Brilliant Hues (13 page)

T
he minute I walked into camp, Charlotte tackled me, throwing herself into my arms. “You’re back!”

I crouched down to look her in the eyes. So blue. I’d stayed up late last night, painting the drawing I’d made on the plane, of her jumping. I’d had to mix and mix to blend the perfect blue for her eyes. Later, when the time was right, I’d give her the painting.

“I missed you, Charlotte.”

“I know what we should draw today,” Charlotte said, her expression serious.

Since the kids had finished their picture books, some had gone on to do another, but Pips had been bringing drawing prompts each day, too, just in case. Last night, we’d decided
to ask the kids to draw their favorite place. But I had no problem throwing out our lesson plan if Charlotte had an idea.

“What should we draw, Charlotte?”

“God,” she said, simply.

Okay. I hadn’t bargained for this. I glanced over my shoulder at Jess, and we exchanged a silent conversation that went something like:

Me: Is this a good idea?

Her: I think so.

Me: Okay …?

“God?” I asked Charlotte.

“How should we explain the assignment, Charlotte?” Jess asked.

“I know people don’t know exactly what God looks like, but we can all just draw what we think, right?” Charlotte asked.

“Absolutely,” Jess said, and then she called “Beetle!”

The kids turned, made their faces and shouted, “FACE!”

“Gather round, friends,” Jess said. “We have a special assignment today.”

Pips crossed the room to join us. “We’re not drawing favorite places?”

“Would you like to explain this one, or should I?” Jess asked me.

“You,” I said, more than grateful that Jess could read the uncertainty in my face.

“Charlotte had a great idea, friends,” Jess said. “She was
thinking about what God looks like, and suggested that we all draw him the way we picture him in our minds. Of course, no one knows for sure what God looks like, so there’s no right or wrong answer.”

How had she explained that so easily? The kids had already begun to whisper to one another about their ideas, so she sent them off to tables to work.

Charlotte stared at her blank paper long after the other kids had started drawing. I went over to her.

“Are you all right, Charlotte?”

She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds but when she opened them, she shook her head. “I can’t see anything, Sadie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Usually, you ask us a question, and I whisper it in my mind to Cici, and she sends me pictures, ones I can see in my head. And I know what to draw. But today she’s not sending me anything. It’s just … blank.”

I knew Charlotte believed, absolutely, that she and her sister could talk across miles this way, and who was I to say she couldn’t? It sounded impossible to me, but I’d never been a twin. And I knew that feeling close to Cici like this, whether or not it was real, was one of the only things keeping Charlotte afloat. Probably she had asked to draw God for this very reason, to try to understand what Cici was feeling or thinking about sickness, about life and death.

“I asked her what God looks like, and she isn’t answering. Why isn’t she, Sadie?”

I couldn’t lie to her, and even though I wanted to smooth it over, she was too smart to not see through empty, soothing words.

So finally I said, “I don’t know, Charlotte.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and I was sure I’d said the wrong thing. But then, she blinked at me and said, “I don’t think she knows. She wants me to tell her what God looks like and I am afraid I’ll be wrong. I’ve never seen him.”

The words could have come out of my own mouth, about what to say to the girls, about what to say to Charlotte, right now. “I’m afraid I’ll be wrong a lot of the time, too, Charlotte.”

“But you tell us what you think,” Charlotte said, leaping to my defense. “You’re brave, and you tell us when you’re not sure, too. When you tell me what you think, it helps me see what I think better too.”

This girl. I’d barely known her for two weeks, and she’d completely stolen my heart. “You know, I never thought of it like that, Charlotte.”

“Maybe I should just draw what I think God looks like, then,” Charlotte said. “For Cici. And maybe my picture will help her see her own. Do you think that might happen, Sadie?”

I wrapped my arms around Charlotte and squeezed her tight. “Charlotte, yes. I think so.”

