“Watch it, woman, or I may gag and tie you and take you up with me this weekend.”
“Thanks for the invitation,” she said, “but I hardly ever have a good time when I’m nauseated.”
The three of them laughed and Mrs. Austin tossed off the covers. “Cookies,” she said. “This occasion calls for cookies and milk. You two wait right here and I’ll bring back a tray.”
Michael held her robe and Melissa watched them, feeling how much she loved them both. She remembered the early days of her diagnosis and hospitalization. The angry words she’d hurled at her mother and the way Michael had always retreated from any conversation about her illness. None of them had really accepted it yet—especially her brother—but right now, in the comfort of her mother’s room, it seemed that nothing could hurt them.
Melissa shook her head to clear it. She would think about Ric and cancer and choices tomorrow. Tonight she would be the little girl who used to sit on her mother’s bed and share her heart’s secrets.
“Lots of cookies,” she called. “Chocolate ones. And make sure the milk is real cold.”
Melissa sensed a tension in the clinic. DeeDee Thomas was a jangle of nerves, dropping the tourniquet she was trying to tie around Melissa’s arm, contaminating the sterile needle and having to pop open another.
“What’s wrong?” Melissa asked, watching DeeDee hunt for a vein along the inside of her arm.
“Just a typical crazy day. Don’t mind me.”
“It’s always crazy around this place. But today seems crazier and you’re kind of distracted. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
DeeDee looked up, half-smiling, and her eyes looked tired. “I was working half the night upstairs in oncology. Then two people called in sick down here and someone had to fill in. I’m wiped out, that’s all.”
“My blood work’s still looking good,” Melissa said, trying to make conversation.
“Good. I want you to be well, Melissa. I want all of you to be well,” DeeDee said.
“All of us?”
“The kids. All the kids.” She gestured vaguely and taped a cotton ball across Melissa’s vein.
Usually when her lab work was complete, Melissa tore out of the place, trying to escape the antiseptic smells and reminders of this other world she belonged to. But today she hesitated. “Know what?” she said to DeeDee. “I think I’ll go up and visit the floor. Dr. Rowan said that it was a good idea to go up every once in a while so that the really sick kids can see that that part doesn’t last forever.”
“No, Melissa. Don’t go up. Not today.”
DeeDee’s sharp directive surprised her. “Why not?”
The nurse’s eyes were evasive. “It’s just a bad day up there.”
An icy cold feeling seized Melissa’s heart. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
DeeDee straightened and absently tried to tuck some wayward hair behind her ear. “We had a death,” she said. “It was a long fight, but we lost it.”
“Who?” Melissa felt her stomach churn.
DeeDee sagged. “The little girl, Rachael Dove. We put her on a respirator yesterday, but today there was no brain activity. We turned off the machine less than an hour ago.”
Chapter Nineteen
The ride in the elevator was smooth and silent. Melissa shivered at the haunting familiarity of the oncology floor. It was as if she’d walked into a time warp. Everything was exactly as she had left it months before. Almost.
The atmosphere was subdued. Nurses moved efficiently, their voices softened, their expressions grim. Melissa hadn’t expected the loss to have affected all of them so obviously. She’d figured that they must be used to it, conditioned to it. Yet grief was etched clearly in their faces. She’d never thought of them as anything other than trained professionals, just doing a job, but she saw them now as people, grieving people.
She stood near the nurses’ station, momentarily confused, unable to decide what to do, where to go. Which room had been Rachael’s? She wanted to ask one of the nurses, but couldn’t bring herself to approach anybody. They might ask why she wanted to know, and she had no reason. She began to walk slowly down the hall painted with a gay circus theme, glancing into doorways, inexplicably drawn. She didn’t want to go. She had to go.
She knew she’d found the right room the second she peeked inside. Machines banked one wall, and a hospital bed stood in the center of the floor, empty. Melissa entered, her heart pounding so hard, she felt sick to her stomach.
