So Much to Live For (2 page)

D
AWN’S breath caught and she stared up at him. Of course! Now she saw it so clearly. His resemblance to Sandy was striking. “I–I didn’t recognize . . .”

“That’s all right,” he said with a smile. “I wouldn’t have expected you to know me.”

“Sandy talked about her family when we were in the hospital, but that was over two years ago.”

“Well, you were
all
she talked about after she came home that time. It was ‘Dawn this’ and ‘Dawn that’—I swear she almost drove us crazy waiting for the mailman to bring your letters.”

Dawn felt goosebumps break out on her arms. It was weird being so close to someone who was Sandy’s flesh and blood. “You all must miss her a lot.”

“I was fifteen when she died.” His blue eyes clouded momentarily. “It was a hard time for all of us. Especially for Dad. Sandy was so special to him. I don’t think he’ll ever get over losing her.”

“What are your folks doing now?”

“Oh, Dad’s a foreman at the mines, and Mama works in a department store. ’Course, my little sister Jennifer’s still at home with them. I graduated from high school a few weeks ago and plan to go to West Virginia Tech in the fall. I think I’d like to be a doctor.”

Dawn shook her head with a smile. Brent sounded so much like Sandy. Sandy was always giving her volumes of information to answer one simple question. “Well, I don’t want to have anything to do with medicine ever again,” she insisted. “Taking an aspirin is about the strongest medicine I hope to swallow. And if somebody tries to take any more of my blood, I’ll punch him out!”

Brent laughed. “That’s how Sandy felt. She took fistfuls of pills that made her sick. But she
had
to take them, ’cause the doctors said it was the only way to kill her cancer.”

“She and I used to wonder if the cure wasn’t worse than the disease.” Dawn told him, anxious to talk about her friend. “By the way, I kept all the stuff of hers your parents sent me. I used to go through it.” She decided against telling him that she didn’t do it anymore, that it hurt her heart too much to touch all of Sandy’s possessions. “Sandy was my best friend,” Dawn added, “and even now, though I have other friends, no one understood me like she did.”

“I guess it’s ’cause of the things you shared.”

“I guess so.”

A silence fell between them, and Dawn felt waves of sadness wash over her. Perhaps it was the sight of the cabins where she and Sandy had lain awake talking half the night. Or maybe it was the scent of the surrounding woods bringing back images of the two of them walking hand in hand with Greg and Mike. She felt a sudden urge to cry.

“Now I’ve gone and depressed you, haven’t I?” Brent asked in his slow Southern drawl. “I surely didn’t mean to do that.”

Dawn shook off her sadness. “No way. One thing I refuse to be is depressed, especially not after what I’ve been through with my cancer.” She told him about her relapse and transplant.

“That’s some story,” he said softly when she finished. “I sometimes wonder if things might have been different for Sandy if my Dad hadn’t decided to take her down to Mexico for that experimental therapy instead of going back to the hospital the way Dr. Sinclair wanted her to.”

“She wrote me from Mexico and said that she wasn’t sick like when she was on chemo.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t cure her, did they? I’ll always wonder if maybe she’d have been better off if she’d gone back to Columbus. Maybe a bone marrow transplant would have helped her like it did you.”

“Maybe,” Dawn said thoughtfully. “But even though the treatment’s working in me, I still worry every time I go in for a checkup. What if it stops working?”

“Well, you sure look healthy right now,” Brent told her.

She felt her pulse flutter and changed the subject. “Umm, I was headed down to the lake. Do you want to come?”

“Sure. I need to get to know this place like the back of my hand so I can’t get lost. You others have an advantage because you’ve been here before.”

They started down the trail. Dawn tugged at a leaf from an overhanging tree and inspected its texture as they walked. “This is the third time I’ve come, but the first time as a CIT.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it for months.”

“I’m glad we’ve got a few days of training. I hope the campers will listen to what I tell them. And I hope they don’t think I’m trying to be bossy.” Dawn glanced over at Brent thoughtfully. Then she asked, “How come you get to be a CIT? I thought they only used kids who have had cancer.”

“I guess they figured that because of Sandy, I was pretty close to the disease,” he answered. “Besides, there’s another camp right after this one for the brothers and sisters of kids who have had cancer, and I’m going to work as a counselor for that camp too.”

“Really? Why do brothers and sisters need a special camp? Cancer’s not happening to them.”

“You better believe it’s happening to us! When I first heard about Sandy, I got so angry that I smashed my foot right through my bedroom door. I just kept wondering, ‘Why my sister?’ I still don’t have the answer to that one.”

Dawn understood. Hadn’t she often wondered why she had lived and Sandy had died? Was it like a game of eeny-meeny-miney-moe, where people got tossed away because they were standing in the wrong line?

