Interference by Michelle Berry Read Free Book Online

diagnosed. Too much to handle teaching and cancer at the same time. Jude, Caroline. Claire defines herself by her kids. What will they do without her? What will she do without them? How will she be able to let them grow up without her?
    â€œI am fifty-nine years old,” Mrs. Rathbin says loudly. “I may look older, but that’s how old I am.” Mrs. Rathbin pauses to breathe. Claire is astonished. Mrs. Rathbin does look a lot older. “I can’t eat Brussels sprouts. They are good for you but they make me vomit. They are ugly and they take a long time to decompose in the compost. And they attract aphids like crazy, so are hard to grow without pesticides. I hate to drive. I have been in several accidents. Once I had my license taken away. But I got it back. Everyone I’ve ever met says I talk too much. Lots of people say I overwhelm them. But I can knit a hat and that,” she pauses and looks at Claire, “that makes all the difference.”
    Silence in the car. Claire swallows.
    â€œYour turn!” Mrs. Rathbin shouts.
    They’ve parked the car and entered the hospital. Mr. Manuel used to let Claire out at the front entrance and go ahead and park the car, but Mrs. Rathbin insists on parking and then coming inside with Claire. This means Claire has to walk through the parking garage and into the hospital entrance and down the stairs to the radiation department with a huffing, puffing Mrs. Rathbin.
    â€œA little exercise will do you good,” she says, as she sweats and breathes heavily, rolling her bulk towards the hospital.
    Me?
Claire thinks.
    Mr. Manuel would wait in the hospital cafeteria. He would do the crossword puzzle in the newspaper and drink hot water. Mrs. Rathbin comes right down to the radiation department with Claire, ignoring Claire’s suggestion that she wait somewhere else.
    A woman in the waiting room with Claire last week told her that she was burned by the radiation and that her breast swelled up to the size of a cantaloupe. She broke out in rashes. The woman was scared to get the radiation again. But there she was. “What else can I do?” she had said, shrugging her thin shoulders.
    Mrs. Rathbin settles into a chair in the waiting room. Directly across from Claire. She pulls her knitting needles out of a bag she has hidden under her bulky shawl. There are many baskets of yarn placed all around the room for people to knit scarves while they wait, but Mrs. Rathbin has her own ball of yarn, her own needles. Mrs. Rathbin begins to organize her hobby all over her lap and on the seat beside her. She hums. Her plastic bag crinkles. Her knitting needles clack. Claire watches the TV in the corner, on mute, the news racing past, scrolling words under images. Snow­storms and fires and highway accidents, traffic and politicians and stock markets and shootings. A boy has fallen through the ice while skating. They’ve left his body there, under the ice, until it is safe to retrieve. Claire tears up, wipes at her eyes. Mrs. Rathbin clicks away.
    Sorrow. There is something about that word — the sound of it, the look of it on a page, the feel of it in her heart. Jude’s sorrow. Caroline’s sorrow. Ralph’s sorrow. Claire owns that word now. It belongs to her.
    â€œStop that,” Mrs. Rathbin says. She points her knitting needle at Claire.
    â€œPardon me?” Claire looks around.
    â€œStop crying. It won’t do you any good.”
    Claire opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out.
    â€œHonestly. I know.” Click click go her knitting needles. Another hat. The nurse at the front desk looks up from her computer and smiles shyly at Claire. Claire looks again at the TV. Then she looks back at Mrs. Rathbin and sets her jaw.
    â€œHow dare you tell me how to feel?” Claire says. Her voice shakes.
    â€œThat’s right,” Mrs. Rathbin says. “Yes. Much better. Get angry.”
    â€œAngry?” Claire