A Katherine Reay Collection

by Katherine Reay

  “Katie?”

  “How . . . how could you?” She burst into tears and ran from the room.

  Jane’s face crumpled and tears coursed down her cheeks again.

  “Jane, we had to do it. I’ll talk to her.”

  “I should go . . .” Her eyes looked huge and hurt.

  I pressed my hand into her shoulder. “Let me see her first. You let Danny rub his hands all over that bowling ball.”

  They both laughed, forced and watery, and Danny leaned in to hug his mom as I headed to Kate.

  I tapped on her door. “Kate?” There was no answer so I let myself in. “Kate?”

  She had two closets, one to hold her clothes and the other full of books, with pillows on the floor—her childhood sanctuary. I opened that door and found her holding her knees to her chest, crying.

  I crawled in next to her. “You okay?”

  “Why’d she do it? She looks sick now. Everyone knows. Everyone talks about it. And now she looks it.”

  “I know.”

  She sniffed. “My teachers ask all the time, my friends and their moms, and they look at me like they’re sad, and like I should be sad every minute and that she could . . .”

  I hugged her tight. “Don’t go there. And people aren’t trying to be mean or insensitive. It’s hard to know what to say. But no one expects you to feel sad all the time . . . You can’t. Besides, your mom can be super annoying. You gotta be mad at her sometimes. I am, often.”

  I felt rather than heard Kate’s breath catch between a sob and a laugh. “She’s different, and now . . .” The sobbing started again.

  “Now it feels very real.” Kate nodded into my chest as I continued. “Your mom needed to do this. Her hair was almost gone, and now she feels like she did something positive. Almost like a fighter shadow boxing before the match begins. She needed to be a conqueror.”

  “I want to go back to how it was.”

  “But we can’t. That’s gone forever.” I squeezed her tight. “I don’t know what life will be like when all this is done. It may be better. Your mom reminded me today of something your grandma believed, and it gave me the hope that good can come from this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like knowing that we’re not alone and that God’s got us. Holding each other tighter. And the joy in discovering that something this dark can turn into light . . . And that we’re a team, Kate. We’re a team and we band together—no matter what.”

  “That nurse who was here the other day said something like that. The one on the porch.”

  “Cecilia. I’m not surprised. I’m beginning to think she’s pretty smart.”

  “I hurt Mom’s feelings.”

  “I think she was more hurt for you.”

  “But I’m okay!” Kate pushed herself up and dashed out of the closet. I heard her running down the hall, calling, “Mom, I’m sorry.” And as I headed down the stairs, I caught a glimpse of them hugging on the edge of Jane’s bed.

  I stood still at the bottom of the stairs listening to Jane’s consoling murmurs, my heart racing. Another time flashed before my eyes, another moment, another girl, and another regret . . . And no chance to ever say “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter 29

  JANE WAS ASLEEP WHEN IT WAS TIME TO PREPARE DINNER, so I called the kids to the kitchen to develop an alternate plan.

  “I thought we’d change it up tonight. I feel so virtuous with all the healthy stuff we’ve been eating, and I can’t do much chopping right now. Can we have bacon and pancakes?”

  “Yay!” Danny pumped his fist in the air, and Kate nodded like a bobblehead.

  “Good. Give me twenty minutes, unless you want to help.”

  “I’ve got a spelling test” popped out at the same time as “I’ll help.”

  Kate stayed while Danny trudged back down the stairs.

  As we pulled out all the necessary ingredients for perfect pancakes, I watched Kate. Her face seemed lighter than it had in days.

  “You have a good talk with your mom?”

  “Yeah.” She cracked two eggs and stuck her fingers in to pick out the shells. I shuddered and looked away.

  When I thought it might be safe, I glanced back at her. She was watching me, almost as if making a decision. “She still tucks me in at night and sometimes we snuggle, but it doesn’t feel the same now. She’s thinner, and sometimes she falls asleep.”

  I smiled; she’d been wondering if she could trust me. “I still love a good snuggle.”

