Holly's Heart Collection One (26 page)
Zillions of questions zigzagged back and forth in my brain. When Mom and Mr. Tate turned to go, I wanted to shout them out, one by one. Most of all:
What is making Mom cry?
Carrie waved as they backed out of the driveway. Then we hurried inside to find Zachary leaning against the green plaid throw pillows on the sofa, sound asleep.
“Are you gonna wake him up for his pill when it’s time?” Carrie asked.
“Guess so. Must be pretty powerful stuff to make him so sick,”
I said, trying to read the label. “What’s methotrexate?”
“Never heard of it,” Carrie said. She raced to the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I called after her.
In a flash, she came downstairs with a huge book. “Here, Mommy reads out of this sometimes.”
It was an important-looking medical book. “Where’d you get this?” I asked, touching the tan hardcover.
“Mommy had it in her room this morning. I heard her praying, so I sneaked into the hall to see. She was sitting on the bed, holding it.”
I looked in the index under the
M
’s. There it was—methotrexate. A drug prescribed in the maintenance therapy of…
I held my breath. Zachary had cancer!
SECRET SUMMER DREAMS
Slowly, I closed the book and handed it to Carrie. “Put this back where you found it,” I said.
“What’s wrong?” Carrie asked.
“I’ll tell you later.” I hoped she wouldn’t hassle me about it in front of Zach. He looked wiped out. I could tell by the way his arm was flung off to the side.
Gently untying his Nikes, I pulled them off. I was surprised by the lightness of his body as I lifted his legs onto the sofa. His red baseball cap slipped off to the side as he moved in his sleep. He was mostly bald underneath. No wonder he wore the cap everywhere.
All at once, I felt dreadfully wicked. Here was a very sick boy—not a spoiled brat—who hung all over his dad at mealtime. Who raced to the bathroom for vomiting sessions. Who’d lost all his hair to some powerful drug that was doing damage to his body while attempting to save his life. No wonder my mother sobbed when Zach gave his thumbs-up sign. No wonder!
“Stay here with Zach, will you?” I said to Carrie. Tears blinded my eyes. I ran upstairs to my room and threw myself on my knees. How could God forgive my selfishness?
I cried out for forgiveness.
“Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.” I recited the first verse of Psalm 51 from memory. Mom had taught it to me when I first became a Christian.
Verse two was the part I
really
needed: “Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”
“Holly? You all right?” Carrie asked, coming into my room. She’d broken our rule about entering without knocking, but it didn’t matter. Not today.
“I’ve been a real jerk about Zachary,” I confessed. “But you, Carrie, you’ve been his friend.” I reached up and hugged her there on the floor.
“I wanna be his best friend. But…what’s wrong with him?” she asked.
B-E-E-P!
the smoke detector wailed.
“Yikes, the pizza!” I yelled as I skipped down the steps two at a time. I grabbed two potholders and pulled the black pizza out of the hot oven.
“Carrie, get Zachary out of this smoke!” I shouted as I rushed the burnt mess out to the trash behind the house. Leaving the baking tray and potholders on top of the trash can, I raced back to the front of the house.
What a relief to see Zachary sitting with Carrie on the porch swing out front. He adjusted his baseball cap and grinned at me. “
Now
what’s for supper?” he asked.
“I’ll think of something. But first you need one of these,” I said, pulling the pills out of my pocket.
Carrie ran to get a glass of water.
“Open all the kitchen windows,” I called to her, propping the screen door open.
Here I was, alone with Mr. Tate’s kid. He was pushing off the redwood porch with his toe, making the swing sway gently. He looked up at me and adjusted his cap.
“Uh, Zachary,” I began. “I’ve treated you pretty lousy lately, and I’m sorry. You probably don’t know it, but I think you’re really brave.” It felt good to apologize. I reached out my hand to him. “Friends?”
He nodded and smiled a toothless grin. His hand was much hotter than I expected.
“You’re warm.” I touched his forehead like Mom always did when I had a fever. My hand felt cool against his face. He
was
feverish.
“My neck hurts,” he said.
“Where?” I was surprised to feel the swollen glands where he pointed. Really swollen. “How long has it hurt?” My heart pounded in my ears.
“Since this morning,” he said, his face pink.
I helped him inside and told Carrie to bring the thermometer,
not
the glass of cold water.
