For the first week after Rita Helgessen’s diagnosis, Carla worked upstairs with the engineering crew, until a temporary assistant was hired. In the ensuing weeks, back in her own office, Carla became the communication point between Rita and the entire office, simply because Marc had requested of Rita that she keep him posted regarding her progress.
Thus it was that Marc, upon returning from lunch one day, asked Carla if she’d heard from Rita.
“Yes. She’s still on chemo. I forgot to ask how much longer she has.” She brightened. “But it sounds like she’s doing pretty well. She’s coming over to Nancy’s tonight for our supper club.”
“Hmm,” Marc commented, a smile of approval on his face. “A supper club? I didn’t realize you three had become friends.”
“We’ve met just a couple of times so far.” Carla wanted Marc to know that Patrice was part of the unlikely little supper club to which she was referring. “And, yes, we three are friends, actually. In fact, Patrice is coming over tonight as well.”
“Mmm.” It was more a grunt than a word, and Marc disappeared into his office.
“Oh well,” Carla consoled herself. “We’re supposed to be transparent. He can do whatever he wants with the information—fire me, wonder if we talk about him all the time, or whatever. I don’t care. If he starts dating her again, fine.” She sighed with resignation, but still felt a surprising peace.
After work, Carla had to hurry to get the mango salsa put together and the guacamole made before dashing out the door. At 6:15 she arrived at Mike and Nancy’s apartment. Nancy was excited to show her the nursery but wanted to wait to show all three guests at once. There was plenty of last-minute prep anyway, before Rita and Patrice showed up.
“It’s nice that Patrice is picking up Rita. I think they’re becoming pretty good friends,” Nancy commented.
“Do you ever feel that we’re a divided little supper club, Nancy?” Carla finished setting the napkins and then repeated her question, assuming that Nancy hadn’t heard her.
“I heard you. I’m just thinking before I answer. And, yes, I do. Abortion. I think a discussion about it would be healthy; I’m sure it’s coming, in fact. But I’m not looking forward to it.” She placed the steaming Mexican casserole on the hot plate on the table and looked at Carla. “Wanna pray about it?”
“Nancy, you shouldn’t feel inadequate to talk about it. You’re fairly qualified, I’d say, since your own mom’s had an abortion.” Carla spoke gently.
“That’s true.”
“Let’s do pray, though,” Carla said.
Nancy nodded. “Father,” she began, her head bowed and hands folded, “You know every single facet of our individual pasts as well as our futures. You know our hearts more than we ourselves. Help Carla and me—and Rita and Patrice, to really be your children, loving You and walking in Your love while we’re here on this earth. Help the four of us to know You in a way that compels us to live as Your servants, always in fellowship with You. Help us to love You more than each other, more than our families, more than everything the world has to offer. We want to hear ‘Well done,’ not from the world, but from You.”
The doorbell rang.
“Come in,” Nancy called out.
In came Patrice, Rita following, a scarf tied becomingly on her head. She pointed to it apologetically. “I’m losing my hair.”
“You look great,” Nancy declared.
“You do, Rita,” Carla chimed in, reaching for the plate in Rita’s hand. “Hey, these cookies look scrumptious, but you weren’t supposed to bring anything.” She looked at Nancy questioningly.
“I told her I wouldn’t come unless she let me bring something,” Rita explained. “So here are the cookies. Hope you guys like them. I actually didn’t make them; Kara did.”
“Ah…” Nancy smiled. “And she’s a busy teenager.”
“How old is she, Rita?” Patrice asked, placing a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa on the counter.
“She turns sixteen next month.”
“I never even thought of making cookies when I was in high school.” Patrice looked from one to another of the three women around her. “But in my first year of college we would buy those rolls of cookie dough and bake them. They were pretty good.”
“That’s the kind I usually made, too—and I agree: they are good,” Carla said, smiling at Patrice. “And that is a sweet outfit. Where’d you get it?”
“Beaujo’s,” Patrice said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
“Ooh, I love that store,” Nancy said.
“So does Kara,” Rita said. “It’s a little too young and bold for me.” She grinned. “After all, I’m a preacher’s wife.”
Congenial small talk abounded over dinner, until Rita began sharing candidly the trials she’d been through since her diagnosis. She even shared the painful, nagging fear of losing her life and having to give up being a mother to her three children.
“Jim says not to worry—that that won’t happen. But I still find myself battling that fear more often than you might think.”
“I’m glad you’re fighting it off and trusting God to take care of you,” Nancy said, sincerely.
