💞Now and Forever💞~Chapter 14~Questions without Answers😣😢




SILENCE.
How long that silence stretched,  no one in the room had the first clue.  Seconds. A minute. An eternity could have gone by.  At last, someone spoke up and stood up. Hercule, of course. And he did not merely STAND up.  Fueled by fear, ANGER, utter incredulity that he had just heard what he heard, Virginie's husband paced back and forth, behind the chairs that sat before the doctor's desk.
"NO!"
"Pardon?"  Dr. Doyle puzzled.
" NO. This is a statement, a Diagnosis  I will NOT accept.  You are a man of medicine. You have behind you the team of EXPERTS, so you say. And among you, not a one can think of something that can be done!  NO! I will NOT accept this talk. Not for myself or my wife.  She had endured, with patience, the poking and the prodding and the big talk with the words of ten syllables apiece.  Now I want you to explain, in language that a normal person can understand,  why can nothing be done!  And what do  you suggest we do while...."  He stopped talking, afraid of what he would have to say next.
"Please, Hercule,  sit down. The doctor wasn't finished."    Virginie said this, if only to alleviate her own darkened imaginings.    Didn't the man  just say there was NOTHING more that could be done?  Poirot sat next to his wife and took her hand.  His throat was awash in tears and if he tried to say another word, he wouldn't be able to staunch the tears that would inevitably pour.  "So?"  Virginie asked,  finding strength she wasn't sure she possessed.  "What CAN be done? I mean, what I am supposed to do?  Go home and wait to ...."
With his hands folded upon the file on the desk,  Dr.  Doyle relied, with some assurance, "No. of course not.  You will be given pain killers until the pain becomes too difficult to deal with at home. Then you will be admitted for Palliative Care."
Another silence as Virginie absorbed this information.  Holding her hand, her husband did not trust himself to speak.   "And..."  she cleared her throat. "ho...how long is that likely to be?"
The physician scanned the contents of the folder, hoping against all reason, that MAYBE there was something he missed.  "From all I could see and what I've been informed,  a few months. Possibly more but not long after. I am sorry for having to break such ....tragic news, in light of all the dreams you had, as a young couple.  I won't even pretend to know WHY such things happen, apart from,"  the physician shrugged. "heredity.  Mrs. Poirot, are you aware that this sort of ...ailment was prevalent in your family?  Your mother? Grandmothers on either side?"
Clearing her throat from the lump of uncried tears, Virginie replied, "Uh...well maybe my mother.  I don't know too much about my parents. I lived with my aunt for some time.  I can find out I suppose..."
"No. That won't be necessary. I can find out easily enough."
"And HOW would that help us now?"  Poirot said, glaring at the doctor. "The great grandmother of Virginie's father, SHE could have been burdened with this...affliction!  What good does it do to know all of that? What does it change?!"
"Hercule, please!"  Virginie pleaded more in the way of an urgent whisper .  He nodded and apologized.  It was an odd paradox.  The very woman he was demanding answers for was asking for calm. At the same time as it sent him into a fury;  thinking of what he'd just been told,  the same woman he was about to lose was calm and able, somehow, to calm him.  It was out of respect for her.  As far as Hercule Poirot was concerned, the entire medical profession had all the use of a bathing costume in the middle of a snow-storm!
The doctor gave Virginie a prescription for pain medication that she could start to take as soon as things got  'Uncomfortable" .
"I still have some of the medication you prescribed after my last hospital stay."
"Oh yes.,"  Dr Doyle recalled. "In any case, it might help to have these around...just in case."  The words rang untrue in his own ears.  The pills Virginie spoke of were for post-operative pain that would alleviate in time.  The prescription he gave her was for a pain that would only get worse as the Cancer progressed.
Virgine took the prescription from her doctor with a nod and a barely audible 'Thank you."
"You can have the prescription filled in the hospital chemist's shop. Save you a stop."
Again, Virginie was, at least,  responsive.  Hercule said nothing for the rest of the visit.
"Will that be all? I'm feeling rather tired and I'd like to go home and sleep in my own bed."
"Oh yes, of course.  Please know that you can call me if things get...bad. And if you would like to talk to someone, I can arrange for you to see the hospital chaplin."
Virginie shook her head. "I have a priest."
"And much good he would do!"   Poirot's tone was unmistakably bitter.
