“Probably not,” she lied. “About Brain Bowl …”
“No sweat,” Jory assured. “Watson was the picture of sympathy and understanding. She said you made the final ten fair and square, and even though you haven’t been drilling with them, she’s sure you’ll be up to speed in no time once you return.”
Melissa sagged with relief, twisted the phone cord around her forefinger, and said, “I’m on for the PSATs, too. Dr. Rowan wasn’t thrilled about my taking them, but I’m doing it anyway.”
“Can I come to the hospital and help you pack up?”
“You don’t have to. Mom will be here. Michael, too.”
Melissa sensed the disappointment in a long pause and said, “What the heck. The more the merrier. Come on down.”
After lunch Melissa changed into street clothes, the first she’d worn since her admission. Her jeans hung sadly on her thin body and she could almost count her ribs through her T-shirt. She didn’t care. She was going home. She packed everything in paper bags and a suitcase except for one cuddly teddy bear. She gave it to a nurse at the central nurse’s station. “This is for Rachael—the little four-year-old girl with the curly, reddish hair.”
The nurse smiled. “Oh, you mean Rachael Dove. How nice of you, Melissa. She’s down in chemo right now and this will be a special treat for her when they bring her back up. She’s usually pretty sick after her treatments.”
Melissa returned to her room and waited silently with Jory while her mother handled the paperwork and Michael lugged her things down in the elevator. The Pink Lady, a hospital volunteer, made her ride down in a wheelchair, and Melissa felt self-conscious rolling through the lobby. Once outside, she saw both her mom’s and Jory’s cars parked beside the curb. “Which chariot will it be?” Her mother asked.
“Do you mind if Jory takes me?”
Her mother’s expression said that she did mind, but she said, “Of course not. I’ll see you back at the house.”
Hastily, Melissa asked, “You are riding with us, aren’t you Michael?”
His blue eyes flashed her a knowing, tolerant look. “Sure.”
“Would you—uh—like to drive?” Jory asked, offering him the keys.
Michael took them. “Why not.”
“I’ll sit in the back,” Melissa said. “There’s more room.” Michael settled her in the backseat. The car felt familiar and comfortable and smelled faintly of Jory’s jasmine perfume. “Can you put the top down?” Melissa asked.
Jory and Michael exchanged glances. “Is that a good idea?” Michael asked.
“I’ve been cooped up inside for two weeks. I want to feel the sun … smell fresh air. Please?”
When Michael lowered the top Melissa turned her face up to soak in the warmth of the sun. She breathed deeply the cool, dry autumn air until her head grew light and her body finally relaxed. “Home, James,” she directed with a snap of her fingers.
Michael drove slowly, cautiously, stopping at yellow traffic lights instead of barreling through as he normally might do. Jory sat sideways in her seat, gazing at Michael contentedly. Melissa watched the sunlight play off her friend’s hair and the breeze ruffle through Michaels. “We can go a little faster, you know,” she said.
“No we can’t,” Jory replied. She reached into her glove compartment and removed a yellow diamond-shaped sign with black lettering. She stuck it to the windshield, beneath the rearview mirror. Melissa smiled when she read it: “Slow. Precious Cargo on Board.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Do you like what we’ve done to your bedroom, honey?” Mrs. Austin’s question made Melissa pause as she walked around her room.
“It’s nice, Mom. Really. I had no idea … ”
“Michael and I wanted to surprise you. He painted the walls and the woodwork, and I picked out the comforter and curtains.”
Melissa fingered the powder-blue spread decorated with printed apricot-and-white long-stemmed lilies. The faint aroma of fresh paint hung in the air. “I mean it, Mom. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
“Michael installed the phone, too.” Melissa noticed the pale blue stylized headset on the night stand next to her bed. “It’s one of those programmable kinds,” Mrs. Austin continued eagerly. “He’s already put numbers into the memory for my office, Dr. Rowan, the clinic and Jory. All you have to do is punch the memory key and the single digit of whoever you want, and it dials those numbers automatically. Nice, huh?”
