Radiate (36 page)

Tears seem to be lurking at the base of his eyes. I certainly can’t blame him. Crying is a release; a way of shouting out your frustration and anger at the universe. I cross the room and take the chair next to him, feeling very much like the adult in this situation. I lift my hand and place it softly over his. He turns his head and looks at me, more than likely taking in my weak smile and my fuzzy-haired head from my own loss. He has rich, thick blond hair that I fear will come out, too, once he gets into treatment. When he looks at me, does he see himself in the future? Or do I somehow represent hope to him? I pray it’s the latter.

“You’ve got to try,” I whisper. “For yourself, for your family, for your company, and for everyone else who’s had cancer.”

His hand flips over and he grips mine tightly. His eyes squeeze shut, and the tears gush out and down his cheeks in a release he so needs. His voice trembles when he speaks. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough... as strong as you.”

“You’re strong enough to climb mountains. You’re bold enough to trek through rainforests and jump out of airplanes,” I say, smiling with my eyes.

“Those are adrenaline rushes,” he says.

“You’re only as strong as you want to be.” I point my index finger to my head. “It’s all up here. Mind over matter. I could have easily crawled into a hole after they found my tumor. If I had, I might not be here now—in the least, I wouldn’t have a left leg to walk on. I never let the cancer get into my head. I never let it tell me I couldn’t beat it. I never listened as it mocked me.” I don’t know where the words are coming from, but they sound good, and I hope he believes me. “Your doctors know what they’re doing and they can help.” I squeeze his hand. “Don’t give up, Ross. Don’t give in. Even if you have to battle it for years. Fight it.”

His tears become racking sobs to the point where it’s breaking my heart. Miss Lorraine comforts him on one side and Lora comes up from behind and wraps her arms around his neck. The four of us stay that way for a moment—or an eternity, who knows?

“Fight it, Ross,” I whisper.

Then he nods. Small at first. “I will.”

“What?” I ask, making sure I heard him correctly.

“If you can do it, Hayley, I can, too.”

I don’t know how long we sit like that—a supportive knot of hugging—but we finally breathe a sigh of relief and separate. Miss Lorraine hands him a napkin, and he wipes his face.

“When does the treatment start?” Lora asks.

“Immediately,” Ross responds. “The doctor said he can get me into Maxwell Memorial Hospital on Monday.”

“Shouldn’t you go somewhere that specializes in leukemia?” I ask.

“I have to stay near the business. Maxwell Memorial has a good rep.”

“It’s going to be a long road, dear,” Miss Lorraine says. “We’re all here for you.” She smiles up at me and winks her thanks.

“I’m going to need it,” Ross says.

I get up and walk over to the counter for my purse. Digging inside, I locate the item I’m searching for and grab it in my fist. I present Ross with what has been so helpful in my own recovery.

It brings a small laugh from him. “A Snickers bar?”

“Trust me, it’s going to become your best friend.”

A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.

—Ingrid Bergman

I stopped at the hospital this afternoon,” I tell Lora as we drive up the hill to school Halloween night. The annual PHS Halloween carnival starts in about fifteen minutes.

“Oh yeah? Was Ross still telling all of the nurses what to do?”

I giggle. “Nah... he was good. I took him a big box of Snickers and some sudoku books. I think I’ve got him hooked on them.”

Lora nods. “Something fun for him to dwell on instead of financial spreadsheets and stuff from Game On.”

“Who’s running things?” I ask.

“Uncle Ross... remotely. He’s got his computer and his cell phone. His head of sales, Franklin Dean, will do the more out-there appearances over the next few weeks.”

Poor Ross. I know how frustrating this must be for him. “He seems in good spirits.”

“All because of you, Hayley,” Lora says. “You really helped him get over the negative attitude. He’s going to do just fine.”

“I pray for him every night,” I say.

Lora steers her car into one of the few remaining parking slots in front of the gym. “That’s all any of us can do.”