She crumpled the leaf. “Well, the living part’s not so easy either,” she told Brent. “You feel divided in half. Part of you is trying to deal with all these problems from having cancer, and part of you is trying to be a regular person. For me, the hardest part was trying to fit back into school and all. My teachers acted afraid
for
me, and my friends acted weird—like I was contagious or something.”

“Yeah, Sandy’s so-called friends made me mad,” he replied. “They ignored her or treated her like she was a freak. I know now they were just scared. But at the time, I could’ve killed them.”

“You’ve got to admit, cancer’s pretty scary. Everybody’s afraid of it. They can’t help thinking, ‘What if cancer happens to me?’”

Brent stopped. Sunlight breaking through the overhead tree branches speckled his head and shoulders with leaf patterns. “You know what I sometimes feel really bad about?” Dawn shook her head to his question.

“Even though I was real sorry for Sandy, I was glad it wasn’t happening to me. I used to feel pretty guilty because I didn’t want to trade places with her.”

“Who would?”

“But maybe I’d have done better with it than she did.”

“Don’t feel bad. I used to wish it wasn’t happening to me. But then I couldn’t wish it on somebody else either—that wouldn’t have been right.”

“Nobody gets to pick what happens to him, I guess,” Brent observed, then started walking again.

“Sometimes I was scared for my family,” Dawn admitted, kicking a loose pebble along the footpath. “I was afraid Rob might have to drop out of college because the hospital and operation cost so much.”

“I actually got mad at Sandy because of the costs,” Brent said, shaking his head. “We never had much in the first place, and then when she got sick, Dad took double shifts and Mom worked two jobs. And when she went off to Mexico, well, I kept picturing her laying around by a pool and getting a tan.”

“But that’s not the way it was,” Dawn said, in defense of her friend. “She was lonesome and pretty sad most of the time.”

“I know that now. And when she went off, I never dreamed she’d come home in a coffin.”

His words made Dawn shiver. At least her last vision of Sandy had been of hugging her good-bye at camp.

“Your brother was lucky,” Brent told her. “He actually got to
do
something for you by donating his marrow. I never got to do anything for Sandy. So I guess that’s why I wanted to work at this camp so bad. It makes me feel like I’m doing something for her.”

“Do you have a special job?” she asked. By now they had walked out of the woods and were standing on a sand-packed stretch of beach that led down to the lapping waters of the brilliant blue lake.

“I’m in charge of the sports activities.” He gazed toward a long wooden pier that jutted out into the water. “Swimming and diving are my favorites.”

“I can’t dive at all,” Dawn admitted. “Sandy tried to teach me in the pool, but I was hopeless.”

“I can teach you,” he said looking her over. “Who do you think taught Sandy?”

She imagined Brent and Sandy together, their blond hair reflecting the sun. Trouble was, Brent looked as he did now—grown— and in her mind’s eye, Sandy was still thirteen. Dawn knew how much she had changed in two years. How much would her friend have changed by now if she had lived?

“I’ve always loved the water,” Brent said. “Someday I hope I can live by the ocean.”

Dawn considered his dream. It had been a long time since she thought that far into the future. The most she could muster were thoughts about being a sophomore in high school. And even that seemed a long way off. Here Brent was planning on college, on a career, on living by the sea. “I hope you get it all, Brent,” she said.

“I hope you get everything you want, too, Dawn.”

She told him thanks and meant it. But at the moment, she had absolutely no idea what her future might be. No idea at all.

A
S the three days of training passed, Dawn grew more confident about being a CIT. She and Gail aired out the cabin, made large “welcome” signs and crepe paper banners, and strung them inside and outside of the cabin.

Dr. Ben’s briefings and brainstorming sessions turned up wonderful ideas. “We could make a game of cabin inspection,” Theresa suggested. “We’ll take turns giving out a daily award for the neatest cabin.”

“Why don’t we make the reward extra food?” Tony asked. “I know when I was taking some of those chemo medications, they made me so hungry I could have eaten the paint off the walls.”

“Good idea,” Dr. Ben said. “We’ll give the cabin that wins the most inspections a pizza party on the last night.”

On the day the campers were scheduled to arrive, Dr. Ben asked, “Are we ready?” and the counselors answered with a resounding “Yes!”

Dawn was still nervous, but she was excited, too. She really wanted to show the campers in her group a very special time and had been trying to think of something special that she could do for them.

Right after lunch, an idea came to her. She grabbed Brent by the hand and whispered, “Come with me.”

She led him into a large meadow filled with colorful wildflowers and dancing butterflies. The high grass tickled her bare legs as she walked through it.

“What are we going to do?” Brent wanted to know.

“Pick flowers,” she told him. “I think it’d be nice to put a bouquet and a name card on every bunk as a special welcome. I remember the first time I came to camp. If Sandy hadn’t been there, I would have fainted from fright.”

Brent grinned. “Her bag was packed a week before she left ’cause she couldn’t wait to get here and be with you.”

Dawn felt her chest hurt with longing. Would she ever stop missing Sandy?

