Dana's Valley (23 page)

“All right. I'm stuck on question six,” I told him.

Graham leaned forward over my book and read it aloud. Then he began an explanation, asking me questions until I understood the direction he was headed to find the answer.

It wouldn't have taken nearly as long to finish my assignment if we hadn't stopped for something to drink, then chatted about what was going on back at his school—which was my old one. He had a couple of “Marcy stories” she had somehow neglected to share with me. I laughed at her school antics, secretly wishing I could have participated. He even updated me about the church web page and his plans for it. With all of the extra talk, I still had moved more quickly than usual through my assignment because of the help Graham had given me. We were on the last question when the door from the garage opened and Brett and Travis entered.

They looked over at us, and then glanced at each other, apparently struck by the same thought, though neither expressed it.

Brett opened the refrigerator. “Want something to drink, Travis? You can wash your hands in the sink. Mom's got soap on a shelf behind the cupboard door on the left.”

I laid down my pencil. “I think I can finish the last one myself, Graham. I guess you're ready to go.” My voice was low in an effort to keep Brett from hearing, but I knew he and Travis were listening.

“It's all right. I don't think we're in a hurry.”

“No, I can do it. You've already helped a bunch.”

“Go ahead and help her,” Travis called over to us. “Brett and I can go shoot some hoops.”

“Yeah,” Brett agreed. “Take all the time you want
helping
my sister.”

They grinned at each other and left again through the garage door.

“Sorry, Erin. I didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“Oh, I'm not embarrassed,” I hastened to answer, trying to hide the fact that I was. “Brett just acts that way sometimes.”

We finished the last of the assignment, and I began closing the books. Graham took our glasses to the sink and then walked back toward me. He cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you. Would you like to catch a movie with me sometime? Even tonight—if you're free. I mean, I'm going with my parents, but I already checked to see if you could come along. We wouldn't have to
sit
with them.”

I smiled. “Now that I'm done with my homework, maybe I could.”

“Can you call and let me know? We could pick you up around six. That way we could get something to eat first.”

“I'll ask my parents. And I'll call you.”

“Okay.”

We walked outside together, and I waited on the porch with him while Brett and Travis finished their game. They were puffing and sweating by the time Brett finally conceded defeat. But they grinned at each other again.

I waved good-bye as Graham got into the car with Travis, and turned to go back into the house. The clock said three-twenty. Mom and Dad had planned to be home by four. I could hardly wait to tell Dana that I'd just been asked on my first date. And with Graham—well, Graham
and
his parents. But I still could scarcely believe it.

I was totally unprepared for the report Dad and Mom brought back from a routine trip to the cancer treatment center in May. We all knew Dana had not been feeling quite as well, but we supposed that it was another flu bug—or at the most, that her medication required adjustment.

Dana went immediately to her room, and Mom followed a few minutes later. When Mom returned, she and Dad gathered the rest of us in the kitchen to bring us up-to-date. I could see that Mom probably had spent a good deal of the trip home crying. I noted that Dad's hand trembled as he reached up to run fingers through his hair. I knew, even before he spoke, that something wasn't right. And then he said it. Right out front. “We have bad news. Dana's cancer has returned.”

After extensive tests and consultations, the doctors had called in our parents and informed them that Dana's leukemia was no longer in remission.
It was back.
Back, and they feared, more invasive. She had been free of the disease for almost exactly one year.

I wanted to deny it. To argue. It couldn't be.
She was in remission.
The doctors had said so. Her blood count had been fine. Didn't that mean she had been cured?

But I just stood there and stared.

Corey started to cry. I wasn't sure Corey started to cry. I wasn't sure if it was because he understood better than I what it all meant—or that he didn't understand at all.

Brett, who had been summoned up from the basement, pushed back from the table and started for the door. Dad called him, but he didn't turn around, just kept walking, his jaw clenched as though he was deeply angry. I stood. I wanted to run after him, to go with him—but my legs wouldn't work.

“Erin?”

I heard someone speak my name, but it didn't really register. Then it came again, along with a touch on my hand. It was Dad. “Erin … are you okay?”

I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. I wasn't sure. We'd likely have to go through all the months of agony again. The disruption and pain and weariness and uncertainties … and the struggle to pay bills. I shook my head again.

Dad gently guided me down on the chair that Corey had vacated for Mom's lap. For a moment I wished I were small enough to be held and cuddled like that. But Dad was speaking to me again. “They are still undecided about just what approach to take. We need to take Dana back to the cancer treatment center, and they'll do more tests to assess just what has been affected. After they get that all figured out, they'll know better how to progress with the treatments.”

My eyes traveled beyond the kitchen to the door into the little suite where Grandma Walsh had stayed. Apart from our old television and a few throw pillows, it had remained empty. There would be no grandmother to stay with us this time while Mom and Dad spent long days in the city with Dana. What would we do? Would they leave us on our own? The very thought troubled me. How could
I
take care of Corey alone?

“They may do another series of chemo. They may move on to stem cell transplantation. They've had some good results with that. They may use autologous blood stem cell transplantation, or they may seek a donor. But whatever …”

But I had tuned Dad out. I didn't want to hear about it. All of those big words that I didn't understand. I didn't
want
to understand them. It wasn't fair that we had to be thinking of things like cells and transplantations. It wasn't even fair that we had to be hearing words like leukemia and cancer. What had we done to deserve this? What? Why was God so angry with us? Or if not angry … uncaring? I thought He had answered our prayers, but He hadn't. He hadn't done anything at all. Just … just given us false hope. We all thought that Dana was better. That things were as they should be, but they weren't. I'd prayed often, thanking God for giving Dana back to us. Now I was so mixed-up. I just wanted to run away and cry.

