Interference Read Online Free PDF

“Cancer,” shrivelling up and disappearing.
    So when Mrs. Rathbin shows up at her door the third Tuesday of her two-month-long daily radiation treatments, the beginning of October, a cold snap, Claire is resigned, preoccupied, consumed, worried, angry, depressed. The nearest hospital with a radiation department is an hour away and the cancer society sends volunteers to drive patients there and back. The first few weeks Ralph would drive her. He would take time off work. But after the first couple of times he was so anxious and upset about the situation — about the people smoking outside the hospital, about the wait times, about the loudness of the TV in the waiting room — that Claire asked him not to drive her anymore. She told him he would be much better off at work. He seemed discombobulated at the hospital, forgetful and agitated. And his worry seeped into Claire until she felt it pressing down on her chest, burning her — even more than the radiation. Then came Mr. Manuel, an older gentleman who spoke so quietly and so infrequently that Claire mostly slept on the long rides to the hospital and back. Mr. Manuel has a cold, though, and doesn’t want to infect Claire. And so Mrs. Rathbin comes into her life today, barrels into her front hallway, bursting in, her large behind sashaying through the door. She is short and wide — in fact, she may be wider than she is tall. She is dark-skinned and white-haired. Her lips are painted a striking, shiny purple and she is wrapped in an oversize orange knitted shawl that sparkles when it catches the light. There is a smell that follows her in — foot odour and lilacs. She is wearing boots and they are untied and the laces drag behind her.
    â€œWell, lookee here,” Mrs. Rathbin bellows into Claire’s front hallway.
    Claire tenses. She doesn’t know why they call themselves Mr. and Mrs., these volunteers. Mrs. Rathbin can’t possibly be more than ten years older than Claire, even with all that white hair. But Claire guesses that it gives the drivers some sort of professionalism, or else creates needed distance. Perhaps they don’t want to be too familiar to patients who could very well be gone tomorrow. Another way for them to disconnect from the situation. But Claire isn’t being fair. After all, these people volunteer their time to do a lot of driving. And Claire needs a driver because she’s so tired and tense and scared most of the time that she knows she’d drive off the side of the highway into a ditch.
    â€œYou’ve got kiddees.” Mrs. Rathbin points to the portraits of Jude and Caroline on the walls.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWell, that’s really special,” Mrs. Rathbin says. “Little ones around the house.”
    â€œOh, they aren’t little anymore,” Claire says. “Jude is fifteen and Caroline, she’s seventeen. Those are old pictures.”
    Mrs. Rathbin pulls herself up and stands on tiptoe to look closely at the pictures. “Is that fellow here a girl or a boy? Jude, you say? What is that? Judy? Judah?” Mrs. Rathbin snorts.
    Jude does look slightly feminine in that picture. Claire never noticed it before. “A boy,” she says. “Jude. Just Jude. Like Jude Law, I guess.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œAn actor.” Claire searches through her purse for her keys. “Although we didn’t know about Jude Law until after.”
    â€œAfter what?”
    Claire looks at Mrs. Rathbin. “After we had Jude.”
    Mrs. Rathbin nods. “Now that’s an interesting name. Jude. I wouldn’t have thought of naming a child that.” She scurries around behind Claire and helps her with her coat. The woman has to stand on her tiptoes to reach Claire’s shoulders and Claire is average height. When she reaches up to help with the sleeves Claire smells more lilac and something else, cinnamon? Claire’s sense of smell is heightened these