“Very nice.” Melissa picked up the receiver and studied it. The truth was that she’d be home alone most of the coming days and she needed the phone in case an emergency arose. Forcing away her fear, she recradled the receiver. “I really appreciate all you and Michael have done, Mom.”
Mrs. Austin advanced and hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re home, baby.”
Her mother’s sweet gardenia scent filled Melissa’s senses as she cuddled snugly in her arms. “I’m going to be all right, Mom. I know I’m going to get well.”
Mrs. Austin smoothed Melissa’s patchy head of hair. “I know you are, too. Now, why don’t you climb between those nice new sheets and let me bring you some vegetable soup.”
“Homemade?”
“Just for you.”
“I’d like that.” Her mother’s special soup had sustained her through everything from flu to chicken pox to bad days of menstrual cramps.
After Melissa had settled into bed, Michael came in. “It’s really good to have you home,” he said, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“Thanks for painting my room. I like the color. Ivory makes the room look bigger. How come there’s no programmed number for you on the phone?”
He shrugged. “Between school and two jobs, I doubted you could track me down. But I’ll be home whenever I can.”
“Still baby-sitting your kid sister, huh?”
He touched her chin. “Yep. And I’ll even leave the baseball bat by your bed.”
“Mom says you put Jory’s number into the phone. How did you know it?”
“Stop baiting me. I looked it up in the phone book.”
Melissa frowned. “You’ve got to admit, she’s been a terrific friend. Oh, she was put off at first, but once she got used to my being sick, she came to see me a lot. She bought me all those scarves. She kept me entertained with stories of her social life and everything that’s been going on at school, and she made sure I wasn’t kicked off the Brain Bowl team.”
“I like her car,” Michael said dryly.
“Why are you so stubborn?”
“I like to see the fire in your eyes and the smoke curling out your ears.”
“You’re going to appreciate Jory someday, Michael. And I hope she won’t give you the time of day when you’re just aching to be with her either.”
“The time off her Rolex watch?”
His grin was devilish, and Melissa felt her anger rising. “Out of my room!” She pointed toward the door.
He rose, laughing, and warded off the pillow she tossed at him. “It’s good to have you home. Even if it does mean more visits from Jory Delaney.”
“Out!”
“I love you, too,” he called as he shut the door behind him.
In spite of her exasperation, Melissa smiled and slipped downward into the cozy comfort of her bed. Her eyes caressed her room. Home. She’d finally come home. Now all she had to do was go into remission and get well. Then maybe she could put this entire nightmare behind her and get on with the rest of her life.
“Don’t you think we should go inside now?” Jory nervously tapped on the handle inside her car door.
“Just a few more minutes,” Melissa told her, glancing first at her watch, then out the car window to see two more students straggle into the Lincoln High auditorium in the Saturday morning gloom. The day had arrived cool and gray.
“They lock the doors at eighty-thirty sharp,” Jory said, chewing on her bottom lip.
“I know, Jory. Calm down. I’m not going inside until the last possible m
inute. Are you sure Mrs. Watson’s saving special seats for us in the back row?”
“It’s all arranged. We slip into the seats right before the test starts, and as soon as it’s over, we get first dibs on slipping out.”
Melissa took a deep breath, adjusted her scarf and wide-brimmed hat, and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
Jory buttoned her denim jacket against a blast of cool wind and stepped aside for Melissa to climb out of the car. “Do you have your”—she stopped—“you know. Your stuff.”
“I have my mask and some airsickness bags, if that’s what you mean.”
“Certainly not,” Jory huffed. “I meant the stupid number-two pencils.”
“Don’t worry. Actually, I feel pretty decent. I didn’t go to chemo yesterday.”
Jory stopped in her tracks halfway between the parking lot and the auditorium doors. “You what?”
“I skipped chemo. I told Dr. Rowan I’d be there Monday, but I didn’t want to take a chance on lousing up the PSATs.”
Incredulous, Jory demanded, “And he agreed to that?”
