The Fortune

Hearing the front door open, without looking up, Madeline offered an inquiry off-handedly as she hovered over her pot of stew, “How did your appointment go Sweetheart?”

After several moments of silence Sabrina answered, “Mommy, please come and sit down with me.”

“Oh my goodness” Madeline replied while continuing to stir, “You sound so serious Sabrina.”

“Mommy please.“ Sabrina’s voice withering into a softness, delusive of her wish to order rather than request, “Please. Come here.”

Madeline stopped mid-stir, staring into the copper splash-backplate of her stove at the blurred mirrored image of her daughter, seated at the small kitchenette table, head bowed. Madeline turned, her eyes directing her body - down at the floor, across the kitchen, over to the table, then at the chair across from Sabrina - pulling out the bistro seating into a neatly aligned position, as if the dread that started to emerge could all be kept tucked into a neatly aligned position on her ‘Take-Care-Of List,’ where all items get efficiently checked off. “What is so serious Sweetheart?” straightening out the figment wrinkles of her neatly pressed apron, still avoiding all eye-contact with something she might not be able to control.

“I have Stage IV breast cancer Mommy,” Sabrina said reaching across the table for an ask of her mother’s hand in comfort.

Madeline slowly brought both of her apron-straightening hands up and across the table, as directed by her eyes, to the new destination of her 32-year-old daughter’s reach, as if the problem were all in that slender hand. Patting the problem with cupped hands, Madeline offered the first resolving step, “Well, we’ll just get the best doctors and take care of it my Sweet Sabrina. I’ll call Dr. Sharma first thing in the morning.” Madeline stood up and returned to her pot of stew, as if she, with energy-efficiency, both physical and emotional, had taken care of a headache complaint from her daughter. The tears that soaked her pillow that night, told a different story.

“I have the best doctors already. You never had breast cancer, right Mommy?”

“No. But isn’t it something that can just happen and not be genetic?”

“Yes, but they found a mutation of my BRCA gene. It stands for Breast Cancer. They think I probably inherited the mutation. I can now tell a future child of mine to be watchful, as the disease can be diagnosed and treated much earlier, which may save their life. Dr. Huang, my genetic counselor, said you too can take a test which can help in the research so future patients can benefit.”

Humph Madeline exhaled, “I’m more interested in things that benefit your life. What good will that do you? Nothing.”

“You might be helping your grandchildren?” Sabrina said looking for strings of hope on which to hang. 

“I want to concentrate my energy on you, not other people and non-existent grandchildren. I want to know who you can get real help from now. I want a real doctor helping you,” she said, her voice and stirring becoming more agitated.

“Goodness Mommy,” she grinned at using her mother’s favorite word. “Why are you so irritable about this? Although today’s appointment didn’t seem hopeful for me to be promised an easy or long future, I still want to believe I will give you grandchildren one day, and I just wanna help someone else if I end up not being able to help myself.”

•••

“Dr. Sharma, I feel as if I’m being forgetful lately. I forgot to pay my telephone bill,” Madeline sharply informed her long-time physician.

“You’re okay Madeline. We all get a little forgetful as we age. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m worried. I’m very worried,” Madeline snapped back. “I never forget my responsibilities. I want to have one of those memory tests.”

“You are over-worrying. You have been under a lot of stress lately with Sabrina’s treatment. It can have the most responsible people dropping some of the little things off their ‘To-Do Lists,’” he calmly responded.

Madeline’s voice becoming more insistent, she practically bellowed, “I am the most responsible person you will ever know! I’m telling you, I’m significantly more forgetful. You are lucky I remembered you are my doctor,” voicing the humorous line without a shred of believing it to be funny herself. “I want you to give me the test or I will not remember you are my doctor because I will find a real doctor to see that I have a serious problem with my memory.”

Continuing with his cordial smile, “Okay, calm down Madeline. I will have my nurse administer one to you.”

•••

“See! I told you I was having problems with my memory! Dr. Sharma says I have early onset Alz-hee-immers. I’m losing my memory and losing it fast,” Madeline called out before Sabrina could finish stepping into the car after chemo.

“Do you mean Alzheimer’s Mommy? Did he really tell you that? In one visit? That seems odd. I think he would see that you are under a lot of stress lately. Maybe you just need to get out more. Go for walks. Take some Prevagen. Mommy, I prefer you just take me straight home. No ice cream today. The poisons are really starting to take their toll.”

        “Go for walks? Winter is almost here! I don’t know why it’s so hard to convince everyone I can’t remember anything lately.  I’m surprised I’m remembering you are my daughter, rather than a bad salesperson trying to sell me snake oil cures. You, my daughter, of all people, know I’m not a forgetful person!” Madeline barked.

“See, you did remember I’m your daughter.” Sabrina’s chuckles suddenly going quiet as she pulled out her barf bag.

