Clementine for Christmas

by Daphne Benedis-Grab

  “Well, did anyone look for him at the vending machines?” Oscar asked, his voice getting louder.

  Josie was about to say that it would be a waste of time when every second counted. But then she realized it might actually be worth a look. “Fine,” she said between clenched teeth, leading them through the doors of the ward to the main hall, where there was a small alcove of vending machines near the restrooms. An alcove that was empty.

  “See?” Josie said smugly.

  “Well, there’re probably other places to get food,” Oscar said in a crabby voice. “Plus, maybe Henry isn’t as big into candy. Maybe he likes video games.”

  “There’s no arcade at the hospital,” Josie snapped. “Plus, Henry isn’t into video games. He likes singing and …” Josie’s voice trailed off, her heart starting to thump just a little harder. Henry liked singing and the shows they performed. That was what he had been asking for. And it was most likely what he had gone to find.

  “I think I know where he is,” Josie said. She spun around and hurried back to the volunteer room, Oscar following.

  Clementine was not there, which normally would have worried Josie but instead confirmed her hunch. And sure enough, when they walked into the closet crowded with racks of costumes and shelves of shoes, they saw Henry sitting in the corner, Clementine curled next to him.

  “Henry, everyone’s worried about you,” Josie exclaimed, stumbling over a pair of black buckled boots as she rushed over to him.

  “No, they’re not,” Henry said. His eyes were red-rimmed and his chin trembled. “They’re only worried about Melanie.”

  Josie knew they needed to tell his parents and everyone else that Henry was okay, but she couldn’t just walk out, not when he was so upset and clearly needed to talk. So she sat down on the floor next to Henry and was surprised when Oscar did the same.

  “Your parents love you,” Josie said, reaching for the little boy’s hand. “But I know they spend a lot of time talking about your sister.”

  “All the time, always,” Henry said. His eyes brimmed with tears.

  Josie got that. She didn’t want to say so in front of Oscar, but she had no choice. She looked right at Henry and tried to forget Oscar was there.

  “I know how that feels,” she said. “When my dad was sick, my mom practically lived in the hospital.”

  Henry looked her in the eyes for the first time since they’d found him in the closet, so Josie knew she needed to go on.

  “It was like she forgot she was a mom, and that was hard,” Josie said. “Really hard.”

  “What did you do?” Henry asked.

  Josie smiled sadly. “What you do,” she said. “I talked to the people in the hospital. They were really good at taking care of me and making me feel better. And then my grandparents came, and that helped, too. I missed my mom, but later she was ready to be a mom again.” Josie hoped Henry would not ask how long it had taken. Things had been pretty rough after her dad died and that was why she and her mom had needed to move in with her grandparents. But it had gotten better, and it would for Henry, too. And hopefully his story would also include Melanie healing.

  Henry rested his hands on Clementine’s back, pushing his fingers into her thick fur. “Did your mom yell, too?”

  “Um, what do you mean?” Josie asked, not sure where Henry was going with this.

  “When we get home, my mom and dad yell about Melanie,” Henry said, looking only at Clementine.

  Josie wasn’t sure what to say to that. It made sense that with all the stress Henry’s parents would sometimes argue. But she hated how Henry was once again blinking back tears.

  “My parents argue a lot, too.”

  Josie nearly fell over. It was Oscar speaking, and he was gazing steadily at Henry.

  Henry looked up at Oscar. “Does it scare you?” he asked softly.

  Oscar paused, then nodded. “Yeah, it scares me.”

  Josie knew she was pretty much gaping, but she couldn’t stop herself. It was as though Oscar had been taken over by an alien. A kind, compassionate alien who was opening up so that Henry would not feel alone.

  And it was working. Henry scrunched over so that he was leaning against Oscar. Oscar tensed for a moment and then gently put his arm around the little boy.

  Then Oscar looked at Josie, and she knew in that moment that everything had changed.

  “Nice job, Gabby,” Ms. Robinson said as she handed Gabby her math test back. She had just finished telling the class that over half of them had failed, so the big red A on top was especially pleasing.