I let her go, and she picked up a purple pencil and started to sketch. I circled the room, looking at the pictures. Many showed some variation of God looking like a grandfather in
a big chair surrounded by clouds. Other drawings were predictable, because I knew these kids. Fritz, for instance, had drawn a huge superhero that took up most of the page. But he hadn’t drawn the face. He’d drawn his caped hero from shoulders down.

“Why didn’t you draw the head, Fritz?” I asked.

“Because God looks different to every person,” Fritz said. “His face, I mean. And in the Bible stories people don’t see his whole face, anyway. Just parts. Like the corner of his nose.”

Pips joined me at Fritz’s desk.

“But he’s the one superhero that has every power. No limit. Well, except the limits he puts on himself, because he wants us to do stuff for ourselves sometimes too.”

By now, Jess had joined us too. “Fritz, I think you’re on for the sermon next Sunday. How do you feel about preaching to our congregation?”

Fritz’s eyes went wide and Jess started to laugh. “I’m only kidding. But I’d love to use your drawing, if you’ll let me.

What do you think?”

Fritz nodded, and went on to explain all the other details to Jess as Pips and I walked away to check on the other students. I wandered back toward Charlotte, who had folded her drawing up into a small square.

“Do you want to show me your drawing, Charlotte?” I asked.

She nodded solemnly. “Someday, Sadie. But today, my drawing is just for Cici. Because she needs it most of all.”

I smiled and put my hand on her shoulder. “Yep, Charlotte. I think you’re absolutely right.”

All through camp, I braced myself for the phone call from the hospital, but it didn’t come. Maybe Cici would pull through after all. Pippa did get a phone call, though, from the girls. When all the kids had left to go to other activities, she sat and fidgeted.

“What is it, Pips?” I asked.

“Alice wants us to come over to Bri’s house.”

“Why?”

“Margo had a change of heart, and the girls want to work out what to do.”

“Time for me to say what I really think, huh?” I sighed. “Better sooner than later.”

“You don’t have to,” Pips said protectively. “I mean, not today. You already have so much …”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re protecting me again.”

“Yeah, okay,” Pips said. “Well, if you want to.”

Grant pulled up at almost the same time as Alice’s mom, and we caravanned over to Bri’s house. On the drive over, Dad called and asked to talk to me.

“You’re sure you want to talk to Karl, Sadie?” Dad asked. “I’m just not sure …”

“I know you don’t want to involve me, Dad,” I said. “But I’m involved already. And I need a chance to speak my mind.”

I could almost see Dad shaking his head on the other end of the phone. “That’s what Grant said too. That it wouldn’t be resolved for you until you’d stood up to Karl yourself.”

The words slammed into me, and finally I understood what I needed to say to the girls.

“Tell Grant that Karl will be coming to the house at two o’clock, and that I’d like him to stay for the conversation.”

I hung up with Dad and told Grant what was going on. It was already one o’clock, so I could only stay at Bri’s for about a half hour. I promised Grant I’d be quick, and then Pips and I went inside and up to Bri’s room.

The girls had gathered Bri’s beanbags and were sitting in a tight circle, as though they were afraid someone might overhear them.

Bri was explaining, “She’s going to tell the judges that we trapped her into cheating.”

“She’s such a liar!” Juliet said. “She would have cheated anyway.”

Only then did the girls notice that Pips and I had come into the room, and they all clammed up.

“Look,” I said. “I hate this whole secret club thing, and I should have said so a long time ago.”

Alice threw me an irritated look. “So, what is that, like a too-late I told you so?”

“No. When Pips told me about the video, I thought it sounded like blackmail, and I should have said something to all of you. But I didn’t.”

“The video stopped Jaylia,” Juliet protested.

“Right. And that’s what I’ve been trying to figure out this whole time,” I said. “Like Pips said, you’ve been helping.

It’s not like you should lie down and let the bullies walk all over you.”

