Hummingbird Heart (25 page)

“She sure did.”

There was a long pause. “Um. I think I hear Mom,” I told him. “I'll just go get her.”

I took the phone into the living room. Mom was lying on the floor in some weird yoga pose. I handed her the phone. “It's Mark.”

She swung her legs back to a more normal position and took the phone. “Mark? Hi.”

I hung around, trying to listen in, but all Mom said was stuff like,
Yeah
,
Uh-huh
,
Okay
,
Oh no
,
I see
, et cetera, et cetera
.
So I had no idea what the conversation was about. I pulled at a hangnail on my thumb until the skin tore and a tiny droplet of blood squeezed out. I stared at it and wondered how they tested blood. Something about HLA markers, from what I'd read online, but I didn't really know what that meant.

I remembered Lisa's crossed fingers and found myself crossing mine tightly. The gesture didn't feel foolish this time. I pictured Casey's round face as she looked at the dollhouses, and hoped as hard as I could that I could help her.

Even if Mark never did want to spend time with me. Even if no one ever knew about it. Even if the doctors had to stick needles in every bone in my body.

Mom finally put down the phone and turned to me. “I guess you know that Casey's sick.”

I hunched on the couch and wrapped my arms around my knees. “What's wrong with her?”

“Mark said she had a fever and was throwing up, so they took her to Emergency. Because, you know, they were worried…”

“Is it the cancer? It's come back?” Mark had said that Casey's remission probably wouldn't last very long, but it hadn't occurred to me that she might relapse before we even knew whether I could help.

She gestured helplessly. “They don't know. I mean, yeah, that's what they're worried about.”

“But throwing up…I mean, lots of kids throw up. Right? It could be just stomach flu or something.”

Mom sat down on the couch beside me and tried to put an arm around my shoulder, but I stiffened and pulled away. I hate being touched when I'm upset, and Mom's always doing it.

“Listen, Pickle. They don't know. So yes, it could just be a virus.”

“But they don't think so. Mark doesn't think so, does he?” My voice wobbled.

“He's hoping that's all it is, but he's scared and...” Mom hesitated.

“What? What were you going to say?”

“Oh, baby…Casey's blood counts are down. Her platelets, Mark said, and something called neutrophils.”

“They're a type of white blood cell.” I wrapped my arms around myself. I'd read about all this online. “Not the ones she has cancer in. Another kind.”

Mom gave me an odd look. “Well, that can indicate a relapse. But it's possible that it's due to a virus too. They don't know for sure yet.”

“I have to be a match,” I whispered. “I have to be.”

Mom didn't say anything.

“Can I stay home?”

“Sitting by the phone isn't going to make any difference. Anyway, school will help take your mind off all this.” She hesitated. “I'll pick you up after school. I think it'd be a good idea for you to visit her. I'm sure she'd like that.”

I stared at my mother for a minute, trying to read beneath the words, see past all the lies she'd told me. I dropped my eyes to her wrist, but the red and green of the hummingbird was hidden beneath her sleeve.

“You better go,” she said. “You don't want to be late.”

TW
en
TY-
n
I
ne

After school, I stood outside beside my bicycle, waiting for Mom. She'd arranged for us to go see Casey. No one had said it, but I had a feeling this was a goodbye visit, in case Casey didn't make it. There just seemed to be this urgency about it. No one had consulted me or asked if I wanted to go.

I didn't.

Toni was walking toward me and I waved.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

“Mom's picking me up.”

She raised her eyebrows. “How come? You okay?”

I never let Mom drive me to or from school, on principle. “We're going to see Casey,” I said reluctantly. “She's in the hospital.”

“Jeez. Is it…serious?”

“Dunno. I guess it might be.”

“Huh. That sucks.” She gave me a long look. “I guess you haven't heard anything yet, about the bone-marrow thing.”

I shook my head. “It's so weird. I feel like it'll be my fault if I'm not a match. You know? If she, you know…”

“Doesn't make it?”

“Yeah.”

“It won't be your fault.”

I shrugged irritably. “I
know
that.”

There was a long silence. Toni played with a piece of tape on my bicycle handlebars, and Mom's car came rattling along and pulled to a stop beside us. I didn't want to go. “Sorry I'm being a bitch,” I muttered. “Um, you know. You're my best friend. You're important to me.”

“I love you too.” She laughed. “Goof.”