“Can I help you?” The unexpected voice caused Melissa to jump. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
The girl was about Melissa’s age, dressed in a pink striped uniform, preparing to make the bed. “I-It’s all right. I didn’t think anybody was in the room.”
“My name’s Laura Lopez. I work here as a volunteer.”
Melissa felt disappointed that she wasn’t alone. “I’m Melissa Austin.”
Laura shook out the sheet and smoothed it across the forlorn-looking bed. “My father’s a doctor here at the hospital and my brother’s a physical therapist. I guess you might say this place is in my blood.” Melissa watched Laura expertly tuck in the corners of the sheet. “Did you know Rachael?” Laura asked.
“Yes. We sometimes had our clinic appointments at the same time.”
Laura straightened up from her bed-making. “Oh—you’re Melissa.”
“Yes.”
“Rachael talked about you a lot. She called you her ‘big friend with the nice eyes.’ ” Melissa felt a lump in her throat. Laura continued, “I used to read to her at night when her mother couldn’t stay. Even when I wasn’t on duty, but just studying here in the hospital library, I’d stop by to see her.” Laura smiled. “Rachael had a way of growing on you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did.” Melissa cleared her throat. “I didn’t even know she was back in the hospital. The last time I saw her she seemed better.”
Laura continued fluffing the pillow. “When it happens, it happens quickly.”
“ ‘It’?”
“Dying.” Laura said the word solemnly.
Melissa dug her fingernails into her palms and turned to gaze at the monitors and machines. They were mute and indifferent. There was no life force for them to measure now. “Did she hurt before she died?”
“No. She was even a little excited. At first, she was afraid of going away. That’s what her mother had told her—that she was going to a beautiful place where she could play and never hurt again. She wanted her mother to come with her, or at least one of the nurses.”
“But, of course, no one could go with her.” Melissa said the words absently. “It’s something everyone has to do on her own.”
“She slipped into a coma and died.”
“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner so I could have visited with her.”
“There’s a few of her things left in a bag,” Laura said kindly. “I gathered them up to send to her family. Would you like to look through them?”
Laura handed her a plastic sack. She saw the teddy bear first, the one she’d given Rachael. It was worn in places, the fur rubbed off, and it was missing an eye. It’s red felt tongue was half pulled out. “Looks like she loved it a lot,” Laura observed.
Blinking furiously, Melissa sorted through papers with scribbles and pages from coloring books. She saw one of Prince Charming holding the glass slipper for Cinderella and her breath caught. “Do you think it would be all right if I kept this one? You see, I have the one of Cinderella in her ball gown, and … ” Her voice cracked and Laura touched her shoulder.
“Take it. I’m sure it’s fine.”
With trembling fingers, Melissa folded the piece of paper and tucked it into her purse. She shivered. Rachael Dove had lived four short years and left behind a wounded teddy bear and a handful of colored papers. “Thank you.” Her voice was barely audible. “I … I guess I should be going.”
“Nice to meet you, Melissa.”
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When she reached the doorway she looked back at the room. Everything was there except Rachael, life. Yet Melissa knew that the child had left one more thing behind. She’d left an unforgettable memory of herself. Melissa ran down the hall to catch the elevator, tears coming in violent waves.
“Melissa! What are you doing here?” Ric stood so abruptly from the desk in his dorm room that his chair tipped over.
She closed the door behind her. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah, Doug’s out with Cheri.” He grabbed handfuls of clothes off his bed and shoved books and papers and soda cans out of the way to make a place for her to sit. “I thought you said you were getting together with Jory tonight.”
Melissa paced, too restless to sit. “I went by the clinic this afternoon for lab work and then went up to the oncology floor.”
“And?”
“And they told me that Rachael Dove had died.”
He looked blank for a moment, then nodded. “The little girl you told me about. Gee, Melissa, I’m sorry. I know you liked her.”