  “Thanks,” Gabby said. And then she felt it, the tiniest flutter of wings at the back of her skull. “Um, I need to run to the girls’ room.”

  “Sure,” Ms. Robinson said, her brow wrinkling slightly. Gabby realized she had probably sounded desperate.

  But there was no time to worry about that now, and in truth, Gabby was desperate. The wings were beating faster, her hands were starting to feel numb, and Gabby knew what that meant. She nearly ran out of the room and down the hall, pushing open the bathroom door and sinking to her knees before the light came, harsh and white. And then everything went blank.

  THERE WAS BLOOD on her face. It was the first thing she realized when she came to. Luckily, she’d been sitting down, so she probably hadn’t gotten a concussion, something that had happened once at her old school. But after feeling for the source of the sticky, warm wetness she realized that she’d fallen hard enough to split open her eyebrow. It was just a little cut, but one that was bleeding. A lot. Plus, her head was pounding like someone had hit it with a large hammer while she lay unconscious on the floor for who knew how long.

  For a moment Gabby considered standing up, cleaning off her face, and going back to class like nothing had happened. But her head hurt, the blood scared her, and with sickening certainty, Gabby realized that this was happening and she couldn’t hide from it. And so when she was able, she got slowly to her feet, washed off her face, and then walked carefully down the hall to the main office.

  “I need to call my dad,” Gabby said to the secretary, who seemed ready to protest until she took a good look at Gabby.

  “Sure, hon, and why don’t you sit while you call,” the secretary said kindly, gesturing to a chair as she pushed the phone toward Gabby.

  “Thanks,” Gabby said, and meant it. Her shaky legs were not doing a great job holding her up. She dialed the number for her dad and then waited while someone paged him to come in from the factory floor. She hated to take her dad away from work, but it was harder for her mom to leave in the middle of the day, so there wasn’t much choice.

  “Gabs, what’s wrong?” her father asked breathlessly. Gabby knew he had run all the way to the factory office, and she had to blink back tears.

  “I’m sick,” she said. “Can you come?”

  “I’m on my way,” her dad said, his voice strong.

  “DON’T BE SCARED, mi hija,” her father said a half hour later as they drove to Frost Ridge County Hospital. “Dr. Klein just wants us to go to the hospital so she can run some tests, see what’s going on. She probably missed something small at your appointment last week. It will be fine.” His musical voice usually comforted Gabby, but not today.

  “Okay,” she whispered, staring down at her hands clenched in her lap.

  They were stopped at a red light, and her dad rubbed her shoulder. “Dr. Klein said this might happen,” he reminded her. “As you grow up, the medication will need some adjustments.”

  “Okay,” Gabby said again. She knew her dad was trying to help, but he would never understand what really scared her. She was pretty sure the doctor would be able to help, and after some trial and error, the new medication would work pretty well. But it was the trial and error that was the problem because it left her vulnerable to having a seizure at school. And that was the scariest possibility of all.

  There were probably plenty of girls in plenty of places who had epilepsy, and it was no big deal. But
Gabby had not been one of those girls. Her first-ever seizure had happened when she was over at her best friend Jenny’s house. She’d felt the numbness, the nausea, that moment of light, and then everything went blank. When she’d come to, Jenny had been standing over her, her eyes wide.

  “I thought you were dead,” Jenny said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Gabby said, her heart still thumping crazily in her chest. “But I think I’m okay.” She struggled to sit up, and that was when she realized that her embroidered jeans and the spot on the white rug where she lay were soaked.

  “Oh,” Jenny said, stepping back. “Um, I’ll get you a towel.” The words were kind, but her voice was pinched, and Gabby saw the way her whole face scrunched up. It was obvious she thought Gabby was disgusting. And sitting there on the carpet in a puddle of her own urine, Gabby had felt the exact same way.

