by Peg Kehret
“How long will she have to stay?” Willow asked.
“We don’t know. You can visit her this afternoon.” Mrs. Paige spoke slowly, as if it were an effort to form the words. Her voice sounded raspy, like a bad long-distance telephone connection. “At least we have insurance that covers all of this,” she said. “And we live near a fine cancer hospital. Some people have to travel hundreds of miles to get expert care like Sarah’s getting.”
Willow realized her mother was trying not to cry. Probably it was easier for her to talk about the insurance and the hospital than about Sarah.
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, Willow rode her bike to the hospital, as she had done so many times the year before, and signed in at the visitors’ station. Sarah was in the Intensive Care Unit.
Willow tried not to look at the patients she passed on her way to Sarah’s room, but it was impossible not to hear when a loud moan echoed down the hall. An older couple in drab outdated clothing stood at the nurses’ station; the woman clutched the man’s sleeve, crying silently.
“Sarah?” Willow whispered, unsure whether Sarah was asleep or awake.
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open.
“I have to talk fast,” Willow said. “I only get to stay fifteen minutes.”
Sarah blinked but said nothing. Willow swallowed. She hated trying to carry on a normal conversation when nothing about the situation was normal. Nothing.
“I saw Pete Wellington this morning,” she said.
Pete Wellington was in Sarah’s grade and Sarah had secretly had a crush on him ever since Willow could remember. On her way to the hospital, Willow had made a special trip to Burger King, where Pete worked, so she could report to Sarah.
“He said to tell you he says ‘hi.’”
In truth, Pete had acted like he didn’t know who Willow was. When Willow said, “I’ll tell her ‘hi’ from you, if you want me to,” Pete had mumbled, “Huh? Oh. OK.”
But Willow was not going to tell Sarah that. Sarah needed something cheerful, not something depressing. “I think he likes you, Sarah,” she said. “I’ll bet anything he asks you to go to the Homecoming Dance with him this fall.”
Willow watched Sarah’s expression carefully. If that didn’t get a reaction, her sister was really sick. Sarah’s lips curved slightly and Willow continued, in a rush. “If Pete does ask you to the dance, let’s experiment with your hair. Maybe you could wear it pulled back, with one of those big, flat bows. Or swept to one side. Something sophisticated. Something that will make you irresistible.”
Before she got sick, Sarah’s hair was her best feature. It was thick and shiny, cascading to her shoulders in natural waves. She never had to get a perm or do anything to it except shampoo and brush it. Last year, while she was having the chemotherapy, Sarah’s hair fell out and she had to wear a wig. It was a nice wig but Sarah hated it and Willow didn’t blame her.
When Sarah was in remission, her hair grew back. It wasn’t shoulder length but it was as thick and wavy as ever.
Willow stopped talking when she saw tears in Sarah’s eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I have to have more chemotherapy,” Sarah said.
That’s all she said but Willow knew what she was thinking. More chemotherapy could mean only one thing. The remission was over. The leukemia was back.
Willow remembered how sick the chemotherapy treatments had made Sarah. How could she endure the nausea again? And her hair—what if all her hair fell out again? How could she stand it?
“Oh, Sarah Peony,” Willow said, instinctively using the old nickname. “I’m sorry.”
Both Sarah and Willow loved flowers. One summer when they were small, the girls each chose a favorite flower and announced that they were changing their middle names.
“My name is Willow Sweet Pea,” Willow had declared.
“And I am Sarah Peony,” Sarah said.
For a few weeks, they refused to answer anyone who failed to call them Willow Sweet Pea and Sarah Peony.
Then one day, Sarah Peony burst into tears when she discovered that her beloved peonies were done blooming for that year, while the sweet peas would produce flowers all summer. She continued to sob, even when Grandma told her that peonies are perennials.
“They come up year after year,” Grandma said. “They die back in the fall but every spring, they grow again, green and sturdy, and produce beautiful blossoms. Sweet peas must be seeded again each year but peonies renew themselves.”
Sarah refused to be comforted.