“Coming,” she called.
I felt numb. Not too numb to take care of Zach, though. I had lots to make up for.
Carrie brought the thermometer. Slipping it into his mouth, I hoped for the best. Temperatures that zoomed past 98.6 degrees always made me nervous.
We waited silently. The seconds crawled by until the thermometer finally beeped. I took it from Zach’s mouth. One hundred two degrees! Acting calmly, I placed the thermometer on the coffee table.
Zachary looked up at me with his watery, bloodshot eyes. “It’s high, isn’t it?”
“You have a fever,” I said, trying not to upset him. “And it’s past time for this.” I pulled the pill container out of my pocket.
Carrie hurried again to get a glass of water. “Here you go,” she said, returning.
We hovered over this frail seven-year-old as if he were our own sick little brother. Zach popped his pill like a pro. Then he sipped water as we watched.
“I’m hungry,” Carrie said.
I wondered if I shouldn’t give Mom a quick call at the hospital. Checking my watch, I realized they’d been gone less than an hour.
Carrie went to the kitchen and pulled out sandwich fixings and a can of soup. But I didn’t feel hungry. I helped Zach get settled on the couch in the living room again. His disease scared me silly. Aunt Marla had lost her fight with cancer last winter, and I’d used up a whole wad of tissues at her funeral. Now here was Zach with the same thing, and he was only seven years old.
The phone rang. I hurried to pick it up.
“Thank goodness it’s you,” I said quietly.
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“It’s Zach. He has a fever and his glands are swollen way up.”
There was silence.
“Mom?”
“Just a minute, Holly.” Her voice sounded muffled, like she was talking to someone in the background. At last, she said, “We’ll be right home.” Mom said good-bye and hung up quickly.
This was worse than I thought.
Carrie made Zach a sandwich, but after a few bites he lost interest. Looking up at me through drooping eyes, he said, “Talk to Jesus for me, Holly.”
I knelt beside him at the couch and prayed. About his lumps, about his fever, and since I wasn’t sure if he knew about the cancer, I said, “Lord, help the pill to work in all the right places.”
Zach liked that. He smiled and faded off to sleep.
Dashing to my room, I took my secret prayer list out of hiding and curled up in my window seat. I wrote Zachary’s name at the very top.
He
was first. Before Daddy and before my summer plans. Before Danny Myers and everything else on the list.
“I’m ashamed, Lord,” I prayed. “I’m sorry for being so selfish. You know all about my summer and Daddy. If you want me to go, I know you’ll work it out, in your way and in your time. It’s up to you now. Amen.”
Whew! I suddenly felt fabulous deep down—knowing that I was trusting God to handle things. Besides, there was plenty to do in Dressel Hills this summer. Like getting Zach well. And working on having a better attitude toward Mr. Tate.
Hearing the front door open, I raced downstairs to meet Mom and Mr. Tate. They were leaning over Zach, who was still sound asleep on the living room couch. Mom whispered something to Zach’s dad, handing him a pad of paper to write on. Mr. Tate stared blankly at it, then went to the phone.
“Will Zach be all right?” I asked Mom.
“He’ll probably go back to the hospital,” she explained, hugging me close. Then, “How high was his fever?”
“One hundred two degrees,” I said.
“The doctor will want this information,” she said, jotting it down on a piece of paper.
Carrie came into the living room just then, looking very worried. “When’s my friend going to the hospital?”
Mom stared across the room at Mr. Tate. “Mike, uh, Mr. Tate will take him tonight as soon as he talks to the doctor on call.”
“Tonight?” Carrie asked.
Mom nodded.
“Is he worse?” I asked, eager to tell Mom I knew about the cancer.
Mom led Carrie and me into the kitchen. “Zachary’s in trouble,” she said. “He has leukemia, and his immune system is very weak. He’s picked up another flu bug, too, which is especially dangerous now.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” I asked.
“We didn’t want to frighten you. You had already lost your Aunt Marla to cancer and…” Her voice trailed off. I understood. She was afraid if we knew Zachary was dying, we might treat him differently. We might be afraid to get to know him. But now I wished I’d been told from the beginning.
I filled Mom’s favorite mug with water and slid it into the microwave oven. Right about now she needed some peppermint tea to help her get through. It was obvious how much she cared for Zachary…and his father.
