Always and Forever (2 page)

The next thing I knew, strong arms slid around me, and lifted me up until I was on my feet again and trudging out of the office, past the waiting room, and into the sun-drenched parking lot. Everything was bathed in the bright hues of mid-afternoon. It lit the snowy ground, throwing off sparkling rainbows and temporarily blinding me. Sun and snow, the perfect pre-Christmas blend.

Dad's arm clamped even tighter around my shoulders when we heard my name being shouted across the lot. We all froze, none of us willing to look around and acknowledge the world outside our little bubble. In doing that, our pain would be so much more in evidence. We were transparent enough as it was.

“Hey, Mia,” Kal called as he jogged toward us, waving to grab our attention. “Did you forget about me?” he asked a bit breathlessly when he'd gotten to our side.

Dad hugged me closer. “Mia can't come out and play right now, Kal,” he told my friend like I was six instead of sixteen. “Maybe—”

I shrugged out of his arms, glaring at him. “I'm fine, Dad. Anyway, Kal and I have to finish up our History papers. They're due tomorrow.”

“Mia, I think you should come home with us.” He had that
don't mess with me because I'm the Dad
look on his face, and Mom sniffled loudly beside him.

“And, I think I need to finish my homework. I can't afford to fail on this. Mr. Wilson already has it in for me.”

“Mia,” he gritted out.

“Dad.” I edged closer to Kal, whose eyes were darting back and forth between us like he was watching a particularly riveting tennis match. “We won't be gone long,” I wheedled. “Please?”

Mom's sobs ratcheted up a notch, forcing Dad's attention back to her. He wrapped his arms around her, strong and comforting. He heaved out a resigned sigh. “Alright, but be back early. No later than nine.” He turned a harsh glare on Kal. “Nine o'clock, young man, or I'll be having a talk with your father.”

Kal visibly swallowed but nodded his acceptance. His fingers found mine and laced through them as he dragged me toward his car. We climbed in quickly and held our hands over the heat vents as hot air poured out. The sun might have been bouncing off every available surface outside, but there was no heat to be had from it. December in Michigan could be cruel like that.

My fingers were pressed to the vent in front of me, soaking up as much warmth as possible, and my gaze was resting on my parents as they got into their own car, huddled dejected figures devoid of all hope. I'd done that to them, even if it had been unconsciously done. How could I ever make this easier for them? For myself?

“It's back, isn't it?” Kal asked, his softly uttered words shattering the silence between us.

I didn't look at him. I couldn't. Instead, I continued to watch Mom and Dad's car as it cautiously backed out of their spot and then left the parking lot. Slowly, I shook my head. “No, it's not.”

“Mia,” he groaned, agonized. He reached out, curled his big warm hands around mine, and squeezed. But that wasn't enough. Not for long. He yanked me across the console and buried his face in my neck. “We'll get through this,” he told me, his words garbled against my skin. “It's not the end of the world. You can have another transplant. We already know that Ben is a match. He'd donate. You don't even have to ask him. This'll all be over soon. I promise.”

If only it were that easy. But I didn't respond. Not right away. I relaxed against him, letting the warmth of his arms soothe away all my hurt, my anger, my disbelief that this could ever have happened to me. To my family.

Again.

Slowly, reluctantly, I extricated myself from his grasp. “It's not back,” I declared, a soft, barely audible confession.

“But Mia, your mom was crying, and your dad…well, he looked like he did back when…” he trailed off, unable to even finish the sentence. He didn't have to. I remembered. After all, I was there, too.

I nodded, swallowed. Reaching out, I picked up his hand and twined my fingers through his before resting it in my lap. Kal and I had been best friends since the day he and his family moved in next door to us over a decade ago. I'd always told him everything without any embarrassment or fear that he might look at me differently, but now, here in his car, I just couldn't find the words to make this any easier for him. Or me.

“Mia, you're scaring me,” he whispered, his bottomless brown eyes shimmering with barely contained tears. “Just tell me what's going on. Please.”

“The leukemia is gone,” I rushed to assure him.

He just continued to stare at me, waiting for the bomb to explode in his face, raining down nuclear fallout all over our lives.

