Interlude

by Chantele Sedgwick

  Most of the patients don’t seem uncomfortable at all with all the people around. They’re used to it. They just sit in their chairs or lay in their beds and read or stare into space.

  I notice a little girl, maybe eight or so, in a chair a few rows down. She’s watching cartoons while her mother reads. I can’t help but feel sorry for her. For both of them.

  I honestly wish I could help every one of them. So many people could be saved from something as simple as a kidney transplant. I wonder why more people don’t do it.

  I guess it’s a little terrifying to give away an organ, though. But if it can save my sister, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Three hours later, we’re on our way home. Madison is quiet in the passenger seat, and I keep my eyes on the road, my hands clenched tight on the steering wheel while I worry about her.

  After forever, she speaks. “Thanks for taking me today. I know that you have better things to do.”

  “No I don’t.” Really. I don’t.

  Her hands are folded in her lap, but then she reaches over and grabs my hand. “Three hours just sitting there has got to get so boring for you. I know how you hate being stuck in places.”

  “It’s fine. I get the spend the day with you, so that’s a bonus perk.”

  “I wasn’t much company today. Sorry about that.” She folds her arms, the bright purple band covering her dialysis site standing out against her skin. “But really. Thank you for everything you do for me. I’m so lucky to have you as a sister.”

  I glance over at her pale face, wondering where this sudden emotion and … Thankfulness is coming from. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re being weird today, Maddy. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

  She sighs. “The doctor says I’m in the final stage of kidney disease. Renal-failure. Did you know that?”

  “Yes.” Of course I knew that. I was there when he told us. The worst day of my life so far.

  “That means I don’t have very much longer.”

  I swallow, pushing the emotion away. I can’t let her see me cry. I have to be brave for her. “I’m going to be a match, Maddy. I’ll save you. You know this. We’ve talked about this a thousand times. You’re going to be fine. Okay? Please stop talking like you’re dying.”

  She nods. “I’m sorry. And I know I’m going to be okay. I just … Wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you. Just in case, you know?” She sits back in her seat and doesn’t say anything the rest of the way home.

  I keep my eyes on the road, my fingers aching from clutching the steering wheel so tight, but I can’t help it. This talk … it isn’t like her. I can’t handle it.

  Maddy’s the one who’s supposed to be strong. Maddy’s the one who has always had an unshakable confidence that she’ll be all right and things will work out. My own confidence where Maddy is concerned is shaky at best. I don’t know why she was the one chosen to go through this. There may be a purpose to all of it, but seeing her go through so much … It’s done nothing to strengthen my hope that all will be well. Hopelessness has chased it away.

  And that troubles me.

  Because with hope and a little faith, all things are supposed to be possible. Things end up being okay in the end. But in this case, I fear it isn’t enough. Nothing I do or believe is enough.

  And all I want to do is cry.

  CHAPTER 3

  Silence is empty, happiness is fleeting.

  Don’t know who to turn to, just hope my heart keeps beating.

  —J.S.

  The house smells like something’s burning when we walk through the door, and I know immediately Mom’s been cooking. Which in itself is weird, but weirder since it’s only four. Dad’s setting the table when we make it to the kitchen and I glance around. “What’s going on?”

  Dad smiles. “Mom’s in one of her … uh … moods.”

  “Oh, stop it Russ,” she says, nudging him with her shoulder.

  One of Mom’s moods? Oh no. “Maddy, we should have gone to get a hamburger or something before we came home.”

  She stares at Mom, who’s now stirring something in a pot on the stove. “Agreed.”

  Mom turns around, untying the apron around her waist and letting her auburn hair down. “You guys, it’s fine. You’re going to love it. It’s just a new soup recipe. Healthy.”

  I groan at the word healthy. Ever since Mom started going to the gym, she’s been making us new recipes. And ninety percent of them are just nasty. And by the looks of that soup, I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to choke it down. I glance around the room. “Hey. Where’s—”

  “Mia! Maddy!”