“Well, I’m not sure how much ‘fighting’ I’m doing,” Rita replied. “Or how much I’m trusting God.” She raised her eyebrows. “What happens, happens. I don’t know what more I can do than try to take care of myself and keep from stressing about things—especially my cancer.”
“My mom would tell you to stop calling it your cancer,” Carla ventured.
Rita’s response was disdaining but not unfriendly. She gestured with her hand as if to say, “OK, just to please you,” saying out loud, “I’m doing everything I can to keep from stressing about… this cancer.”
“I know you are,” Carla said, grinning, and with an encouraging nod. As she spoke, her phone rang, and she answered it.
“Hey, Carla. This is Midge Ferguson. Your mom gave me your number. I need to talk with you. I’m here in Rock Pier with a good friend of mine. She just found out she’s pregnant. She knows all about me—my pregnancy, but she doesn’t think she can do the PG thing. Do you suppose you and Nancy could talk with her?”
“Sure…” Carla said hesitatingly. “You mean right now?”
“Well… If that’s possible.”
“Could we make it an hour from now?”
“Sure. We’ll hang out somewhere until then. Where can we meet?” Midge asked.
“Uh… Maybe at my place. Where are you now?” The address Midge gave her was moments away from Mike and Nancy’s place, but a long distance from Carla’s. “Hmm… Hold on just a moment.”
Carla quickly capsulated the conversation for Nancy, with Patrice and Rita unavoidably listening.
“They should come over here. It’s so much closer.” Nancy looked at Rita, then Patrice. “We might have to cut our supper meeting a little short. Do you mind?”
The two looked at each other. “Do you need to get home?” Patrice asked Rita.
“No… not really.”
This time it was Carla’s and Nancy’s turn to exchange glances.
“Well, I’m fine with staying,” Patrice said, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly.
“Are you sure?” Nancy asked, trepidation in her voice.
Rita and Patrice glanced questioningly at each other and nodded simultaneously. The older woman replied for them both. “We’ll stay.”
“OK,” Carla said, and gave Midge the directions.
……….
The group had almost finished eating when Midge arrived. She introduced her friend Marlene to Carla, and Carla completed the introductions, while Nancy started a pot of coffee.
It was obvious that Marlene felt uncomfortable, and Carla spoke candidly. “Marlene, we’re a lot of people here. Would you rather go out for a cup of coffee?”
“Maybe so,” Marlene said, looking at Midge.
“You’re needing to make a very important decision,” Rita spoke up. “You probably should hear both sides of the argument, don’t you think?”
Midge glanced at Carla apprehensively, but said nothing. Nor did Carla.
“Well, I represent the pro-choice side,” Rita went on.
“You do?” Marlene asked.
“Yes. You’re very young, with a lifetime ahead of you, and with plenty of time for children—when you’re ready for them. I know Carla and Nancy look at it differently, and I don’t know about Patrice.”
Rita turned to Patrice as she finished speaking, and Patrice volunteered, “I’m with Rita. You’re only young once.”
Nancy spoke up. “I have an idea, Rita. Why don’t you think of all the reasons Marlene should abort her child and write them down. I’ll get a pad of paper. Pat, you give your input, too. Carla and I will also write down our opinions, and we’ll give the written arguments to Marlene.”
Nancy then went over to Marlene. “I’m sorry to put you off even longer, but if you don’t mind, I think it would be best if you and Midge would leave for a little while longer, while we four put together these two sides. In fact, the two of you can come up with your own pros and cons, and when you come back in an hour, we’ll hand you our sheets, and you can compare them with yours—at home, if you want.” She looked questioningly at Marlene and then Midge. “Does that sound reasonable?”
“Very,” Midge responded. “What do you say, Marlene?”
“Sure.”
The girls left with a notebook from Nancy in Marlene’s hand. When the door was shut behind them, Rita spoke up. “Why doesn’t she just ask her parents?”
“She probably already knows their take on the subject and maybe wants to digress from it, would be my guess,” Patrice noted.
“So… Let’s get started. Are you feeling OK, Rita?” Nancy queried.
“I’m good for another couple of hours.”
“Let’s just pair off and start writing then—just the positive aspects of each side, OK?” Nancy picked up two more notebooks she’d laid on the table and gave one to Patrice.
An hour later, Midge and Marlene stopped back at Nancy’s momentarily and then returned to Plainview. In Marlene’s hands were the written arguments from Rita and Patrice and from Nancy and Carla.