DOUBLE KNOT Read Online Free PDF Page A

ready?”
    “No.”
    From the narrow vestibule we stepped into the salon, a magnificent room with an exterior
     wall that was a seamless wraparound window separating this room from the terrace.
     Like being inside and outside at the same time. The salon was sparsely decorated,
     showcasing spaces rather than things. What struck me first was the simplicity of the
     interior design and the clean lines, the overall unassuming feel of a space so magnificent.
     Everything I could see was either white or very close to it. In the middle of the
     room on a silver rug, four long white linen sofas formed a square around a large slab
     of glass sitting on an ancient fishing boat propeller. The only thing on the table
     was a tall clear vase holding a dozen perfect white tulips. I got a little misty;
     I knew exactly who they were from.
    My mother sat at one end of a sofa staring at Anderson Cooper, who sat at the other
     end, staring at her. Mother looked as angry as I’ve ever seen her. Not that Anderson
     Cooper looked happy. Without taking her eyes off Anderson my mother said, “It’s about
     time.”
    My mother thinks that next week, after the cruise, she’s being admitted to St. Vincent’s
     in Birmingham, Alabama for a complete mastectomy and simultaneous breast reconstruction
     surgery. Caught by diagnostic mammogram at Stage 1A, Mother’s tumor was the size of
     a pea, completely contained, and zapped out of existence. She was on the freedom side
     of chemo and radiation, all follow-up tests were back and clear, and according to
     my father, the surgery was my mother’s idea. He said she sat down at the breakfast
     table one morning and announced, “Samuel, I believe I’d like new bosoms. I’m tired
     of looking at these old ones.” He told me she approached the subject no differently
     than if she’d said, “Samuel, I believe I’d like new shoes. The heels are worn down
     on these old ones.”
    Two weeks later, the scheduling nurse called Daddy. Mother denied having been recently
     treated for cancer (“Poppycock,” she told the nurse), insisting her medical records
     were confused, and refused to discuss it any further. It caught the attention of the
     augmentation consultants. They ordered a pre-op psych evaluation, fearing Mother wasn’t
     “providing informed consent” and when they tried to discuss it with her, she excused
     herself, saying she’d be back in a jiffy.
    She got in her car and drove home to Pine Apple. The scheduling nurse told Daddy that
     unless Mother could be honest with herself about why she was having the surgery, she’d
     need to have it somewhere else or reschedule with them after counseling.
    Daddy sent her on a Caribbean cruise with me in lieu of counseling.
    “Daddy, just find another surgeon.”
    “One with less scruples?” he asked. “One who doesn’t care about your mother’s wellbeing?”
    “That’s not what I mean.”
    “Davis, I want you to take her with you. Get her out of the kitchen. Take her on a
     beautiful vacation and help her deal with this.”
    I don’t have enough influence over my mother to help her deal with a paper cut. Much
     less what she’d been through or the surgery she’d signed up for. At the time, just
     weeks before the cruise, I wasn’t even sure I could get her on the passenger list,
     and there was no getting her out of the kitchen.
    I didn’t agree to it fast enough.
    “Don’t worry about it, honey.” Daddy looked so tired. “I’ll find another way. I understand
     if you don’t want to spend a week with your mother.”
    Well, when you put it that way.
    I didn’t think there was even a remote chance Mother would agree to spending a week
     with me , and I was stunned when she went along with it. A week? Me and Mother? Together?
     She started packing and I wasn’t about to protest. Her diagnosis had scared us all
     to death. And here we were. Scared to death.
    The problem was my mother doesn’t particularly enjoy my