“Izzy would think that was truly insane,” I said.
“Really,” Gail agreed, “she’d die if we—” She swallowed her sentence, aghast. “I mean, I meant—”
For some reason our multiple gazes pivoted toward Rosa, who abruptly left the room.
“It’s okay, Gail,” I said. “Face it. We’re going to say and do stupid things. Izzy’s cool. She’ll understand.”
“God, I’m so afraid I’m going to blow this. I want her to feel comfortable,” Carla said.
“Well, that’s not going to happen if we’re all being weird,” I pointed out as I went to answer the door.
I was surprised to see Sam standing there, helmet under his arm. He had a handful of limp yellow daisies ensconced in a newspaper cone. “For Izzy,” he explained. “We have that field out back.”
“Come on in,” I said. As I reached for the flowers our fingers touched. A sweet, shuddery warmth made its way down my spine. Amazing, I thought, that the briefest touch could spin such magic.
I led him down the hall. “Everybody,” I said, my voice pitched a little higher than usual, “you all know Sam?”
This time all eyes pivoted to me. The looks varied from surprise to outright shock.
“That’s Gail, Carla … well, you can figure out the rest,” I said. “Let me put these in some water.”
I left Sam defenseless and took the flowers to the kitchen. Gail scurried in behind me. “How do you know him?” she demanded.
“We’ve talked a few times.”
“I heard he’s Alec Baldwin’s illegitimate son.”
“I thought it was Mick Jagger.” I found a tall glass and filled it with water.
“Cute,” Gail said, chewing on a bright red thumbnail. “Tall and cute. Did I mention cute? Are you … sniffing each other out?”
“How subtle.” I arranged the daisies, the warm stems already droopy. Then I lied. “No.”
I don’t know why I didn’t say yes. Gail was a good friend. But Izzy was my best friend, and if I told Gail anything before I told Izzy, it might get back to Izzy, complicating things. And then she would think I was being patronizing, not telling her about Sam because I didn’t think she was up to it. Even if that was true, I didn’t want Izzy to think it. I wanted her to feel that nothing had changed, despite the fact that everything had.
We heard a commotion at the front door. Izzy’s dad, Miguel, came in first, carrying a big stuffed cat and a large suitcase. Lauren followed, shepherding Izzy through the hall.
“All right, Rosa!” Izzy cried, embracing her aunt. “A keg party!”
“Isabella,” Rosa whispered, sobbing hugely.
We were all staring while trying not to. Izzy looked the same, only not. She was wearing a blue bandanna tied artfully around her head, a T-shirt and embroidered vest, jeans. But there were glossy blue-black circles under her eyes, and her skin was pale and slack, like a balloon that’s been blown up and deflated.
Izzy got passed around the group and hugged uncertainly, the way you do when you greet someone with a lingering case of the flu. When she got to me, we both laughed, then started to cry, then laughed again. “Check it out,” I said lightly, pointing to the dining room table. “We brought munchies.”
“You made Rice Krispies bars!”
“Isabella,” Lauren said, “you need to go easy. You’ve been back on solid food for only a week.”
“I ate half a pint of Chunky Monkey for lunch,” Izzy pointed out. As she dove for the table she noticed Sam for the first time. “Well, well,” she said, wiggling her brows, “what have we here?”
“Alison invited me,” Sam explained. “I, uh, brought you some daisies. She put them in the kitchen, I think.”
“How sweet.” She grabbed a Rice Krispies bar and held up her index finger. “Don’t go away. I shall return.”
Izzy veered into the kitchen, pulling me along. “Thanks,” she said, examining the daisies.
“For what?”
“The party hats, the balloons, the … guests.”
“Oh, well, actually—”
“Tell me the truth,” she interrupted. “I look like something the lunch ladies would serve up, right? Izzy Surprise. Izzy Noodle Casserole—”
“You look beautiful, as usual, you jerk. Just a little tired.”
“My mom’s driving me insane. She keeps treating me like I’m going to fall over dead in the next five minutes. I’m surprised Rosa doesn’t have a priest on call to give me the last rites.”
“Everybody’ll settle down. Give it a few days. You’ll be old news.”
