Chapter 17

B.B. Babcock knew the real way to live life. It involved jet setting to the farthest and most fashionable corners of the world, wining and dining in the most expensive restaurants with people other people would kill to be seen with, and partaking in all the most exciting and glamorous recreations and activities.

On very lucky occasions, she'd even get to take one – or perhaps even two – of those "activities" home with her for the evening. And those were probably the best nights out of all of them. Well, most of the time they were.

She'd actually left one of those activities in her hotel room to come to the brunch she was currently attending. The table at the restaurant was positively laden with all the finest delicacies, mimosas flowed by the fountainful, and she and her companions had the most stunning view of the Pacific right from where they were sat. It was practically paradise, for the fact that they were only a month away from Christmas, and they had been given the most splendidly sunny day to enjoy it all.

The only problem was that everyone was being so dreadfully dull that morning, she was starting to wish that she'd simply stayed with her activity and ordered room service. And that hardly ever happened!

"Are you alright, B.B.?"

The question snapped her out of her short lamentation. It had come from her friend Andrew. She called him her friend, anyway – she'd known him for years and it was less complicated for most laypeople to hear the word "friend" than to try and understand the societal convention of sharing experiences and later spreading the juiciest tidbits of gossip from the group around other people.

New money people – the uninitiated – had often thrown around words like "appalling" and "callous" whenever she'd done her best to help them by explaining that. Her efforts had had varying levels of success, but the answer was always the same. Everybody did it; it was simply how news got around. And if that meant Helen found out about Kathleen's new (third) facelift when she wasn't supposed to, then…oops! Accidents happened, right?

Usually it ended up being for the benefit of the whole group anyway, because it meant more news to go around.

This particular table was hopelessly lacking in it, though. So much so that she was sure Andrew had seen how dead her eyes were. But still, better dead behind the eyes than in the mind itself – and that alone already made her better than the man opposite who was talking! Telling some unfunny anecdote about some kind of time he'd spent in Copenhagen, or…or Cambodia, or something like that. B.B. couldn't even remember his name, let alone where he'd been in his story!

The others had all been enraptured though, up until Andrew had clearly noticed she'd been drifting. Now, they were all staring at her like she was about to become the table's new source of entertainment.

She forced the corners of her mouth up into a smile in return.

"I'm fine, thank you, Andrew," she said quickly, picking up her mimosa and motioning for the rest of the group to continue. "Don't mind me, let's hear the rest of the story."

"Oh, good," remarked the equally forgettably-named wife or girlfriend of the man who'd been speaking. B.B. didn't know either of them – they were Andrew's guests, not hers. "So you've decided to join us for the rest of it…!"

A smattering of laughter went around the table, and B.B.'s attempt at a smile faded to an unpleasant look. How it could have livened up the morning to openly say that she'd physically, not just mentally, left better stories than this! But for the sake of the rest of their company, she held her tongue back.

Perhaps not all the way, but definitely more than she wanted to.

"I never went anywhere, thank you," she lied, sipping at her drink and replacing it delicately on the table. She looked directly at the mere slip of a girl who'd spoken. "I'm only silent so as not to interrupt. I don't need so much attention that I deliberately try to divert it my way."

The others – all six of them – turned their eyes from B.B., back in the opposite direction. It was like the world's slowest tennis match.

The girl shifted a little in her seat, the smirk she'd been wearing fading like the colour in cheap wallpaper. It was obvious to those in the know that she'd been suitably cowed for the time being, even if she wasn't happy about it. She cleared her throat some and gave her partner's arm a nudge.

"James, darling, perhaps you should pick up where you left off…?"

James (not that B.B. would've guessed that was his name in a million years) brightened up immediately. He seemed more than happy to forget about what had just happened, especially if it meant that he could continue with his not-so-little anecdote. As it had become.

"Ah, yeah! Uh, where was I…? I think I was talking about the time I was staying in…"

Drifting out of the conversation again like a boat not tied to a jetty, B.B. did try her best to not look so much like she wasn't listening this time. But it was so difficult when nobody was giving her anything to work with! Looking out the window wasn't an option now, and it was certain to attract attention if she reached over and helped herself to another apricot danish when she'd already eaten one…

All of this material was awful. She was really going to disappoint the Seattle crowd when she left Los Angeles later that day and made her way up there! They'd all be expecting something fresh and new, hot off the press, and what did she have? A little trip to Europe or to Asia, nothing special, and with nothing that even hinted at interesting happening the whole time!

