodness you’re okay.” Shaking her head, Celia said, “And I’d be mad, too. Maybe you should make a change.”
“I’ve been thinking about making some changes.”
Celia smiled. “Good for you.” Her lips dropped into a sober line and she whispered, “Ready or not, here he comes.”
“Hello, Vinnie. How are you?” John’s voice washed over her the same way the scent of his after-shave always had, bringing with it a rushing tide of memories and emotion.
She forced herself to look at him. He was still John, and he wasn’t. His hair was different, short and spiky with gel. Probably his new, much younger, wife’s influence. He looked like he’d had a head to toe make-over, except his eyes. They revealed a tired wariness that no amount of self-tanner could brighten.
The realization that he bore scars, too, offered her some comfort. She managed a smile. “I’m fine, John. And you?”
He nodded. “You look good.”
Before she could stop herself, her hand jerked up to touch her inch-long, baby-fine brown hair. She caught the movement and instead, played with the dangling earring on her right ear. “Thanks, so do you.”
“Do you mind if I sit down for a moment?” He reached for a nearby chair. “I want to talk to you about some things.”
Vinnie’s anger coalesced into strength. She held out her hand to stop him. “No, John. You can’t sit down. I’m having lunch with Celia. You can call my attorney to set up an appointment if there’s something you need to discuss with me.”
His shocked expression filled her with satisfaction. He released the chair and cleared his throat. “If that’s the way you want it.”
She held his steady gaze. He thinks I’m going to change my mind. He thinks I’ll say, “Go ahead, and sit. What do you need?”
When the silence stretched beyond comfortable, he shifted his glance away and said, “All right. I’ll call Bob.”
Vinnie downed her water as John’s heels sounded his retreat across the Mexican tiled floor of the tearoom.
“Bravo! Bravo!” Celia clapped her hands quietly. “That was wonderful, Vinnie. I never thought I’d hear you talk to the bastard like that. Good for you.” Again, she motioned for the waitress. “We need champagne.”
“No, I just need more water.” Vinnie looked around to see if she could catch anyone to refill her glass, but instead saw John seated at his table, deep in conversation with a woman in her late twenties.
She quickly brought her gaze back to her empty bread plate.
“Looks like there’s already trouble in paradise, huh? That girl’s not the blushing bride,” Celia murmured as the waitress approached. Louder Celia said, “We need champagne and more water.”
“Whisky,” Vinnie said.
The waitress rushed off to the bar and Vinnie felt Celia studying her. “Whisky?”
Vinnie took a deep breath and nodded. A grin slid over her face. She’d just held her own against John. She’d stood up for herself and it felt damn good. “Yeah.”
A different server delivered the plates of roasted chicken and pecan salad for which the tearoom was famous, the same lunch she’d shared with Celia once a month for years.
The waitress delivered a split of champagne and a short whisky. Vinnie sipped the amber liquor and savored the sting, like antiseptic on a gash, burning away the impurities, opening the way for healing.
The familiar salad went down smoothly, the perfect counterpart to the smoky burn of the whisky. Where would she have lunch if she moved? The bigger question was with whom would she have lunch?
Vinnie had finally admitted to herself that she wouldn’t be able to stay in Jacksonville and truly get a fresh start. Even going back to college wouldn’t make enough of a change to her routine if she remained in town.
Looking at her dear friend, Vinnie experienced a pang of fear. But how would she know she could stand on her own if she never stepped away from the comfort of what she knew and understood?
“You know, it really is time for me to make some changes,” she said aloud.
“Yes, a new doctor would be good for you.”
“No, I mean real changes.” Finally, she knew exactly what she was going to do. With new determination, she said, “I’m getting out of town and really starting over.”
“What?” Celia froze, her fork in mid-air, her mouth opened slightly.
“Yes, I’ve decided to move. I’m going back to college.”
Celia put her fork down. “Where?”
Vinnie laughed. “Somewhere else.”