Izzy tugged at the knot in her bandanna. “Wanna see?” she whispered.
I nodded, because I knew she wanted me to.
It wasn’t the baldness that shocked me, it was the ugly truth of the dark red incision. Until that moment, Izzy’s disease had been an abstraction. All of a sudden it was real. I made myself look at it the way she had to look at it every morning in the mirror.
“Gross, huh? Sorry. Bad idea.” She retied her scarf.
“No, really,” I said quickly. “You look like … sort of like a white Shaquille O’Neal. With boobs.”
Izzy laughed. “God, I missed you. I knew you’d treat me like me.” She leaned down to sniff Sam’s already-wilting daisies. “I hope this isn’t an omen,” she said, cupping a drooping flower. “Sweet, though, wasn’t it?”
“Very.”
“It was brilliant of you to invite him, Al. I need a diversion. I’ve been thinking I need a hobby, anyway. I was going to take up stamp collecting, but maybe I’ll collect guys instead.” Izzy peered down the hall. “Ah, there’s a fine-looking specimen now.” She glanced back at me. “Has Sam said anything useful? Like, you know, he’s always had a hankering for sick chicks?”
“Actually …” I searched for words and couldn’t find any. “Actually, he’s asked about you several times,” I said. It was the truth, at least.
“Close enough. Wish me luck.”
I watched her race off. Lauren came into the kitchen. Her short, dark hair was flat and shapeless, her tailored navy dress wrinkled. She wasn’t her usual elegant self. She draped an arm around me. “Thanks, Alison, for this. She needed a pick-me-up.”
“She looks good,” I said.
Lauren chewed on her lower lip, where her coral lipstick was smudged and flaked. She motioned for me to follow her to the master bedroom. As we walked down the hall I noticed Izzy talking to Sam. Briefly she touched his arm, leaning close.
The pristine bedroom was very tropical, with wicker furniture and a colorful spread. I stood by the large windows overlooking the gray-blue Gulf.
“She hasn’t asked. Isn’t that odd?” Lauren’s voice was a whisper. “I was ready to lie after the surgery, but she never asked. The doctor came in and said everything looked good, they had done what they could, and she left it at that. I was so relieved. It was so …”
“Not like Izzy.”
“Yes.” She came over, squeezed my shoulder. “You understand, right? That we’re telling everyone they got it all, and everything’s going to be fine.”
“I understand.”
There was a soft knock. Miguel entered the room and closed the door behind him. He was tall, like Iz. She had gotten her dark, thickly lashed eyes from him. “You told Alison?” he asked.
Lauren nodded.
“We want every moment to be happy, you see,” he said to me, but also to himself, I think. “That’s the right thing. It is.”
“Of course it is,” Lauren said crisply.
I heard Izzy’s melodic, up-the-scale laugh from all the way down the hall.
“What good would there be in telling her the truth?” Miguel asked.
“What if she figures it out herself?” I asked gently. “You know how Izzy is. She can’t let things alone. She’ll be digging through medical textbooks again and will be on the Internet all night. What if she already suspects?”
Lauren rubbed her eyes. She leaned close to me. H
er fingers tightened on my shoulder. I could feel her nails through my shirt; I could smell her perfume, the Chanel Izzy sometimes borrowed when her mom wasn’t looking.
“She has only two or three months, Alison,” she whispered. She pulled away, and I could see in the intense heat of her eyes that there were no tears left. “Maybe less, they don’t know. The tumor was more advanced than they’d expected. For that little time, we can make it work. We can make her happy.”
Miguel took my hand and we stood there silently, staring out at the water. Laughter floated from the living room. An old Stones song boomed from the CD player. I held on to Izzy’s parents and they held on to me. I knew they were wondering why I, someone else’s daughter, should live and theirs should not.
“I’m sorry,” I said, because it was all I could say, and because I was wondering the very same thing.
The next day Izzy went back to school. After a while we started to get the hang of being around a person with cancer. Turns out it’s just like being around a person without cancer.
That is, unless you know her prognosis and she doesn’t. Or maybe she does, but you’re afraid to ask and she doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to bring it up.