“We’d better hurry,” she told Brent, stooping to pull up a clump of wild daisies.

He helped her, and in no time they’d gathered an armful of tiny, bright-colored flowers. Back at the cabin, Dawn carefully separated them out and tied ribbon loosely around the stems to form clusters. Brent placed a spray on each pillow while Dawn made name cards sprinkled with glitter.

When everything was ready, she gazed around the cabin with pride and asked, “The place looks pretty good, doesn’t it? Once all the bare mattresses are covered, it’ll look like a home.” Her own bed was neatly made, spread with a patchwork quilt her grandmother had made years before.

“Looks great,” he told her, wandering over to her bunk. “Is this yours?” He picked up her favorite teddy bear, Mr. Ruggers.

Dawn felt herself blush.
Great
, she thought.
A teddy bear on the bunk of the CIT really makes a mature statement
. Brent probably thought she was a silly little kid for lugging along her dog-eared bear.

“Oh, it’s just something to make the younger kids feel more at home,” she said as casually as possible. “The girls in my cabin are ten, eleven, and twelve. Except for Marlee, the oldest. She’s thirteen. I . . . um . . . sort of thought it might make them feel more at ease.”

“He looks like he’s been through a war,” Brent said as he studied the scruffy old bear. One glass eye was missing, and his red, felt tongue had been partially torn off.

That’s exactly what he has been through,
Dawn thought, remembering how she’d used him in her imaging therapy to fight off ugly cancer cells.

Brent handed her the old bear.

“Sandy drew me a poster with him in it,” Dawn said. “I guess I should throw him away. He does look pretty ratty.” She gave a self-conscious shrug and tossed the bear back onto the quilt. In the distance, she heard the camp bell ringing. “That’s our signal,” she said. “I guess the first campers are here.”

“Then let’s go get ’em!” Brent answered with a grin. He hooked his arm through hers and they hurried to the assembly hall.

Inside the hall, Dawn could scarcely believe the bedlam. Campers and all their belongings were piled in every open space. Those who’d attended camp before were running around hugging and shouting at old friends. Those who’d never come looked scared or lost.

A familiar feeling crept over her as she watched the activity and remembered how excited she had been about seeing Sandy after months of being separated from each other. When they’d seen each other, they’d run and squealed and hugged and—Dawn caught herself before the memory became too painful and pushed it aside.

Over at the registration table, each camper was receiving a packet that held, among other things, cabin assignments. There were large signs along the walls with cabin numbers on them. Dawn waited beneath her sign, welcoming each girl as she came over. Within the next thirty minutes, she’d collected five of her six campers.

Fran and Cindy wore scarves, so she guessed they were bald from chemo. Esther looked bloated, heavy with retained fluids, a side effect of certain medications. Val looked perfectly fine and Paige, the youngest, had only one arm—a result of bone cancer. Yet each of the girls seemed happy and excited about being at camp.

It didn’t take the girls long to grow restless. “Can we go to our cabin now?” Esther asked.

“I was waiting on Marlee,” Dawn shouted above the noise. “Does anyone know what she looks like?”

The girls shook their heads in unison. “She’s a civilian,” Val announced, using the camp term for those who’d never attended camp before. “I would have remembered a girl named Marlee if she’d been here before.”

“Have you?” Dawn asked.

“I’ve been coming since I was eight,” Val answered. “Don’t you remember me? I remember seeing you here.” Dawn studied Val’s upturned face and thought hard. “I was just a kid before,” Val added. “And last year I was wearing a wig, but I’m in remission now.”

I was just a kid before
. The innocence of her remark caught Dawn off-guard and caused a small lump to rise up in her throat. Val was
still
a kid. All of them were.

Dawn cleared her throat and shouted over the racket, “Look, why don’t I take you down to our cabin and let you start making up your bunks and stashing your stuff. I’ll come back and wait for Marlee.”

The girls grabbed their belongings and followed her outside and down the trail, chattering all the way. Hearing them talk, knowing the plans the staff had for them, gave her a sense of calm. She was suddenly glad she’d agreed to be a CIT.

“Let’s sing!” Dawn cried and began chanting, “Heigh ho, heigh ho, It’s off to camp we go . . .” Behind her, the girls joined in, and by the time they arrived at the cabin, their voices filled the woods. They tramped onto the porch. Dawn flung open the screen door and led them inside, where she suddenly stopped, the words of the song dying on her lips.

The cabin looked like a storm had passed through. The signs hung down, the banners fluttered unstrung from the rafters, flowers lay in scattered heaps. Dawn’s bedcovers were in a jumble on the floor, her pillow and Mr. Ruggers were in a heap in a corner. A girl was stretched out on Dawn’s now-bare mattress, nonchalantly reading a magazine, her feet propped up on a leather suitcase.

She lowered the magazine, studied the group and said, “I’m Marlee. I found this cabin without any dumb help from you. And that stupid song you’re singing is getting on my nerves.”