Always and Forever (10 page)

“Is Michael sick, too?” A look of fear crossed Jory’s face and she bolted upright in the chair.

“No. It’s for me. To see if his bone marrow is compatible with mine in case I ever need a transplant. They harvest a bunch of his marrow and put it into my bones and wait to see if it will grow and take over for my own.”
A bunch
. Is that how bone marrow grows? In an unscientific bunch? Like a cluster of flowers? She cleared her throat. “If it does, no more leukemia. But Dr. Rowan says it’s risky. And I could reject the transplant.”

Jory’s round, green eyes widened and Melissa prayed that Jory wouldn’t pursue the next most logical question:
What if you reject the transplant?
“I hope they can fix it the other way. With the chemo and all,” Jory finally said.

“Me too.”

Jory stood, fidgeting with the strap on her purse. “Well I guess I should be going. I’ve got a geometry test tomorrow.”

Melissa felt childish longing. “I wish I did.”

“Are you able to do much studying? I’ve brought all your textbooks. But maybe you need something special from the library. I’ll bring anything you want.”

“I’m keeping up. Mom got each of my teachers to outline assignments for me. When I go back to school, I can take a few tests to see if I’m up to par with the
rest of the class. It’s important that I keep up, you know.” She focused her attention on a blank spot on the wall behind Jory.

Jory shifted from one foot to the other. “The PSATs are scheduled for the third Saturday in October.”

Melissa’s vision zeroed in on her friend.
The PSATs!
How could she have forgotten them? Especially when she pinned her hopes on scoring high enough to qualify as a National Merit Scholar. “In the Lincoln auditorium?” she asked.

“Yes, starting at eight-thirty
A.M
. sharp. Bring two number-two lead pencils. Don’t fold, spindle, or mutilate your IBM punch card.”

Melissa sighed. “I’ve got to get out of this place.”

“The test’s less than two weeks away.”

“I don’t care. I’m going to take it.”

“They’ll have a makeup test.”

“No. I’m going to take it with my class.”

“Oh, Melissa, do you think you should plan on that?” Jory asked.

“Why not? If I’m an outpatient, like they said I’ll be, there’s no reason why I can’t go.”

“But you’ve been so sick … ”

“So I’ll bring a barf bag.” Defiance and anger overwhelmed her. “I’m sick and tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do. Don’t I get to make any choices for my life?” By now her hands were shaking and she tasted tears in the back of her throat.

“I was just worried, that’s all,” Jory said.

“Well, stop worrying. I’m going to survive this. I’m not going to fade away like a shadow. I’m
alive
, damn it!”

“I know you are.” Jory’s voice held a note of hysteria. “It’s just all so horrible, that’s all. I hate it.”

“And I don’t?” The burst of anger had sapped her. She shut her eyes as the room spun and nausea overcame her. Fine beads of perspiration broke out on her forehead as she fought against the sickness, but she knew she was losing the battle and said, “Jory, the basin … ”

Jory clamored across the room and got the basin to her just in time. Melissa heaved until there was nothing left. Jory had dampened a washcloth and wiped her face for her. “Should I ring for a nurse?” she asked.

“No. It’s over.” Melissa lay back on the bed. She heard Jory moving around the room—flushing the toilet, running water, and returning the basin to her bedside table. When she had the strength to open her eyes, she saw Jory standing next to her, staring at her thoughtfully. “Some friend I am. I throw up all over you.” She was too weak to even feel embarrassed.

“I’m glad I was here and that you weren’t alone.” Jory kept studying Melissa’s face, as if seeing her for the first time. Melissa wished she didn’t look so horrible.

“Hey, your scarf’s twisted,” Jory said.

“Will you fix it?” The ulcers in her mouth burned and it was difficult to speak.

Jory eased the surgical mask over Melissa’s face. “No use taking any chances on your catching anything. Especially now that you’re so close to getting out of this dump.” She retied the scarf in a jaunty fashion, with the knot to one side.