•••

Madeline laid there staring at her shoeless, sockless, frost-bitten feet. I forgot to dust off the bookshelf before I left the house. Ohh, the things you forget. The things you forget. Staring up through the trees at the grey, wintery sky, one last forgotten… the safety deposit box.

•••

Sabrina shook, teeth chattering, as she folded her arms across her too-thin coat that was not providing the warmth needed, wondering how much longer she had to wait. She had called for someone 15 minutes ago. She was sure they’d find an ice-carving of a cancer survivor by the time they responded. She paced for a while to try to stay warmer.

Now 20 minutes of freezing had passed, so she hit the bell on the small table again. I didn’t know they even made these motel desk bells anymore. Can’t this bank afford anything more high tech? AND more heat? Finally, a man with a fine mortuary-black suit arrived. Unapologetic, hmm. Thanks, her thoughts whined. He led her to a huge, daunting vault door. Great, now we’re going into the deep freezer. I can read the headlines now… “Girl survives cancer but dies freezing to death in a bank vault.”

“May I have the key?” the mortician-clad man asks.

Sabrina handed it to him thinking of the next paragraph of the news article…

“The cold bronze key was still frozen in her icy, pasty-white, waifish hand. It took a blow torch to release the key from her death grip. The banker opened the safety deposit box and found a gift certificate for a down parka with matching gloves that would have saved her life had they answered the dang, stupid, motel desk dinger-ringer faster.”

“Here you go Ma’am. Hello? Ma’am?”

“Oh, thank you Sir” Sabrina stammered, knocking her out of her frozen state of mind, and accepting the metal box he handed her.

She was escorted to a tiny room where, she opened the lid of the long, narrow box, diligently taking out each of the documents she expected to find there. Deed to the house. Passport. Title to the car. The Trust. The Trust? Hmm, I didn’t know Mommy had made one. Just dated two months ago? Okay Mommy, you couldn’t remember it was the dead of winter so you don’t go for a walk in your nightgown and bare feet? But you followed through with all the steps of getting a trust made?

Of course, her mother would have all her life in order, not expecting to have it cut short, but as a matter of her 58-year-long living in pin-pointed, check-listed, endless to-do lists crossing offs. Monthly. Weekly. Daily. Hourly? Okay Mommy. Maybe not hourly. But I suppose I am fortunate to have lost a mother who has made it easy for me to mindlessly step through the “To-Do’s After Losing Your Mother List.” I bet I could Google that one. Maybe even find one my mother posted up to ‘school’ others in. Mommy, I’m thankful for your organization, but I wish you left me, gave me,  ‘Instructions on How NOT To Lose Your Mom to Early Onset Alzheimer’s.’

Starting to shiver again she placed all the documents in her tote and headed back to the little desk, laying the box down, ringing the bell, and tugging at her coat again preparing for another long Winter’s wait. This time, however, a different bank agent quickly came to the desk.

“I’ll check your box back in” she said with a smile.

“No, I would like to close this account. She…I will not be needing this box anymore” Sabrina said grimly.

“Okay, just let me make sure you got all your treasures out,” the agent responded as she lifted the lid, held it up at eye level, and tilted it back. “Oh, there’s something stuck in the back.” Tugging, twisting and yanking she finally was able to release the bulky, tri-folded, crumpled, white envelope and passed it to Sabrina. “There you go. Just sign here, and here, and here.” Sabrina threw the hidden treasure in her tote, and sighed heavily as the agent, also pointed to a couple of places to initial. I could be authorizing her to have half of all the gold, whose location is on the map inside the envelope, she thought. I don’t care. I’m too frozen, too tired, and too sore from the radiation burns. Too too too! Mommy, why did you go out in the snow? Why why why? Why did Dr. Sharma’s notes say you were never diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s? Why did he say, not even any kind of dementia? Why did he think you were trying to convince him of a decline in your mental status? Enough Sabrina, she scolded herself. Not questions that are ever going to be answered.

•••

Plopping herself down at her mother’s kitchen table, she shoved hard at her tote, as if it would make this whole nightmare go away. It didn’t work, but instead caused it to fall off, spilling its contents onto the floor. Good going Sabrina. That made things better didn’t it?

Collapsing down on the floor in a crumple of tears, she saw her twin, the crumpled envelope. It was difficult to get the content out from the crimped edges that were a result of being forced deep into the deposit box, but she finally freed it. Them. Pages. Pages seemingly torn out of a notebook. A journal? she wondered.

Yes, ironing it out, on the first page, she recognized her mother’s writing.