  “I miss how it was.” She turned back to her eggs, and we worked in silence for a few moments. “Aunt Elizabeth? I wasn’t going to have a birthday party next month, but Mom says I should. She said I should invite a few friends and she’d take us bowling. What do you think?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “I didn’t, but . . .” She stirred, possibly sorting a thousand scenarios.

  “I think you should. You’re turning thirteen, and it’s a big deal that should be celebrated. Your mom wants to do it, and bowling is awesome.”

  “I’ll send out an e-mail tonight.”

  “Good. I think you could all use a celebration. It’ll be fun.”

  After dinner the kids headed down to the basement to watch a show, and I went to see if Jane wanted something to eat. Her room was dark and felt stuffy.

  “I’m gonna open a window.”

  “I just shut it. It’s so cold.”

  “It is?” There was no way anyone could be cold in that room. I leaned over and put my hand on her forehead. “You’re warm. Is that normal?”

  “I ache.” Jane’s voice caught. “My bones hurt. They actually hurt.”

  “That’s not normal. What do I do?” I looked around the room. “Forget it. I’ll be right back.” I ran downstairs, grabbed my phone, and pushed Cecilia’s number.

  She was calm and direct. “Come to the hospital. I’ll call Dr. Chun and the nurse on duty.”

  “Okay.” I ran back to Jane. “We’re going to the hospital.”

  “We’ve got to get the kids somewhere. Oh, Dad will be so upset about this . . .”

  “Focus, Jane. Come on, sit up.” I put my arm around her shoulders and tried to lift her.

  “But they can’t come with us.” She sounded breathy and panicked.

  “I’ll call someone from your list. Can you get dressed?”

  Jane dropped her feet to the floor and pushed herself up.

  Once I saw she was stable, I raced to the kitchen and called the first three names. No one picked up. I then called Nick—the only person I knew.

  “Can Danny and Kate come to your house? Jane’s got a whole list of people here, but no one is answering. I need to take her to the hospital.”

  “I’ll come get them right now.”

  “Thanks.” I was stunned that he hadn’t asked any questions. I’ll be there.

  Nick’s car pulled in to the driveway just minutes later. He met my eyes over Danny’s head, but neither of us said anything. He just mouthed, Call me, and took the kids to his car.

  Jane was quiet, pinched, and pale as I escorted her into the hospital.

  Cecilia waited by the door. “I’ve already arranged a room. Come with me.” She ushered us down several hallways to a suite of offices and examining rooms. “Dr. Chun is on her way. I’m going to draw blood for a workup.”

  “Thank you,” I answered for both of us.

  About half an hour later Dr. Chun appeared with Cecilia. “You’ve got neutropenia,” the doctor said.

  “What’s that?”

  “It means your white blood cells are too low, by a long shot, leaving you open to infection. We’re going to admit you, give you a booster shot and some antibiotics. If you look better tomorrow, we’ll send you home.”

  “I can’t stay here.”

  Dr. Chun reached for Jane’s hand. “I need you to stay tonight—in isolation. Can your sister take care of your kids?”

  “Of course.” I cut off Jane’s protests.

&nb
sp; Another nurse came in with a shot.

  “What’s that?” Jane asked again.

  “A variant of the Nulasta you take, but it’s quicker. I’m going to inject this into your femur.”

  Jane blanched. I blanched.

  “It’ll hurt,” Dr. Chun confirmed.

  Tears started running down Jane’s cheeks. I grabbed her hand.

  “Okay. I’m ready.”

  Dr. Chun injected the needle into Jane’s thigh. I expected her to cry out, but she didn’t. I’d forgotten how tough my sister was. Instead, she gripped my hand so hard I thought she might break a bone—mine—and that was the only hand I had left.

  Dr. Chun pulled out the needle as Cecilia prepped Jane’s central port for an IV. “We’ll see how this works.” Dr. Chun squeezed her shoulder.

  Jane’s lip quivered. “You won’t stop the Taxol, will you?”

