The Puzzle Master

by Heather Spiva

  She cleared her throat. “I have juvenile myelomonocytic leukemia.”

  Marshall didn’t say anything for a long time.

  “You have cancer?” he asked, hearing the word leukemia and thinking the worst.

  “I did, do, or whatever. It’s easier to call it JMML. Lots of kids get it,” she said counting the stitches in her hemmed shorts. “And I’ve had treatments you know, drugs, chemotherapy; several bone marrow transplants. I’m getting better.”

  “Then, how do you feel?” he asked. “Are you in pain right now?”

  “No, I’m fine. Most kids are young when they get this one,” she said. “Like under four years old. I was nine when it began.”

  Marshall nodded in silent astonishment.

  “Guess I’m just lucky—I get to be an even rarer case,” she smirked. Marshall wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. He said nothing and nodded again.

  “Marshall, please, don’t treat me like that. I’m doing okay.” She turned her head to the side and put a hand on her face. “Bone marrow transplants are hard; it takes a lot out of one. But treatment to get better over any sickness is difficult. I’m normal; a normal kid and everyone who hears about me and my cancer treats me that way—different, you know, like I’m weak, or dying. But, I’m not dead. I’m doing fine, things are getting better.”

  Marshall nodded. “No, I know. I believe you. I just … it explains a lot of things. Like why you’re so thin. And why you have such short hair.” He smiled after he said that and she laughed at him.

  “You should’ve seen me when I didn’t have hair. Wow. My head was shinier than a waxed watermelon.” They both laughed at the imagery and the air conditioning unit shut off. It was quiet and it hurt his ears.

  The truth of her situation was worse when the sound was gone.

  “Is that why you’re here in Sacramento?” he asked, rubbing his hand along the wooden floor.

  “No, my aunt really is sick. My parents are dead, and my uncle really has to take care of me. I go back to the Bay Area for treatments in a few months.”

  She had an odd life and so very different it was from his own. Yet, he felt so connected to her, somehow. Marshall suddenly felt like he had to get out of his room. He felt hot again and couldn’t breathe. Not the tickly, stifling kind, but the kind where one can’t breathe because their brain is overloaded with bad data.

  “Hey, you want to go out back with me? I can show you our vegetable garden, since I’m the one who single-handedly weeded it just a few weeks ago.” He just wanted to get outside.

  They walked onto the patio and a delta breeze, the wind carried off the bay of San Francisco and flowing to the valley, met them with a ruffle to their hair.

  “Ah, finally,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Maybe we can actually sleep with the windows open tonight.” He felt better. The wind was right; outside was right. He and she were both alright.

  He pointed out the tomatoes and squash, and basil and thyme, and other vegetables and fruits growing alongside them. Mrs. Kelso was out watering her grass. Marshall could hear the water moving about, hitting trees that came between the water’s pathway.

  “So, we’re both sick, aren’t we,” Marshall said, once they sat down on the swinging bench. They were underneath a giant sycamore tree. Missy walked along their adjoining fence wall, her tail up and flitting back and forth. The water had stopped flowing from next door as soon as they started talking. Mrs. Kelso was listening.

  Marshall knew she couldn’t hear them though. They were practically whispering.

  “I suppose so. But, you’re not going to die of your problem. Like I said, hydrochloric acid.” And she smiled.

  “Yeah, well, guess you have a right to be reading those medical journals.”

  She kicked her feet out from under her, and they moved back and forth, rhythmically and smooth, like a wave on the sea. “I want to be a doctor when I grow up,” she said. “When I’m better, it’s going to be my focus to solve all the juvenile cancer; to solve all the cancers in the world.”

  “I bet you could do it. You’ll solve like a hundred cancers and win the Nobel Prize. I can just see it, ‘And this year’s Nobel Prize for Humanitarian effort and Scientific discoveries,” Marshall said with a low voice, ‘Goes to Iris Nuevo.’” He took of a leaf from the tree and rolled it up, presenting it to her with a bow.”