“He didn’t have a choice. What was he going to do? Come to my house and pick me up bodily?”
“What did Michael say?”
“He doesn’t know. And no one’s going to tell him, is she?” Melissa threatened with a growl.
“I don’t know why I’m supposed to cover for you,” Jory grumbled. “I’m always the one who gets caught.”
Melissa touched Jory’s arm at the door of the cavernous auditorium. “Because you’re my friend. And because you know how much it means to me to score high on this test.”
Jory didn’t answer, but yanked open the door and preceded Melissa inside. Mrs. Watson rushed up to them. “Oh, Melissa, how good to see you.”
Melissa couldn’t help noticing the shock in her teacher’s eyes when she saw her. “Thank you, Mrs. Watson.” She slipped on the surgical mask.
“I’ve saved you special seats in the last row.” Melissa followed Mrs. Watson keeping her eyes cast downward. She sat on the aisle and Jory sat next to her. “Every other chair, dear,” Mrs. Watson directed, so Jory repositioned herself.
Melissa looked up cautiously, dipping the brim of her hat. The auditorium was almost full since the entire junior class was there to take the test. She was relieved to see that few kids had noticed her entrance. Most were whispering to friends or merely staring into space. Her stomach churned, but she knew it was from nerves. She had to score well on this test if her hopes for a Merit Scholarship were to be realized. The results would be sent to her in December, but it wouldn’t be until the following September that principals would be notified as to which of their seniors were semifinalists. She rummaged in her purse for a mint, hoping to chase away the foul taste in her mouth. That was one side effect of her medications she could live without—the altered taste of food. Some days nothing tasted right.
Lincoln’s principal sauntered across the stage in the front of the auditorium and made announcements about the exam. Feet shuffled. The materials were passed down each row, reminding Melissa of the day she’d taken the test for Brain Bowl. How long ago had that been? It felt like a hundred years.
On command, all the students opened the exam. She prayed she wouldn’t get sick since she knew she’d be fighting the clock. She pulled her mask away from her face, took in a big gulp of air, then resettled the mask and started the test.
“So how’d you do?” Back in the safety of the car, it was the first remark out of Jory’s mouth.
“I think I did okay. How about you?”
Jory grimaced and gripped the steering wheel, nosing the car out of the parking lot well in advance of the rest of the kids filing out of the auditorium. “It wasn’t so tough.”
“Thanks for getting me out in a hurry. I didn’t want to have to talk to anybody and answer any dumb questions.”
“No problem.”
“Did I make you rush any answers?”
Jory blew air through her lips. “Get serious. What I didn’t know, I guessed at. Big deal. I’m not the one who’s so hot to go to college.” She gave Melissa a studied look. “How are you feeling?”
Melissa grinned. “Pretty good. In fact, I feel good enough to stop for a milk shake. A chocolate one. Somehow, I’ve got this terrible craving for chocolate.”
“Works for me. How about the Steak ’n Shake?” Jory named the restaurant that provided fifties-style curb service. “Then you won’t have to go inside and try and drink through a hole in your mask.”
“Let’s go,” Melissa told her friend. The grayness of the morning had been replaced by a weak wash of sunshine. Outside the air was still cool, so Jory kept the top up and the windows raised. Melissa fiddled with the radio dial until she found a song she liked.
At the drive-in restaurant, Jory parked to the far end despite a scowl from a waitress on roller skates who whizzed over to the car. “What’ll it be, girls?”
“Two large chocolate shakes and one large order of fries.”
The waitress eyed the expensive auto and muttered, “Big spenders.”
“Tell the chef to go heavy on the grease on those fries,” Jory called as the woman skated away. “And don’t slip bringing it back.”
Melissa giggled. “She’s worried about her tip, you know. Two shakes and fries won’t pay her rent.”
“So let her take up brain surgery with the rest of the centerfolds working here.”
When the food came, Melissa tasted it cautiously.
“Is it all right?” Jory wanted to know.