It wasn’t like Iz was in denial or anything. We talked lots about how scary everything had been and what a general pain in the butt being sick was. But it was general scariness, not specific I-might-die scariness.
I tried to get her to ventilate; I wanted to be there if she wanted to talk. I tried like crazy to sense what she wanted me to say and do, but mostly she seemed to want to go back to being just plain Izzy.
I still hadn’t gotten around to telling her about Sam. I wanted to, I tried a dozen times, but she seemed so infatuated with him after the party, I just didn’t have the heart to hurt her. Who cared if he’d kissed me or if we were going to the Valentine’s Day dance? Making a big production out of it seemed so small-minded, so irrelevant, in the face of everything Izzy was going through.
On Thursday evening I’d just gotten off the phone with Izzy when the phone rang again. It was Sam.
“I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for that dance thing Saturday,” he said. I could hear the shyness in his voice, and it made me smile.
“Looks like you’re stuck,” I said. “I already bought a dress.”
“Good. That’s good. I … I’m glad you didn’t change your mind. Morgan kind of forced you into it.”
I lay back on my bed, twisting the phone cord around my finger. There was something very mysterious about talking to a guy on the phone, I decided. It was all imagination, no eyes, no lips, no gestures. All voice. I could have listened to Sam’s voice all night. It had a soft urgency, like the wind parting the palms by my window, like that brief miracle of a kiss we’d shared.
“How is Morgan?” I asked.
“Not so great. We’re having a rough week. But it’ll be cool. I’ve got it all under control. My neighbor Jane is going to keep an eye on him Saturday night.” He paused. “Well …”
“I should hang up,” I said. “I’ve been on the phone all night with Izzy. I’m starting to feel like I’m glued to the receiver.”
“She seems pretty good, under the circumstances. She going to the dance?”
I tried to ignore the hollow spot in my chest. “No. I wish she were.” I cleared my throat. “I guess Izzy’s so gorgeous she kind of scares guys off.”
“That’s too bad. She’s a great girl.”
There was a pause. “I should go,” I said again, although I didn’t want to.
“Good night,” Sam said softly, so softly I could barely hear him.
I hung up the phone and sighed. I had to tell her. I knew I had to tell her.
By the time Friday rolled around I was frantic. The Valentine’s Day dance was the next night. Lunchtime, I decided. I would bring it up casually, a throwaway remark: “By the way—you won’t believe this, Iz, it’s got to be some kind of miracle—but I’m going to the dance with Sam. No, really, it’s no big deal.…”
That day the honor society was selling carnations in the lunchroom to would-be romantic types. A white carnation signified friendship, pink was liking, red was all-out lust. Girls sent them to guys, guys to girls, and all day long they were delivered to classes by members of the honor society.
“I hate all this Hallmark schmaltz,” Izzy commented at lunch. She sighed. “So how come nobody sends me anything?”
“Maybe because you hate all this Hallmark schmaltz.”
Izzy grinned. She was wearing a Marlins baseball cap that day. I thought she looked a little paler than usual.
“I’m getting some more juice. Want some?” I asked.
Izzy shook her head. “You know, the Valentine’s Day dance is tomorrow. Remember how I was going to ask Sam? Whatever happened to that?”
I stood and grabbed my wallet. Say it, Alison.
“I guess I lost my nerve,” Izzy continued. “Do you think he was flirting with me at the party? Or was that just pity? He borrowed my French notes yesterday, did I tell you? Talk about the blind leading the blind. He’s missed more school than I have. I wonder what the deal is?”
“Be right back,” I said, retreating.
Tell her, you idiot, tell her, I scolded myself. Standing there in the stewed-cabbage stench of the lunchroom, it all seemed so obvious. I may have had good intentions originally, but now those good intentions were just going to make things a whole lot worse.
I paid for my cranberry juice and was making my way back down the aisle when I noticed Sam. Sam’s back, actually. He was standing at the carnation table, bent over, writing on one of the little cards they attached to the flowers. Next to him stood Steve, Izzy’s physics partner, all earnest concentration.
For me? I thought for a split second, then, Please, no. That wasn’t how I wanted Izzy to find out.