March 8

Today’s client was young and beautiful. Angelica. She found me in the penny ads and liked that I was a fellow Haitian. I didn’t tell her I was only born to a Haitian. I wanted her to unconditionally believe in me and my magic. Okay, I guess it’s conditional if I’m emphasizing a culture that’s not really mine to win her over. I DID win her over, with my observations though. I knew she was pregnant (I saw her baby bump profile through her thin dress coming in from outside), unmarried (no ring on her finger — not even a tan mark), stressed (aren’t we all when we’re looking for a fortune teller), looking for hope as if she had received bad news (aren’t we all when we’re looking for a fortune teller). I held her hand and without the need of any inquiry, I informed her… You are worried, but everything is going to be okay. Your baby will be okay. Your little girl is going to be okay. She was amazed at my fortune-telling and overjoyed, but then she broke into tears. She had been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer.

Sabrina gasped out loud.

The doctors said she should have an abortion so she can start cancer treatment immediately. But I told her no no no! Her little girl is waiting for her to be her mommy. She will be okay. The doctors just want a quick and easy fix. I told her to come back in a few days to consult with me again. I think I’m right, but another reading would be good to be sure.

March 11

Angelica returned. I found a cheap Haitian midwife so she didn’t have to go back to those worthless doctors. She doesn’t have family in the US - we are hers now.

Sabrina set the pages down and wondered, Were these pages from a journal her mother kept? She stood up and headed to her mother’s bedroom. Quickly, she rummaged through each dresser drawer, closet, bookshelf and chest. Nothing. She flopped down on the floor beside the opened chest, depleted of emotional and physical energy. She asked herself through tears, Did I not know my mother that well? As if trying to convince herself she did, she pawed at the pile of long ago items stacked neatly in the chest; knitted baby blankets, toddler dresses, Halloween costumes and the like. All handmade by her mother, she struggled with the contrasting images of the world’s best little-girl’s mother and… a fortune teller? Below the silky aged-stained Cinderella dress-up gown was, oddly, the bottom of the chest? Confused, as it was level to her waist. She pressed down on the wood, realizing from the give, it was likely a false bottom. Feverishly tossing out all the contents, she pried at the wood-panel’s edge until she was able to lift it up.

Bingo.

There were dozens of neatly stacked paper-bound notebooks, each with a year labeled on it. Sabrina grabbed one from the top layer marked with this year. Yes, they appeared to be journals. The entries were mostly weekly -- some less -- some more frequent. Interesting, Sabrina thought, they stopped several months ago, about the time of my diagnosis. But also about the time Mommy started to forget things.

Sabrina reached for the one marked the previous year, quickly fanning the pages to look for a gap. Then the year previous. None. So maybe not a recent secret life of being a fortune teller. Maybe her mother tried it out while she was at school. Flipping through journal after journal, looking for life notated but then torn out, she found no new leads. Maybe before me? she thought in her head’s detective voice. Frenetically now, she pushed 32 years aside. There. “1985.” Carefully now, she cradled this journal sensing something different. Was it the weight compared to the others? The thinness? Slowly this time, flipping through, a large gap between March and August entries revealed itself. A space of unanswered questions answered? She stared at an August entry.

Aug 2

My little Sabrina. You are so precious. You are everything I dreamed of. How lucky…

Sabrina quickly flipped to the next page.

Aug 3

I bought you a little onesie today. You are so tiny, so I could barely see “My Precious Daughter” on your tummy. How remarkable your hair…

And the next.

Aug 4

I can hardly sleep, wanting to stare at my little Sabrina 24/7 and…

Sabrina returned to frantic page-turning. Seeing page after page of daily entries of nothing but the doting words of a new mother. She then started to speedread the pages backwards from the gap where the torn-out pages once were. Why are there no entries of Mommy’s pregnancy? Why are there no mentions of a father? My father?

Sabrina scurried back to the kitchen returning to the torn out pages.

March 29

I told Angelica again and again, she’ll be alright. She doesn’t need the doctors as I have been correct in my fortune-telling all this month. I will not charge her any more, as I want to be there to keep reassuring her.

Sabrina carefully going through each page - challenged to hear the words she read over the memory of her own previously spoken ones, “They think I probably inherited the mutation. I can now tell a future child of mine to be watchful as the disease can be diagnosed and treated earlier which may save their life… which may save a life… which may save a life.” Can I ever get that echo to stop?

June 26

Angelica gave birth today. She was so calm, knowing everything, as I said, would be okay, just like her darling little girl was. Angelica was so weak, so I stayed with her to help care for her little one.

July 27

Angelica is sleeping so much. Today she was only awake enough to name her baby. Sabrina. It’s perfect for this sweet little girl. Sweet Sabrina.

July 28

I found a gadget today! I was able to feed Sweet Sabrina like her mother should have, holding her to my own breast with a tube of formula taped to my nipple.

July 29

Sweet Sabrina has started looking for my breasts now. Its good because Angelica is too weak to feed at all.

July 30

Angelica has not woken since yesterday.