Harper helped Lucille to her feet and as she took her hands, they began to dance, slow and easy.
Mamaw felt aglow as she looked around the candlelit room to see everyone dancing. No one was running out the door, catching a plane, or sulking in her room. Here they all were, her summer girls, together as she’d always hoped they would be. She said a prayer of thanks for this midsummer storm that had brought them all together for this special night.
They played the song again and switched partners, dancing once more to the heavy beat. Nate wouldn’t dance with anyone except Dora, so this time Carson danced with Harper. Mamaw took Lucille’s hand and led her in a gentle weaving back and forth, humming the tune.
Suddenly Lucille gasped and bent over in pain.
Everyone froze.
Mamaw clutched Lucille’s arms and held on tight as she fired off orders. “Carson! Help me get her to the sofa. Dora, her pills are in my bathroom. Run and get them. Harper, fetch a glass of water.”
The girls sprang to action. Within minutes, Lucille was resting on the sofa with Mamaw’s arm still around her shoulder. Carson, Dora, and Harper clustered around them, unsure and anxious. Nate sat quietly on the blanket.
“This isn’t the flu.” Carson looked to Mamaw for confirmation.
Mamaw shook her head. “It’s not for me to say.” She looked to Lucille.
There was a silence in the room, save for the howling wind outside the windows. Lucille slowly brought her eyes up to look at Carson. Then she turned to look at Harper and Dora. The pain had subsided some, and though she still gripped her abdomen, her face appeared serene.
“Now don’t look so worried,” Lucille said, her voice weak. “What’s happening is as natural as the wind blowing outside those windows. I’m sick, is all.”
“What kind of sick?” Dora asked.
Lucille sighed with resignation. “Cancer.”
There was a shocked silence, then Carson went to her knees and laid her head on Lucille’s lap. “Oh, Lucille.”
“What kind of cancer?” Harper wanted to know.
The girls all jumped in after that, with an outpouring of follow-up questions, suggestions, and recommendations of the top medical centers Lucille could go to for treatment.
“Stop all this jabbering,” Lucille said, putting her hands up. “I’ve gone through all this with your grandmother and I don’t have the energy to go through it again. I made up my mind, hear?” she said firmly, silencing them all. “I lived my life with dignity. I intend to die with dignity.”
“I know how hard it is to accept,” Mamaw told the girls. “But Lucille’s made her decision. It’s up to us now to make sure she’s as comfortable as possible.”
“Now I hate to break up the party,” Lucille said, “but I’m tired and need to go to bed. Gimme your hand, girl,” she said to Carson. “Help an old woman up.”
Mamaw and Carson each took an arm and helped Lucille slowly to her feet. She grunted softly and grimaced, the pain obvious. Dora and Harper grasped each other’s hand for support.
“Take her to my room,” Mamaw said.
“What? No, no. I want to lie in my own bed,” Lucille said.
“Later, when the storm subsides. For now, just rest awhile in my bed.”
Despite Lucille’s complaints, she settled in Mamaw’s big four-poster bed. Dora and Harper fluffed up pillows behind her.
“Go on back to your party.” Lucille waved her hand dismissively. “This ain’t no death watch. I’m just tired. Go on with you.” She added, “My precious girls.”
Carson, Harper, and Dora took turns kissing Lucille good night, reluctantly leaving the room. Mamaw ushered them out the door. “She’ll be all right. She needs her rest. I’m going to bed, too. We’ll see you in the morning. Mind you blow out the candles before you retire.”
She closed the bedroom door with a sigh of relief. What a night it had been. She felt exhausted by the whole of it. She quickly changed into her nightgown and brushed her teeth, listening to the storm still pounding the rooftop like a drum. Turning off the light, she entered her bedroom, lit only by the eerie blue light of her night-light.
“I can go to my own bed now,” Lucille said, flipping off the blanket.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Mamaw said, hurrying to Lucille’s side and smoothing the blanket back over her chest. “It’s gale winds out there, as bad as we’ve had in a long spell. I don’t want you alone out there in that cottage. You just settle in, my friend, because you’re sleeping in this house till it’s over.”
“But there’s no extra bed!”
“That’s why you’re going to sleep here.”
“Where will you sleep?”
“Right next to you.”
“I can’t . . .”
“Don’t fuss at me. I’m too tired to argue. I doubt either of us will get much sleep anyway, with that wind howling like that and the rain beating against the roof.”
Lucille looked to the window. “It’s raining like the Lord’s flood.”
“I hope Harper’s poor little plants survive. She worked so hard . . .” Mamaw sighed as she climbed into the bed beside Lucille. She tried to move slowly so as not to jiggle the mattress. Lucille had told her the pain was worsening and it weighed heavily on Mamaw’s mind. Mamaw knew it was only a short while before she’d have to call hospice.
Mamaw lay on her back and brought the blanket up to her chin. Glancing over, she saw Lucille beside her, propped up by pillows, lying absolutely still as though afraid to move.
“This is a first,” Mamaw said with a giggle.
Lucille chuckled softly. “One for the books.”
Mamaw giggled. She certainly couldn’t imagine lying in the same bed with her maid fifty years ago. “We’ve lived a lot of years, my friend. Gone through many changes.”
“Maybe not as many as just this summer.”
Mamaw laughed a tired laugh.
Lucille smacked her lips.
“Want a glass of water?” Mamaw asked.
“No. This medicine makes my mouth dry, is all.”
“Some ice, then? You could chew it.”
“I’m fine.”
They lay in silence, listening to the storm.
“I’m glad you told them. They needed to know. To prepare.”