I rejoined Izzy. She was checking her reflection in a knife. “Is it just me, or do I have a little bit of a Morticia thing going here with the white face?”
“Pinch your cheeks,” I advised.
“Check it out.” Izzy nudged me. “Sam and Steve at the flower table, did you see?”
I glanced over my shoulder and shrugged, nicely indifferent.
“I briefly entertained the notion that Sam was buying something for me, but I don’t think conjugating aller makes for a real commitment. Do you?”
“You never know. Aren’t you going to eat your cake?”
“Not hungry. Steve’s there, too. He’s probably buying my traditional white carnation. We send each other one every year so we don’t feel left out.”
“Maybe there’s more to Steve than meets the eye,” I suggested.
“Steve? No way. We’re just good buds, you know that.”
“You sure? He has a pet name for you.”
“Dumbo is not a pet name. It’s a term of ridicule.”
“Still—”
“Nah. I’ve tried to look at him that way, but I can tell it would be like NutraSweet love. You know—you convince yourself it’s okay, then there’s this weird aftertaste.” She nodded toward the carnation table. “Now, with Sam over there, it’s a different story. Look out, he’s coming.”
“Who?” I asked, knowing.
“Sam the man.” She turned and waved.
Sam smiled as he approached, a nice, generic, collective smile that encompassed us both. He handed Izzy a gray notebook.
“Thanks,” he said. “You saved my butt.”
“I can’t think of a butt I’d rather … Oh, never mind,” Izzy said with laugh. “I just can’t pull off the Mae-West-meets-Madonna thing.” She pulled back a chair. “Join us?”
“I’ve gotta get going,” I said quickly, standing. It was way too easy to imagine where this conversation could lead. “I’ve got to clean out my locker.”
“Me too,” Sam said.
“What? Are we having an inspection?” Izzy asked.
“No, I meant I have to go,” Sam said. “As in off campu
s.”
“Cutting class again?” Izzy chided.
“I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I’ve already had a nice heart-to-heart with Lutz about my unexcused absences.”
“Well,” I said. “Gotta go.”
“I’ll walk out with you,” Sam offered.
“Give me a sec, I’ll come too,” Izzy said.
“No,” I said quickly. “When I said go, I meant, you know—go.” I pointed to the rest room in the corner.
Izzy looked at Sam hopefully. “You could keep me company while I don’t eat my cake,” she suggested.
“Sure,” Sam said, giving me a confused glance. “For a minute. Then I gotta get moving.”
I beat a quick retreat to the bathroom. I stayed in there a long time, long enough to talk myself yet again into doing what I knew I had to do. I would explain the whole thing to Izzy, how I’d wanted to protect her, how it hadn’t worked out exactly the way I’d planned.
I gathered up my books and was just about to leave when the door burst open, nearly flattening two sophomores lavishing attention on a shared Marlboro. Izzy stood in the doorway. She held up a huge bouquet of red carnations triumphantly.
“Read the card!” she screeched. “Read it nice and slow, so I can take in the exquisite poetry of it all.”
She handed me the little card with a Xeroxed heart and arrow on the cover, courtesy of the art department.
Love, Sam.
I looked up at Izzy’s deliriously happy face.
“ ‘Love, Sam,’ ” I read.
“Say it again.”
“ ‘Love,’ ” I said, extra slowly, “ ‘Sam.’ ”
It was one of those pictures that lock into your mental photo album forever. Izzy, in a cloud of Marlboro smoke, her baseball cap just a little crooked, the bouquet cradled in her arms like a newborn. Smiling in a way that told you she’d forgotten, for that blissful, impossible moment, about being sick.
“You sure it says ‘love’?” she asked.
“It says ‘love,’ ” I confirmed.
“It was so sweet! He walked away, very casual, and I was throwing my lunch in the recyclables bin, and all of a sudden this guy from the flower table comes over and says, ‘Weren’t you sitting over there a minute ago?’ And I say yeah, and he says, ‘These are for you.’ And when I got done peeing my pants, I read the card, and then I looked all over for him, but he was gone. Too shy to stick around, isn’t that cute?”