This hadn't been worth it. She'd have paid her activity by now and been finishing packing if she hadn't taken up Andrew's invitation to come…

It was a relief and a godsend when – a good few minutes into the buzzing, far-off drone that was James' story – a waiter solemnly and respectfully approached them, stopping the talk entirely.

"Excuse me, and apologies for interrupting, but is there a Mrs B.B. Babcock at this table?"

The boy was young, and probably new, so B.B. didn't let herself get annoyed that he couldn't tell which one of the guests at the table was her – despite the fact that she often dropped in when she was in the city. Besides all of that, he was also doing her a massive favour without even knowing.

"That would be me," she answered plainly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"There is a phone call for you, ma'am," the waiter replied. "From your daughter, I believe."

B.B. stiffened momentarily, before remembering that someone might see her and regaining her composure.

"Which of my daughters? Did she give her name?"

The answer he gave in return was going to make all the difference in how she handled this call. D.D. was very much like her and the conversation might actually end up being rather fun. If the two of them were in the same area at once, it was even possible that they might meet up and exchange information – then B.B. would definitely have something to tell everyone in Seattle!

But if it was C.C….well, C.C. was much more like her father, if that said anything at all! Of course, they did all of the same types of lunches and brunches and dinners that B.B. would ordinarily do with D.D., but C.C. had…much more of an inclination to keep her eyes focused on business. That meant staying in New York, no grand vacations anywhere, much less hot gossip than B.B. got by doing an actual circuit…

"I believe she said her name was C.C., ma'am," the waiter interrupted her thoughts.

Oh.

B.B.'s brow furrowed as much as the discreet Botox injections would allow. She was far less sure of what she could say to C.C. than she would say to D.D.! What was C.C. even calling for, anyway? She hardly ever did, and when either one of them picked up the phone to talk to each other it was because they were both back in New York! Had she tracked her across the country? What was so important that she'd done that?

Unfortunately the only way to know anything for certain was to pick up the phone and find out.

Looking around at the gathered guests briefly, she also remembered that only seconds ago she'd wanted nothing more than the perfect excuse to opt out of the conversation. And…well, if this was her opportunity, then this was her opportunity.

"Mm! I should see to this," she rose from her seat, addressing the others. "Please excuse me – and please don't wait up on the conversation on my behalf…!"

She went to follow the waiter, hoping the others would take her near-blatant instruction and find something better to talk about while she was gone.

Walking past all of the tables with lesser views, the waiter led her back through to the reception area, where the maître d' was waiting. The phone was on the counter, waiting for her to pick up.

Both the staff retreated as she took the receiver, leaving her to it as she spoke.

"Hello C.C….?"

"Hello, Mother, long time no see…" came her youngest daughter's oddly tired-sounding reply.

B.B. glanced at her Cartier wristwatch – it read 11.30 a.m., which meant it had to be around 2.30 p.m. back in New York. Pretty early for her workaholic daughter to feel even close to tired. Hell, she'd had full conversations with her at much later times in the day and she'd always sounded as if she'd only just gotten out of bed!

Again, she got that from her father. Work had always come first and foremost in Stewart's life. It was one of the many reasons they'd separated – he was all work and no play. There had always been someone else he'd rather be with (or be doing, really), or somewhere else he'd rather be. Not that B.B. herself had spent much of her time at home – there had been much too much fun to be had elsewhere, after all – but it would have been nice if he'd tagged along.

But none of that mattered anymore, did it? It was all water under the bridge. Their children were all grown up and doing well for themselves, they had their own separate lives and they hadn't spoken for longer than five minutes in well over two decades.

Life had moved on…

Even if there would always be three special somethings that would tie them together. And one of said somethings was currently waiting for her answer.

"You can certainly say that, dear!" B.B. replied airily. "When was the last time we talked? June? July?"

"January," C.C. replied sharply. "For my birthday, I believe."

"Oh, of course, silly me!" B.B. said with a shrill little laugh; she'd completely missed the thinly-veiled reproach in her daughter's words. "At least I got the first letter of the month right, didn't I? But anyway, what do you need, darling?"

"Gee, sorry Mother, should I call at some other more convenient time?" C.C. said. "Maybe ask you to pencil me in sometime before the New Year? Or will it have to wait until after the holidays are over?"

B.B. couldn't help rolling her eyes – why did the girl have to be so damn dramatic?! It wasn't as if she'd told her she couldn't take her call, now was it? If she hadn't wanted or been able to do so she wouldn't have come to the stupid phone in the first place!