  Our six-year-old brother Zack zips into the kitchen and almost tackles me to the floor. “Did you bring me a treat?” He bounces on his feet as he holds some kind of Lego creation in his hand.

  “No.” I shake my head and give him a sad face. “Sorry, bud.”

  “Oh.” His shoulders sag and he mopes to his chair to sit down at the table.

  I give him a minute to be sad and then pull a sucker out of my pocket. “Oh, c’mon! Of course I did.”

  His freckled face lights up and I chuckle as he gives me another hug.

  “After dinner,” Dad says as he helps Mom put food on the table.

  I can’t help but watch Zack. He’s so full of energy and life. Not to mention, he looks exactly like Mom. Red hair and all. Like her mini-me except he’s a boy.

  Me and Maddy? We don’t look like either of our parents. Well, I guess we have Dad’s lankiness, and I’m pretty sure I have his thin lips and small mouth, but our Mexican features—dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned complexions—come from our birth mom. I mean, I’m all about not having pasty white skin, and our heritage may be pretty cool if I knew anything about it, but I hate that it reminds me of the woman I don’t remember.

  I shake my head and put her out of my mind. We don’t talk about her.

  Ever.

  Maddy sits down at the table and lays her head on her folded arms.

  “You okay, Madison? How was your dialysis today?” Dad asks. He pats her back and she sits back up. “It was fine. I’m just tired.”

  “You’re usually tired when you get home, but you look a little paler than normal tonight. Do you want to go lie down? I’ll make you anything you want.” He glances at Mom, but she doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

  “I’m fine. Thanks, Dad.”

  I shoot her a glare across the room and she glares back. She’s anything but fine.

  He turns to me then. “Mia, I haven’t heard you play the piano for a few days. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been busy. Sorry.”

  He frowns. “If you don’t practice, you’ll—”

  “Lose your gift,” I finish as I roll my eyes. “I know, Dad. I’ll practice later.” My phone rings then, and I go in the other room to answer. My caller ID says UNKNOWN, but I push TALK anyway. “Hello?”

  “Mia Cox?”

  “This is she.”

  “This is Dr. Mason’s office.”

  My heart speeds up. The results. They have the results. I smile. “Oh. Hi. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. We just wanted to call and tell you, we have your results from the other day.” She pauses for a second and my stomach drops. She paused. If it was good news, she wouldn’t have paused. “I’m sorry to say, but you aren’t a match for your sister.”

  I almost drop the phone and it takes me a second to recover. “What?” I whisper.

  “You’re not a match. I’m sorry, sweetie.”

  Sweetie. She called me sweetie. Why would she do that? Especially since she just gave me the worst news of my entire life. I let it go, though. I can’t think straight enough to come up with something snarky. All I can manage is, “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  “If you’d like to come talk to Dr. Mason, he’ll be in tomorrow afternoon. Come anytime between 8:00 and 4:00. He’ll be happy to explain your results to you.”

  My brain and voice won�
�t cooperate and all I can do is nod. I hang up without saying good-bye and stare at the phone for a long time.

  “Mia?” Mom says from behind me. “You coming to eat? Dinner’s ready. I wanted to talk to you about—”

  I turn around and shock registers on her face, probably from what she sees on mine. “What is it, honey? What’s wrong?” She takes a step forward and I don’t move. I just replay the conversation with Dr. Mason’s nurse over and over again in my head. “Mia, talk to me.”

  I stare at the phone again as Mom calls Dad in the room. “Honey?” he says, taking the phone from my hand. “Mia, what happened? Who was on the phone? Are you okay? Is one of your friends hurt or something?”

  I shake my head and try to focus, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. I feel pieces of myself falling away. Like I’m made up of tiny beads from a necklace that has been broken and scattered across the floor, knowing even if the pieces are found and restrung, I’ll never be quite right again.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was Maddy’s only hope. I was going to make her whole again and she could go back to being the bright sixteen-year-old she was before. Now what? What am I supposed to do to save her now?