After that, the girls were Willow and Sarah again but occasionally one of the old flower names popped out, a reminder of more carefree times.
Willow reached for Sarah’s hand and pressed it.
“You’ll get through it,” Willow said. “You did before. Maybe it isn’t as bad the second time. And maybe the next remission will last longer. Like about fifty years.”
Sarah didn’t smile at the feeble joke. She just looked at Willow and, for the first time since Sarah got sick, Willow saw defeat on her sister’s face.
Mrs. Paige asked for a leave of absence from work. She spent all day at the hospital and Mr. Paige went directly there after work. They ate dinner in the hospital cafeteria.
When Willow joined them, she felt invisible. The whole meal went by and no one asked what Willow had done that day.
The next day she fixed her own dinner at home: a peanut butter and banana sandwich. She knew how to cook spaghetti and tuna casserole and she baked great blueberry muffins but all of those seemed like too much trouble, just for herself.
With Sarah away, the house felt empty. There was no one to talk to or watch TV with. Willow wouldn’t mind getting Sarah a drink or helping Sarah into the bathtub. She wouldn’t mind at all.
She dusted Sarah’s room and put a red ribbon on Herbert, Sarah’s stuffed toy buffalo. Finally she took Muttsie out in the backyard.
It was a warm night and the new neighbor, Mrs. Clauson, had her windows open. Willow didn’t mean to eavesdrop; she couldn’t avoid hearing Mrs. Clauson’s voice over the fence.
Mrs. Clauson had moved in two weeks earlier. She was a plump, gray-haired woman who boarded pets, to bring in a little extra money. “It supplements my Social Security,” she explained, when the Paiges went over to welcome her to the neighborhood. “And I enjoy the animals.”
That day, her voice had been warm and bubbly. Willow had fancied that Mrs. Clauson was Santa Claus in disguise. Now, as Willow stood outside with Muttsie, Mrs. Clauson sounded more like the Wicked Witch of the West.
“Is this the party who’s offering a reward for a white poodle?” Pause. “I think I have your dog. Can you describe him?” Another pause. “Yes, that’s him. I found him this morning. One hundred dollars doesn’t seem like very much reward for such a fine dog. I think he is worth two hundred.”
Willow frowned. Once she and her father found a panicky collie running along the highway, its tongue hanging down like an untied shoelace. They stopped, coaxed the dog into their car, and brought it home. When the collie’s owner offered them a reward, Mr. Paige had refused to take it. He said he was glad to help.
But Mrs. Clauson was negotiating for more money before she returned the poodle to its owner. Great, Willow thought. Our kindly, animal-loving neighbor is a greedy hypocrite.
“I’ll meet you in the parking lot of the Broadmoore Shopping Center in an hour,” Mrs. Clauson said. “Bring cash.”
Apparently, the poodle’s owner had agreed to pay the larger reward.
Completely disgusted, Willow took Muttsie back inside. She didn’t want to watch while Mrs. Clauson put the poodle in her car.
5
TOGAS. Maybe the long white gowns were Roman togas.
History was not Willow’s best subject. She never got the history questions right when she played Trivial Pursuit but she did remember pictures of people in togas. If she read about Rome, she might find something to prove that her dream was a memory
, not an overactive imagination. And a trip to the library would take her mind off Sarah.
She found three books with chapters on Roman gods. Jupiter was the main god and Willow recognized the names of Mars and Diana. There was no mention of Amun-Ra.
One book had drawings of people in ancient Rome. Their togas were long and white, but they were different from the gowns in her dream.
Discouraged, she went home. No one was there.
Willow wandered restlessly from room to room. She tried to call Gretchen but there was no answer. She looked in the refrigerator. There was sandwich meat and cheese and lettuce. There was blackberry yogurt and half a jar of spaghetti sauce. Nothing sounded good. It seemed like too much trouble to make a sandwich or cook spaghetti. Instead, she ate an entire package of Oreo cookies and drank two glasses of milk. Then she felt sick to her stomach.
