An Unstill Life (24 page)

“Take off that sweater, okay?” She tugged at the oversized sleeve. “I want to see you.”

I climbed off the bed and pulled the sweatshirt over my head. Standing there in just my jeans and a too-small tank top made me feel vulnerable. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to conceal my non-existent breasts.

“Stand up straight,” Jules ordered. “And put your hands by your sides.” Purpose gave her voice strength, and I smiled as I did what she said.

“You have such a nice body.” Jules ran her hand over her concave chest, across the wasted remains of her once-full breasts.

I looked down, my cheeks hot. “I don’t have boobs.” A sudden flash of Sam’s friend pointing that out in the lunchroom sent a knife-blade of anger straight to my gut.

“More than a handful’s a waste.” Jules giggled, and I looked up. It was a natural sound, the bright gold I always associated with Jules, and I hadn’t seen it since she got sick. The anger disappeared, replaced by something lighter, more joyous: hope.

“Go up to my room,” Jules said, frowning, brow creased in thought. “There are some dresses in my closet. Bring them down and you can try them on for me.”

“They won’t fit me,” I protested.

“No, but we can probably take them in or whatever. Mom’ll help.”

A chill passed through me, wiping away whatever joy or hope I’d found. “No, she won’t.”

Jules reached out and found my hand. Her fingers were cold when they twined with mine. She pulled me closer to her. “She will. I know things aren’t great with her right now. But if I ask her, she’ll help.”

“No.” I shook my head. I couldn’t let Mom even think I was going to the dance. She couldn’t know about this. No way. I’d find myself locked in my room or something, anything to keep from tarnishing the great family name. Or whatever it was she thought I would do. “Jules. It has to be a secret. We’re… Bianca and me… We’re not supposed to go. Mrs. Wolfson kind of banned us. When she called Mom to tell her, Mom went ballistic.”

Jules stared at me. “You’re not allowed to go? Why? Because you’re both girls?”

My face burned, and I shrugged. “I guess.”

“That’s… That’s pretty outrageous, don’t you think?” Jules’s voice was stronger than I’d heard it in a long time. “It’s not nineteen fifty-four or something.”

“I know. That’s why we’re going anyway. But half the school seems to agree with Mrs. Wolfson.”

“What about the other half?”

I had to smile. “They’re on our side. Mel thinks we should hire a lawyer.”

Jules flashed a grin that made her look almost like the girl she was before. “Just showing up is better. And cheaper.”

We giggled, and I bent to pick up my sweater from the floor.

I turned back in time to see her collapse back on her pillows, face contorting into a grimace of pain. “Jules?”

“I’m okay.” She raised a hand as if to tell me not to touch her, not to come closer. I stood where I was, every muscle tensed and ready to run if I needed to. The fun and laughter that had filled the room seconds before was gone, devoured by the disease that had her in its grip.

Her face smoothed out and her eyes brightened again. “So, dresses?”

Five minutes later I ran back in with the dresses in my hand. They felt like air, these breezy fabrics in pastel colors that tasted of Valentines Day heart candy. These weren’t things I could wear. I lay them across Jules’s legs and watched her run her hands through them, satin and tulle slipping through her fingers like memory.

“This one’s my favorite.” She held up a lilac sheath made from some floaty material that lay in petal-like layers to make the shape of the dress. “Remember the orchid Zach gave me to wear with it?” She sighed.

The next one she picked up was blue satin the exact color of her eyes. “This one would be good for you, Livvie. Pastels will wash you out.”

I slid the dress over my head, wiggling out of my jeans after its length had fallen to the floor. The satin was cool and slippery against my thighs.

“Hmm…” Jules studied me. “Come a bit closer.” She tugged and pulled at the dress, clutching fistfuls of extra fabric at my waist and shoulders. “If I take it in here…and here.”

I let her push me around like I was her doll. It reminded me of playing dress-up when we were little kids, and I let flashbacks to happier times blot out the present.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I
sat on the end of my bed and stared at the gown on its hanger. It was time. If I was going to go to the dance, I needed to get into that dress. I stood up and paced the floor, fingers twining through the tie on my robe. Should I? Or shouldn’t I? I’d felt so brave when I told Bianca I wanted to go, but my courage was gone now. The dress was so beautiful though, and Jules had spent so much time making it perfect. I had to wear it. I tried to find the anger I’d felt when Mrs. Wolfson banned us, when Sam and his friends insulted us. It was still there, simmering quietly beneath the terror. I dug down and clung to it.