  She was laughing so much now, that she clutched her stomach in pain. Her eyes scrunched up when she laughed, so that you could only see brown specs glinting back at you like the backs of beetles. Marshall laughed too and they kicked the swing into movement, rocking back and forth.

  When the laughing died down, they were quiet. Mrs. Kelso had gone back inside. She’d given up trying hear them.

  “No one has to know, Iris,” he said when the breeze picked up again, and carried their voices back to them.

  “I know,” she looked at him. “It’s why I knew I could tell you. You understand me. You have asthma; you know what it’s like to be,” she paused trying to find the right word, “restricted, in just about everything you do.”

  Someone was barbequing steaks, and the smell wafted over to them.

  “Mmmm, that smells good.” Iris closed her eyes.

  “Hey, we haven’t eaten yet. I just realized that.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I don’t eat a lot. When I was on chemo and through the bone marrow transplant stuff, nothing sounded good. Sometimes even today, nothing sounds good. Nothing but ice cream.”

  Marshall nodded. “Now there’s a diet. I love ice cream too. Say,” and he jumped up, “We have ice cream inside. Let’s go get some.”

  “For dinner?

  “Yes silly, for dinner. You just said you liked ice cream and we haven’t had dinner.”

  “Okay,” she said throwing up her hands. They went in just as Mason was getting home from football practice. He stunk worse than the egg salad.

  “Mason, ugh,” said Marshall plugging up his nose. “I have company—go take a shower.”

  “Okay, okay, Gee.” Mason smiled at Iris. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Iris, this is my smelly brother Mason. Mason, Iris… she’s Luke’s niece.”

  “Nice to meet you,” and they shook hands. “ So you’re like the neice of Luke’s Junk Luke?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “Yes, for Pete’s sake, yes. Now go,” said Marshall shoving Mason toward the bathroom. Get out of here, before you smell up the entire kitchen.”

  Marshall stuck his head in the freezer. “Whew, smells way better in here. Sorry about him, he’s just gross. Okay, we have mint chip or rocky road.”

  She chose rocky road and he chose the same. He spooned out about three scoops for each other them and handed a bowl to her. “Let’s go out back before the whole house is filled up with everyone. Once Leila’s home, we won’t get to talk in peace ever again.”

  They ate their ice cream in silence. Crickets chirped, talking for them—filling up the silence. The breeze was even better now, and the ice cream felt good inside their hot bodies.

  “This is probably the best dinner I’ve had in ages,” she said, taking a huge bite and stuffing it into her mouth.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  They finished eating, and talked about school, and the stupid club the three amigos created. Iris said she thought she heard Michael say he might want to allow girls this year. Marshall was about to laugh and say that Michael was just trying to get the girls, when the phone rang. Mason came to the door to tell them Luke was coming by to pick Iris up.

  She grabbed her backpack and they walked to the front of the house. The driveway and asphalt road were still hot from the sun, so that the front was much warmer than the back and hot like an oven.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said. “You think we should start on the big one?”

  Marshall scratched his chin. “Nah, lets finish the little ones. And I’ll bring that glue so we can stick them up on the wall.”


  Her eyes widened in excitement.

  “Then we’ll start the big one,” he said. “I figure, if we do one puzzle every two days, we can start on the big one the Monday after next. We just have to win that bet. That fishing pole has my name on it.”

  Iris agreed. “I know we can do it,” she said with a smile. “Thanks for having me over.”

  Luke’s beat up Lincoln chugged up to the front of the house. The windows were down, and they could smell the cigarette smoke from the front porch.

  “Sure. See you soon.”

  She smiled again. “Yes, tomorrow,” she said, running down the sidewalk. “I’ll be there around four.”

  “Okay!” He was so excited he felt like jumping out of his shoes.

  “And thanks for dinner!” she yelled back.

  He waved. Iris was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  Chapter 6: Devil’s Hill

  Saturday morning began with every intention to do just as he should. Marshall was going over to Luke’s later and if he didn’t want that taken away from him too, he’d have to do a lot. Like read his mother’s body language, do what his father wanted him to do before he asked (even if that meant mowing the lawn for free) let Leila whine and tell on him if she pleased, and clean up Mason’s side of the room—bed and all. He had to, or be banned from fun.

