If I Should Die Before I Wake (2 page)

D
eanne was running late. She knew that her mother would be waiting for her at the big circular driveway in front of Baylor Prep’s entrance. She’d be gunning her engine and glancing at her watch.
Well, too bad!
Deanne thought angrily.
You can just wait.

She looked around the empty classroom to make sure everything was in order. Since she was one of the top students in Mr. Rose’s geometry class, Deanne had special privileges to grade test papers for the lower classes. Mr. Rose had left about fifteen minutes before. “Are you sure you don’t mind finishing up?” Mr. Rose had asked.

“Oh, no,” Deanne had said.

“Thanks, Deanne. I wish I had more students like you. Listen, just flip off the lights when you’re done,” Mr. Rose had said.

She had smiled and had finished her work in the quiet empty room and deserted halls. Almost everyone had gone home by now.

Mrs. Vandervoort had told Deanne that there was a Guild meeting at the hospital and that she would be late picking Deanne up from school. With the ball only three days away, Deanne barely saw her mother. It seemed her mother was busy day and night.

Deanne flipped off the light switch and stepped into the hallway. There was no one to be seen. Her heels clicked on the wooded floors as she hurried toward the front entrance where her mother would be waiting. Suddenly, she heard voices. The voices were coming from the front entrance.

She stopped. Her heart pounded. She heard her name spoken. Two male voices were coming from around the corner. And they were talking about HER!

“That’s too bad, man,” the first voice said.

“Yeah, I know. What a drag,” the second voice added. “I gotta waste a whole Saturday at the dumb Charity Ball with Deanne Vandervoort. Ugh!”

Deanne slapped her hand over her mouth. The second voice was Judson’s! Her cheeks flushed and she tried to hold her breath.

“At least she’s smart,” the first voice said.

“Terrific!” Judson muttered. “We can sit around all night and compare math notes.”

“What’s Mindy saying?”

Deanne knew they meant Mindy Fryer, one of the prettiest girls in school.

“She’s upset. But my mom arranged it and now I’m stuck.”

Deanne felt hot tears spring to her eyes. So that’s how he felt about a date with her.

“Too bad,” said the first voice. “Well, if you need me to take Mindy off your hands for Saturday night . . .”

“Forget it! Mindy’s my problem. You keep your hands off.”

Their voices faded down the hall and Deanne leaned weakly against the wall. She felt humiliated and then angry. “I hate you, Judson Cortland!” she said under her breath. “I wish I didn’t have to see you ever again!”

Suddenly, she remembered her mother was waiting for her in the car. Deanne felt angry at her, too.
How could you do this to me?
she thought. She vowed that she would do anything to get away from her mother’s plans for her that summer. Anything!

* * * * *

Everything about the ball was beautiful. Everything except the way Deanne felt inside. She had never been more miserable. The country club was elegantly decorated. There was a large, richly-dressed crowd of people. The orchestra played, people danced, speakers gave speeches, and door prizes were auctioned off. Everyone was having a wonderful time, except Deanne.

Deanne and Judson barely spoke during the evening. She couldn’t stand to even look at him. After all, she knew how he
really
felt about her. She only saw her parents from across the room. Her mother was busy and everyone was making such a fuss over her and her “most successful ball ever.” Deanne could only think about her own misery. She couldn’t wait to go home and peel the forced smile off her face and go to bed and cry.

She excused herself from the table for the twentieth time and headed for the ladies room. Judson ignored her. The floor was crowded and she had to walk along the wall to get out of the room.

To her left, she noticed a special table. It was tagged with a large red heart that read: “Our Volunteers—True Angels.” Then she heard someone call her name from the table.

“Deanne! Deanne! Over here!”

“Susan!” Deanne cried. She hurried over to Susan’s table. It was good to see a friendly face.

“I figured you’d be here. Isn’t it fabulous?” Susan’s eyes shined.

Deanne dropped into the chair next to Susan. “It’s okay,” she said. Then she added, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Oh, yeah. They always have a special table for the volunteers. Mostly the older volunteers come, but this year some of the VolunTeens got to come, too. I’m having a great time! Do you have a date?”

Deanne lowered her eyes. She hoped Susan wouldn’t see the pain in them. “Sort of . . . Judson Cortland. I came with him and his parents.”