  “Let’s discuss that tomorrow.” She nodded to the IV. “There’s a mild sedative in there that will make you sleepy. Rest here for a few minutes while Lori admits you and finds a bed.”

  As everyone filed from the room, Jane leaned back on the exam table and was asleep within minutes. I questioned Dr. Chun’s definition of “mild.” I paced the room. Three steps turn right, two steps turn back, and two steps turn left . . .

  “You have to be okay,” I whispered. Jane was asleep and I knew she couldn’t hear me, but I couldn’t hold my fear in. “I don’t want to be here again, in this moment. Do you hear me? So you have to stop this. You have to be stronger. You can’t leave too.”

  I pressed my lips together, hoping that would stop my tears, but it didn’t and my whole face became a soppy mess.

  “Please. Please be okay. You don’t understand. I don’t want to be alone. I’m always alone. You never got that. I tried to tell you today. I only wanted to be with you as a kid . . . even now. I’m alone. Please . . . Jane, please.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  I swung toward the door.

  “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head, not caring how much Cecilia might have heard or how awful I knew I looked. She crossed the room and hugged me. “I’m sorry about this.”

  I leaned back and sniffed. “Why are you sorry? You got us back here, and you got Dr. Chun here so fast. I didn’t know what to do. You did it all.” I noticed Cecilia was wearing black tights and a plaid miniskirt with cool chunky boots. “I love your boots,” I said and then laughed at the absurdity of the comment. “Hey, are you off duty?”

  “I got off about an hour ago. I thought I’d stick around.”

  I pulled her into another hug. “Thank you so much.”

  “Do you want me to sit with you?” She pushed me back and studied my eyes. “’Cause if you’re okay, I want to go make sure Jane gets admitted quickly. We’re busy tonight.”

  “That’d be amazing. Thank you.”

  “Okay then. I’ll be back soon.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  When she left the room, I pulled the chair over to Jane’s examining table and rested my forehead on its edge.

  “Make her strong. Make her strong. You can do that. I know you can.” I whispered it over and over—and over. “I can’t be the only one left. Please don’t make that happen. Make her strong.” It was part mantra, part prayer, and I kept saying it until I felt my heart calm. I didn’t feel so abandoned, and the words became prayer alone.

  “Are you done yet?” Jane whispered.

  I sat up, surprised. “With what?”

  “Our Elinor-Marianne moment. I’m not dying, you know.”

  “That’s not funny. This is serious.” I pressed my lips together and sniffed. “I was actually praying for you.”

  “I noticed. Mom used to do that.”

  “I know.” I scrubbed at my eyes to eradicate all signs of tears.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For scaring you . . . for teasing you . . . and I like the prayers.” Jane turned her head and watched me. I knew my face revealed more to her in that moment than all my verbal sparring or emotional outbursts. I felt completely bare.

  “Come here.” She hooked her arm around my neck.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re my sister and I love you.”

  I rested my head against her side in a semihug position. I never wanted to move.

  After a couple minutes she pulled her hand back. “I feel better. Maybe it’s the painkiller, but I don’t think so. Deep in my bones, it doesn’t ache like it did.”

  “That must be a good thing.”

  Cecilia pushed the door open, tapping on it as she entered. “Are you two okay?”

  “No,” we whispered simultaneously.

  Cecilia perched against the counter. “I’ve got a room, so we’re going to wheel you up there now. Do you want to come, Elizabeth?”

  I glanced to Jane and knew where she’d want me to be. I reached for her hand. “I’m going to go take care of Danny and Kate.”

  Jane squeezed my hand, then let go.

  I reached down and kissed the top of her head. “You sleep. The kids will be fine.”

  I turned away, but Jane grabbed for my arm. “Don’t call Dad,” she whispered.

  “Why not?”

  “This’ll kill him. We can’t do that to him. He left because he thought we were fine.”

  “We’re never fine,” I quipped.

  “But he needs us to be.”

  “I won’t call. You can, tomorrow, when you’re out of here.”

  Cecilia gently smiled. “We’ll take good care of her.”