“So what do you suggest?” Alice asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I said. “I think we have to figure out how to stand up to people without bullying them.”

“The teachers won’t help us,” Bri said. “We tried that.”

“I know,” I said. “But look what happened when Margo came into the store last week. What would have happened if we’d stood up to her right then? That would have been better than sneaking around and cheating, right?”

“Okay, so maybe we cheated. But it worked at first,” Bri said defensively.

“And now it’s all a mess,” Pips said.

Grant honked, and I knew I’d taken too long.

“When are you talking to the judges?” I asked.

“Monday,” Bri said.

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll be there too.”

“You didn’t cheat,” Alice snapped. “You weren’t even part of it.”

“No,” I said. “But we should stick together on this.”

When I left, they all looked miserable, and I felt pretty miserable too. But I knew getting everything out in the open would feel better than bottling it up. Like when I’d finally told Dad the truth about Karl.

I didn’t feel much like talking on the way home. Now that I was about to face Karl, I wasn’t sure I’d say the right thing, or even be able to speak at all. But I had to do this for
Charlotte. And actually, for me, too. Karl had backed me into too many corners and terrified me and I’d never had the chance to tell him what I really thought. And here was my chance.

Please help me. Give me the right words to say
.

“H
ere’s what I want to say,” I said, once I had situated myself on the couch next to Dad, across from crazy Karl, whose face was already red with anger. Dad had promised we’d listen to Karl only after I’d had a chance to speak.

My stomach twisted with fear, but I took a deep breath and began. “I’ve been thinking about your sister,” I said, cautiously. “About what you told me in the elevator. I think you’re wrong.”

Karl made an angry noise and Dad shot him a warning look.

“I don’t know how long it has been since your sister died,” I pressed on. “But look how much you still love her, how much you’ve done for her.”

“Right, which is why —” Karl began, and Dad held up his hand.

I stared down at my hands for a minute, trying to put what I wanted to say into words. “The past few weeks, I’ve been working with Charlotte, at camp. And I … love her. Even though she’s so sad—not being able to see Cici, knowing Cici might die—but still, Charlotte is like this little … light. She lights up the room when she walks in. Tyler knew his kids might get sick, and he had them anyway. All he wants to do is find a way to help them stay healthy. To help Charlotte stay healthy. She deserves that chance, doesn’t she? What if it had been your sister, before she got sick? Wouldn’t she deserve a chance?”

Karl stood, pushing his chair back a few feet. “I’m done with this conversation.”

“I’d be angry too,” I said as he started out of the room. “If I lost Charlotte. But deep down, I’d have to admit I loved her. And that loving her was worth it. You can’t just block out everything and everyone that might hurt you.”

Karl stared at me for a moment, and then said, “She looked like you, a little. My sister.” And then he was gone.

Mom came in with the phone in her hand, her face pale. “Matthew? Sadie?”

“Cici?” Dad asked.

“They’re letting Charlotte see her.”

I didn’t understand. Wasn’t it a good thing if Charlotte could finally see her sister? “Why do you look so upset?”

“They don’t feel it’s essential to protect Cici from infection anymore,” Mom said.

And then I understood. “Because they think she’s dying?”

“Charlotte’s mom called and asked if we’d come.”

I couldn’t speak over the sudden lump in my throat. On our way out, I realized maybe this was the time to give Charlotte her painting. I hurried up to get it, scratched Higgins ears as I closed him in the house, and ran for the Hummer, where Mom, Dad, and Grant already waited. When we arrived at the hospital, Charlotte stood, small, pale-faced, in the hallway, holding her mom’s hand.

“I waited for you, Sadie,” she said. “I want you to come with me.”

Even though her eyes were dry, understanding sparked deep, too. Someone had explained to her that Cici wouldn’t be with us much longer.

Charlotte slipped her hand out of her mom’s and into mine. “I want you to tell Cici about seeing what’s invisible. If … when … I can’t see her anymore, I want her to know I’ll always be looking for her.”