But again, it was yet another thing that she got from her father. Out of the two of them, Stewart had always been the most prone to emotional outbursts, which was something that had always gotten on B.B.'s nerves. He'd been an absolute wreck when he'd been served the divorce papers – she still didn't know how she'd gotten through that nightmarish time!

"Oh, come on, I didn't say that! As a matter of fact, I couldn't be happier you called – you gave me the perfect excuse to check out of the world's dullest, most mind-numbing excuse for a brunch this side of the West Coast!" B.B. said in a hushed voice, discreetly peering in the direction of her table. "There's no material to work wi––"

"At the risk of hurting your feelings, Mother, I frankly don't give a shit about your social life, so spare me, will ya?" C.C. cut her off.

A flash of hot anger hardened B.B. inside like a forge. Her mouth straightened out into a tight line, and suddenly she really wished she'd brought her mimosa with her. This was exactly why she didn't talk to C.C. as much as D.D.! Who would, in her situation? One phone call could turn in an instant from a casual – even fun – social conversation to her being talked down to, as though she and what was going on in her life didn't matter!

No one wanted to go through that, especially not from their own daughter. And the blatant disrespect and utter gall that C.C. had to just open her mouth and let it all fall out like that was practically unbelievable!

One would have thought that she and Stewart hadn't told C.C.'s nanny to raise her better than that…

"Very well, then," she replied with a clip so forceful it could've cut the end off her sentence. "What are we to talk about, dear? If I haven't been granted permission to share everything that's been going on in my life with my youngest daughter, then why has she deigned to grace me with a phone call? What's so much more important than sharing news with your mother, whom you haven't spoken to since January?"

A flabbergasted noise briefly clogged the line, before clearing perfectly.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry Mother! I should've known better! Of course all of our calls are supposed to be about all of your brunches, and your trips, and who you've seen and who they've seen and what happened while they were seeing them! Topped with the cherry of whichever personal trainer or tennis instructor or bus boy has been topping you!" C.C. spat sarcastically. "It's never at all about what's been happening in my life, or my everyday; it's always about what you want and what you're doing because it's so much more goddamned interesting! The fact that I've got stage four Hodgkin's lymphoma? Doesn't matter! The fact that I've had it for months now and I'm in hospital? Why should it even come up when you've got a particularly boring brunch to bitch to me about? I should apologise, I really should; who wants to hear about a bummer like my cancer when you've got more important things to say to me? Let's forget the whole thing and you tell me, Mother – tell me about this brunch, and all the men you've had in and out of your bed while I've been in chemotherapy!"

B.B. barely heard the last part, but it wasn't because she'd simply gotten bored and stopped listening this time. The words "stage four Hodgkin's lymphoma" had just hit her so hard it'd left her breathless and with a loud, shrill ringing in her ears.

If it hadn't been for the follow up word "cancer", she thought she would've been able to get away with imagining something else, but no. C.C. had said cancer. But maybe she'd said it in some other context B.B. hadn't heard or understood? She couldn't actually have stage four cancer! Cancer wasn't something that happened to the Babcocks, it was something that…that happened to other people! Less fortunates! People who didn't have their good luck or the comforts of wealth and security!

Didn't it?

"I…" B.B. felt herself swallowing. "I'm sorry, dear, what did you say…?"

She had to hear it again. Clearly this time. Maybe it would mean she'd hear her daughter say something else this time – something better. She couldn't have said something worse before now, could she…?

She couldn't possibly have said that she'd been in chemotherapy while her own mother had been kept in the dark about her life-threatening condition. Right…?

"Oh, you need me to repeat myself? Was the shock of actually listening to literally anyone else's voice too much for you?" C.C. practically snarled, rage and bitterness dripping from every word.

It didn't bode well for the rest of their conversation, that much B.B. (or anyone with half a brain) knew. She and C.C. had had goes at one another countless times along the years, but the older socialite knew her youngest daughter's temper could be genuinely mercurial and terrifying if she put her mind to it.

B.B. instinctively grabbed onto the countertop.

"I have cancer, Mother," C.C. said, her words coming hard, fast and merciless. "I'm sick! Did you hear that? There's a fucking tumour making itself at home between my left lung and my heart! I'm in near-constant pain and my hair is completely gone because of all the chemo drugs they keep pumping into my bloodstream on a bi-weekly basis! So forgive me for not giving a crap about what you and those old farts you insist on calling 'friends' have been up to while I've been fighting tooth and nail to not die before I hit forty!"

