by Deanna Roy
I couldn’t see where. The room was open, with shelving on the walls and a table in the center.
But then a little curtain rippled. The bottom section of one of the shelves was covered with fabric to hide the contents.
And I could see a small nubby sock sticking out.
Everything began to settle as I moved slowly toward the shelf. I didn’t want to startle her. “Cynthia, I can see your foot.”
The fuzzy toes shifted back under the curtain.
I sat on the floor next to the shelf. “Will you come out?”
Her voice was small and tearful. “Not until Tina comes back.”
I exhaled slowly. “What makes you think she’s gone?”
“The nurse said no class. And when I came here, her Happy Face Man was gone.” Another sniffle.
“Her what?”
“Happy Face Man. The one she looks at when she’s sad. She let me hold him whenever I wanted to. He’s soft and fluffy and yellow, like sunshine.”
I tugged the curtain back. Cynthia sat curled up in a ball, bending down to fit beneath the shelf, her back against a tall stack of construction paper.
“Will you come out?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Not without Tina.”
“I don’t know that I can get her back. But she did tell me she would try to visit you.”
Cynthia looked up. “Really? When?”
“As soon as she could.”
“Why did she leave?” Her cheeks were streaked with tears.
“She didn’t want to.”
Cynthia dropped her face against her bony knees. She was so thin. My heart hurt. This was more than anyone should have to bear.
“I’ll find her,” I said. “Maybe she can work with you by herself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded against her legs.
“Will you come out now?”
Her back made a long, hard shudder. “Why does everybody always go away?”
“I’m here, Cyn-Cyn.”
“But what if you die like Mommy?”
God, I hated this world. I hated T53 genes. I hated cancer.
“I am not going to die,” I said.
“Everybody dies. I am going to die.”
I slid my arm beneath her knees and the other at her back. “Not for a very long time. Not until all my hair falls out.” I slid her out from under the shelf to pull her onto my lap.
“When you have chemo?” she asked. Her brown eyes looked up into mine, lashless and dark like an infant’s.
“Nope, when it all falls out because I’m very very old.”
“You’re already very very old,” she said, and cracked her first smile.
“I am indeed.”
I couldn’t carry her through the halls. That would look inappropriate for a doctor and patient. So, I sent Angela a text to come fetch her, and we sat there for a while, on the floor of Tina’s room, both of us wishing for the same thing.
That she was back.
Chapter 15: Tina
Dang it, I was early.
I had never met the director of the hospital, John Duffrey. Rumors about him weren’t good, and Sabrina had confirmed that when she escorted me out. He was old, mean, and determined to power-play his way to the top, wherever that was. I didn’t keep track of this stuff. I didn’t even know what power a doctor or administrator could wield.
But my nerves meant I got up at the crack of dawn. Dressed conservatively, a bra this time, and a jacket. And no pigtails. I hesitated with the striped stockings. I rarely went without, especially in winter. They were my connection to Peanut, my good luck.
In the end I wore them, but put on the longest skirt I owned so only the ankles showed above a pair of black flats.
I wandered through the gift shop, killing time. I was tempted to go see what was happening in my room, if anything had been moved or changed. But it had only been one day. I’m sure it was all the same.
The doctor worked fast. He was bound to be the reason I got my job back.
I glanced over the shelves of Bibles and rosary beads and little plaques with expressions about faith, hope, and healing. My mother would eat this stuff up.
Then I saw him. Dr. Darion. He was speed-walking down the hall. He’d pass right by the windowed wall of the gift shop in a second. I hid behind the shelves of stuffed animals and toys.
Maybe he had a sixth sense about me, though, because when he got close enough, he spotted me through the glass.
And halted.
I gave a little wave. He looked to the right and left, as if considering whether he should be seen with me. Then he turned and came into the shop.
“You’re here?” He seemed shocked.
“I assumed you would know.”
He glanced over at the volunteer behind the counter. “Why are you in here?”
“I meet with the director in half an hour.”
The shop lady looked up at us. Darion pinched his lips together. “Come with me.”
At least he wasn’t dragging me this time. I followed him past the main elevators down a long corridor to a set of stairs. We went up a floor, then onto the hall I recognized from yesterday. The surgical suites.
Back there again.
He buzzed us through. My heart was pounding before we even got into the room. Something about getting fired yesterday, his desperation over it, and I’m guessing knowing he had done something to get me back lit a flame that licked through me.
But I was a one-and-done. I couldn’t do this with him. Couldn’t do anything.
In fact, why were we here? Was he expecting it? Did he really think I’d bang him for getting me my job back?
Now indignation drowned out my interest. What an asshole twit!
He locked the door this time, but before he could even turn around, I was on him like a wasp. “You looking for payment for services rendered?” I spat out.
“What? No. What?”
I poked his shirt front. “We should at least wait and see if I actually GET the job back before you crawl between my legs.”
He took a couple steps away. “I just wanted to get away from anyone who might gossip. We’re not here to —”
“Really? You didn’t come here to finish what we started?” Everything in me was at war, reality not quite meshing with the accusations in my head. He was acting so confused. I would have expected something more cocky.