  “Mia. Look at me, honey.” Dad’s soft voice fills my senses, pulling me back to myself. When I try to focus on him, though, my eyes fall on Maddy, who’s standing in the kitchen doorway. Her eyes are filled with worry, and then, as she gets a good look at my face, something changes. Her expression softens and she nods at me.

  She knows.

  “It’s okay, Mia,” she says. She moves around my worried parents and wraps me in a hug. “It’s okay. You tried. I’m okay. We’ll be okay.”

  I don’t lift my hands to hug her back. I’m in too much shock to move. It’s not okay. The reason Maddy was going to live was because of me. And now she has no chance. None. No one in our family is a match. And the only person who was supposed to be was me. I can’t save her now.

  The realization hits me full force and it almost knocks the wind out of me.

  I can’t save her.

  Dad moves Maddy away, concern etched on his face when she doesn’t tell him what’s going on. “What is it, honey? Please. Talk to me.”

  I stare at his tattooed arms. The arms that held me and Maddy when we were babies. The ones that wrapped me in hugs and chased away the monsters in my room when I was a child, when I didn’t have a mother to do the same. I stare at them, a lump in my throat, and blink back tears. “I’m not a match.” It’s barely a whisper, but he hears me, because the next thing I know, he’s holding me.

  I’m not a match.

  CHAPTER 4

  A shadow, a whisper, a face in my dreams.

  These monsters surround me, mocking, laughing.

  They swirl inside until my soul breaks.

  And then I fall.

  —J.S.

  I’m being ridiculous. I know it. But I hole up in my room while my family tries to make Maddy feel better.

  It’s her life that’s going to be over, after all.

  Unless a miracle happens and she moves up the transplant list. Which we all know most likely won’t happen.

  She’s going to die. Because of me. Why her? What has Maddy ever done to deserve this? I know we have trials in this life, but you’d think after all the praying we’ve been doing, we’d get a little slack or something.

  I stare out the window as the rain sprinkles down, leaving silent shadows on the sidewalk below. It’s so … Temporary. Rain. It comes down in sheets, soaking everything in its path, and then it dries up, not leaving any trace of itself anywhere.

  Kind of like a human life. We’re everywhere, and then in a split second, we’re not there anymore. We disappear and it’s like we weren’t there at all.

  Maddy will disappear. And leave me behind.

  I know in my heart she won’t be gone for good. A part of her will always be with me, watching over me from Heaven, but it’s not the same. I can’t let it go. I can’t just let her die.

  I lean forward and press my forehead to the window. The dark clouds swirl in the sky as the rain falls harder. It’s like the weather knows exactly how I’m feeling.

  My mood isn’t getting any better while I sit and stare out the window, so I sit back down on my bed and let out a slow breath to calm the tension rolling through my body. Sitting in the fetal position for hours on end did a number on my muscles.

  While I stretch out my legs again, I shift my attention back to the pile of stuff in front of me and dig through my box of childhood memories, determined to find what I’m looking for. I haven’t looked inside for years. I started putting stuff in when I was five—when I realized my life was a little different than most of my friends.

  I stare at the old shoebox. My name’s glued on the front with silver glitter that chafes off every time I open it. I still can’t believe it has held together after all these years. It’s funny how oftentimes the most important parts of ourselves end up in something as simple as an old and worn-out cardboard box.

  I pull out an old journal and cringe as I read the first page. I was so weird in middle school. Awkward and ridiculously boy crazy. I set the journal to the side to read later and dig deeper, knowing what I’m searching for lies somewhere near the bottom of the box.

  If Dad knew what I was doing, he’d probably ground me for the rest of my life.

  But I have to do this. It’s the only way to save my sister.

  More elementary school pictures, report cards, and random papers end up on my bed, including old book reports and old stories I wrote. Why on earth Dad kept my book reports is beyond me. I will say, though, that some of my drawings are totally legit. I should study art in college.