I did my make-up first, lining my eyes with black to make them stand out, layering on several different shades of lipstick. I stood back. I looked good. Well, okay at least. I gathered up my hairpins and comb to take downstairs. Jules would do my hair. Or if she couldn’t, at least she could direct me in what to do.

A noise from below made me jump. I pulled open my bedroom door and ran to the top of the stairs, peering down into the unlit hallway, blinking when the light flashed on and blinded me. Mom threw open the front door and peered out.

I hurried down the stairs, wrapping my robe around me more tightly. “Mom? What’s going on?”

She whirled around, genuine fear in her face. “Oh, Livvie. You startled me.”

“What’s happening?” I became aware of another noise, a low moaning coupled with the rasping sound of labored breathing. I glanced toward the living room door.

“It’s Jules, honey.” Mom raked her hands through her hair, leaving furrows through the thin, graying mop. “She’s having some trouble breathing. I’ve called an ambulance, and they should be here soon.”

Jules’s moaning grew louder. “No, no, no.” I heard her say, a great wheezing breath between each syllable. I eased closer to the door.

“It’s okay, Julie,” Mom murmured, the tension in her voice a vibrant blue that squirreled its way through the hallway. “We’re going back to the hospital. They’ll make it all better.”

“No, no, no, no.” Jules repeated, the words exploding through my skull. She didn’t want to go. Couldn’t Mom understand that? She didn’t want more tubes and pills and machines hooked up to her useless body. Couldn’t they just leave her here to die in peace? Without the indignity of all those strangers watching.

I turned and dashed back up the stairs. I didn’t care any more if Mom saw me in the dress. Jules had spent so much time on it, had taken so much pleasure in helping me find the perfect one, talking me through the alterations and accessories, the least I could do was make sure she saw me in it before she was dragged off to a place I was certain she regarded as her own personal hell.

Tossing the brush onto my bed, I dropped my robe to the floor and pulled the dress from its hanger. The shiny fabric slid through my fingers like water. I stepped into it and tugged up the zipper. The silky skirt whispered against my thighs. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and admired the way Jules’s alterations gave me a shape I’d never had before. I adjusted the slender straps, twitching the bodice so the heart-shaped neckline sat straight. In the intense yellow light, the ocean blue satin shimmered. My tongue flooded with the taste of aniseed and I swallowed, dragging my eyes from the unfamiliar image in the mirror as I turned to find some hairpins.

It took me longer than expected to fix my hair. When I was done, it sat piled on top of my head in a messy upsweep. Pins jabbed my scalp, but I didn’t have time to take them out and try again. I slipped into my shoes and wobbled across the floor, finding my balance on the two-inch heels. The crumpled newspaper dug into my toes, but I ignored the discomfort. A siren wailed once, close to the house. That was quick. Or maybe I’d taken longer than I thought. I flung open the door, grabbing the small package of razor blades I’d bought days earlier from where they sat on the corner of my desk. With them clutched in the palm of my hand, I ran.

The hallway was bathed in flashing red and blue light that spilled through the open doorway. I hurried down the stairs, making it to the bottom just as the paramedics wheeled the stretcher through, Jules still moaning “No, no, no.” Mom followed them, not even glancing in my direction.

They stopped in the center of the foyer. The paramedics were trying to place a mask over Jules’s mouth and nose, but she kept pushing it away. Her head moved from side to side in violent gestures as she eluded them. Mom stood nearby, hands wringing together as she murmured pathetic entreaties, begging Jules to submit to the treatment, promising more miracles if she could just let them help her.

I pushed in between the two burly paramedics and stood beneath the overhead light. Jules quieted, her writhing slowing to the odd convulsive twitch. Her breath rattled in her chest. I could see the way her body struggled to draw in each and every gust of air.

“Jules.” I took her hand and stood over her, watching as the taller of the two medics slipped the mask over her face.

She tugged it away. “You’re…so…beautiful,” she gasped. “Go…dance.”

I shook my head. Tears seared my eyes, but I blinked them away. “It’s not important. I want to be with you.”

“No!” The word exploded from her with a force that defied her struggling lungs. “You…go.”

“But, Jules—” How could I even consider going now? How could she ask me to? I couldn’t dance while my heart was cleaving in two.