I swallowed hard. If Charlotte wasn’t going to cry, then I wasn’t either. “Okay. We’ll tell her.”

“The doctors think we should limit Charlotte’s visit to five minutes. Just in case …” Charlotte’s mom’s voice broke and she turned away.

Just in case. So they were holding on to the tiny hope that maybe Cici could pull out of this. But they also knew that Charlotte had to say goodbye to her sister, because this might be her last chance.

I squeezed Charlotte’s hand. “Are you ready?”

She nodded.

We pushed through the door into the darkened room. Cici lay under the covers, hardly taking up any of the adult-sized bed. Tyler sat next to her, holding her hand.

“You’re here,” he whispered, and I wasn’t sure whether he was talking to Charlotte or me.

He stood, and when he set down Cici’s hand, I could barely distinguish between the white of her skin and the white of the sheet. He gave Charlotte his chair. She gripped my fingers even as she sat down, so I just stood beside her. Charlotte never took her eyes off Cici.

Cici’s head was bald from the chemo, and her eyebrows and lashes were gone too.

When Charlotte leaned in and whispered, “Cici?” she didn’t open her eyes.

“She can’t …” Tyler began, but Charlotte just went on.

“It’s okay if you can’t open your eyes right now, Cici,” she said. “I brought my friend to see you. Sadie. She’s been helping me draw, the one I told you about who paints the wind. Tell her, Sadie.”

How could I resist Charlotte when she looked at me like that? I cleared my throat. “Sometimes when I close my eyes, outside in the wind, the air feels thick and strong …”

“Like God is wrapping round her in a giant hug,” Charlotte continued for me. “And that’s what I wanted to tell you, Cici, that you don’t have to know what God looks like because all you have to do is close your eyes and you can feel him.”

Charlotte let go of my hand to take a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. Her drawing.

“Cici, I drew this for you. I don’t know what God looks like, but this is what I imagine. You’ll have to tell me if I’m right …” she paused and breathed deep. “… If you have to go. But if you can stay …” Charlotte’s voice broke off.

I wanted to hug her, tell her everything would be all right. But of course, I didn’t know what would happen. Chances were, things would become very, very difficult.

Charlotte took Cici’s finger and helped her trace the lines of the drawing.

“Since you can’t see it with your eyes,” she said.

Maybe because they were twins, and maybe because they knew each other so well, Charlotte was able to understand what any other six-year-old couldn’t. Somehow, here with Cici, Charlotte seemed much more whole than she’d ever been at camp. Which should be impossible. Most kids would be terrified, I’d guess, or something, but Charlotte seemed strangely at home.

Charlotte refolded the paper and pressed it into Cici’s hand. As she did, Cici’s eyes fluttered, once, twice, and then she opened them and locked eyes with her sister. No one breathed. Finally, Cici breathed out, and her eyes drifted closed.

“Daddy, Cici needs the doctor,” Charlotte said, turning those blue eyes on him.

Tyler rushed out of the room, and came back with a doctor. He checked the monitors and Cici’s pulse and gave a
quick nod. “We need to take her back up to quarantine. Somehow … I can’t say how, but …”

“She’s getting better, isn’t she?” Charlotte asked him.

The doctor gave Charlotte a quick once-over, head to toe, as though he was judging whether to answer her question at all. Finally, he said, “Her fever broke, and her vitals … yes. Something happened—I don’t understand what.”

Then, the room filled with a flurry of masked and gloved nurses, who whisked Charlotte and me out of the room, and seconds later, hurried Cici up the hall on a rolling gurney.

“What happened?” Charlotte’s mom was on her feet. “Where are they taking her, Tyler?”

His face was hard to read. He took Charlotte’s mom into his arms.

“They’re taking her back to quarantine,” he said into her hair.

“But that means …” she said.

“Yes,” was all Tyler said.