I sucked in a deep breath, the now warm air expanding my lungs and bringing with it the illusion of perfect health. For just a moment, I could pretend that this was any other day, another time when it was just me and Kal, without this huge, sinister shadow surrounding us.

But only for a moment.

“The leukemia is gone,” I repeated, my voice sounding as tired and scared as I felt. “But I'm sick, Kallie. I'm really sick.”

T
WO

ANAPLASTIC ASTROCYTOMA
. Two very big and very scary words that meant only one thing: death. Death for me, for my family, for everyone I've ever loved. Brain cancer. What a laugh a minute. Add the words
inoperable
and
close proximity to the motor cortex
and you had yourself a very destructive party that would last, oh about nine months. Twelve if the big guy up in the sky smiled down upon me. Four to six if he turned his back on me completely. The way my life was going so far, I wasn't hedging my bets on the year.

“They're absolutely certain that there's nothing they can do?” Kal asked for what seemed like the fortieth time in five minutes. “Dr. Lambert actually said
inoperable
?”

“We're making an appointment for a second opinion,” I offered. The words sounded lame, even to my own ears.

“I just can't—” He turned pleading eyes my way, beseeching me to give him answers that I sorely needed myself. “There's got to be something we can do. Chemo. Radiation. Something to make it so you can have surgery. So you can live. Maybe my dad…”

I laughed bitterly, the hollow sound bouncing around the interior of the car until it slammed right back into me. “Your dad's a plastic surgeon, Kal. I doubt he can do anything other than give the tumors a face lift so they'll look pretty for the MRI.”

“That's not funny, Mia,” he snapped. “How can you make jokes at a time like this? How can you sit there all nonchalant when you're…when you're…”

“Taking the elevator straight to the top floor?”

He leveled a frigid glare at me.

My shoulders drooped under the weight of his censure. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “I guess it's not funny yet, huh?”

“How is this ever going to be funny?” His eyes were giant rounded saucers—part enraged, part pleading, and part hopeless. I hated that I'd done that to him. Again.

“This is why Dad didn't want us hanging out right now,” I muttered under my breath. “It's four years ago all over again.”

He moaned, his eyes sliding closed as pain washed through him and rolled over me in giant waves of agony. A tsunami of grief. He didn't let go of my hand, just curled in on himself and rolled toward me, resting his head on my shoulder and banding his free arm around my waist.

“But this is so much worse,” he said. “Back then, you had a fighting chance. We all knew it, but now…now…”

I dropped my head down to his, my hair sliding across his face, but he made no move to push it out of the way. “We still have that appointment with the other doctor. The second opinion,” I reminded him. “Maybe he'll have some different news. Maybe…”

Maybe he'll tell me that I only had weeks to live instead of months. That's the way it was with the big C, right? They told you one thing but really your time was so much shorter than that. My whole body rebelled against the thought, tightening up and coming alive with a fiercely cried
“No!”

“But what if he doesn't?” Kal asked, his mumbled question barely audible the way his face was mashed into my sweater. “What if he agrees with Dr. Lambert, and you are—”

“Going down for the dirt nap?” I cringed the minute the words tumbled out of my mouth and then again when he emitted a tortured sob. “Hey, now,” I murmured, tightening my arms around him. “No more of that. We have time to figure things out. I'm not dying today, Kal, and definitely not that way.”

He sniffled once more and then pulled away from me, taking my hand with him in his white-knuckled grip. “Jeesh. I'm such a big baby,” he apologized. “It's supposed to be the other way around, you know. You in tears and me, the big strong man, consoling you, telling you everything will be alright.”

I lifted my shoulders in a careless shrug and smiled. “I kind of like it this way.” I raised my free hand up to his face and caught one last tear still sliding down his cheek. “You know I hate that macho crap guys try to pull.”

His lips twitched up at the corners, but that crooked smile of his that was always close to the surface was nowhere to be found. “You're the best friend I've ever had, Amelia Gordon.”

I couldn't help but smile at that. “Right back at you, Kalpen Patel.”

He pulled me into a bone-rattling hug, squeezing me until I was sure I was going to pass away from asphyxiation. Wouldn't that be ironic? With a heavy sigh, he released me and buckled his seat belt. “Let's get this show on the road, Mini-Mia. We've got a lot to do before nine o'clock hits and you turn into a pumpkin.”