“Don’t mind me. My medications sometimes give food a funny taste.”
“And so?”
“And so this is delicious. Tastes just like liver.”
“You’re kidding.” Jory’s mouth dropped open, causing Melissa to laugh out loud.
“I’m kidding. It’s good. Thanks.”
They nibbled on the fries and listened to the music. “You know,” Jory observed, “this is just like old times.”
Melissa tapped the brim of her hat. “In some ways.”
“It won’t always be like this, Melissa. You’re going to lick this thing.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Melissa straightened suddenly at the sight of a bronze-colored car. Brad Kessing parked his Firebird across the concrete median dividing the two parking areas. Brad was not alone. Melissa slouched low in the bucket seat of Jory’s vehicle. “Let’s split.”
“But I’m not finished with my … ” Jory’s sentence trailed as she followed Melissa’s line of vision. “Why that creep.”
“Stop it, Jory.” Melissa’s tone sounded wooden. “He’s a free agent. I have no claims on him.”
“He’s still a creep.”
Curiosity gnawed at Melissa, and she peeked out the window for a better look at the girl with Brad. She was pretty, with wispy blond curls. “Do you know who she is?”
A guilty look crossed Jory’s face that Melissa couldn’t miss. “Sarah something or other.”
“You’ve known about Brad and her for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Not that long,” Jory said with a self-conscious shrug. “A few weeks.”
“It’s all right you didn’t tell me. I have no hold on Brad. He made me no promises.”
“He really did ask me about you a few times. I mean he was really interested in how you were doing.”
A sad smile turned up Melissa’s mouth. “It’s all right. You don’t have to make me feel better about it.” She set the milk shake on the car’s console. “I think I’m finished with this thing. It’s lost its flavor.”
Jory flashed her lights, and when the waitress came she paid her. As she backed the car out, Melissa saw Sarah climb from Brad’s Firebird, throwing him a provocative smile and words she couldn’t hear. Brad, handsome and athletic, gave Sarah a thumbs-up signal, and Melissa fought a rising sadness.
The last thing she saw as they drove off was Sarah flipping her beautiful head of hair, laughing. ?
??She’s pretty,” Melissa told Jory, straightening in her seat and adjusting her seat belt. “Pretty and perky—just Brad’s type.” To herself she added, And healthy, too.
Chapter Fourteen
December 10
I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored in my entire life. Funny, when Dr. Rowan told me that my lab results showed I’d gone into remission, I thought they’d break out the brass band. But it was purely routine. Business as usual. Now that I’m officially in remission, it’s just a matter of getting my white count up enough to fight off normal germs before I can reenter the “real” world. Since it’s almost time for the semester to end I guess it doesn’t matter much. I’ll just slip back into school in January … if such a thing is possible. I look really gross.
Christmas is coming and I haven’t bought anything. If it wasn’t for Jory, I’d have nothing to put under the tree this year for Mom or Michael. Of course, Jory loved buying Michael’s gift. She says she sniffed every men’s cologne in the mall before picking one. She said the money I gave her was enough, but I know it wasn’t. Anything that smells like that, in a glass bottle as fancy as the one it’s in, couldn’t have cost what I was able to afford. I made Michael get something really nice for Jory. He was a pain about it, but he did find a sweater that’s funky enough for her. I hope she likes it.
Now that I’m on maintenance and don’t have to go to the clinic so often, I’m feeling better. But I still get sick after every visit. Will it ever go away? I see that little girl, Rachael, sometimes. She’s so cute and she talks my ear off. Why do kids have to get sick, anyway? Maybe it’s one of the questions I’ll ask God when I see him …
Melissa stopped writing in her journal. The psychiatrist had been right—there was something therapeutic about putting down her thoughts and feelings. Although talking to herself on paper about everyday matters was now a habit, it still surprised her when thoughts about God and faith and the whys of sick kids slipped out. She sighed and and shut the book. Time hung heavy for her. The days and nights were too long, and she knew that so much introspection was getting her down.