Virginie rose and Poirot stood up with her.  "Thank you for your time, Dr. Doyle."
Her tone was flat. Perfunctory. Almost a programmed response from years of being brought up to be polite when you were in the company of someone who'd invited you to meet him.
Opening the door for his patient,  Dr. Doyle added, "Please don't hesitate to call me, any time, once ...once things get to be ...difficult."  The physician did his best to be tactful.
Virginie managed the briefest of polite smiles and nodded her gratitude. Her husband walked out right behind her,  saying nothing.
                                      ~~~~~~~
The ride home was quiet,  except for Hercule's offer to stop by the bakery to purchase the cake he knew his wife liked.  To his relief,  Virginie agreed. "Not to eat in the bakery.  Buy a chocolate cake and we'll have some dessert after dinner."
Desperate to feel a sense of normality,  Poirot assented to the suggestion.  Thankfully, the line up wasn't long. There were only two people ahead of him and both were men.  When it came to shopping, men didn't fuss.  They went in,  got what they needed and left.  Likewise,  Hercule Poirot knew what he wanted and what his wife enjoyed.  Dessert wise,  Virginie and her adopted aunt shared many similar likes and interests.  For some bizarre reason, women gravitated to chocolate. On the way home, he had Virginie explain it.
"Not sure",   Virginie admitted with a smile in her voice and her lips as the cab drove them home. "For the same reason most men like ale and pipes, I suppose".
"I do not care for ale or pipes."
"Not all women like chocolate. For the most part, though...it's...just a common bond."  She nearly said she'd ask her doctor about it,  and then stopped herself. The reason women, in general, took to chocolate was suddenly a very significant issue.
When the cab stopped in front of the house,  Poirot paid the cabbie, who was delighted with the tip.  Poirot didn't seem to notice.  Taking his wife's travel case, he left the cardboard pastry box with Virginie. She held the box by the string while the other hand held the bottom.
"Let's not say anything to Hilde right away.  We'll have a nice lunch and then,  perhaps over dinner,  I'll broach the matter."
Brought back to the tragic reality,  Poirot only nodded.
Heading up the stairs to the front door,  Poirot hardly had his hand on the knob when the door flew open;  and Hilde welcomed them home with hugs.
                                                        ~~~~~~
Lunch was roast goose with tiny potatoes and carrots.  Virgine was genuinely happy with the home-made meal and had two helpings. This revived Poirot's hope that the doctor was completely in the wrong.  As a rule, Virginie did not have seconds of anything.  She just didn't believe it to be  lady-like.  Well, there was Christmastime, but that was different.
"The hospital doesn't feed patients anymore?"  Hilde teased, though clearly delighted in Virginie's enthusiastic appetite.
"My dear!  Even doctors joke about hospital food not being fit for human consumption. Anyway,  we haven't had goose for a while. It was a lovely change.  And now....."  Virginie stood up and headed for the kitchen.  "dessert."
Coffee, with cream and sugar cubes was set on a tray,  along with three plates, with chocolate fudge cake, which was enjoyed by all.
"So,"  Hilde spoke between sips on her coffee, from coffee cups Madame Deroulard's favorite set. "may I take it that Dr. Doyle has seen the last of you?"
"I DO hope so!"  Virginie declared with put-on theatrics.  "Nice as the nurses are, and as much as I didn't mind the pampering, I'll wash every window in this house if it means not having to go back there again."
"So everything is...."
"You know what I want, more than anything in the world? I want to take a lovely nap in my own bed. I'll clean the dishes when I wake up, but all I want to do is sleep in my own bed."
"Shall I join you?"  Hercule offered.
Virginie Poirot smiled and kissed her husband on the crown of his head on the way out of the dining room.  "No sweetie.  If you nap now, you won't be able to sleep tonight and you need to go to work tomorrow."
Poirot said nothing.  On one hand,  he was relieved enough to have his routine back. On the other hand.....
Taking her travel suit case,  Virginie headed upstairs.  She was hardly out of the room when Poirot rose from his place at the dining table and began gathering the cups and saucers, and dessert plates onto the tray and brought them into the kitchen;  cursing himself for missing a coffee spoon.
"Not to worry, love.  I'll get it."   Hilde said;  perplexed at Hercule's impatience over something so trivial.  It wasn't something that usually bothered him.  Hilde returned to the dining room to fetch the stray spoon from the table and was on the way back to the kitchen when a dull but loud thud caused her to pick up her pace and just about sprint into the kitchen to find Hercule staring into the sink full of dishes.
