Always and Forever (6 page)

Horrified, Melissa stared openmouthed at Mrs. Crane.

“Now, dear,” the dean said, with a patronizing pat. “Please understand me. As a minor, you are protected by certain laws, and we school personnel only want to make sure that no one harms you. It’s for your own good that I’m asking you to be honest with me.”

Melissa’s thoughts whirled and tumbled.
She thinks my mother beats me!
The impact of the thought sent blind rage coursing through her. A mental picture of her mother—bent over the kitchen table writing checks to pay a mountain of bills—flashed through her mind. In an instant, Melissa was on her feet. “Are you asking me if my mother hits me? No one in my house has ever struck me! No one!”

“Now, now, Melissa. Calm down. We can’t ignore those bruises on your legs.”

“I don’t know how I got these stupid bruises. But they didn’t come from my mother.” Her anger was so intense that her teeth chattered. “There’s some other reason for them.”

“What other reason?”

Caught off guard, Melissa sputtered. “Maybe it’s gym class. I don’t know!”

Mrs. Crane refused to abandon her tack. “I can’t let this go unreported, Melissa. I must call your
mother in for a consultation. I would be negligent in my duties if I didn’t.”

“Don’t you dare! My mother is wonderful. She’d never,
never
, strike me! You leave her alone.”

“Melissa, please … ”

Melissa didn’t wait to hear what else the dean had to say. She bolted from the office and ran outside into the bright morning light. She shut her eyes in pain and felt dizzy as she ran through the parking lot, clutching her purse tightly. At the city bus stop she leaned against the bench for support.

Finally home, Melissa collapsed on her bed in tears and exhaustion. She knew she was skipping school and didn’t care. She was so angry, she swore she’d never set foot in that school again.

Melissa snuggled into her covers, and when she woke the phone was ringing. Her mother’s voice was anxious. “Melissa. Honey, are you all right?”

It took her a minute to clear her head and remember why she was home. “I’m all right, Mom.”

“The school called. They said you ran away. I took the chance that you’d have the good sense to go home.”

“I’m home. I’m okay … ”

“Melissa, wait there for me. I’m leaving the office right now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“But … You don’t have to leave. Everything’s all right.”

“Twenty minutes,” her mother said urgently and hung up. Melissa washed her face, trying to pull herself together. She did feel lousy. What’s wrong with me? she asked herself. She touched the glands in her neck and realized they were swollen. She couldn’t get sick now—not with the start of school and Brain Bowl and …

When her mother arrived, Melissa slipped quietly into her arms, deeply comforted by the familiar hug. “Mrs. Crane told me what happened. We’ll deal with her later. But now, let me see your legs.”

Obediently, Melissa allowed her mother to examine her. “There really are a lot of bruises, honey. Are you sure you don’t know how you got them?”

“No.” Her body felt heavy, and all she wanted to do was lie in her mother’s arms and go to sleep. “But let’s not get so worked up over this, Mom. I’ve probably got the flu.”

“I think you have a fever too. I’m calling Dr. Pace. I want him to check you over.”

“I don’t need to go see him, Mom. I’ll take some aspirin and go to bed, and by tomorrow I’ll be fine.”

“This isn’t a voting issue, Melissa. We’re going to the doctor’s.” She smoothed Melissa’s hair and forced a small smile. “Besides, I need vindication for the school. I can’t let them think I beat my children into submission, now can I?”

Melissa shrugged. “I guess not,” she said.

Dr. Pace’s examination was routine. He checked Melissa with sure, confident fingers, feeling her swollen glands and bruises, then taking blood. She squeezed her eyes shut as the needle pricked her arm. “It’s just the flu, isn’t it, Dr. Pace?” she asked as he secured a bandage over the puncture in her vein. “I told Mom it’s nothing but some flu that’s going around.”

His smile was professional, noncommittal. “It’s something. We’re just not sure what, yet.”

“What do you
think
it is?” her mother asked uneasily. “I don’t like the looks of all those bruises.”

