Growing and Kissing (6 page)

“You can stay here as long as you need,” said Dr. Huxler. “It’s okay.”

The first ugly, wracking sob broke the surface, the tears spilling over and falling like hot rain onto my top.
I cannot deal with this.

Cannot.

Deal.

I wanted my mom and dad.

My eyes screwed shut as I thought about all the things Kayley and I had shared and all the things we now never would. I thought of losing her, of being completely alone in the world, and then cursed myself for being so fucking selfish and thinking about myself when I should have been thinking about her. I tried to imagine how she’d handle it: six months of watching the hours tick away, counting down the sunsets. She’d be strong, knowing Kayley. Strong and funny, until the end. That almost made it worse.

It wasn’t fair. Not after our parents. Not
her,
not after so little life.
Take me, instead!
I’d heard that, heard parents saying they’d change places with their kids when something like this happened, but I’d never really understood, not deep down. I did now. I would have changed places with her in a heartbeat.

The hole inside me had swallowed everything up, now. Every breath just brought an arctic, bone-deep cold, a nothingness where there should have been warmth and security. I cried out of loss and out of fear: this was worse than anything I’d ever imagined, but it was nothing compared to what was to come. My sister was going to be slowly ripped from me, one day at a time.

I finally moved. I leaned forward, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed my heart out. I cried and cried and I got colder and colder and colder.

And then I got mad.

It started as a tiny spark in the darkness, out in the middle of that void where nothing should have been able to survive. I snatched at it and it burned me, but that was fine. Pain was good. Pain was better than nothingness. I squeezed it between my palms and felt it grow.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t
fucking
fair.

The spark had lit a fire. Fourteen years of memories of Kayley, of love, of affection...it all stood like a dense, tinder-dry forest that didn’t catch fire so much as explode. I sat upright in one sudden move and said, “No.”

“I’m sorry?” said Dr. Huxler.

“I said,
no!
This thing’s going to kill her and you just
give up
and offer me a fucking book?
No!
There has to be something you can do.”

There was real pain in his eyes. “I’m sorry. There isn’t.”

I stood up, the anger carrying me. “Well you
find something!
” I yelled. “Because I’m not going to tell a fourteen year-old girl she’s not going to make fifteen!”

I had to get out of there. My anger was red hot but I knew it would run out and I didn’t know what would happen when it did. I couldn’t go back out into the hallway because Kayley was there. So I threw open the doors onto Dr. Huxler’s little balcony.

Outside, as if to mock me, the sky was blue and the sun was pleasantly warm. Eighteen million people down there were grinning and chattering and going about their business as if this was a normal day. Kayley’s passing wouldn’t even leave a dent in their world.

I pressed my stomach against the railing at the edge of the balcony and leaned forward just a little. We were five floors up. How long would it take, before I hit the ground? Ten seconds, maybe? Ten seconds to think and fear, before I stopped thinking altogether. That would be a hell of lot more manageable than six months.

But then I’d be leaving Kayley on her own to deal with this. No way.

So I stood there, hands clenching and unclenching on the railing, until Dr. Huxler came to stand next to me. I already knew what he was going to say: that my anger and denial were normal, a part of the process.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay what?”

He didn’t look at me, just stared out over the city. “I’m not in the business of offering false hope,” he told me. “Sometimes, not every option is appropriate.”

I grabbed his arm with both hands. For the first time since he’d broken the news, I felt the hole inside me flicker. A tiny, tantalizing glimpse of a future where Kayley still existed. “What?”

“There’s an experimental treatment in Switzerland. They’ve been having good results.”

“Then let’s do it! Why are we even talking about this?”

Now he turned to look at me. “It costs half a million dollars. Kayley’s insurance won’t cover it. These people cater to the super-rich. They expect payment in advance: they won’t let you run up a bill.”

Money? It came down to money?
That’s
what was going to determine my sister’s future? I stood there staring at him for a moment. “How long do I have to find the money? You said you could give her six months. Could we start the Swiss treatment at the
end
of that time?”

He sighed. He must have thought I was crazy...but he didn’t want to give up on her any more than I did. “If I really maxed out the chemo...then in theory, yes.”

I nodded.

“Louise...I have to caution you on this. Six months was the
maximum.
Stretching out Kayley’s time to that...it’s going to make it rough on her. Treatments almost every day—she’s going to be in the hospital
a lot.
It isn’t what I’d normally do. Normally I’d suggest a balance between extending her time and making her comfortable.”

I got what he was saying. By clinging on to this one slim chance, I was ruining Kayley’s remaining time. Was I just being selfish? Wouldn’t it be better to just enjoy our time together and let her slip away, three or four or five months from now?