“You’re a good friend,” Melissa said.

Jory’s voice turned crisp and businesslike. “And don’t worry about Brain Bowl. I’ll talk to the powers that be. They won’t dare drop you from the team.”

“How can you guarantee that?” Melissa was struggling to form words and stay awake.

“Blackmail. How could they even consider dropping a poor, sick girl who’s just counting the days till she’s able to compete with her team?”

Melissa smiled. “You’re devious, Jory Delaney.”

“Yeah. I know.” Jory wiped her friend’s forehead one more time. “And we’ll go take the PSATs together. I’ll even hold your barf bag if you want.”

“I might have to bring a bag to wear over my head, too. Don’t want to frighten all my classmates, do I?”

“Who cares? All that matters is that you ace the test for that scholarship.”

“You could ace it, too … ” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“College isn’t for me, Melissa. Unless you count the frat parties. Now go to sleep, and I’ll be back tomorrow after school.” Melissa’s eyes were already closed and Jory’s voice sounded far away.

When she woke up, the twilight had cast long violet shadows across her room. Ric was holding her hand. “Hey, lady,” he said, a half-smile lighting his gaunt features.

“Hey.”

Without asking, Ric placed a mint on her tongue. “Rough day?”

“Real rough.” Melissa noticed that he was dressed in street clothes, jeans and a polo shirt. “Got a date?”

He placed the back of her hand along the length of his cheek. His skin felt cool and slightly rough. “I’ve been discharged, Melissa. I’m going home.”

Melissa filled with envy.
Home
. When would she be able to say the same thing? “I’m happy for you, Ric. Where’s home?”

“Upstate New York. But I’m really only returning to my dorm room at USF. After two years of living there, I think of it as home.”

“So you’ll be here at the university?” In a strange way she was relieved. He was the only person she knew close to her own age who understood what it was like to have cancer.

“At least until the end of the spring term. Then I’ll probably stay around for the summer and work until the fall semester starts.”

“Don’t you want to go back to New York for the summer? And see your family?”

His gaze was direct, and she noticed how dark and piercing his eyes were. “My medical support is here in Tampa. I don’t want to leave.”

The notion stunned her.
Her
medical support was here too. How would that affect her choice of colleges? Melissa kept her concerns to herself, offering Ric a half-smile. “When you’re dressed in jeans, you can’t even tell about your leg.”

His expression was cynical. “Yeah, this prosthesis is terrific. No one could even guess I’m a cripple unless I break into a run.”

“Ric, it doesn’t make you less of a person.”

“Just three-fourths of one.”

“But there’re no more signs of your cancer.”

He flipped the ends of her scarf. “That doesn’t mean it won’t come back. There are no guarantees.”

Her stomach lurched, but not from chemo. His blunt pessimism made her feel as if she were trapped in a labyrinth of blind alleys and stone walls. “Where’s that optimistic guy who sat by my bed while I tossed my cookies every night?”

Ric took her hand. “He’s still inside me, Melissa.” His scrutiny made her feel uneasy because she knew how horrible she looked, broken out in sores and skin lesions from the medications. “I’m going to call you when you’re back home. After the worst is over and you’re back in classes.”

“Why?” Her heart thudded crazily, but not the way it had when Brad had touched her. She wasn’t sure how to sort out the differences between Brad’s and Ric’s touches and the way they made her feel. And she didn’t know why; although she was attracted to both of them, it seemed to be in different ways.

“Because I want to,” Ric said. “Because, like I told you before, we’re alike.”

“Just because we both have cancer doesn’t mean we’re alike.” She wasn’t sure why his comparison put her off.

He grinned beguilingly. “All right, then, because I think you’re one foxy lady and I want to date you.”

Surprised by his confession, she said, “I look totally gross, and you know it.”

“But you won’t always look ‘totally gross.’ Once they get you into remission, you’ll look just like you did before. Very pretty.”