“Why are you meeting with Duffrey?” he asked.
“You tell me. They said they needed me to enroll in some program.” The woman had told Corabelle they wanted me to get certified, paid for by the hospital. I wasn’t sure what all it entailed.
Darion straightened his stethoscope. “So, you’re not gone?”
“Shouldn’t you be telling me that?” I was so confused. Was he part of this or not?
When he came at me this time, I was sure it was going to be one of those kisses you see on movies, the slanting-mouths crush-you kind.
But when he got to me, he just pulled me into him, my head on his chest. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “I didn’t even know how to find you.”
His heart was hammering ninety to nothing. I had no idea why. We had a moment in the surgical suite. That was it.
Or maybe it was the girl.
I pulled away. “Is Cynthia okay?”
His eyes wouldn’t leave mine. “She ran away. Hid in your art room until I promised I would find you.” He grabbed my hand like he would drag me out. “Let’s go see her now.”
I resisted. “Hey, wait. Let’s be sure what’s happening first.”
He ran his hand through his hair in agitation. “I don’t care about that. I’ll hire you myself. I just need you near her.”
“Near Cynthia?” I might have hated him two minutes ago, but the idea that he only wanted me for his patient was a bit of a blow.
He watched me for a really long moment. There wasn’t a lot of light in here, just a bit coming in from the high transom windows near the ceiling. Bu
t I could see him, his hair all askew, his eyes on me like I was something he’d found after a desperate search.
I didn’t think anyone had ever looked at me quite like that before.
His voice shook a little when he said, “Maybe I should tell you something.”
Chapter 16: Darion
I had to tell her, didn’t I? That Cynthia was my sister. That the mother in the song Cynthia sang belonged to both of us. That her father — my father — wouldn’t claim her. That she was the only thing in this godforsaken world that I cared about.
Tina’s hair was bright yellow in that darkened room, like a goddess, like an angel. She was a mess, no doubt, quick to anger, sparking like a fuse. But beautiful. Mesmerizing.
I hadn’t entirely lied to my father yesterday. I really could see her inside all my possibilities. I wanted to take her places, be with her.
Maybe it was too soon to trust her. I had to know her more.
But I wouldn’t let her get away again.
Instead of talking to her and revealing my secret, I gave in to my second most pressing urge, and kissed her again.
This collision was more intense than the first. I needed her, had to keep her close. For Cynthia, I told myself, refusing to admit anything else.
She seemed reserved this time. I didn’t care. I had her back, and I wasn’t going to let her go without knowing I had definitely started something. I wanted her to think about it. To consider me. To feel enough that she would at least let me know who she was, how to get in touch with her.
My hands didn’t appreciate the rough sturdy jacket she wore and slid beneath it. The silky camisole I found there was much better, cool and slippery, hugging her ribs.
A bra today, disappointing, but still, I didn’t want to stop. Her mouth softened as I caressed her. She began to relent. My fingers pulled the shirt from the waist of her skirt. Then I was back to skin, warm and smooth, her belly, the definition of the base of her rib cage. Then up to the band of her bra.
My thumb crossed the thin satin cup and was rewarded with the tautness of a nipple. I became obsessed with the idea of it in my mouth. I unfastened the button holding her suit jacket closed and pushed it off her shoulders.
Just a thin spaghetti strap held the camisole in place. My lips left hers to trail across her jaw, down her neck, and to her shoulder.
She smelled like a dream, gently floral. I let go of thoughts of my schedule, the bustle outside the doors, and the patients in their rooms as I pushed aside the two straps to expose her skin.
Her breathing came fast, and her hands on my shoulders gripped me tightly as I made my way along her collarbone. I was determined to get to my destination. The door was locked.
The slippery top slid down her front like a waterfall once the strap was down. Her bra needed a gentle tug. But then I had it, my mouth closing over the tender breast. She arched against me, clutching me now, a small mewling sound escaping her throat.
I didn’t want to be anywhere but there, her body curved into mine, intimate parts of her exposed to me. The need grew fierce, expanding from desire to a gnawing ache.
Tina’s hands moved, pushing at my lab coat, running up over my chest. I had her now. She’d engaged.
I wanted to see her and pulled back. Her shoulder glowed pale in the light from the transoms overhead. The small pert breast glistened, the nipple puckered tight. I leaned into it again, savoring the texture and taste, letting my tongue encircle the areola. I’d let this part of my life languish too long, deep in the fight for Cynthia’s health, transferring hospitals, getting us moved and settled in a new city. I had no time for it.
Tina stilled, her head falling to my neck. She breathed against me, her torso shifting beneath my hands and mouth. The intensity dropped a notch. I lifted my head.
“The meeting,” she said softly. “I have that meeting.”
I straightened. Of course. God, I hadn’t meant for this. Or maybe I had. I tugged her bra and camisole back into place.
She sighed as she stepped back and pulled the jacket onto her shoulders, looking anywhere but at me.
“Will you come see Cynthia after?” I asked.