No.
I wasn’t giving up on her.

“I’ll find the money,” I told Dr. Huxler firmly. “Give me six months.”

And then I walked straight through his office and out into the hallway. Before he could try to change my mind.

We sat Kayley down and I gently explained that it was serious. “You’re going to have to have some treatments,” I told her. “Here in the hospital. And then, in about six months, we’re going to take a trip to Europe for one last batch.”

“Europe?”

“Switzerland.”

I let it sink in. Kayley wasn’t stupid. She could see my eyes were red from crying. “But it’s going to be okay?” she asked in a small voice.

I gathered her into my arms and folded her tight against my chest. “Yes,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”

And I prayed to whoever was listening that I was telling the truth.

Louise

Dr. Huxler insisted that Kayley should start her treatment immediately. I didn’t like it. She was terrified as it was, without sleeping alone in an unfamiliar place. “Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll bring her back.”

He shook his head. “We need to get her started on the meds as soon as possible.” He lowered his voice. “Look, you want me to give you as much time as I can: this is me doing that. It’s already taken hold. I need to slow it down. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

I knew he didn’t mean it like that, but it still stung. I’d already been berating myself: why hadn’t I brought her in sooner? A month ago, a week ago, before this creeping darkness had claimed so much of her.

I’d thought she was just
tired!

I relented and told Kayley she’d have to stay in, then raided the hospital’s store for trashy magazines and candy to cheer her up. When I got to the register, the reality of it hit me for the first time: I was having to search for loose change to pay for ten dollars’ worth of stuff. Kayley’s insurance would cover most of the hospital treatments, but there’d still be some bills, easily enough to eat up what meager savings we had. We were basically broke.

How the hell was I going to find
half a million dollars? What the hell am I doing?

And then I hardened.
What choice do I have?
I wasn’t going to give up. If I’d been one of the super-rich, Kayley would already be on her way to Switzerland and would be starting the treatment now. It wasn’t right that her survival hinged on money.

Upstairs, Kayley had settled into her room as best she could. She was eying a nurse suspiciously as the woman prepared her first IV bag.
Her first of God knows how many.
Dr. Huxler had told me she’d be in hospital for at least the first few months: she’d need almost daily treatments and they’d leave her too weak to come home in between.

I handed over the magazines and candy and then pulled over a chair, taking Kayley’s hand.

“You’re staying?” Kayley asked hopefully.

“Damn right I’m staying. I’ll be here until you go to sleep.”

I held her hand while the needle went in and while the first dose of chemicals trickled into her system. I read to her from the magazines and got her to draw a complicated tree diagram on the back of a napkin showing which members of her favorite bands had dated which actresses. I stayed while she lay down to sleep and waited until she was breathing slow and easy.

If it had been me in the bed, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Kayley could because she still had that child’s unshakeable faith: if your mom or dad tells you it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.

I missed having that like crazy. I needed someone to tell
me
it was going to be okay. And I was absolutely terrified that Kayley had put that faith in me. I couldn’t risk her waking up and seeing me crying, so I put everything I had into holding the tears back and quietly slipped out.

At home, everything felt wrong. It was the first time I could remember that I’d been in the apartment alone at night. I couldn’t sleep. Whenever I went towards my bedroom, I’d pass Kayley’s room with the door half open and the silence inside and I’d stumble to a stop.

Eventually, I went up on the roof. It was full-on night, now, but there was enough moonlight to see by. I picked my way carefully over to my plants and sat down amongst them. I put my arms on my knees and my head on my arms and then, only then, did I let it all out. I cried for Kayley and our parents. I cried for the friends she’d never make and the man she’d never meet, for the home they wouldn’t make and the kids they’d never have. Most of all, I cried for being such a fucking bad mother, that I could allow this to happen to her. Why hadn’t I gotten it diagnosed earlier? Why wasn’t I some high-flying CEO with millions in the bank, instead of a college drop-out working at a garden store?
Why, why why?
And what the hell was I going to do?

And then, just as I was at my lowest low...that’s when I heard the music.

Sean

Some people play and they make beautiful music. I play to let shit out, and you probably wouldn’t even call it playing. I’m sure as hell not very good and I don’t play any songs you’d recognize. I just use the chords that feel right and I thrash the living hell out of them.

The first amplified notes crashed across the rooftop and out across the city. It was probably pretty loud, if you were above the tenth floor. But it wasn’t like anyone would dare knock on my door to complain. Being the scariest fucker on the block has some advantages.