  Jenny had only told a few people about the incident, but gossip like that traveled fast. In just half a day, Gabby had been given the nickname Bed Wetter, which didn’t make sense but apparently Rug Wetter wasn’t as good a name. After Gabby was diagnosed, she tried telling people, but a group of boys had dubbed epilepsy the “pee disease,” so it made everything even worse. Gabby had always known Jenny had trouble keeping secrets, but she’d never imagined Jenny would spill one about her. Especially one so damaging. Jenny called to apologize, but soon after that, she stopped returning Gabby’s texts, averting her eyes whenever they passed in the hall at school, as though they had never been friends at all. Gabby had spent the final weeks of fourth grade a total outcast, the girl who no one looked at but everybody snickered about when she walked down the halls alone.

  Her family’s move had been a chance to start over, to be a regular girl who didn’t have a gross, humiliating illness. Because at this point, just hearing the word epilepsy made Gabby’s skin all hot and itchy, like she’d broken out in oozing hives. The disease had ruined her life once, but as long as no one at Frost Ridge Middle School found out about it, that wouldn’t happen again. And so Gabby had done—and would continue to do—everything she could to make sure no one ever came close to discovering the truth.

  Dr. Klein met them at the hospital entrance with a wheelchair for Gabby, which she knew was standard hospital protocol. It was a relief to sink into the chair and allow herself to be pushed to where she needed to go. Her head still pounded and walking hurt.

  It took about three hours to run through the first battery of tests, and at the end, Gabby was sent up to the pediatric ward, where she’d stay for the next few days.

  “It’s a nice hospital,” her dad said as he straightened the curtain between her bed and the empty one beside it.

  “Yeah,” Gabby agreed absently. This was her first time at the Frost Ridge hospital, and the doctors, nurses, and lab technicians had taken the time to explain things to her, which she appreciated. But a hospital was a hospital, and she was already counting the hours until she could leave.

  “Luis will like the mural,” her dad said as he stood next to her bed and gestured to the colorful paintings of knights in battle. It was just the kind of thing artistic Luis enjoyed drawing.

  “Paco too,” Gabby said. “He likes anything with swords.”

  “That he does,” her father agreed, ruffling her hair gently. Although her head still ached, it felt good, both comforting and familiar. “I need to go pick up the boys, but we’ll be back in a few minutes. And I know your mom will be here the second she can leave work.”

  “Okay,” Gabby said, hoping he would hurry. It was kind of babyish, but it felt better to have her dad close.

  She glanced at the clock and realized she was missing yearbook—Becky would have a lot to say about that. Gabby would need a good explanation for leaving in the middle of the day. The flu maybe? Or had she used that excuse recently? It was too much to figure out now, so she took a sip of water, then leaned back against the pillows and picked up the remote for the TV.

  Dr. Klein came in a few minutes later, a nurse on her heels. “Are you settling in okay?” she asked Gabby, resting a hand on Gabby’s knee.

  “Yes, thanks,” Gabby said. She clicked off the TV, since there wasn’t anything good on local cable, which was the only channel that was working.

  “I’m going to leave you with Nurse Joe,” Dr. Klein said, and the nurse in a Santa hat and reindeer-printed scrubs smiled at Gabby. “He’ll let you know about life on the ward.”

  “It’s like a dungeon up here,” the nurse said, then threw out his arms. “I’m just kidding! We have a great time.”

  Gabby smiled feebly as there was obviously no such thing as a great time in a hospital. Though at least here she was safe from anyone at school finding out her secret.

  “We’ll get you a menu so you can choose your meal options,” Nurse Joe said. “And every afternoon we have a craft or activity in the lounge. Today they’re making Christmas tree decorations.”

  “Um, I’m kind of tired,” Gabby said. “I think I might just want to stay in bed.” She was in no mood to do an art project.

  “Sure, but don’t worry,” Nurse Joe said, assuming she was disappointed to miss out. “There are other things you can do right here in your room. We have volunteers who will come sing for you. There’s also a canine visitation program, where owners bring in carefully screened dogs to spend time with patients. Your doctor said you’re cleared for a visit if you want one, so I can see if any of them are around now.”

  At that, Gabby nodded. She had always loved animals, especially dogs.

  “Okay, then,” Nurse Joe said. “I’ll let you rest now. Just ring the buzzer if you need anything.”