  After sorting through a pile of old papers, I finally find it. My name is still scrawled on the front. I recognize the handwriting the moment I see it. Messy. Like mine. Lots of curves and swirly lines. I pull the faded envelope from the bottom of the shoebox and hesitate just a second before opening it.

  The birthday card is still in good shape, which surprises me, seeing how it’s fifteen years old. The ink is a little faded, but I can read the message clearly.

  To. Mi pequeno amor.

  Happy Birthday Mia.

  Love, Mom

  Mi amor. Right. I roll my eyes and fight the urge to black that little sentence out with a Sharpie. I may not speak Spanish fluently, but I do know what that means. And I’m anything but her love. I pick up the envelope again and set the card down. The return address is still on the front, along with her name. Carmen Santalina. New York City, New York.

  I wonder if she’s still in the same apartment, but I’m doubting it.

  I slide off the bed and take a deep breath. There’s only one way to find out.

  Time to face Dad.

  He’s in the garage working on his ’67 Chevy, per usual. He’s been working on that car for at least ten years. I think he takes his time fixing it because it’s his baby and he doesn’t want it to grow up and drive away or something.

  The garage door is open, and the smell of paint and motor oil hits my nose. I’m sure other people would cringe at the smell, but I’m used to it. It reminds me of home. Of him.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  He glances up, his eyes widening when he sees me, and smiles. “Glad to see you’re out of your bedroom today.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Not really.

  “You okay now?” He ducks back down under the hood and I hear something twisting.

  “I’m fine.” I take a step forward, my question hovering on the tip of my tongue. “What ya working on today?”

  “Engine.”

  “Oh. I thought you fixed that a while ago.”

  I hear him chuckle. “Nope.”

  “Okay.” I stand there, listening to the sound of his tools and his low voice humming along to some classic rock song on the radio. “Uh … Dad? Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  He pokes his head up again. “Yeah. What’s up?”
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  “I have a question for you.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Okay? Sounds serious.” He winks, but I’m pretty sure he won’t be winking when I ask the question.

  “Does Carmen still live in New York?”

  The second I say her name, his whole body tenses and he frowns. “I haven’t heard from Carmen in years, honey. I have no idea.”

  “There’s no way to find out?”

  “I don’t know. Her family’s there, but …” He disappears under the hood again once more, then he straightens, sets his tool down, and hits the MUTE button on the radio before he walks over to me. He wipes his hands on a greasy, disgusting towel and looks me over before folding his arms. “What’s this about, honey?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do. I know that look in your eye. It’s the one that puts my whole parenting sense on alert.”

  “Dad.”

  “I’ve seen it many times, Mia. Just tell me. What’s going on?”

  I try to tell him, but it comes out quiet and in a jumbled mess. “I was just … I wanted to … Maddy …” I don’t know how to ask. The words won’t come.

  He shakes his head and a sigh escapes his lips. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and studies me with … pity, I decide. “She won’t do anything, Mia.”

  I twist my hands together. “How do you know?”

  “I just do.”

  “But how?”

  Another sigh. This one deeper and more agitated than before. I know I’m pushing him, talking about Carmen. I should stop, but I can’t. “She hasn’t been a part of your lives for fifteen years. She won’t start caring now.”

  I frown. “What if we told her, though? Does she even know how sick Maddy is?”

  “Mia,” he runs a hand through his dark hair, his frown deepening.

  “I could just call her. Tell her what’s going on. Maybe if she knows what’s happening to Maddy, she’ll—”

  “She doesn’t care!”

  Dad doesn’t yell. Ever. So when his voice echoes through the garage, my eyes grow wide and I back away. He’s breathing hard, but when he sees how his outburst affects me, his expression softens. “Honey, I’m sorry. It’s just …” He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, and takes a deep breath before looking at me again. “She left us. Plain and simple. And that’s all I’m going to say about it.” He starts toward his car again, and turns the radio back on as I stand there, my eyes burning. “Do you need anything else?” He doesn’t look at me, just stands there with his hands on his hips, staring at his stupid engine.