Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  Until what? Ally gets better? Or dies?

  I shake my head, unable to finish my sentence, and I focus on my plate. I finish before either of my parents, and I take Ally’s plate off the counter to go see if she’ll eat anything for me.

  When I get to her room, I pause to make sure she isn’t sleeping. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell.

  She is in Stage IV, which means her original tumor has spread from her thigh to her abdomen through her lymph nodes. At one point, she was seeing a holistic healer, who taught her mind healing. Most times, when she’s just lying in bed, not sleeping, she’s really mentally visualizing herself stripping the cancer away from her lymph nodes and stopping any new tumors. The mind-over-matter technique isn’t working, but old habits die hard. I cringe at the expression die hard.

  I can’t tell if she’s awake or not, so I turn to leave.

  “Aubrey?”

  I swing back around. “Hey, Ally. Are you hungry?” I try to seem excited about the organic mush I’m offering her.

  She crinkles her nose and shakes her head.

  “Ally, you have to eat something.” I feel strange lecturing her, remembering all the times she babysat me and fought my picky-eating habits.

  Seeing my expression, she relents and nods, but not before she rolls her eyes for good measure.

  She could probably feed herself, but her latest tumor is sitting on the bicep of her right arm. It presses uncomfortably if she lifts her arm a lot. For a while, she tried using her left hand, but she ended up wearing her food on more than one occasion. Now, she just lets my mom or me feed her.

  She stops me after two bites, sucking her lips into her mouth. I set down the plate and grab a burp tray. She breathes slowly in and out of her nose until her nausea passes. She refuses any more food.

  I put the burp tray away and sit down next to her, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers are clammy and swollen.

  I’ve held her hand so many times over her illness. When Ally was first diagnosed, her doctors removed the tumor in her leg. That, along with radiation and chemotherapy, was supposed to cure her. When I hold her hand these days, swollen is the new normal. I’ll take swollen forever, as long as it means she’s still here.

  My mom convinced her to move in while she was on chemo. I stayed home to help when Ally was sick from the chemo. What I remember the most from those days is how focused she was on making sure my mom and I were okay.

  She didn’t even blink an eye when her hair started falling out. It was my mom’s idea for us to all shave our heads. It was that night we started the When I Get Better board. It’s a corkboard with pictures of all the places Ally was going to visit when she got better. I glance up at it, still hanging above the dresser. Ally’s eyes follow mine, and I cringe, wishing I hadn’t even looked at it. Her eyes stay on the board, moving from picture to picture. I clear my throat, hoping to distract her. It doesn’t work. Her eyes are transfixed. I give her hand a squeeze and stand, taking her plate with me as I leave her room.

  I carry her plate downstairs to the kitchen. My dad is eating a bowl of ice cream at the kitchen table.

  “How much did she eat?”

  I tilt the plate toward him, and he frowns. I rinse it before putting it in the dishwasher, and then I go to sit next to him. I lean my head on his shoulder. He sets his spoon down and pats my cheek.

  “Are you all right, Aubrey?”

  I sniffle and shake my head. He puts his arm around me, and I cry. He rests his chin on top of my head and rubs my back until I’m done. When I pull back, he passes me a napkin to dry my eyes and wipe my nose.

  “What brought this on, love?”

  I take a shaky breath. “The Better board. She was looking at the Better board.”

  “Ah, that explains it.”

  “She’ll never get to go to any of those places, Dad. We should just take the board down. It’s not fair for her to have to look at it.”

  “We don’t know that,” he lies. “This new medication might…I don’t know, Aubrey. I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t want her to die, Dad. I just don’t want her to die.” I lean back into him.

  He smells like Old Spice and peppermint. He rubs my back and kisses the side of my head, telling me over and over that it will be all right.

  My dad is getting good at lying. My tears stop before I think it’s possible. Now, I feel tired.

  When I sit back up, I see my dad’s neglected bowl of ice cream, and I feel guilty for interrupting him. With everything going on, it’s like I’ve taken a moment of oblivion away from him.

  I stand, apologizing. He tries to tell me not to go, but I continue, fleeing back up the stairs and to my room.