“It’s…impor…tant. Don’t…let…them…stop…” Jules’s strength gave out, and she collapsed back into the mattress, the mask snapping back against her face.

I thought that was it, that she’d used her last reserves and would now submit quietly. But a second later, she tugged the mask off again and dropped it to the floor.

“I…don’t wanna go…hospital,” she choked out. “Don’t wanna.”

“Ma’am.” The taller of the two paramedics turned to Mom. “She doesn’t seem to want to go. At this stage, perhaps it’s better to just leave her here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Please, Mom. She doesn’t want to go. You can take care of her here. We have oxygen and drugs. She doesn’t want to go back to the hospital.” While I stared up at Mom, begging her to hear me, to understand that Jules didn’t want to die in the hospital, didn’t want to be poked and prodded and kept alive by machines and chemicals forever, I pressed the package I held into Jules’s hand. She started and when I glanced down at her, her eyes opened halfway. She began lifting her hand to her face, but I held it down, closing her fingers over the razors and tucking the fist beneath the sheet. I hoped she had the strength to hide them somewhere better. I hoped she understood what I was giving her. I hoped…

“Jules?” Mom leaned over her, running a trembling finger down the side of her face. “They can help you at the hospital. They’ll make you strong enough that we can go to Mexico for the treatment.”

“No.” Jules shook her head again. With the oxygen, her breathing had grown steadier, and her chest no longer hitched with every intake of air. “I want to stay here. I’ll be okay. We can…still go to Mexico.” These last words trailed off into a whisper, but we all heard.

“Ma’am?” the paramedic prompted.

“Mom?”

“Whatever you want, baby.” Mom caressed Jules’s face one more time then straightened and turned to the men. “Could I ask you to help me get her back to bed?”

As they wheeled her back out of the foyer, I heard her. “Livvie… Go…dance.”

The ambulance doors slammed shut on the empty compartment. My heart groaned as I stood on the porch and watched the red and blue lights vanish around the corner. They were gone. And Jules was still at home, where she wanted to be. I collapsed onto the steps. The too large shoes lay splayed across the peeling paint. How frivolous. How silly. How could I ever have thought something like this mattered?

I glanced at my watch. Eight. If I was going to go to the dance, I should leave. But was I going? I reached up to tug on my hair, but found only pins and lowered my hand again. The lipstick felt thick and heavy on my mouth, and mascara weighted my eyelids. I dragged myself to my feet and started back to the house. I should change and go in there, spend time with Jules. There wasn’t a lot left. Less if she chose to use my little gift.

Jules’s words ran through my head in a continuous loop. She wanted me to go to the dance. But how could I? I stood, indecisive at the front door, my mind moving faster than the speed of light.

I strode down the driveway, heading for Bianca’s. My heels rapped against the pavement like small explosions. I winced at the gold and orange sound splashing around my legs. My fingers toyed with a strand of hair that had come free of the myriad pins. I needed Jules. She would have been able to fix my hair. I gave a bitter laugh. My hair wasn’t important. Making a stand was. Wasn’t that what Jules had been trying to say? The wind snuck under my coat and whipped the flimsy skirt around my legs. I shivered. I was going. I owed Jules that much. If it meant so much to her, I was going.

“Bianca? You home?” I pushed open the door without knocking.

“Livvie?” The voice drifted down the hallway, followed a moment later by the rapping of heels on the wooden floor. I smiled. Not the familiar jangle of her boots. Heels.

I took off my coat and draped it over a chair, standing in the pool of light dropped by the single overhead in the center of the kitchen. Aniseed filled my mouth again as I twitched the sheer skirt to make it ripple and shimmer.

Bianca walked through the kitchen door and stopped, her mouth falling open. She wore a corset, black of course, but laced tight with red ribbons. In place of her usual layers of long black skirts she wore a knee-length sheath that clung to her hips and thighs, then flared out, a matching red ribbon threaded along the hemline. Black fishnets peeked above the shiny black leather boots she wore, the heels spiked and dangerous looking.

“You…” She stopped. “Shit. I’ve got too much makeup on to cry.”

I crossed the room and put my arms around her waist. Her hair was piled on her head, an arrangement of red ribbons threaded through that, too. Strands escaped to hang down, framing her face. I’d never seen her look so beautiful, so alive.

“You’re amazing, Livvie,” she whispered, bending to kiss my mouth.

“No.” I kissed her back. “You are.”