  He’d had trouble falling asleep last night, which didn’t help when Leila whined to help her with her cereal. His head was in a fog. All he could think about was that Iris had cancer—or used to. Even when she sloshed her cereal across the kitchen table, and it ended up all over his lap, Marshall didn’t yell. He just got up and went to the sink to grab the dishrag.

  Mason was at the table too, but Marshall hadn’t noticed.

  He had a mouth full of cereal and stopped chewing after watching his brother do whatever he needed to do without talking back, or telling Leila to be quiet. “What’s gotten into you Marsh?”

  “Huh?” Marshall went to the table to clean up the milk. Mom and dad were still in bed, trying to sleep in. But the cartoons were blaring a bit loud. Just the way Leila liked them.

  “Why are you so, I don’t know, not here?” Mason returned to chewing, and began slurping the milk out of his bowl.

  “I’m here,” he lied and finished wiping up the mess. “I just didn’t sleep well, is all. Why do you care?”

  “I didn’t hear you breathing funny or coughing. What, is that Iris girl keeping you awake?” Mason raised his eyebrows. “She sure is pretty.”

  “You shut up about her,” Marshall hissed. “She’s my friend.”

  Mason smirked and looked back into his bowl. “Sure, Marsh, whatever you say.”

  “Ooh, you’re not supposed to say that word,” Leila interjected. “I’m telling on Mom that you said shut up.” She skipped out of the kitchen, sing-songing her tattle.

  Marshall sighed and took the milk soaked rag back to the sink to rinse it out. If he didn’t, it would stink up the kitchen, and he’d be to blame. He had to think of everything, absolutely everything. There had to be nothing they could question; nothing they could blame on him. He had to get to Luke’s at four. The big one waiting there in a pile was weighing heavy on him. They had to get started so he could get his big prize, to win the bet. It would mean he could join Michael’s group. That is, if they thought an old fishing pole was cool. They probably would, just knowing how much it was worth and not because they liked antiques.

  But as he put his cereal bowl in the sink, he was beginning to wonder if he even wanted to be in their stupid club anymore.

  ***

  That afternoon, other than going to Luke’s, he was running out of ideas to keep himself busy. He thought about swimming, but his neighbor Jerry had the flu, and he probably didn’t feel like swimming. It would’ve been nice to get a last summer swim in before autumn set in. And Jerry was just a few houses down. Maybe he was better?

  Marshall went out to the garage and grabbed his bike. He rode over to Jerry’s house and rang the bell but no one answered. He figured as much. The flu was terrible, like a hundred bad things happening to you at once. It made you wish you didn’t have to feel anything; no pain, no feeling, nothing.

  He headed home and saw one of the Williams’ twins riding around on his bike too.

  “Hey Marsh.” It was Brewster. Marshall could always tell it was him, because he said hi to him first. Benton never did. Brewster was genuinely happy to see him where as Benton seemed to have his own agenda; people he wanted to know, the things he wanted to do. They were identical, but their attitudes were night and day. The worst part of it all was that they were both above par at riding their bikes. They beat him every time.

  “Hi Brewster.” They both stopped their bikes in the middle of the street. The sun was low in the morning sky, and the air had a crisp touch to it. But the heat was still there, and they knew they were in for another scorcher. Marshall just couldn’t wait for summer to end.

  “What’re you doing?” asked Brewster who lounged on his bike like he was born on it. It was like another arm or leg for him to use.

  “Ah, I don’t know. Was going to see if Jerry was home.”

  “Nah, he’s sick. Been in bed all week. Bad luck with it being the first week of school.”

  Marshall nodded and saw Benton riding toward them.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We were going to go up to Devil’s Hill and try it out since they just repaved it.”

  “Devil’s Hill has been repaved?” Marshall asked, his jaw dropping in response. “You guys are crazy.”

  “But just think how fast we can go down it now. There’s not much traffic this time of day either.”