We walk into the school that is teeming with students, teachers, and families crowding around for the annual festivities. PHS really goes all out and no space goes to waste. Tons of prizes have been either donated by local merchants or made by students and their families. There are darts, pick-up ducks, go fish, face painting, henna tattoos, a best costume contest, a haunted house, hayride, a cider station, pumpkin carving contest, a monster mash dance-a-thon, bingo, fake roulette, and a country store full of homemade jams, candies, bread, and cookies made by teachers and staff. I’m carrying in a red velvet cake that my grandmother made for the cake walk in the library, where Lora and I are assigned to work for an hour.

I love the cake walk and have ever since I came to my first Halloween carnival here at PHS when Cliff was in school. They clear out the tables in the library and then put large pieces of masking tape on the floor. Each piece of tape has a number written on it in a random order. Whoever’s working the event plays a CD of music for a few minutes. When the music stops, a number is drawn. Whoever is standing on that number wins the cake of his or her choice. And boy howdy, are there a ton of them. Angel food, devil’s food, ones iced with vanilla, chocolate, coconut, strawberry, a couple from the local bakery, and a few fancy ones where people tried their hands at fondant decorating. There must be more than fifty cakes sitting here on the tables.

Lora and I have the shift for the first hour. We herd people into the library so they can grab a spot on a number before the music starts. We’re dressed as zombie cheerleaders, wearing one of our uniforms, but sporting fishnet stockings that are torn at the knee, pale white makeup with dark circled eyes, and a ratty cape to keep us warm in the October chill. All of the cheerleaders decided to do this, but when I see Chloe Bradenton walking by outside the library, I see she didn’t go for the zombie makeup part. Whatever. Like she can’t be seen in any kind of ugly way.

She really needs to get over herself.

Lora gets ready to cue the music up, and people flood the library to take their turn at winning a homemade confection. I walk around the circle, taking tickets from everyone standing on a number.

A little girl points up at me and says, “Mommy! Look! She has no hair.”

The mother pulls the child to her and apologizes. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t get upset with her.”

Even though I’m still self-conscious about my appearance, I smile. “It’s okay. I’m used to people staring.”

“What happened to you?” the little girl asks.

“I was sick and I lost my hair.” I rub the top of my head for good measure. “It’s growing back, though.”

“You don’t look sick.”

“I’m not anymore,” I say.

The mom turns six shades of red. “Kathryn’s just a little thing. Please don’t mind her. We’re all so proud of you and how you’ve handled this.”

You are?
I don’t even know who this woman is, but her compliment warms me.

“Thanks,” is all I can manage to get out before Lora cues up “The Purple People Eater” for everyone to walk around to.

When the music stops, Lora pulls a number from the basket. “Forty-two.”

“That’s us, Mommy!” little Kathryn shouts out.

I slip over to verify the number. “We have a winner.”

“What do we do?” the girl asks.

“Pick any cake up there and it’s yours.”

She smiles a wide, toothless grin at me. “Did you make one?”

I point to the one with the cream cheese frosting. “My grandmother baked that. It’s red velvet.”

“I want that one, Mommy.”

Her mom smiles, and Lora hands the cake to her.

When they walk off, Lora says to me, “You really have no idea how many lives you’ve touched, do you?”

I scoff. “What are you talking about? I did what I had to.”

“Exactly,” she says with a huge grin, and starts the music again.

And off to work I go.

***

Mrs. Quakenbush sits outside the haunted house—aka the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms—taking tickets. “Two, please.”

“We’re seniors,” Lora says.

She looks over the top of her glasses and then reaches for a clipboard with the names of the seniors. “And you are?”

I want to roll my eyes, but I just smile in my zombie makeup instead. Lora gives her our names, and she lets us pass through the black curtain.

“Honestly, it’s not a national security matter,” Lora says with a laugh.

We trudge through the entrance, which is basically black sheets hung from ceiling to floor to make it like a maze. We hear the cackles of our fellow classmates in character as they attempt to scare the patookie out of us. Strobe lights flash, leading the path through the attraction. Lora grabs my arm in pure terror, as if any of these clowns in here are going to do us any harm.