Melissa rolled her eyes, wishing her mother would ease off and that Dr. Pace would just send her
home. “It could be as simple as anemia—that’s common in girls Melissa’s age,” he said.

“Then I’ll take iron pills,” Melissa said, relieved.

“Or, it could be mononucleosis.” Dr. Pace peered at her over his glasses. “Which means you’ll have to give up kissing.”

She smiled at his attempt to cheer her. “No problem there. I’ve dedicated myself to studying this year. Boys are out.”

“Melissa made the Brain Bowl team,” her mother said, as if that might influence the doctor in some way.

“I can go back to school, can’t I?”

“I want to check a blood smear under my microscope. I’ll be right back.”

Melissa turned to her mother, who was sitting stiffly in her chair. “It’s going to be all right, Mom,” she said. Frankly, she was glad her mother had insisted on the checkup. She had been feeling bad for a long time, and deep within she had been concerned about it. If she was going to give Brain Bowl, and Brad, her best shot, she’d have to get better.

“Of course, you’re going to be all right, honey. But I wish you’d told me about the bruises when they first appeared.”

Dr. Pace returned, his expression unreadable. He positioned himself in front of her. “Your red blood count is low … ”

Her smile was quick with relief. “Then just write me a prescription for iron pills and I’ll take them faithfully. I promise.”

He held up his hand. “Whoa. It’s not that simple, Melissa. Your white cell count, on the other hand, is rather high.”

“So?”

“So I’d like to check you into the hospital for a few days of testing.”

Melissa’s heart almost stopped beating with the shock of his request. “The hospital!” Her mother echoed her words.

“Just for testing,” he emphasized hastily.

“Why? I have school. I can’t go to the hospital.”

Dr. Pace took her hand. His was warm. Hers was cold. “Think of it as a vacation. You can bring your books. You’ll even have a phone and a TV in your room—first-class accommodations at Hotel Tampa General.”

“Is this absolutely necessary, Dr. Pace?” Her mother’s voice sounded taut.

“Yes. It’s important that we find out exactly what’s ailing Melissa.”

Melissa wanted to ask him what he was testing for, but she sensed he would not say. “When do I have to go, Dr. Pace?”

“The sooner the better. My receptionist will call and have your admitting papers prepared by this afternoon.”

“So soon?”

“The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll know what we’re fighting.” Dr. Pace squeezed her hand. “Now, don’t look so frightened. It’s for your own good.” He helped her off the examining table. She wanted to run out of the room screaming, but instead she offered a brave smile that in no way reflected the terror she was really feeling.

“Not bad, Melissa. Private room and everything.” Jory toured her hospital room with an appraising eye. From the bed, Melissa watched her step carefully
around Michael, who was sitting in a chair near the window, a worried scowl on his face. Through the blinds, Tampa’s evening sky glowed with the aura of city lights.

“Want to take my place? All you can eat for only a pint of blood a day.”

Jory shivered at Melissa’s ghoulish humor. It comforted Melissa to have her friend pacing the room, for her visit lent a sort of normalcy to an otherwise terrible day. Ever since Melissa had phoned her and Jory had exploded with phrases such as “Nosy Mrs. Crane” and “Are you all right?” and “I’ll be there as soon as visiting hours start,” she had felt less alien in her antiseptic surroundings.

Only Michael’s brooding countenance could penetrate the pretense of well-being Melissa had tried hard to create. He hadn’t been at all understanding about her admission to the hospital for tests. Was he just as afraid for her as Melissa was for herself?

“Brad asked about you today,” Jory said. “I told him you’d gone home sick. He says he hopes you get well quick. The first full-fledged Brain Bowl drill starts next week.”

“Oh, they said these tests won’t take more than a few days.” She propped herself against the pillow, allowing her dark hair to spread out in a fan on the crisp, white, starched linen. “Tomorrow they’re doing a bone marrow aspiration.”

“Ugh!” Jory blurted. “Sounds yucky.”