  I have to pass her room on the way to mine. I walk quickly. I don’t want to look inside her doorway. I do anyway, catching a glimpse of my mom sitting with her. Their hands are clasped together, and my mother is leaning in, almost nose-to-nose with her.

  I exhale once I’m in my room. All I want to do is sleep. My breakdown in the kitchen zapped whatever energy my afternoon nap had given me. I change into an old T-shirt and some shorts. I collapse onto my bed and will sleep to take me. It doesn’t. Instead, I lie there with the image of Ally’s eyes as she looked at her Better board burned into me.

  I remember when we made it. I was so sure she would get better. Now, I don’t know how to act or what to do. My mom is still so sure that this trial medication will work. I know my dad. He’s lying when he says he thinks she will get better.

  ***

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but I do remember my dream.

  I’m twelve. I have braces and unfortunate skin. Middle school is my least favorite place. A girl, one of the popular ones, tells our class that I’ll steal their souls because my hair is red. I try to argue that my hair is auburn, but everyone acts scared of me and runs away.

  After riding the bus in a seat all by myself because no one would sit next to me, I’m now home. I don’t go inside my house. I just sit on the front porch steps and cry.

  I look back when I hear the front door open. Aunt Ally comes and sits down next to me. She’s beautiful. She doesn’t say anything. She just puts her arm around me and pulls me close.

  After I’m fully awake, I go to check on my aunt. She’s turned on her left side, facing the chair by her bed. There is a new tumor in her right thigh. Sometimes, it feels better when she’s on her side.

  I sit and reach out my hand to hold hers. She blinks her eyes open, squinting, before she focuses on my face and gives me a weak smile.

  “Morning, jelly bean.”

  “Hey, how are you feeling?” I squeeze her hand.

  She grimaces. “Like shit, kid. Let’s talk about anything else.”

  “Um...”

  “How’s school?”

  “Good,” I lie. I’m not even currently enrolled.

  “Any cute boys?” One side of her mouth pulls up.

  Her lips are dry, almost cracked. I reach for her ChapStick on her bedside table and smooth some on her lips.

  “I guess.”

  “Can’t be very cute if you’re not sure.”

  I suck at lying to Ally. “You must be right.”

  Chapter 2

  Dr. Julian said the H-word today. My mom has been crying in her room since we got home from Ally’s appointment. Ally cried at first, and then she saw how upset my mom looked, so she stopped.

  Hospice—her doctor recommended we look into hospice.

  It’s still undecided as to whether or not Ally will do the next round of pills in the trial. My impression from the doctor was that she should not continue the trial. Ally has been on the pills for three weeks now, and since there is no improvement in her tumor size, the consensus is that the side effect of her loss of appetite is doing more harm than good.

  Dr. Julian gave us two timelines—one if she didn’t start eating and one if she did. The first timeline was only one month, the second, up to three. Either way, in a calendar
quarter, my aunt will be gone.

  I don’t know what to do. I want to sit with her, but I’m scared I might upset her. I go to sit with her anyway. She’s lying down on her side. Her back is facing the Better board. I want to take it down. I don’t want her to have to see it anymore.

  My throat is thick when I speak. “Hey, Ally.”

  “Aw, Aubs. Come sit, sweetheart.”

  I can’t stop the tears streaming down my face now. I sit, and she reaches out her hand. She wants to comfort me. I grip her hand, careful not to squeeze it too hard.

  “Everything is going to be okay, jelly bean. I need you to know that. Okay?”

  I shake my head, sniffling loudly. “It’s not. It’s not going to be okay.”

  She scoots back and pats her bed for me to lie on it with her. I do, facing her, letting her wrap her arm around me. Silent tears run down her face compared to the sobs that rack my body.

  When I’m all cried out, she puts her finger under my chin and lifts my head until our eyes meet. She tucks the strands of hair that have fallen forward behind my ear, and she leans forward to kiss my forehead. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

  ***

  At first, when I awake, I think Ally is sleeping. I smile at the peaceful expression on her face. When I reach up to shift her arm, I know she isn’t just sleeping.