She decided to go for a walk. Maybe some fresh air would make her feel better. As she started down the sidewalk, she saw Mrs. Clauson trying to coax a cocker spaniel from her car. Mrs. Clauson tugged on the leash but the dog refused to budge.
When Mrs. Clauson saw Willow, she smiled and said, “I seem to have a reluctant boarder. I can’t understand it. The last time Jericho stayed with me, he made himself right at home. Now he won’t get out of the car.”
Willow went over to the car and held out her hand for the dog to sniff. “Good Jericho,” she said. “Good dog.”
The cocker spaniel’s tail thumped against the seat of Mrs. Clauson’s car.
“Come, Jericho,” Willow said. “Come here.”
To her surprise, the dog jumped down. When Mrs. Clauson pulled on the leash, Jericho trotted after her toward the house.
“You certainly have a way with dogs,” Mrs. Clauson said. “I may have to make you a partner in my boarding business.”
Willow started to mention the white poodle that Mrs. Clauson had found. Then she realized that she knew about it from overhearing Mrs. Clauson’s conversation. She didn’t want Mrs. Clauson to think she went sneaking around at night, listening at windows, so she didn’t say anything about the poodle.
That night, she was invited to eat dinner and spend the night with Gretchen. Dinner was baked chicken and potato salad and a creamy casserole of peas and onions. Willow had two helpings of everything. While they ate, Gretchen’s little brother, Ryan, told a series of “knock-knock” jokes that he’d learned at camp. Willow and Gretchen moaned and rolled their eyes at the corny jokes.
Later they sat in Gretchen’s room and painted their toenails with Gretchen’s new polish, “Flaming Flamingo.”
“Have you ever thought about what happens to us after we die?” Willow asked.
“If you’ve been saved, your soul goes to Heaven.”
Gretchen went to church twice a week and was sure that what she learned there was true. Willow was never so certain.
“I mean later,” Willow said. “Do you think a human soul could come back to earth again, maybe hundreds of years later, in a different body?”
“You mean reincarnation?”
“Yes.”
“My pastor says talk of reincarnation is The Devil speaking.”
“Why? What would be evil about living more than once? Maybe the second time we’d do better.”
“If you’re in Heaven, living with Jesus, why would you want to come back to earth?”
“I don’t know.”
“Believe me, you would not want to be reincarnated.”
Willow didn’t say anything more. She knew from experience that there was no use arguing with Gretchen when it came to the teachings of Gretchen’s church. Once when Willow told Gretchen that she didn’t believe there was a devil, Gretchen said such talk was only proof that there is a devil and that he was speaking through Willow.
Willow sometimes envied Gretchen her certainty that she had the answers to all of life’s questions. It must be comforting to feel so sure. Still, Willow could not help questioning Gretchen’s beliefs and she decided not to tell Gretchen that she thought she was once a girl named Kalos.
When Willow got to the hospital the next afternoon, Sarah had been transferred out of ICU to a regular ward. She found the new room number and went in.
Her mother was sitting in a chair, doing the crossword puzzle from the morning paper. “I’m glad you’re here,” Mrs. Paige said. “You can stay with Sarah while I go get some lunch.”
Willow stood beside Sarah’s bed. Her sister’s skin had a bluish tinge and there were dark circles under her eyes.
“I hope you are ready to laugh,” Willow said, “because I am here with a brand new comedy routine, straight from Cub Scout Camp.” Corny jokes were better than nothing.
Mrs. Paige gave Willow a grateful look and left the room.
Sarah looked at Willow. She didn’t smile.
“Here we go,” Willow said. “Knock. Knock.”
Sarah closed her eyes.
“Come on, Sarah,” Willow said. “This first one’s pretty funny. Knock. Knock.”
Sarah lay still.
Willow hesitated. Then she repeated, “Knock. Knock,” and in a different, higher voice, said, “Who’s there?” She finished the joke, doing both parts herself. “Police.” “Police who?” “Police get well soon.” She clasped her hands together, as if she were begging. “Pretty police.”
Sarah watched her soberly. She didn’t smile. She didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t respond at all.