“I called my mom and told her I was eating out tonight, but really all I’ve been doing is driving around. And thinking.”
Ric walked over to her and pulled her to his chest. “I’m glad you came to me, Melissa.”
She leaned against him briefly, allowing one moment of softness and comfort to pass between them, then gently pulled away. “Maybe you won’t be.”
“Why?”
“I’m not going to Sarasota with you, Ric.”
Stunned, he blinked. “Why not?”
She took her time answering, staring thoughtfully into space. “Before I got leukemia, I had so many plans. I wanted to make the Brain Bowl team—no junior has ever made the final panel. I wanted to be a National Merit Scholar. I wanted to go to college and study law. I wanted so many things, Ric.”
“You were robbed,” he said with a shrug. “We were both robbed. I wanted to run track.”
“But I still want all those things, Ric. In spite of everything that’s happened.”
He reached for her, but she held up her hand to stop him. “What’s that got to do with our spending the weekend together?”
Melissa searched for the right words to tell him what she felt. “You aren’t my only option in life, Ric. Please don’t make me your only one.”
She saw anger in his eyes. “That doesn’t make any sense. My life doesn’t revolve around you.”
“What does it revolve around?”
Agitated, he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “School. The fraternity. Things.”
“But no track.”
He scoffed. “Get real, Melissa. What kind of future does a one-legged runner have?”
“Make one. Be the first.”
“You mean, ‘If life gives you lemons, make lemonade’?” His tone was sarcastic. “Your romantic outlook is so sweet I could catch diabetes.”
She laughed. “My brother calls me a hopeless romantic, too. And speaking of Michael, I thought of something else while I was driving around tonight.”
Ric raked a hand through his hair and scowled, but he seemed resigned to listen, so Melissa continued. “When Michael was twelve he had a friend named Corley. I hated Corley’s guts.” She crossed her arms. “We’d always play board games at his house. Corley had every board game money could buy.
“Anyway, I began to notice that every time Michael or I began to win, Corley would make up a bunch of new rules. One day I got so mad, I wrecked up the board, called him some names, and stormed out of the house. Michael caught up with me and tried to calm me down. When I told Michael I was angry because Corley was cheating, you know what he said? He said, ‘I know. But when someone changes the rules of the game, you either play by the new rules, or you don’t play.’ ” She paused to let her statement sink in. “I remembered that tonight even though it happened years and years ago.” She reached out and touched Ric’s arm. “Ric, I didn’t ask for cancer. Or for all the chemo and tests and hospital time. The rules of my life got changed, horribly changed. But I still want to play.”
“And going to Sarasota with me, committing to me, isn’t part of your game plan?” His question was bitter.
“No.” A fine film of tears welled in her eyes. “But being asked was the nicest thing you could have done. You made me feel really good inside,” she added shyly.
He stroked her cheek and let his fingers brush her wig. “I didn’t do it to be nice.”
“And that’s what made it even more special. Because you cared. You really cared about me.” She squeezed his hand and moved toward the door, until she felt the hard knob touch her spine. “Goodbye, Ric.”
He started forward and stopped. “Melissa, if you ever change your mind … ”
“You’ll be the first to know.” She closed the door behind her, then leaned against it for support. It was the hardest conversation she’d ever held, and it meant closing a chapter in her life that might never be opened again. She remembered the fire she’d felt when Ric had caressed her body.
“At least leukemia didn’t dull your hormones,” she told herself wryly under her breath. She left the dorm quickly and headed home, knowing that the next afternoon held one more giant hurdle for her to overcome.
Chapter Twenty
Melissa fidgeted with her belongings until everyone except the faculty advisors had left the Brain Bowl drill session. The names of the final panelists would be posted the next day, and Melissa knew deep down inside that her name wouldn’t be on the list.
When the last student had left the room, Melissa took a deep breath and approached the teachers, who sat at a conference table comparing notes—Mrs. Watson, Mr. Marshall, Dean Crane, Mr. Wilson, and Miss Judd. She cleared her throat and they all looked up at her.