  Dr. Julian was wrong. Ally didn’t have a month or three months. She only had one day.

  I scramble off her bed. “Mom! Mom!”

  My mom runs into Ally’s room with my dad a few steps behind her.

  “Aubrey, what’s—” She doesn’t finish her question. She runs to Ally and shakes her. “Ally, honey, Ally. Oh God, Drew help me.”

  My dad pulls her from Ally. I dumbly stand next to Ally’s bed, unable to tell if my mom is crying or screaming.

  This isn’t right. We were supposed to have more time. Ally wasn’t supposed to go like this. I didn’t even get a chance to tell her how much I love her, how much I will always love her.

  My mom breaks free from my dad’s grasp to pull Ally into her arms. My dad leaves my mom and comes around the bed to pull me from Ally’s room.

  I look up at him. “Why, Dad? Why, Dad?”

  He’s crying as well. He tucks me under his arm and leads me downstairs to our living room. After opening the liquor cabinet, he pours each of us a shot of something brown. He puts the glass in my hand, and I don’t hesitate. I throw it back. I welcome the burn flowing down the back of my throat. I set my glass in front of him, and he pours us each another shot. The burn spreads to a warm feeling in my chest.

  My dad slumps into an armchair, shot glass in hand. “I don’t know what to do. Do I call the doctor? The hospital?”

  He looks so hopeless. I shake my head. I don’t know.

  Dr. Julian’s number is programmed into my mom’s cell phone. I go to her purse and pull it out. I feel anger from just looking at his name. He lied to us today. It’s only four o’clock. Ally was alive three hours ago. I press the Call button, and then I press the number one to be connected to the front desk of his office. As I wait for someone to answer, I feel the muscles in my throat swell. My body is physically rebelling against having to say out loud that Ally is dead.

  A receptionist answers.

  “Hello,” I croak. “Is Dr. Julian available?” Tears cloud my vision as each word painfully escapes my throat.

  My dad watches me with weary eyes as the operator informs me that the doctor is with a patient, and she asks if I would like to leave a message.

  “My aunt, Allison Chanthom”—I take a shaky deep breath—”has just died.”

  I wonder how she was able to understand what I said.

  My dad stands to put his arm around me. Ally’s death is reason enough to interrupt the doctor’s current appointment. I wait for him to come on the line. I wait, and I’m calmer by the time he is on the line.

  “Hello.”

  He lets me know that he is leaving the office to come here to legally pronounce Ally dead. I’m not sure why, but the idea of him being in my home and seeing Ally again makes me furious. I end the call before I explode.

  “He’s coming here. That liar. In our house. He lied, Dad. He lied.”

  Even though I’m angry, fresh tears stream down my face. My dad pulls me into a hug before leaving me to go upstairs and deal with my mom.

  Again, I don’t know what to do. I want to go upstairs and hug and kiss Ally, but the idea of doing that also repulses me.

  She’s dead. Ally is dead. She’s gone.

  Her body is there, but her essence has left. I feel like I will regret not hugging her if I don’t. I don’t want to ever think I could have hugged her one last time but didn’t.

  My legs feel like lead as I will myself up the stairs. A landing is on the second floor of my house, just at the top of the stairs. My mom is there, sitting on a chair. Her eyes are dead. She does not even notice me as I walk past.

  I’ve heard the expression, parents should never have to bury a child. That must be what my mom is experiencing right now. Their mother battled alcoholism, and their father was a traveling salesman. With the difference in ages, my mom practically raised Ally.

  I pause in the doorway of Ally’s room. My dad is standing in the corner. He is holding his glasses in one hand while his other is wiping his eyes. When he puts his glasses back on, he sees me hovering in the doorway.

  I watch him go into dad mode. He straightens his shoulders and walks toward me. He knows what I’ve come to do, and he is giving me the space to do it. As he passes me, he pauses to kiss my temple.