Melissa saw Jory’s face redden as Michael shot her a disgusted look. Instantly, Melissa felt sorry for her, knowing firsthand the feeling of saying something stupid in front of someone you want desperately to impress. “Dr Pace says it’s not so bad if I get a good technician.”

“What are they going to do to you?” Michael asked.

“They take a sample of my bone marrow from inside my hip with a special syringe.”

“They stick a needle into your bone?” Jory turned pale as Michael asked the question.

Melissa chewed her lip, anxious not to let on to Michael how scared she really felt. “It only takes a few seconds.”

Through clenched teeth he said, “These guys had better not hurt you.”

“Yeah, or I’ll have my uncle in New Jersey fly down and break their legs,” Jory announced.

Melissa tried to calm them both with a smile. “Hey, come on. I’m a big girl—I can take whatever they dish out. Besides, I’m too old to cry.”

When visiting hours were over and Melissa was left alone, she plucked at the bed sheets, her bravado drowned in the hospital’s night sounds that echoed around her. She
was
scared. And she
did
want to cry. Melissa felt overwhelmed with self-pity and helplessness.
Why is this happening to me?
Yesterday she’d been a normal sixteen-year-old girl on the verge of everything wonderful. Now she was hospitalized, and she was being poked and prodded, bled and taped.

She fought back the urge to weep, picking up her brush from the nightstand and absently running it through her hair. She remembered Brad’s fingers, and she longed to savor his touch one more time.

“I’d heard from the nurses that there was a fox on the floor. They didn’t lie.” The male voice coming from her doorway startled Melissa so completely that the brush fell from her grip and clattered to the floor. In the doorway stood a stranger, surveying her with an insolent, wolfish grin.

Her surprise turned to anger as she stared at a tall, thin boy on crutches braced against the door frame. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my room?”

“My name’s Richer Davis. You can call me Ric. I have a room down the hall. What are you in for?”

Still startled, Melissa appraised him through angry eyes. He was at least her age, maybe older. His brown hair brushed his shoulders and his piercing brown eyes and lean, raw-boned features appeared arrogant. “Weren’t you taught to knock before barging into somebody’s room?”

“Hey, it’s a free country, and besides, your door was open. I was watching you brush your hair, but you were in the twilight zone and didn’t see me.”

It annoyed her to think he’d been studying her without her knowing. She wanted to say something curt, to make him go away, but before she could he hobbled toward her on his crutches. Suddenly, she noticed that his left leg was severed below the knee. She tried not to stare, but her eyes seemed glued to the void where his leg should be.

“It’s been amputated,” he told her frankly, allowing shame and shock to collide inside her. Reaching the side of her bed, he added, “It’s all right to stare. Everybody does.”

“I … I didn’t mean to. You just startled me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Melissa Austin.” Did he have to stare so openly, so steadily at her?

“Why are you here?”

“Just tests. I’m having a bone marrow aspiration in the morning.”

His expression never changed. “Too bad.”

“Why? Why is it too bad? Does it hurt?”

“The test doesn’t hurt as much as the results.”

She sat up straighter against the pillows, uneasiness gripping her stomach. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that … I’m not sure what I meant … I really should get back to my room,” he said faltering. “I’ll stop by tomorrow, and we can talk.”

Melissa searched for a tart answer, wanting to let him know that she wasn’t interested in seeing him again. “Don’t bother,” was all she could manage.

Ric arched an eyebrow, turned on his crutches, and hobbled to the door. “Tomorrow,” he said, and he disappeared. She listened to the squeak of the crutches’ rubber tips fade in the darkness.

The technicians came for her early the next morning. Melissa forgot about her surprise visitor in her preoccupation with the tests. First, they did an electrocardiogram. “To rule out rheumatic fever,” a man in a green lab coat told her, exposing her chest and sticking small metal disks to her skin. Wires from the disks led to a machine that scribbled on graph paper. “This gives us a picture of your heart’s working condition.”