Mom motioned for me to sit down at the bar. “I’ve been so busy with Zachary these past weeks that I’ve neglected both of you,” she said, looking at my sister and me. “Most of my so-called dates with Mike have been spent at his house tending to and comforting Zachary.”
“Why you, Mom?” I asked.
“I’ve become very fond of Zach,” she said, smoothing her hair back. “I want to make a difference in his life, if possible.”
“Then it’s not that you like Mr. Tate so much as a…a boyfriend?” I held my breath, hoping I was right.
“I didn’t say that,” Mom said softly.
Just then we heard Zach heading to the bathroom, moaning.
“Oh dear,” Mom said, rushing out of the room.
I wanted to put my fingers in my ears to block out the sounds of his sickness. Poor kid. Having severe nausea was worse than almost anything. I remembered being sick last winter, and how I’d rather die than vomit. But Zach had to live with it all the time. I shivered, thinking about it.
Mr. Tate was off the phone now. He went upstairs to Zach in the bathroom.
Carrie and I sat like stiff soldiers in the kitchen. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Is…is Zachary gonna die?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said softly. “I hope not.”
After a while, the three of them came down. Mr. Tate carried Zach out to the car. Mom followed. Carrie and I stood on the porch, too scared to move.
Before they left, Mom came back and put her arms around us. “He’ll spend the night at the hospital here, then they’ll take him to the Denver Children’s Hospital in the morning.”
Dusk was falling fast. Twilight, Grandma Meredith called it. A faint smell of woodsmoke tinged the air. The mountains were dark against the red sky as twinkling lights showed up in one house, then another.
Looking at the lighted windows, I wondered how many other houses had sad, sick kids living in them. And how many of those kids and their parents knew God well enough to talk things over with Him.
SECRET SUMMER DREAMS
“Time for pj’s,” Mom said as Carrie and I came into the house arm in arm. “Meet me in my room in five minutes.”
We raced to our rooms. Important stuff was going to be discussed tonight. I could feel it in the air. Slipping into my nightshirt, I wondered what Mom was going to tell us. I hoped it wasn’t something more about Mr. Tate. I was doing my best to accept him, but I needed time to get used to the idea of Mom having a serious boyfriend.
I dashed to Mom’s room, beating Carrie and claiming the spot on the bed nearest Mom.
Carrie dragged in her mermaid, the present from Mr. Tate. “Can we get Zach a stuffed Lightning McQueen to cheer him up?” she asked.
“Let’s find out if he has one first,” Mom said.
“He doesn’t; I know,” she insisted.
Mom had that faraway look in her eyes that means she’s planning things a zillion miles an hour. “Hand me my address book,” she said.
I reached for it on her nightstand.
She found the
M
’s and opened it, holding the place with her finger. “I want you girls to listen carefully,” she said. “When I’m finished talking, then both of you will have a chance to ask questions.”
Just as I had guessed, this
was
important.
“If things go as planned, Mike, uh, Mr. Tate, will accompany Zachary to Denver. He’ll stay there with his son until he’s much better and ready to come home.”
Tears glistened in Mom’s eyes. This wasn’t easy for her.
She continued, “I’ll call Grandma Meredith tonight to see if she can get a plane out tomorrow. If she can come stay with you girls, then I’ll go to Denver for a week to be near Zachary.”
Flipping through her address book, she located another phone number. “Maybe I can stay with my old friend from grad school.
She and her husband live a few miles from the hospital.”
For some strange reason, I remembered Mom’s mug of tea still waiting for her in the kitchen. “Just a minute,” I said, getting off the bed and heading downstairs.
I removed the cup from the microwave. Still hot. Dipping the tea bag into the water, I stirred in a teaspoon of honey. Just the way she liked it.
Gingerly, I stepped up the stairs, the mug brimming with peppermint tea. It was the least I could do for my mother.
Carrie looked like she’d been crying when I returned. I wished she wouldn’t cry. All this was hard enough for Mom. “Do you have to go, Mommy?” Carrie asked.
Mom thanked me for the tea, then took a little sip. “I really don’t
have
to,” she said, sighing. “But I’d like to be there for Mike while Zachary is having treatment. And I hope my presence will help Zachary, too, in some way. He needs someone…a woman’s touch.”