“Wow!” Susan said. “He’s neat.”

Deanne quickly changed the subject. “So you really like being a VolunTeen, huh?”

“It’s the most fun in the world!” Susan sounded excited. “I can’t wait until this summer when I can work more hours.”

“How do you get to be one?” Deanne asked.

“You just apply to Pat Jacobson. She’s the director of the program at All-Children’s. She interviews you, checks your grades, then sends you through orientation if she thinks you can hack it. Next thing you know,” Susan snapped her fingers, “you’re working up on the floors with the nurses and kids. I think I might become a nurse or doctor someday.”

Deanne leaned back in her chair and appraised Susan. There was nothing special about her. She was nice, yet ordinary. But Deanne felt jealous. They were the same age and both made good grades. They were even in the same school. But Susan was happy and involved and full of vitality. The only difference Deanne could see was that Susan was a part of the VolunTeen program and she wasn’t.

The wheels began to spin in her mind.

* * * * *

“You want to do WHAT this summer?” her mother asked, raising her voice and setting her coffee cup down with a thump.

Deanne tossed her head and sat on her hands at the dining table to keep them from shaking. “You heard me,” Deanne said in a braver voice than she felt. “I want to be a VolunTeen at the hospital.”

“Why, that’s silly,” her mother said with a wave of dismissal.

“It is not!” Deanne shot back. “I talked to this girl at my school and she’s a VolunTeen. And she loves it!”

“Well, what possible reason could a young girl like you have for wanting to be hidden away inside that old hospital with a bunch of sick children?” Mrs. Vandervoort asked.

“Dad is!” Deanne said. She looked over at her father. He put down his newspaper to listen to his wife and daughter.

Deanne was hoping he’d be on her side. She looked over at him with a silent appeal for help.

“Now, wait a minute, Sylvia,” he rumbled in his deep, commanding voice. “I spend all of my time ‘hidden away with a bunch of sick kids.’”

“That’s different, Hans. It’s your job,” said Mrs. Vandervoort.

“Exactly Deanne’s point,” he said. “A volunteer position is kind of like a job. We couldn’t run the place without our volunteers. You should know that,” Dr. Vandervoort said.

Deanne kept quiet. She would let her father fight some for her. “But Deanne’s just fourteen,” her mother added. “She doesn’t need to think about a job. Besides, there are too many fun things for a girl her age to be doing in the summer. She should be meeting other girls her age.”

“But, Mom,” Deanne blurted out. “I really want to be a VolunTeen. I-I’ve already talked to Pat Jacobson.”

“Without my permission?” her mother asked.

“It shows spunk,” Dr. Vandervoort interjected. “It shows how much she wants to do it.”

“Mrs. Jacobson said that I would make a good VolunTeen. I just have to go through orientation.”

“I won’t pull strings for you, Deanne,” her father said sternly.

“I won’t ask you to,” Deanne told him. “Honest. I’ll be on my own. I’ll do a good job . . . I promise!”

“Sounds fair enough to me.”

“Now, just a minute, you two!” Mrs. Vandervoort said. “You talk as if it’s a fact. I haven’t agreed.”

“I’ll have time for other things,” Deanne said eagerly. “The orientation is a week from Saturday. I can only work a few hours a week at the start anyway.”

“But how would you get there and back?” Mrs. Vandervoort asked, looking for a weakness in the plan.

“I’ll ride back and forth with Dad,” Deanne finished. She could sense her victory.

“I don’t know. . . ,” her mother said with a scowl. “If he runs late, I’ll have to come and pick you up, I’m sure.”

“Oh, let Deanne give it a try,” Dr. Vandervoort said. “If she sticks with it, fine. If not, she can drop out.”

“I WILL stick with it, Dad,” Deanne said firmly.

“I’m sure you will,” he said with a wink. “After all, you ARE a Vandervoort.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Vandervoort said loudly. “All right. Do whatever you want. But, don’t blame me when your whole summer has gone by and you’ve had no fun.”

Deanne jumped up from the table. “Thanks, Dad . . . and Mom,” she added. “Can I ride into the hospital this morning? I want to tell Mrs. Jacobson and get on the orientation list.”

“Sure,” he said. “You’ve got fifteen minutes to be ready. One lesson you’ll learn first. Don’t ever be late, and don’t ever keep me waiting.”