  “Thanks,” Gabby said as Nurse Joe walked out. He pushed through the door, but after he left, it only closed about halfway before coming to a stop. “Hmm, this must be a little jammed,” he said, poking his head back in. “I’ll have someone come look at it.”

  “Thanks,” Gabby said again. She definitely wanted a door that closed.

  Nurse Joe pushed the door closed behind him, and Gabby lay back on her bed with a sigh. This was bad, but it would be okay. Dr. Klein would regulate her medication, and in a few days, she’d be back at school, ready with a story about a killer cold or a stomach bug that had knocked her out. The seizures would stop, no one would find out where she’d really been, and Gabby’s life would go back to normal.

  Just then, two people passed her door, kids her age. For a fleeting second, she thought the boy looked familiar, but then they were gone, and Gabby figured she’d just imagined it.

  There was no way anyone from school would be here in the hospital, she was sure of it.

  “You don’t want to be the Grinch? He’s my favorite,” Josie said, coming out of the costume closet in a plush reindeer costume that Oscar had seen her wear before. The final touch was the red rubber nose she wore, Rudolph-style. “Or maybe just wear a Santa hat?” The nose made her voice slightly nasal.

  Oscar, who was on the sofa in the volunteer room with Clementine snug on his lap, shook his head. “Nope,” he said. He’d agreed to sing and that was as far as it was going.

  “But it’s so much more fun to perform in costumes,” Josie said, sitting down next to him with a loud jingle. “And the kids really love it.”

  Clementine reached out to lick her owner’s hand, and Josie rubbed the dog’s head. Clementine did her usual wriggle to position Josie’s hand near her ears, her favorite scratching spot, which made Oscar smile. Clementine knew how to get what she wanted.

  “Isn’t it enough that I’ll sing?” Oscar asked.

  “Yeah, but I don’t get why you won’t even wear one little elf hat, too,” Josie said. Now she was rubbing Clementine under her chin, which the dog clearly loved as well. Clementine closed her eyes and gave a little sigh of contentment.

  “I’m just not into Christmas,” Oscar said with a shrug, like it was no big deal.

  “What?!” Josie gasped like he’d announced a plan to abolish gift giving or outlaw cand
y.

  Clementine’s eyes snapped open at the sharp sound, and Oscar reached over and patted her soft back. Normally, he wouldn’t say any more, but Josie already knew about his parents fighting so it didn’t seem like that big a deal to tell her why. Plus she was easy to talk to. “It’s just, my parents argue more around the holidays,” Oscar said.

  As though sensing that this was hard, Clementine moved closer to him and reached up to give him a lick on the cheek. Oscar patted her gently on the back and wondered why he had never realized how awesome dogs were. Especially this one.

  “Oh,” Josie said, sitting back. “Yeah, that makes sense. I know my mom loves Christmas, but it kind of stresses her out, too.”

  “Exactly,” Oscar said. “And when they’re stressed, they fight about everything, twenty-four seven.”

  “That is rough,” Josie said with a sigh, like she knew exactly what he was talking about.

  And Oscar felt the littlest bit better having told her. But it wasn’t going to change the costume situation.

  “So, yeah, since I’m anti-Christmas, I’m not wearing a costume,” he said.

  “But you’ll sing carols?” Josie asked, a note of anxiety in her voice. “I mean, we sing Hanukkah songs for some kids, but most of them really want Christmas songs this time of year.”

  “I know,” Oscar said. He’d resigned himself to that. “But that’s as far as I go.”

  “Okay,” Josie said, standing up. “I get it.”

  She really did, and Oscar couldn’t help being grateful.

  Oscar shifted gently, and Clementine hopped off his lap, ready to go. But instead of heading for the door, Josie disappeared back in the costume room.

  “You can wear these,” she told him a moment later, handing him a Yankees baseball cap and a pair of oversized sunglasses.

  “Um, why?” he asked, his brows scrunching together.

  “It’s a costume,” Josie explained, setting the cap on his head. “Remember how you told Rosie you were Santa’s spy or superhero or whatever?” she said. “You’ll be the spy of Christmas.”