Mom was speaking. “Erin,” she said softly. “I think Dana needs you right now. This is very difficult for her. You've always been able to bring her some comfort. She's up in your room and she—”

Without even thinking about it, I was off my chair. I headed for the same door Brett had. I heard my name, but I didn't turn around. I just kept running. I had to get away. Somewhere alone. Here I was with the whole world collapsing in on me, and Mom was expecting me to be of comfort to Dana.

Blindly I ran from the house, slamming the door behind me. I wished I had the luxury of a car. Then I'd drive and drive and drive until I was far away from all of the pain and suffering of my household. But I was stuck. There was really no way to escape. I headed for the tree fort and groped for the nailed-on ladder rungs. Up I went. It was hardly big enough for me to lie facedown without legs and arms dangling over the sides, but I sprawled right where I dropped. I buried my face in my arms and cried and cried until there were no more tears.

At first all I could think of was my own suffering. My life had already been torn apart because of Dana's illness. Now—just when things were beginning to be normal—we were to go through it all over again. It didn't seem fair. I didn't think I could do it.

Then suddenly I thought of Dana.

How could she stand it? How could she go through all the sickness … the pain … the loss of her hair … everything that was wrong? It wasn't fair.

My tears changed to tears for my sister. For one moment I was almost ready to sacrifice for her. To take her place if that could be arranged. And then I got real. I would never be able to stand the suffering as silently—as sweetly—as Dana. I would rage and storm against the disease. I would scream at God for letting it happen. I would be so angry. So bitter.

But not Dana. She had spent her days of suffering reaching out to others with similar pain. Through her little notes of encouragement and her e-mail messages, she had managed to find a way to bring comfort to others who were also struggling. I couldn't help but admire Dana—even when I wished to escape from the presence of her illness.

Once my thoughts were transferred to Dana, I began to remember other things. She had spent the year trying to catch up with her class. Dad had hired a tutor for her math course. She had almost completed her freshman year of high school. I still vividly remembered the first day she returned in the fall. It had been an exciting day for both of us. And Dana had fit right in again. Her hair, not quite the same color that it had once been, had grown long enough to cap her head in a cute, curly 'do. It was now a softer shade, just a hint of red highlighting the soft brown. But it was long enough and thick enough for her to visit the hairdresser and have it shaped into a style that was becoming. I almost envied her. I'd never yet been to a stylist, and I recognized that her haircut was much more
in
than mine. She had put on some pounds too, so her clothes were actually fitting—not just hanging, as they had when she'd been so thin. In fact, Dana was turning a few heads. I'd seen it happen when she walked down the school hallways. Guys would stop what they were doing and turn to get another look at her.

But now … it was all to be lost again. Dana would undoubtedly lose those pounds and that curly hair—again. She would lose the hours of classroom study that would propel her toward the coveted diploma. She would lose her strength, her bright eyes, and sense of humor. She would lose her dreams and plans and even more of her teenage years.

And I would be a loser too. I knew that. Everyone in our house would. Dana's illness was robbing us all. Not just Dana. Cancer was a spoiler, a taker of life even while one still lived. It was a dream robber … a home wrecker … a plan changer … a peace stealer … and, for some, it was a grave filler. I started to cry again. How could one disease have such power to destroy?

And then I thought of something Mom had said when Dana had been so sick before. She said that cancer was a faith builder. A magnet to draw one closer to God. Well, maybe for Mom—but not for me. I didn't feel close to God at all. He seemed to be a long, long way off, if He really existed.

But my own deeper self denied that I doubted His existence. If He didn't exist, how could I be so angry with Him? How could I feel bitter that He had not answered my prayers if He was just a figment of people's imagination? No, I was sure that God was real. He just wasn't keeping His part of the bargain, that was all. He was supposed to look after His children.

My thoughts jumped forward. If God wasn't upholding His end, how could He expect me to carry mine? At that moment my decision was made. I wasn't going to pray to Him anymore. I wasn't going to have anything to do with Him at all. I'd make Him suffer—just as He made me.

I heard my name being called, but I didn't answer. I didn't even move. I still wasn't ready to talk. I hadn't sorted through everything that I had to process. How this new illness would affect us all. What Dana, my sister who had become my best friend all over again, was going to have to endure before another remission. Why this had happened to us now. I needed a little more time on my own.

Eventually I rubbed my eyes and climbed stiffly down from the tree fort. Already the evening sky was darkening. I had spent a couple of hours in seclusion.

Corey was outside with Max. He was trying to teach her how to retrieve a ball. She was quite willing to chase after it whenever he threw it, but she had no idea she was to bring it back to him again. Each time she grabbed it, she raced off, prancing and jumping and feeling very pleased with herself for managing to catch it.

“Where were ya?” Corey asked when he saw me.

At first I wasn't going to answer, and then I decided I would. “The tree fort.”

“I woulda went too.”

I did not correct his grammar. Nor did I tell him that at the moment he would not have been welcomed. I just ruffled his hair a bit and passed on into the kitchen. I hadn't done any of my afternoon chores. I wondered if Mom would be upset.

But when I entered the kitchen there was no scolding. In fact, Mom didn't say anything. She did come to me and put her arms around my shoulders and drew me close for just a minute. I didn't want to start crying again, which I was afraid I would, so I pushed back rather quickly. She didn't say anything even then. Just let me go.

“I'll be right back to set the table,” I managed to tell her. “I need to see Dana first.”

As I climbed the stairs to our room I tried hard to think. I wasn't sure what I could say to Dana. I couldn't say, as I'd said so often in the past, “I'm praying for you.” I knew better than to lie right in the face of God.

When I opened the door, Dana was not lying on her bed crying into her pillows, as I guess I had expected. She was sitting at her computer, no doubt sending out another e-mail message. When she heard me enter, she half turned.