This was the wrong thing, I knew it as soon as I said it. Her face got a pinched expression. “Is that what this is about? You sure are willing to go to extremes for a patient.”
“No, no, I mean...Shit.” I straightened my lab coat. “I’m sorry. I meant to say me. Can I see you after? Can we meet somewhere? Lunch? Dinner?”
She turned her eyes to me. I couldn’t see their color in the low light, but I knew they were gray, like mine, like my mother’s. “I don’t know. This seems like a bad idea.”
I took her hands. “It’s not. No. Just let me have a little time.”
“I can take care of my own problems. I can get my own jobs.”
I wasn’t sure why she said that. I wasn’t solving anything. But I said, “Everybody needs somebody.”
Saying it made me feel like a hypocrite. I refused to rely on anybody myself. I wouldn’t even let anyone else take care of my sister. Nobody cared more about what happened to her than me.
Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. “People will let you down.” She glanced up at me, and her expression was so haunted that my chest tightened. “Definitely lovers.”
“I won’t,” I answered quickly. Too quickly. What did I know?
Tina took a step back. “I don’t need anyone. I don’t want to need anybody. So, I won’t.”
She seemed so lost. Like she had nowhere to be. No one to protect her, take her side.
But maybe that’s not what she wanted. Some people liked to be lost. Tina was extraordinary. Probably I seemed like too straight an arrow. Too dull.
“Just one dinner,” I said. “I’ll try not to be boring. I won’t talk about blood toxicity OR bone density.”
This got her to crack a small smile. “But I might like talking about blood and bone.”
I pulled her to me again, not to kiss, just to hold. “I want to know how it goes with Duffrey. Will you talk to me later?”
She wouldn’t answer. God, she wouldn’t relent even that much. She let me hold on to her a moment more, then stepped away again.
I released her and tugged out my phone. “Let me send you a text so you know how to reach me. I promise to let you make the next move. If it’s just for Cynthia, I will live with that.”
Tina told me her number, her voice heavy with reluctance, then headed for the door. She fussed a moment with the lock and was gone.
My phone screen gradually grew dim as I stared at it.
I tried to think of what to say to Tina in that first important message. She was so upset. I had to convey what I felt. I wanted her to know where I was coming from.
I respected that she was tough. But I didn’t agree with her. People need other people. You can’t go through life alone.
I tapped the phone awake and typed one simple sentence, with almost no hope that it would work, that she would allow it:
Let me shelter you.
Chapter 17: Tina
I forced the doctor from my mind as I hurried through the hospital to meet with the director.
The admin offices were housed in a maze of halls and connecting rooms tucked away behind the information desk at the main entrance of the hospital.
I felt my anxiety rising and convinced myself that this was nothing. So what if my temporary art job landed me a meeting with the top dog at St. Anthony’s?
So what if my old boss, Sabrina, had been too frightened to even say his name, like he was Voldemort?
He was just a man. And this was just a job.
My hands shook anyway.
Duffrey’s secretary looked harried and distracted. “Who are you?” she asked, scrolling her mouse to search through his appointments.
“Tina Schwartz. The art therapist.”
“We have an art therapist?” She stuck a pencil behind her ear. She was in her late sixties, with a puffed-up hairdo o
f brushed-out curls that looked like a Halloween wig. She probably bought the same bottles of Aqua Net that had sustained her in the 1970s.
I was always snarky when I was nervous.
“Sit over there,” she said. “He’ll be with you in a moment.”
I perched on a narrow hard-backed chair you might have expected in a boarding school for criminal boys. It was punishment just to sit on it. I sat and stewed, adjusting every few seconds as the wooden seat crunched my butt bone.
My phone buzzed with a message, but I refused to look at it. I didn’t need the distraction of Dr. Darion right now. Or whoever it might be. Corabelle or Jenny. I wanted to focus. And Duffrey probably wouldn’t be too pleased if his first impression was me staring at my cell phone like a social-media addict.
I tried to picture this guy everyone seemed so afraid of. Even Dr. Darion had been incredulous that I was meeting him. I imagined him as a cross between Mr. Burns on The Simpsons and some dictator. Stalin, maybe.
Half an hour passed, and my back started killing me. There was no way to get comfortable on this chair. This had to be some sort of intimidation tactic. Now when I visualized Duffrey, I saw Satan.
By the time Ms. Aqua Net told me, “The director will see you now,” I was ready to rumble.
She didn’t bother to get up, so I painfully stood and headed to what I assumed was his door, since it was the only one. I guessed he couldn’t be bothered to escort me inside either.
Inside was an opulent room lined with bookshelves neatly filled with medical tomes. An enormous gleaming desk sat in front of a window that let in filtered light through parchment blinds.
Near the entrance were a sofa, coffee table, and two chairs.
Nobody was in the room.
Another door led off to one side. I assumed this must be a private bathroom, the sort you see in movies showing executive offices. They always had little bathrooms. And the men would come out and seem surprised that you were there.
Viewing the situation cinematically helped calm my nerves. I was the upstart young employee, making waves. Duffrey was the pompous jerk boss who would get what was coming to him before the credits rolled.