Deeper inside, we push into a forest area where we’re chased around by a couple of werewolves, a vampire here and there, and someone—is that Phillip Bradenton?—with a fake chain saw grinding out. Lora screams like a little girl, but I can’t help but laugh. I guess when you’ve faced cancer, some theater makeup and sound effects don’t frighten you.

The Monroe twins, Jayne and Jessica, are dressed as zombies, coming at us with psychotic looks on their face. Someone’s dressed as a demented clown, and a botched operation is happening on the right.

“Who is that?” Lora asks of the body laid out on the table covered in phony blood.

“I think it’s Furonda.”

She rises from the table and moves toward us. Again, all I can do is laugh.

In the vampire forest, we’re surrounded by classmates dressed as the nighttime predators. A black light allows their teeth to glow in the dark. At some point, Lora and I are separated.

“Hayley! Where are you?” Lora cries out.

“Over here, cornered by a guy from my journalism class.”

He rolls his eyes at me and continues to the next victim behind me.

There’s wispy smoke from a dry ice machine, and several fans blow black curtains around in confusion. I search for the exit in vain. It’s just too dark in here, and the screams of fellow PCHers drown out everything else.

“Lora? Where are you?”

No answer. Great. I’ve lost her.

I slip through the fog and find a seam in the sea of curtains. But my pathway is cut short when a dark, cloaked figure, surely meant to represent the Grim Reaper, backs me into a dark, dark corner, blacker than the rest of the room.

His hands are strong on my arms, but not frightening at all. His breath smells sweet, as if he’s been eating the divinity candy from the carnival’s country store.

“Hayley,” he whispers to me.

“Who is this?” I ask, trembling, but not due to fear.

“I think you’re amazing,” he whispers.

And then he kisses me.

A soft, feathery kiss on my lips.

Who? What? Huh?

I can’t move from the shock. I can’t breathe from the stolen moment.

Just as quickly as the Grim Reaper appeared to me, he disappears. He fades back into the props and confusion of the haunted house.

My hand moves up to cover my lips, still warm from the contact.

“Hayley?” Lora calls out again.

“Over here,” I barely manage to get out.

She grabs for my hand and pulls me to her. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say.

I don’t tell Lora what just happened, simply because I don’t exactly know what it was myself.

How to describe it?

A dream?

An apparition?

A secret admirer?

A delicious encounter that has my senses reeling?

I have no clue.

And I have no way of figuring it out.

An apology is the superglue of life. It can repair just about anything.

—Lynn Johnston

I walk through the motions the rest of the night, my skin still buzzing from the mystery kiss. I win at the rubber duck pond and get a bag of toys and stuff at the fishing booth. However, I can’t keep my mind from dwelling on what happened inside the haunted house.

My heart is pulsating in my chest.

My hands are tickly and tingly.

Adrenaline flows through me in a river of questions.

People don’t just kiss me randomly.

Nor do they tell me I’m amazing.

Chills tiptoe up my spine at the memory of his soft words and tender kiss.

Then doubt creeps in.

Was it a joke?

Part of a prank? Or a dare?

How do I unravel this mystery?

When the carnival comes to a close, Lora and I join up with Ashlee and Tara to take some pictures of us all in costume. One of the yearbook photographers snaps us, as well. The smell of popcorn and cider is prevalent in the air, so we stop on our way out to raid the leftovers. Mrs. Ingram hands us free servings as they’re trying to clean up. I try to concentrate on the salty goodness of the snack, but my lips still buzz from the kiss.

We head out of the school and into the parking lot where the last hayride unloads right in front of us. That’s when I see him.

It’s Daniel. He’s wearing a black cape with a hood, just like the Grim Reaper. Could it have been him who kissed me? You’d think I’d recognize his kiss, even though it’s been a few weeks since we broke up. Hell, we haven’t even spoken since that fateful night at the bonfire.

But was this his way of apologizing?

Does it mean he actually cares about me after all?

Why do guys have to play such asinine games?