Relieved to not find him in a heap on the floor, she asked, "What was that thud I heard?"
Poirot didn't answer.  Instead, he applied detergent flakes into the sinkful of dishes and turned on the hot water. Immediately after,  he walked , absently,  to the small kitchen table;  as if he'd forgotten that he just turned the water on.
Glancing at the running water, and then at Poirot Hilde adjusted the water temperature, waited until there was enough to cover the dishes, and then turned the taps off.  "Were you planning to clean the dishes, young man, or COOK them?  That water was boiling hot!"
Nothing.  Poirot sat, staring at the pattern in the kitchenette table-cloth.  Something was WRONG, but getting any answer from her niece's husband was almost a wasted effort.  Still she had to try.  Virginie was resting and Hilde had no intention of waking her.
"Hercule? Hercule!"  Hilde insisted, sitting across from the young man  who was her nephew-in-law, to all intents and purposes.  "WHAT is with you? You act like you're walking in your sleep. And you hardly touched your lunch. And when you did eat, it was like you were stalling your last meal before being lead to your execution. Now TELL me! Is this something Virginie needs to know?"
Mention of his wife's name brought Hercule Poirot out of his grief-induced trance. "Virginie, she knows,"  he replied in a matter-of-fact monotone.
"WHAT does she know?"
Poirot sighed and Hilde was certain she'd hear something of an explanation. When none came, the woman all but grabbed her nephew-in-law  by the collar to extract sound cause for his his stark depression. "TELL me SOMETHING, Hercule !  Nothing about this makes sense.  Virginie was in good spirits.  All of this hospital business is behind us and you and she can relax and eventually make plans to adopt ....".     Hilde stopped talking upon seeing the slow shaking of Poirot's head. She was clearly irritated just about as  worried. What WASN'T he telling her?
"I cannot think of what to say."  Poirot finally spoke; his words just audible enough to reach the woman's ears. "I do not wish to THINK it, much less say it. "
"Then please don't say it, Hercule. Not yet."
Hilde turned around and Hercule looked up to see Virginie in the kitchen doorway.  She was still dressed in the clothes she came home in.  "I couldn't sleep so I thought I would come down....to talk. "  She sat in the third chair around the small dinette table and Hilde offered to make her some coffee.
"No, thank you, dear.  I've had plenty.  That might be one of the reasons I can't fall off to sleep but I don't suppose it's the only reason."    She glanced at her husband,  "I'm sorry, love,  but this isn't something you should have to deal with alone. I want to be the one to tell Hilde. I'm just not sure of the right way..."
Just about leaping from his chair, Poirot snapped,  "And what IS the right way of  telling someone,  'I have, perhaps, a few months to live' ?!"
"WHAT?"  Hilde's response was incredulous;  wondering if she'd heard properly, even as she  glanced, in disbelief, from husband to wife.  Virginie had buried her face in her hands, and then Virginie's husband, who'd blurted news . Hercule sat back down.  Head bowed in penitent shame,  he apologized to both women for the way he broke news he didn't want to imagine,  let alone speak aloud.
"Repeat what you said, Hercule. I'm sure I misunderstood."  Hilde was no longer insistent. Rather, she was almost timid; needing to know while not wanting to find out.
Clearing her throat,  Virginie spoke.  "No, dear Hilde, you did not misunderstand.  I'm afraid it's true. While Hercule's way about it wasn't how I planned,  in truth, there IS no easy way. Especially when it comes to family. Loved ones."
There was another silence as the news settled into Hilde's mind.  Like her husband, however,  Hilde was not prepared to accept the news she'd received. "This makes no sense, Virginie. None!"  Hilde drew a calming breath and slowly exhaled. "You have been through so much lately and your doctor seemed confident , at every point of this....this....almighty foul-up,  that you would be right as rain at the end of it!  Didn't he let you know...?"
"Of course he did.  As soon as he used the ..."   Virginie stopped,  took a long, collective breath, and began again. "As soon as he informed us that the ....tumor was...uh..ma..mal... ."
"Malignant?"  Hilde finished the word Virginie could not seem to form.