Her hand automatically touched her head.
“Except for my hair. I’ll never be able to grow it that long again.” Secretly she still mourned for it, but she didn’t regret having cut it. At least
that
decision had been hers and hers alone.

Ric’s eyes grew somber and he stared long and deep into hers. “Take care, Melissa. I’ll be calling you. You can count on it.”

She watched him leave, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Part of her felt dependent upon him. Part of her felt freed from having him checking on her, identifying with her, as if he knew what was inside her mind and soul when she grappled with having cancer. The truth was, she wasn’t dealing with it. “It,” the cancer, was an alien creature that had invaded her body and was gorging itself on her good health.

The doctors, the psychiatrists, the lab technicians—they were foreigners, too. She knew they were trying to help her, but they also seemed like invaders. They had assaulted her dignity—uncovering, poking, revealing, peeling layers of shyness away from her body like dead skin, removing it, strip by strip, until she felt naked and personless. She was still thinking and struggling with her problem when the nurse came to take her down for another round of chemo.

The next morning Michael came to see her. Although she hated for him to see her when she wasn’t on top of her nausea, his presence always comforted her. “I’m between work and class,” he said, his eyes darting uneasily around her room. “I don’t have too much time.”

“I’m glad you came anyway. This place is the pits and I want out.” He placed the surgical mask over her mouth for her and sat next to her bed, leaning on the mattress and resting his chin on his fist. He reminded
her of a forlorn puppy. “When was the last time you went ballooning?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You need to go soon. You look earthbound.”

A smile started at the corners of his mouth. “Will you go with me when you get home?”

“Haven’t I thrown up enough lately? You know how I react to heights.”

“Then will you drive the chase car like before?”

“Can I bring Jory?”

He made a face. “You still trying to fix me up with her?”

“Who else is there in your life?”

He touched her cheek. “Only you, Sis.”

“Are you bothered about them doing the bone marrow test on you, Michael?” She’d wanted to ask him for days, but hadn’t found the right moment. “I know how you hate needles.”

“It’s for
you
. Let them stick me.” He sounded braver than he looked about it.

“Maybe we won’t be compatible.”

“Then they’ll find a donor who is.”

The idea frightened her. Somehow the transplant seemed less intimidating if it came from her brother. The thought of having some nameless, faceless stranger living inside her bones made her shudder.

“But we will be compatible,” Michael said, trying to comfort her. “And besides, this chemo stuff is going to work, so you won’t even need a transplant. You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.”

“I hope it works. I’d hate to think I was this miserable for nothing.” He grinned at her sullen humor. “How’s Mom doing?” Melissa asked. “She acts cheerful
enough when she visits me, but how’s she really doing?”

“Better. Once you two made up and she stopped feeling responsible … ”

“Oh, that was my fault. She shouldn’t feel responsible. Cancer isn’t genetic. That was just a cheap shot I took because I was so angry about all of this.”

“I think she felt that she should have noticed something was going on with you. That you weren’t well. I guess I should have been more observant too.”

Melissa was surprised. It hadn’t occurred to her that her family might feel guilty about her illness. “It wasn’t anybody’s fault,” she said.

Michael shrugged as if he didn’t quite believe her. “Mom’s raided the library and the medical textbook section at the bookstores for every printed word about leukemia. You should see her tackle your doctor—she bombards him with a million questions. He must hate to see her coming!”

Melissa pictured her mother giving Dr. Rowan the third degree. It dawned on her that her mother knew more about her disease than she did, and she was moved that her mother had gone to such lengths to read and ask questions about her treatments. “Maybe I’ll read some of her books,” she said. Although she was inspired by her mother, she wasn’t sure how much more she wanted to know.

“I brought you a present,” Michael said.

“You did? But you’ve already given me three stuffed animals and a vase of flowers. You should be saving your money for ballooning.” The cuddly toys had been relegated to the windowsill so she could see them from her bed. Dr. Rowan didn’t want them too near in case they harbored any microscopic germs.
She thought it was ridiculous. The animals looked only soft and friendly and innocent.