“You got it!” Deanne cried, running from the dining room and up the winding staircase toward her bedroom. Her heart was pounding. She won! She’d actually gotten her way with her mother!

Suddenly, her stomach gave a little flutter. Now what? Could she really do this job? Would she love it like Susan does? She’d won . . . but what if she hated it? “I’ll have to make it work,” she said aloud in her room. She was finally out from under her mother’s thumb. She was going to make the most of it.

D
eanne would have never made it through the first week if it hadn’t been for Susan. She helped her do everything. She was patient and helpful and the best friend Deanne ever had. Deanne’s biggest problem was her fear of making a mistake.

That was really all Mrs. Sanders’s fault. Every scary story Deanne had ever heard about the head nurse was true. On the first day of orientation, Mrs. Sanders had spoken to the eager new VolunTeens. The girls listened with their fullest attention. When Mrs. Sanders spoke, everyone listened.

Hope I never meet her in a dark hallway
, Deanne had thought to herself. But after the program had broken for lunch, she saw Mrs. Sanders marching toward her.

“So you’re Miss Vandervoort?” Mrs. Sanders had asked in a voice as crisp and starched as her uniform.

“Y-yes,” Deanne mumbled. Her heart pounded

“I want you to understand something,” Mrs. Sanders said, her brows furrowed. “Just because your father’s chief of staff at this hospital does not mean that you will receive any special treatment.”

Deanne was speechless.

“I will expect you to work just as hard as any other VolunTeen around here. My nurses need good help.”

Deanne could only tremble and nod. Mrs. Sanders turned to walk away. She stopped, turned back, and added, “In fact, because your father is a doctor, I expect you to work even harder. You already know the type of dedication to medicine it takes to run a good hospital. The only thing we care about is our patients. We are here to serve them. Do you understand?” Deanne nodded again.

“Fine,” Mrs. Sanders said curtly. Then she walked away. Deanne lived in mortal fear of her from that day forward.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Susan had consoled her afterward. “She’s tough . . . but you’ll find you’ll want to please her more than anything.”

Deanne had her doubts. She would just try to stay out of Mrs. Sanders’s way.

* * * * *

Deanne settled into the hospital’s routine. The days she had duty, she and Susan would report to the nursing stations on each floor and get their assignments. They did everything from changing beds to changing babies, from writing letters for kids with broken limbs to reading to little kids too sick to go to the rec rooms for the Child-Life Program.

Deanne liked working with the Child-Life Specialist, Clare Coffman, best of all. Twice a day the VolunTeens were responsible for getting kids into the rec room for playtime. They played games, worked on puzzles, baked cookies, drew pictures, and made crafts.

They’d bring the kids down in wheelchairs and work with them for a couple of hours and then take them back to their rooms. The groups were divided into age categories. Deanne loved working with the two- to five-year-old children most. They were cute. As an only child, Deanne had never been around little kids before. She discovered that she liked them.

She also helped in the gift shop, with the bookmobile, and with the New Patient Orientation Program. She would take kids up and down the elevators for special tests and X-rays. She even pushed them in their wheelchairs outside and around the grounds in the warm summer air.

The days passed quickly and soon Deanne found herself spending more and more time at the hospital, working. She and Susan became the favorite team with most of the nursing staff.

Deanne had favorites of her own on the staff.

One afternoon, after her shift was over, Deanne hurried to her father’s office. She was running a little late. But she didn’t want to keep him waiting.

“Sorry, Deanne,” Mrs. McGinnis, his secretary said. “He’s still in surgery.”

Deanne caught her breath and then wandered down the hall. She drifted into the small rec room on the surgery floor. Books, games, toys, and puzzles lay all over the child-sized tables, the floor, and the messy bookshelves. She sat down with a tired sigh.

“I’m whipped,” she told herself from the hardness of the wooden yellow chair.

“Well, what are you doing?” a voice snapped behind her. “Waiting for the stuff to put itself away?”

Deanne turned so sharply that she fell off the chair. She turned red as she looked up into the stern face of Mrs. Sanders. “Well . . . I . . . that is . . . I mean,” Deanne sputtered.

“Get to work, girl!” Mrs. Sanders commanded.

“B-but . . . I’m off . . . ,” Deanne began and then wished she could have eaten her own words.