Virginie nodded and then, oddly, attempted to lighten the situation with a chuckle.  "Silly me, I suppose I should have prepared myself for this possibility.  It's just that  Dr. Doyle seemed so sure that he had caught it in time that I was content to go along with his prognosis. Call me a blind optimist."  She tried, again, to offer a light laugh but it died on her lips.
At last, Hilde spoke up.  "So?  What now?"  Even as the words came out of her mouth, the woman knew the answer.  Like her niece, however, Hilde refused to see what she didn't want to deal with. COULDN'T deal with!
"For  now, nothing. The doctor gave me pain medication for when things get...bad. And then there's what's called  Palliative Care. That's for when...."
"I know what it is!"  Hilde sprang from her chair and left the kitchen in a blur.  Virginie followed after and found Hilde staring out the window,  tears streaming down her cheeks but her lips covered by her fingers, in hopes of covering the cries she did not want heard.  Thankfully,  there were precious few people walking up or down the street so no one was around to stare at the lady, crying at the window.  So lost was she, in her own thoughts that she didn't see didn't see Virginie approach, by the reflection in the window. With the grey clouds gathering, the window doubled as a mirror.
Resting a hand on the older woman's shoulder, Virginie said, with tears in her voice,   "I'm sorry for how this news was ...."
Turning to face the young woman,  Hilde declared,  "No, my dear!  How is this YOUR fault!?  There is no good way to say something no one wants to hear?"
Brushing the tears from her cheeks,  Hilde guided Virginie to the sofa. "If medical science can do no more, I know One who can do ALL!  And starting tonight,  I will send up prayers for your miraculous heading.  We can go to church every day and light candles and make heaven hear us!  Because this is NOT fair, my girl.  Too much pain has come to this family in such a short time and I am going to speak up against it!"
"And you think you will get God to hear you?"
"And why not?  Abraham prayed for any righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah. He bargained with God for the lives of people against the destruction of a wicked city.  He got God down to ten. If there were so much as TEN righteous people in the entire city, God would spare that city for the sake of those ten.  If Abraham could bargain with God for ten random people, whose names he likely didn't know,  surely He will listen to the prayers of someone who knows the one she does not want to lose."    Hilde took Virginie's hands in hers.  "And that is what we will do, dear girl!"  she insisted through tears. "Plea, pray, and light so many candles the fire brigade will have a  truck posted at the church on 24 hour watch."
"Yes!" Virginie, decided with conviction.  "I would like that VERY much! In fact, I wouldn't mind spending some time there today.  Like now. All of us will go."
"No."  A voice replied to his wife's assertion.  Hercule sat in the high backed easy chair that half faced the sofa. "I need to rest for work tomorrow. You and Hilde go if you life. I need sleep."
Virginie did her best to ignore the disdainful tone in her husband's voice, at the very thought of going to church.  "It might make you feel better. I know it'll help me."
It was all Poirot could do to keep from saying anything hurtful to this woman he loved more than life, even as she half knelt before the chair he sat in.  "I will speak to God here. That way, if I fall asleep,  I will not be embarrassing myself in front of others. Please, love,  you and Hilde ;  you go to church and ask for the miracle we all want. I will be asking for the same.  I just require some....quiet time."  Hercule took the hand of Virginie's that rested on the arm of  the chair and kissed it. "Rest assured, dearest to my heart, that I will be storming God's throne-room on your behalf.  You said you trusted me, my love?  Trust me now."
"I will always trust you."
Taking a long breath,  Hercule recanted,  "Perhaps, though, I am not worthy of your trust. I could not prevent ....this."
Virginie kissed her husband's hand that held hers and their eyes met. "I never expected you to prevent life's tragedies, Hercule,  just so long as you could comfort me through them. And I could do the same for you."
"You are already doing that, dearest wife."
She just about rose to leave but then asked, one more time, if he would like to join them after all.
"I am better off here, for the time being, my love."
"Sunday then?"  Virginie asked, standing up.
Poirot half-shrugged.  "We will see what my supervisor permits.  I have left them in the deep weeds for a while now. I have time to make up for."
"Remember when I invited you for church and lunch?  I think we both prayed like mad that your supervisor would not need you that Sunday.  I will the same for this Sunday."
Poirot smiled at the lovely memory.  Only now, he was hoping the very opposite to what he wished, that whole lifetime past. In truth,  if he could make it happen,  Hercule Poirot NEVER wanted to set foot in a church again.

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