A Question of Mercy Read Free Page B

Finney and her teenage son, Adam.

— 2 —
    J ess was only ten when her mother’s illness began with a persistent cough. At night, when the coughing would not stop, Jess heard her go into the guest room, not wanting to keep Edward awake. Some nights her mother didn’t even bother to go to his bed, and the guest room quickly acquired her accoutrements: hair brush, powder, lipstick, DuBarry Cold Cream, and the Este Lauder smell of her mother’s skin. Edward believed she had bronchitis and urged her to rest.
    As Daisy began to lose her appetite, fatigue formed around her eyes and mouth and Dr. Willingham came to the house to listen to her lungs. He prescribed penicillin and urged her to stay in bed; but she stubbornly persisted. She was trying hard to get well, pretending that she was already well—rising to prepare dinner for Jess and Edward. During those days everything Daisy Booker did felt like pretending.
    In the late afternoons Jess sat in the kitchen with her mother, copying recipes. She loved to look at her mother’s high forehead, her small mouth, and round blue eyes that put people at ease, her long arms and legs that moved like a dancer. Daisy had a delicate beauty that stunned anyone who saw her. Even without makeup her face glowed, and she walked with the confidence of someone who had been beautiful for most of her life. Jess hoped some of that beauty might rub off on her.
    The recipes were kept in a brown box spattered with grease and food stains. “Edward likes a lot of pepper on his chicken, but not on his steak.” She told Jess to write that down. “Having meals together makes things seem normal,” her mother told her. She lifted a large ham and brushed it with a paste of orange juice, mustard, and brown sugar. She handed Jess the brush to baste the ham before placing it in the oven.
    After several weeks, when the cough did not improve, Daisy went to the hospital for tests. The diagnosis came late on a Tuesday afternoon. Dr. Willingham arrived at the house to deliver the news in person.
    â€œYou have cancer,” he said. “It’s leukemia. But, Daisy, it’s progressed too far. Stage four.” Jess sat on the arm of her mother’s chair, and as the doctor spoke, her mother did not look up. “Leukemia is a disease of the blood and bone marrow and, though sometimes we recommend treatment, this has moved beyond our ability to control it. I am so sorry.” The doctor looked embarrassed.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Edward said.
    â€œIt’s just that we can’t do anything for this kind of cancer. Maybe someday. I wish I could give you more hope.”
    Edward dragged his gaze from the back door to the doctor’s face, as though he might not have been listening. “I don’t understand.”
    â€œEdward,” Daisy said.
    â€œI want to know what he means.”
    â€œI can’t give you much hope.” Dr. Willingham touched Edward’s shoulder. “She probably has six to eight months.” He paused. “That’s just an educated guess though. It could be longer.”
    Edward stood up. “Are you saying we can’t do any thing?” He didn’t believe the doctor. “It was bronchitis. That’s all.”
    â€œEdward,” said Daisy, some irritation in her voice.
    Edward could not stop. “I know you’re not telling us to just give up. Are you?”
    Dr. Willingham looked tired. “I’m afraid that the disease has spread too far. I’m sorry.”
    Daisy nodded and kept nodding. “I don’t want be in the hospital,” she said. She turned and leaned her forehead against Jess’s arm; and Jess’s life, at age ten, began to crumble and shift. Edward sat on the floor and put his hand on Daisy’s knee. Dr. Willingham rose to leave, but suggested that Edward hire a nurse to help them at home.
    For the next months the nurse, Joan Landry, came to the