Mr. Marshall asked, “Did you want something, Melissa?”
With a calm voice that in no way reflected the panic she felt, she asked, “Would you please tell me now if I’m going to be on the panel or not?”
Mrs. Crane said, “Now, dear, that wouldn’t be fair, would it? Everyone wants to know, and besides, that’s what our meeting now is for—to decide.”
Melissa gritted her teeth and refused to back down. “You aren’t going to choose me, are you?”
The teachers exchanged glances. “We’ve made no decisions, Melissa,” Mr. Wilson said, but without meeting her eyes.
Her stomach sank, like a fifty-foot drop on a roller coaster. Her suspicions were confirmed—they had no intentions of selecting her. “Why?” She asked.
“Why what?”
“Why won’t you choose me?” Her anger fueled a boldness she didn’t know she had. “I’m good at the game and you know it.”
“You’re the best,” Mrs. Watson said, and received a sharp look from Mrs. Crane.
But the words buoyed Melissa. “I’ve worked harder than anyone. And my specialty is math. No one’s quicker at solving problems than me. I’m always first on the buzzer with a math problem.”
“Balance, Melissa,” Miss Judd said. “We pick the team for balance.”
Melissa straightened. “It’s because of my cancer, isn’t it? You’re afraid that I’ll get sick or something.”
The quick exchange of looks between the advisors told her she’d guessed correctly. Prejudice. Isn’t that what Mrs. Watson had tried to warn her about weeks before?
Mrs. Crane tapped her pencil on the table. “Melissa, your illness is a factor. You were out for such a long time … ”
“But I’ve not missed one session since January. Not one!” She felt small tremors course through her body. “You have no right to hold that against me.”
“If our team advances,” Mr. Wilson said, “the pressure will be very intense. We can’t afford to have a panelist drop off.”
Mrs. Crane added quickly, “And you’re just a junior, Melissa. You do have next year, you know.”
Melissa crossed her arms and attacked their logic. “So in other words, I may
be too sick to be on the panel this year, but not so sick that I won’t be around to try again next year.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Watson slip her a thumbs-up signal. Encouraged, Melissa let the words tumble out. “Who of you can say, ‘I’ll be here next year’? Or next week? Nobody’s tomorrows are a sure thing. If I make no plans for a future, then I’ll never have a future. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand?”
The room had gone quiet, so quiet that Melissa could hear the clock on the wall when its hand jumped to pass another minute. Sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. How had she ever found the guts to say those things to teachers?
Mr. Marshall cleared his throat, and his appraisal of her was both direct and pensive. “You’re right, Melissa. You need to know right now if you’ll be selected for the panel or not.” He glanced down the row of startled faces. “I personally recruited Melissa last September because I thought she had what it took to participate in Brain Bowl. Nothing has happened over the past few months to change my opinion. I want her on the final panel.”
“Me too,” Mrs. Watson added emphatically.
Miss Judd nodded, then Mr. Wilson. Melissa’s heart pounded. Mrs. Crane pressed her lips together, but finally offered a brief, terse nod. Melissa felt her legs trembling as Mr. Marshall stood and shook her hand. “Congratulations, Miss Austin. But please hold off telling anyone until all the names are posted tomorrow. All right?”
“It’s a deal,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to hold.
Mrs. Watson leaned forward. “By this time next year, you’ll be a veteran. Imagine how strong we’ll be when we have someone on the team two years in a row.”
Two years in a row. Tomorrow. The future. Melissa flashed her a winning smile. “Yes, next year. When I’m a senior.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Melissa slipped on the bright green jacket, smoothed her palms over the fine linen fabric, and examined the intricate green-and-gold Lincoln High School crest sewn on the breast pocket. Her bedroom mirror told her she looked every inch the exclusive representative of the Brain Bowl team that she felt she was.