“So what?” Mrs. Sanders snapped back. “We can’t wait until you’re ‘on’ again for this mess to get cleaned up, now, can we?”

“No . . . no,” Deanne said, scurrying around on all fours, scooping up puzzle pieces.

“Honestly, you girls think your duty is restricted to the hours you work! This is a hospital and we all work until everything is done. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” Deanne gulped.

She looked up to find herself alone. Mrs. Sanders had stalked off. Deanne felt tears stinging her eyes.
How dare she yell at me!
she thought hotly.
I work hard for this place.

Mrs. Sanders sounded just like her mother in many ways. Oh, the words were different, but the tone was the same. It’s not fair! she muttered to herself. Deanne had taken this job to get away from her bossy mother. Now, all of a sudden, she had a bossy boss!

Deanne’s mouth set firmly while she cleaned up the room. Well, she’d show them all! She was going to be the best VolunTeen All-Children’s ever had. She didn’t care what they made her do!

* * * * *

“Miss Vandervoort! Corners on a hospital bed must be sharp and neat!” Deanne pulled back from the edge of the bed she was struggling to make.

“Like this, Miss Vandervoort,” Mrs. Sanders said, stepping next to Deanne and expertly folding the fresh linen into place.

“Yes, Mrs. Sanders,” Deanne mumbled.

“Now, let me watch you do it,” said Mrs. Sanders as she moved to the foot of the bed.

Deanne felt her blood boil. She’d show the old biddy! Her fingers flew and she folded the next corner perfectly.

“Better, Miss Vandervoort,” Mrs. Sanders said. “Better.”

It went like that every day. No matter what Deanne did, Mrs. Sanders was around to tell her how to do it better. Finally, Susan asked, “Has she got something against you?”

“I think so,” Deanne sighed. The two girls sat in the cafeteria, sipping soft drinks during a break. “I think she doesn’t like the fact that I’m a doctor’s daughter,” Deanne continued.

“So what?” Susan asked.

“I think she feels that she should push me harder. Plus, I don’t think she likes me very much,” Deanne confided.

“Gee, that’s too bad. Too bad she’s in charge of all the nurses. That means she’s all over the hospital,” Susan said.

“Not too much up on oncology,” Deanne told Susan. “I asked my dad. He said that oncology has its own special staff, special programs, and special needs. She doesn’t haunt the halls too much up there. But then, neither do we,” Deanne added.

“Some of the VolunTeens do,” Susan mused. “I wonder what it’s like? And I wonder how they get picked for that duty?”

“I don’t think I’d like it,” Deanne said. “It seems so depressing. Kids with cancer . . . ugh!”

“But, they’re still kids,” Susan reminded her.

* * * * *

“Honey, I do believe you’re losing weight.” Mrs. Vandervoort appraised her daughter with a critical eye. Deanne put on lipstick in front of her bedroom mirror.

“Oh, yeah . . . a few pounds,” Deanne admitted casually. She had lost five pounds since she started working. She already had to move buttons over on the pants of her uniform. And the white blouse looked a lot less snug than when she first put it on three weeks before. Frankly, she was too busy to think about eating. She rarely took time to eat more than a container of yogurt for lunch. By the time she got home, she was too tired to eat much dinner.

“Well, then this job’s been good for you,” her mother said. “But you sure haven’t been getting out to the country club like you said you would.”

Deanne rolled her eyes. “I’m just too busy.”

“Joan Cortland asked about you the other day,” Mrs. Vandervoort began.

Deanne froze. The last person in the world she wanted to hear about was Judson Cortland.

“I’m disappointed that you and Judson aren’t seeing more of each other. I mean, he’s such a nice young man. The Cortlands sail a lot, you know. We could join them at their beach place any weekend we want—”

“Oops!” Deanne said, looking at her watch. “Can’t talk now, Mother. Dad will be honking his horn for me any minute now! You know how he hates to be kept waiting!”

“But, Deanne, I’m not finished!” her mother called after Deanne as she ran down the stairs from her room.

“Later, Mother!” Deanne called up. “Much later!” she added under her breath. She promised herself that she would increase her volunteer hours at the hospital that very day. She was going to stay as busy as she possibly could—even if that meant being under the eye of Mrs. Sanders twice as much!