The words hit B.B., directly in her chest with the force of a car and, without thinking or even feeling it, she let out a pained whimper and released the countertop. Her knees slowly gave way underneath her, her body, breath, innermost being shaking like a leaf, and her heart collapsing in on itself like a cave in a violent earthquake. She slowly sank, as though lowering herself into quicksand, all the way to the floor, hand clamped over her mouth, air raggedly leaving her lungs through her nose. Through the blood pounding in her head she thought she heard the returning footsteps of the maître d', and possibly some other waiter, and voices asking if she was okay, but she didn't pay attention to that.

Why should she? Shouldn't the floor just be getting on with it already and swallowing her whole? There wasn't anything left for it to do but that! No miracle had happened, no last-minute reprieve had come. She'd heard it all correctly and she'd heard it all horribly and this was B.B.'s reality now! Her youngest daughter had just told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was…unwell. Life-threateningly unwell. She could disappear at a moment's notice because of it, and could've been gone at any point in the last months and B.B. wouldn't have even known about it!

How could it possibly have come to this?! How on Earth had B.B. been left so far in the dark it would've taken neon lights and a firework display to get her to see anything at all?! Why hadn't C.C. said anything before? Had she wanted her own mother to stay oblivious and unaware? How come nobody else had gone over a clearly sick woman's head to make sure the right thing was done and her own mother was informed?!

What would've happened if the cancer had…had gone all the way? What would they have done then? Would they have made an effort to find her then to tell her that C.C. had died or would that have been yet another thing that she would've learned about months after the fact?! How long would it have been until she'd known that her daughter was gone?

"Are you still there, Mother?"

C.C. didn't even sound concerned. Just apathetically bored, as though she wouldn't have been surprised if B.B. had already hung up. But B.B. and her vice-like grip on the phone were worlds away from hanging up. Her hand slid away from her mouth and down her chin, pulling at the already-tight skin as it went.

"Why didn't you tell me…?" it was the only reply that could or would leave her mouth. "Why didn't you tell me this was happening, C.C.? Why didn't you say anything…?!"

The crescendo from her whimpering to nearly shouting her final question was as steep as the Everest. More people were coming into the reception now through the front door – diners or something. The maître d's shoes were an indistinct blur in the corner of her eye and his voice telling her to please calm down and think of the other guests was practically white noise. B.B. didn't give a shit about the guests. How could she give a shit about anything after what she'd just been told? Her daughter had been dying – and no one on God's green Earth could tell her that having a tumour between your lung and your heart didn't mean you were dying – for all of this time and no one had thought to even tell her?!

The last part of B.B.'s heart left standing after the initial cave-in finally collapsed, her chest hurting so hard she wanted to stop breathing. Why? Why had no one told her?! Why hadn't she been at the front of C.C.'s mind when she'd first found all of this out? Weren't mothers the people that children were supposed to want to see when something so terrifying was happening?

Had C.C. even thought about calling her once she'd known?!

"I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd care," came the last reply B.B. had ever wanted to hear. "You're not exactly Florence Nightingale – I thought you'd sooner be off jet setting again than sticking around my bedside."

Even listening to that felt like a slap in the face to B.B., on top of the hurt already threatening to rip her apart.

"How could you say something like that? How could you even think it?!"

"I'm not the one who needs to do the thinking here, Mother," C.C. told her, more resigned than angry or bored by the whole thing now. "You're the one who should be taking a trip down Memory Lane and seeing what you can find. Because I can tell you off the top of my head that you won't find many where you drop everything you're doing and get on a plane to come and solve all my problems! Coincidentally, there aren't many where I even share my problems with you in the first place!"

She sighed down the other end. It sounded a lot like she was catching her breath back, too.

"Neither you nor Daddy have ever been there to take care of my problems before. I didn't expect it to be any different this time around."

B.B. felt the hurt start to tear her in two. It didn't stop, either. C.C. truly hadn't thought that she'd be there for her, for a cancer diagnosis?! What kind of mother wouldn't be? What kind of mother would B.B. be if she'd missed knowing that her own daughter had been suffering from a serious disease, all because C.C. hadn't told her what was going on?

She…she might have missed it all anyway. But her mind drew a blank when she tried to think about what she could do about that. There was only one thing she actually could think to say, or do. And it might not make everything better but it had to be better than doing absolutely nothing, which was apparently what she'd been doing up until now!