  As I walked to the car, I knew Jane was right. Dad needed us to be okay. He hadn’t ever “come out of it” as Jane had asked this morning. He still carried some misplaced guilt or blame for Mom’s death and for the estrangement in our family. And for him to have left this morning, right when he was most needed—it would be a failure too painful.

  I headed to Nick’s house and rapped softly on the door. He answered immediately.

  “I didn’t ring the bell in case the kids were asleep. I’m sorry it’s so late.”

  “No worries. I tucked Matt in a couple hours ago, and the other two are curled up on the couch in the basement. They were a little shaken, so I put on a movie. Danny fell asleep right away.” He held the door open. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

  “I should just grab them.”

  Nick shut the door and led the way to his basement stairs. “I’m glad you called me.”

  “I’m glad you answered.”

  “Is Jane okay?”

  “I’m not sure. She got toxic, so the new chemotherapy might not be possible, but I also gather that toxicity doesn’t necessarily last, so it may still be possible . . . I only know she got a shot in her femur and she hurts.”

  “How are you?”

  I looked at him and wondered if he wanted the real answer. So many people don’t. “I hurt too.”

  He nodded and turned to go down the steps, but as he touched down on the first step, he bounced back up and grabbed me. He pulled me in to a tight hug, his arms around my back, pressing me fully to him. I was too stunned at first to react, then sank deeper in to the hug, curling my arms around him.

  After a few minutes he pulled away and brushed my hair back from my temples and held my face in his hands. “I’m sorry you hurt.” He then pressed his lips to mine, not in a romantic way but firmly, as if trying to absorb my pain. It was so solid, so melting, and it lasted long.

  He touched his lips lightly against mine once more and turned to lope down the steps. It took me a few heartbeats to follow.

  The movie had ended and both kids were asleep on the couch. I gently woke them and ushered them out to the car.

  “Thanks again.” I turned to Nick as I shut Kate’s car door.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed me again—short and brief, but not a brush. Again, I found myself pondering the co
mforting, exciting solidity of it.

  Chapter 30

  I TOSSED ALL NIGHT AND FINALLY GOT UP EARLY AND poached eggs in a thick puttanesca to serve over polenta.

  “Why no oatmeal?” Danny asked.

  “I’ve been up a while . . . Hey, I thought you didn’t like oatmeal.”

  “I got used to it.”

  “I’ll put it back on the menu tomorrow and get it just right.”

  My mind drifted to Cold Comfort Farm again and how the cooking of oatmeal reflected the heat and tension of the story—ours would be cold and uncooked if I tried it today. The whole house felt flat. I offered a smile alongside the eggs and ushered the kids out the door. On time—another sign things weren’t right.

  Soon after the kids left, Nick called. “Any word from Jane?”

  “She called early and is doing well. I’m to pick her up around two, which will get us back before the kids get home.”

  “Then you’re free for lunch?”

  “I’m always free for lunch.”

  “Good.”

  “It’s beautiful out and I’m making chicken salad right now. Do you want to have a picnic at the park?”

  Nick paused.

  “Don’t you like that idea?”

  “I love that idea and I love chicken salad . . . I’ll walk over around noon and help carry the food.”

  At a loss to convey all I wanted to say, I simply said, “Thank you.”

  I hung up and thought more about all the ways Nick had stepped in to help my family. My family. Turning back to the chicken salad, I instinctively knew how to relay my thanks. Mr. Hemingway. Mr. Greek Tragedy. I smiled and relished the little brightness that simmered inside as I put away the tarragon and the mustard.

  I had just finished packing the basket when the doorbell rang.

  “I’m all set.”

  “We can’t leave yet.” Nick stepped through the doorway and headed to the kitchen. “I have a gift for you and a couple plants for Jane’s garden.”

  I shut the front door and trailed after him. He’d placed a small box with plant cuttings and a white bag filled with pink-and-green tissue paper on the island.

  “Did you wrap this?”

  “I did.”

  I pulled out the tissue and stared into the bag. “How’d you know?”