Willow took a deep breath. “OK,” she said. “It wasn’t the greatest joke in the world. But it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“I’m going to die,” Sarah said.
Willow’s smile faded.
“They think I don’t know,” Sarah went on. “The doctors and Mom and Dad all pretend that I’m getting better but it isn’t true. I’m dying. I can feel it.”
“How can you be so sure? Did you ask?”
“If I ask, they’ll cover up the truth. They think I can’t handle it. You’re the only one I can be honest with.”
Willow didn’t know what to say. When Sarah was so sick last time, she kept saying she wouldn’t let leukemia beat her, that she would fight until she won. The doctors had said her remission was due at least in part to Sarah’s will to live.
“You can’t give up,” Willow said. “You have to try to get well.”
Sarah closed her eyes again. “It’s no use,” she said. “I’ve already tried. It didn’t work.”
“Maybe this time will be different. The remission might last longer. If you can fight it long enough, someone will discover a cure.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m too tired,” she said. “I don’t want to fight it any longer.” A tear trickled down her cheek.
Willow bit her lip and struggled to hold back her tears. She felt helpless. What could she say? What could she do for her sister?
As she stood by Sarah’s bed, she remembered her own panic, when she thought she was drowning. And she remembered how the love of her grandmother, and of Tiy, had filled her with peace.
She reached out and took Sarah’s hand in hers. She didn’t say anything; she just squeezed Sarah’s hand. When Sarah opened her eyes, Willow smiled at her. The feelings of love that went through her hand and into Sarah were electrical. She felt them in her fingertips and she was sure Sarah felt them, too.
For the first time that day, Sarah smiled. Willow squeezed Sarah’s hand and Sarah squeezed back. Then Sarah closed her eyes and, still smiling, fell asleep.
After she left the hospital, Willow stopped at the Post Office, as she did every afternoon, and checked to see if there was a letter for her in the P.O. box. There was none.
As the days went by, the chance that she would find the girl with the braid grew slim. Willow thought about her less often. The memories of Kalos came less frequently, too.
Willow wondered what the girl with the braid would say if she knew what Willow wanted. Would she think Willow was crazy to talk about being sisters in another lifetime? Would the
girl be like Gretchen and think the whole idea was sinful?
When Willow thought about reincarnation, she found the idea comforting. If she had lived before, it was logical to think she would live again; she would have another life after this one.
And if she would live again, so would Sarah. No matter what happened in Sarah’s battle against leukemia, this lifetime would not be the end for her.
She wondered if she should tell Sarah what had happened. Tell her about the vision when Willow was drowning, and about the dream. She could tell Sarah how she saw Grandma and Grandpa waiting for her. Maybe it would help Sarah to know that even if she died, it wasn’t the end of everything. Maybe she really would get to see Grandma and Grandpa again. Who knows? Maybe Willow and Sarah would be sisters again sometime.
Or was she indulging in wishful thinking? Maybe this whole business about another life had happened because her subconscious mind was worried about Sarah. Because she was thinking about Sarah so much and about what would happen if Sarah died, perhaps her mind had conjured up this image of a past life, as a way to soothe Willow’s fears.
After all, she had no evidence of any past life. There was no tape recording of herself speaking as Kalos. She had never talked to one of the psychics who claimed to lead people into past-life regressions.
Her belief that she lived before was based solely on the vision that flashed before her eyes when she was drowning, and the dream which came that same night. Flimsy evidence, her father would say.
And yet, Willow knew that feelings were sometimes more important than facts. She had learned long ago to trust her instincts, to judge people by how she felt about them rather than by what facts she knew about them.
On the other hand, she didn’t want to mislead Sarah or to sound like Gretchen’s mother. Once when Mrs. Bremmer came to pick up Gretchen from Willow’s house, she told Sarah, “Trust God’s will, my dear. If He takes you soon, it means you’re going to be with Jesus for all eternity.”
“We hope to have Sarah stay here with us a while longer,” Mrs. Paige said.
“But it might not be God’s will,” Mrs. Bremmer said. “God loves us and He decides everything that should happen to us.”