A relieved grin popped up to my lips, cracking my face in half. “Okay, Kallie,” I replied, giggling softly when he grimaced at the nickname and flipped his tongue out me. Just like normal, like there were no voluminous black thunderclouds quickly rolling in, blanketing our lives in darkness and terror.

He leaned over the steering wheel, his hand hesitating over the shifter, and then shot a questioning glance at me. “Do we really want to go to the library right now?” he asked, his eyes pleading with me to say no.

“What did you have in mind?” It came then, that lopsided smile of his that always made me feel better no matter how bad things got. His eyes gleamed mischievously, and I knew without him having to say a word. “Yeah,” I breathed, giddiness sailing through me. “Let's do it.”

He needed no further prodding. He threw the car into gear and jammed his foot down on the gas. The car rocketed out of the parking lot and onto the highway, laughter bubbling up and pealing out of me the whole way. The faster we went, the more I laughed. The louder my giggles, the further Kal pushed the car past its already stretched limits.

Just outside of town, past the picture perfect neighborhoods of well-maintained, middle-American homes, past the stretch of downtown and its quaint little shops and brightly colored storefronts, past all that, sitting in the middle of that desolate space between our
humming little society and the sprawling, never-sleeping, ever-alert metropolis of the city with its many highways, byways, and concrete parades sat The Pit. Long abandoned by its owners, The Pit used to be alive with heavy machines and thick-necked muscular laborers, all working to rid The Pit of its rich top soil and ship it off to various construction sites in and around the area.

Pilfered of all its wealth, The Pit was now nothing more than a wonderland of deep craters and towering cliffs that tempted young daredevils. It was supposedly off-limits, but if you knew your way around the locked gates, you were free to roam the hills and valleys, slipping and sliding your way to exhilaration.

Kal maneuvered the car around to the back where we usually parked. We threw the doors opened and hit the ground running even before the vehicle had rolled to complete stop. We met at the back of the car, Kal popping the trunk open and rummaging through its contents.

“Where's my board?” I demanded, shoving through the junk when it wasn't easily visible. “Kal? Where is it?”

He straightened up, his brows furrowed in concentration. “I think it might be in your car, but don't worry, Mia.” He snagged hold of the aged red saucer that lived at the bottom of his trunk and dangled it in front of me. “You can use Danna's saucer. She won't mind.”

“I'm not riding down on a little girl's sled.” I made a grab for his board. “But you can. I'll take your board.”

A deep velvety chuckle drifted out of him and hung in the air between us. He raised the board up higher. “Men don't ride little girls' sleds either,” he told me. “But I'll share.”

I halted all efforts to commandeer his board and glowered at him. “Fine, but I get to go down first.”

Shaking his head, he leaned the board against the car and reached out to adjust my coat, fastening the buttons on the front so that I was all bundled up. Then, he snatched a scarf and hat out of the trunk. My scarf and hat.

“Ever the boy scout,” I muttered as he fitted the knitted cap over my ears and knotted the scarf around my neck.

“Hush you,” he ordered. “I still need my merit badge in winterizing teenage girls.”

“Ha! I'll tell them you did it all wrong.” I swiped up the board and turned on my heel, heading up the hill. I didn't take more than two steps before his hands dropped onto my shoulders, halting any further progress on my part.

“I said,” he lifted the board from my surprised hands, “that I'd share. Not that you could just steal my board out from under me.” He caught hold of my hand before I could ask him what the hell he meant by that and bounded up the hill. I had to almost run to keep pace with his long, sure strides.

At the top, I watched resentfully as he slid his feet in and clamped them down. “That's just great,” I ranted. “This is what you call sharing, Kal? What a terrific friend. I'll just stand here like a dork with no board and watch as you get to have all the fun. You're a real pal, you know that?”

Grinning wide, he held his hand out to me. I briefly entertained the notion of biting him. When I still made no move to put my palm in his, he snagged hold of me and yanked me up against him. “I'm not going anywhere without you, Mia,” he murmured in my ear.

His hot breath sailed across my cold skin, slipping between the folds of my scarf to caress my neck. Instantly dizzy, my head felt unbelievably light. I shivered slightly, but not from the cold. From something else…something I'd never felt before. Something unbelievably nice.