"Well you're wrong, C.C., because I'm going," she said. She'd probably said that at some point before but she definitely meant it this time. "I'll be there for you, now that you need me. I obviously can't speak for your father, but—"

"Daddy already knows," C.C. interrupted quickly. "He's on his way here now."

B.B. stiffened, "He already knows…?"

C.C. sighed again down the phone. What it was for this time, B.B. couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Yes, Mother, he knows," C.C. replied. "I called him about an hour ago. I would have called you sooner, but they brought lunch into my room and I kind of got side-tracked."

B.B.'s hand that wasn't holding the phone started to curl into a fist, and her stomach tightened uncomfortably as her ego fell against the ropes from the blow it'd taken. So, it seemed as though hers and Stewart's little competition for their children's affection hadn't ended when C.C. had graduated! He'd gotten there first – he was already on his way to visit their daughter…wherever she was!

That settled that, then. She'd already decided to go in the first place so everything could be settled and she could see her daughter, but learning this finalised that decision once and for all!

"Well then, I guess we'll both be going to see you!" she declared loudly, starting to get back to her feet. "I can't believe you didn't think I'd care about any of this – about you being so sick! We're going to have quite a few words about it when I arrive, too, and I'm going to be arriving as soon as possible! Where are you? I'll be on the next flight out and right there with you before you know it!"

"You won't be coming anywhere near me if that's gonna be your attitude about it!" C.C. retorted.

The determined look on B.B.'s face fell away into a deep frown.

"Wh…what are you saying, dear? What's that supposed to mean…?"

"It means that if that's your one and only reason for coming, then forget it! I'm not doing this on your terms when I'm the one who is actually sick and going through all of this crap!" C.C. exclaimed. "The last thing I need right now is you coming in, scoring notepad in hand, to tell me everything I'm doing wrong and have done wrong. It's one of the many reasons I didn't tell you about this right from the start in the first place!"

A silence settled between them over the line. Apparently that wasn't enough for C.C., though.

"If you insist on coming, you're going to have to do it my way, Mother. If you can't do that, then you might as well just stay where you are and send some flowers or something if you care that much."

Fully back to her feet, B.B. found herself gripping at the counter again. A twinge of annoyance ached underneath the hurt and the fear of losing her daughter forever. It was looking for encouragement to grow, too, because why shouldn't she be annoyed as well? She'd been slighted and wronged by being left out like this, and there were about a thousand questions she wanted answers to that C.C. should have provided! She was her mother, for God's sake, the least she could do was let her know if she was dying!

But she was also very aware of what C.C. had just said. If she made the wrong move or said the wrong thing now, she'd probably lose her for good. And "for good" could actually mean forever…

It never had before. There had always been time for more, if sparsely scheduled, visits. They'd always been able to book something in, and if one of them cancelled it hadn't really mattered. But she wasn't going to take that risk now. She'd rather concede defeat than potentially never see her daughter again.

Because that was what it could very well mean this time.

"Fine. Alright," she acceded, letting go of the counter and opening up her purse to find a scrap of paper and a pen. "We'll do things your way. Just tell me where you are and I'll be there soon."

"It's the New Eden Clinic in Chicago," C.C. told her, not at all mentioning what had just happened then. "It's on 600 Westley Road, Glencoe, Illinois.."

B.B. finished writing that down and put her things away again.

"Good. I'll be on the next flight out that I can get."

"Okay, Mother."

C.C.'s tone could easily remind one of the words "whatever you say". But she didn't disagree. There was, however, a slight groan down the other end after her words.

"I think I should go for a little while now, though. I'm starting to feel nauseous again…lying down sometimes helps…"

Even the idea of her girl so unwell wounded B.B.. Especially the "sometimes" part; C.C. had been going through this all for so long without her, had probably been sick and nauseous so many times, she knew what would help her and what wouldn't…all of it had become routine.

"Alright, dear. You…you go do that," B.B. told her, unsure of what else to say. "I'll see you soon. Goodbye for now."

"Bye, Mother…"

B.B. then gently put the phone back on its hook. Taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she went back into her purse to find her money and counted out five hundred dollars. She handed it to the maître d', who'd been stood there waiting next to her as she'd finished her call.

"I'm sure that will cover my tab and make up for any disturbance caused," she said to him. "And keep the change left over, too."

Before he could say so much as a word, she turned on her heel to make her way towards the exit. She wasn't going to bother going back to the brunch table first – not for those dreary people. They'd live without her presence there, unless they all died of boredom listening to James.

There was one person in the world who actually needed her right now, and she wasn't going to let her go without.