  Benton rode up, hearing the tail end of their conversation. “Bet we could go three wide,” he said with a sneer. “And I bet I would win too.”

  “Guys, that hill is nuts. I don’t need to remind you how much road rash we’ve gotten over the years with that thing.”

  “Exactly why we need to try it out now,” said Brewster. “It’s got to be a piece of cake now; it’s so smooth.”

  Marshall shook his head no. “I don’t know. Mom’s pretty much forbidden me to go down it anymore, after Mason nearly took off his arm.” He looked at them both. They appeared to love the words ‘no’. It was a new challenge to overcome.

  Marshall continued. “You know, when he ran into that tree down at the bottom of it … that huge oak?”

  Benton grinned wickedly. “You saying you can’t do it, or won’t do it? ‘Cause plenty of people would love to know you were too chicken to go down it.”

  Brewster shoved his brother. “Cut it out, Benton. If Marsh doesn’t want to, he doesn’t …”

  “No,” said Marshall, thinking about Michael’s chiding, knowing if he heard about Marshall’s lack of guts he’d ban him from the group on a technicality. “I’ll do it.” He automatically patted the side of his pocket, waiting to feel the stiff plastic and metal of his inhaler.

  But it wasn’t there. He’d forgotten it on his nightstand at home.

  “What’s the matter? You look sick Marsh,” Benton said egging him on.

  “Cut it out, will you,” said Brewster, shoving his brother again.

  Marshall had to go through with it. Without the inhaler. This was a perfect opportunity for him to practice his breathing technique, and to do what Iris had mentioned. It was crazy! But he had to. Benton could easily tell the story to Michael. He didn’t need any more harassment, especially from him. People had already forgotten he was asthmatic.

  It needed to stay that way.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Marshall led them and took off toward the far end of their neighborhood, where the steep climb nearly took all the breath out of him.

  Brewster was by his side the whole way. “You don’t have to do this you know,” he hissed at him.

  “Yes I do,” Marshall hissed back, coughing in between breaths and dying to let his lungs take a breather.

  “B
ut your asthma, this could really hurt you.”

  “No, I’m fine,” he lied again. What an awful lie. He really could get hurt, he could die actually. Iris was wrong. He could just as easily die from his asthma as she could from cancer. Wouldn’t that be great?

  But he couldn’t think about that. He had to control his breathing, he had to think about Iris, her words, her wisdom and believe that he could get better. “I’ve got my inhaler.”

  Sure, he thought, back at home on my side table.

  After five grueling minutes up the hill, they made it to the top. Even the Brewster twins were out of breath and that put Marshall at ease. The new road was black and smooth, just like a giant vat of dark chocolate had been poured down it. Marshall hadn’t noticed the smoothness of it on the way up. His lungs had kept him busy. But now that he could look at it without needing to gag, it was beautiful. It was a piece of art.

  “Okay,” said Benton after he caught his breath, and the last set of cars went by. It was quiet, no one but a lady walking her dog was around, and she hadn’t even noticed them. “You sure you want to do this?”

  Marshall swallowed hard, trying to control his breathing. His lungs were burning, and his cough was almost uncontrollable. But he had too. He had to control it, or he wouldn’t be able to ride; he’d be the clown of the school.

  He thought about his time with Iris, out in the back yard, swinging underneath the tree. The cool breeze, her laughter filtering up through the tree like bubbles. And suddenly, the tickle in his throat backed down; his lungs didn’t feel quite so tight. He looked at the brothers. They were watching him think.

  “Okay,” said Marshall. “I’m ready.”

  The three of them rode out to the start of the hill, in the middle of the intersection.

  “Ready,” said Benton, “Set,” and they looked at each other.

  “I’ll see you at the bottom,” growled Marshall.

  “Go!”

  The boys took off down Devil’s Hill like birds dive-bombing their predators. The road was smooth; every bump they used to have to deal with was gone. It was like ice-skating; almost tranquil. It felt like they could go a thousand miles an hour and still not feel a bump or groove.