Toni helped me put my bike on the bike rack and waved goodbye as I slid into the passenger seat and buckled my seat belt. I watched her as we drove away, and wished I was still standing there on the sidewalk beside her. Mom drove quickly, trying to get onto the highway before the worst of the rush-hour traffic out of town. I turned on the radio so that we wouldn't have to talk. I felt trapped and panicky, my heart racing so fast I thought it'd burst right out of my chest. I dug my nails into my palms and clenched my teeth so tightly that my jaw started to ache.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't go see her.

Not if she was dying.

I couldn't even stand to think about it. It wasn't even about Casey, really. It wasn't about how sad it was that a little kid was sick, or about her being my half sister. I just couldn't stand thinking about death. Being
reminded
of it. The certainty of death changed everything. What difference did it make how far off it was? If death was the inevitable outcome, how could anything else really matter?

“Mom.” I started to cry. “I don't want to visit.”

“What? Why not?”

I just shook my head. “Please don't make me. I can't do this.” A blue sign with a big letter H on it flashed past, and I started to cry harder.

She took her foot off the gas and the car slowed down. “Are you sure, Dylan?”

“I'm sure.”

“Dylan…” Mom shook her head. “Fine. I'll take you home and I'll call Mark on his cell.”

She was probably disappointed in me. Casey would be disappointed too. But I just couldn't do it. Not yet. Maybe later—if I found out that I was a match and I could do something to help her—maybe then I'd visit.

When we got home, I retreated to my room. I didn't want to look at Mom's tight lips and wonder when she was going to ask me something. I could tell she was dying to. If she wasn't so big on respecting privacy, she'd probably already be interrogating me. I figured I'd better stay out of her way and remove the temptation.

I mucked around on the computer for a while, reading about neutrophils and platelets and leukemia. I couldn't make sense of a lot of it. After about half an hour, Karma hammered on my door.

“What?”

She slipped into my room. “Guess who's here?”

I glanced up, saw her wide grin and quickly minimized the window on the computer screen so she wouldn't see what I was reading. “How the hell would I know? Santa Claus?”

“Better. Scott.”

“Really?”

“Yup. And I think they're back together.” She lowered her voice, even though there was no way Mom could hear. “They're holding hands.”

“Huh.”

“You're not upset? Because I know you don't like him as much as I do.”

“He's all right,” I said. “As long as I don't have to see them making out on the couch again.”

Karma wrinkled her nose. “Yeah. Gross.”

“Is he staying for dinner?”

“Looks like it. He's helping her cook.”

I didn't feel like sitting at a table with them all. On the other hand, Mom probably wouldn't ask me questions if Scott was there.

I had to admit one thing: Scott sure could cook. Mom's repertoire was pretty much limited to pizza, frozen lasagna and mac 'n' cheese, but Scott was turning out to be Mr. Gourmet. I took a tortilla and began piling it with red peppers, mushrooms, onions, and cheese. Beside me, Karma had stuffed hers with so much steak that she couldn't get it to close.

“That's enough protein to feed a small village for a week,” I told her under my breath.

She crossed her eyes at me and took a messy bite.

Mom and Scott weren't paying attention to either of us. They were knocking back shots of tequila and sneaking kisses when they thought we weren't watching. I pulled a piece of tortilla off my fajita and chewed it slowly.

Maybe Karma was right and Scott wasn't so bad. I wasn't convinced yet—but even I had to admit Mom seemed a whole lot happier when he was around.

Sunday was a cold, clear blue-sky day, and Karma and I went for a bike ride together. We cycled up to Thetis Lake and sat at a picnic table, watching half a dozen dogs romping on the beach. My heart was beating hard from the last long hill up to the parking lot, and my face felt frozen.

Karma pulled off her helmet, put it down on the bench and turned to face me. “So. How come you're not going to see Casey?”

“Dunno.”

“Do you think she's going to…? You know.”

“How would I know?”

Karma bent down and picked up a rock. She rolled it in her hand for a minute and then tossed it toward the water. It fell short and landed on the sand, a good ten feet from the lake's edge. One of the dogs bounded toward it hopefully.

“Death is weird,” she said.

“Yeah. I know.” I stared hard at the lake. “I wish there was an alternative.”

She gave a short laugh, the kind that means nothing is really funny. “Yeah, it's called living. Duh.” She jumped off the picnic table, walked toward the lake and started throwing stones, trying to skip them along the water's surface.