  I take a moment to look at Ally before moving closer. She still just looks like she’s sleeping. It seems impossible, but fresh tears sting my eyes. I make no effort to wipe them away. My eyes feel swollen and abused already. I push myself away from the doorway and go to her. I sit in the chair next to her bed. Leaning toward her, I take her hand in mine and rest my forehead against it.

  “I’m not ready for you to be gone,” I whisper. “I still need you so much.” I lift my head to kiss her hand before setting it over her chest. I stand to lie back down next to her.

  When we fell asleep earlier, it was her arm draped over me. This time, it is mine over her.

  I rest my head on her cool shoulder, hugging her to me. “I love you, Ally. I’ll never, ever forget everything you did for me. You were always so much more than just an aunt to me. You were one of my best friends. I just want you to know how much I will always love you.”

  I cringe when I hear the doorbell. Dr. Julian is here. I squeeze Ally one last time and lift my head to kiss her cheek before standing. I don’t want to see him. I blame him for time I—we’ve lost with her. More than that though, I can’t leave her. As much as I want to avoid him, I stay.

  I can hear him talking with my father downstairs about arrangements for the body. I want to throw up. She isn’t a body. She’s Ally.

  My father comes upstairs with him. Dr. Julian needs to officially declare her death before she can be moved to the funeral home. Detached, I watch him check her pulse before he writes down her time of death on some form.

  Before he leaves, he shakes hands with my father and my mother, telling them he’s sorry for their loss. He offers his hand to me. I stare at it, not raising mine, and then he drops his hand and leaves.

  ***

  The funeral director and another man come to collect Ally. She wanted to be cremated. The concept of being buried made her feel claustrophobic.

  There will be a memorial but no actual funeral. She’ll stay at the funeral home until the funeral director receives hospital paperwork stating that an autopsy is not needed. Then, my beautiful aunt, my friend, my Ally will be reduced to ash.

  Even after they have taken her, my mom and I linger in Ally’s room. My brain is playing tricks on me, trying to convince me that she isn’t dead but just away. My sight lands on her Better board. I can see her sitting on a beach in the Caribbean, burying her toes in
the sand.

  There is no mention of dinner that evening. My mom refuses my plea to sleep in Ally’s bed that night, calling me morbid. I plod to my room and allow exhaustion to overtake me.

  In those blurry moments where I move from sleeping to being awake, I fail to remember what happened. My eyes feel swollen, protesting, as I blink at the light coming in through the window.

  In a daze, I walk to the bathroom to freshen up. As I splash water on my face, I remember. I glance in the mirror, and pained hazel eyes stare back at me before I hurry to Ally’s room.

  Someone has been busy. The linens have been stripped from her bed. The mattress is an exposed reminder that she is gone.

  Habits are not easily broken though. There is no hand to clasp. I find myself drifting to the chair by her bed. I’m not sure how long I sit there before the sound of a throat being cleared in the doorway draws my attention.

  “Your mom and I are going to go over to the funeral home. They’ve cleared the cremation. Would you like to come with us?”

  I shake my head. I only want to picture Ally here or on that beach with her toes in the sand, not on a pallet rolling into an oven.

  My dad walks over to me, his hand brushing over the top of my head. My eyes sting, and I blink until the feeling goes away.

  “We’ll be back soon, kiddo.”

  I nod, and he’s gone. I can’t ignore the empty pit in my stomach any longer. I stand, trailing my fingertips across the stitched edging of the mattress as I walk out of her room.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, I stare dumbly into the open fridge, unable to process the concept of preparing a meal. I settle on a bottle of water before checking the pantry for something to eat. After some scavenging, I find a box of chocolate chip granola bars, and I eat two.

  After I eat, I run a bath. I stay in the water until it’s so cold that I shiver. I’m getting dressed when I hear two car doors shut, signaling my parents’ return. My bedroom window overlooks our front yard and driveway. I watch my dad put his arm around my mom’s shoulders as he leads her up the front walkway.

  I pull on my T-shirt, hurry down the stairs, and open the door for them. This is the first time today I’ve seen my mom. She reaches her hand out to squeeze mine before my dad leads her upstairs to their room. He comes back down not long after. I’m waiting for him in the living room.