No Time to Cry (9 page)

T
HE remainder of the ceremony moved quickly. Dr. Douglas dug up a shovelful of dirt while cameras clicked. The time capsule box was taken away to be permanently sealed. It would be buried by the construction crew that would start the excavation on the new building Monday morning. Then it was announced that refreshments were being served in the hospital lobby.

People swarmed around Dawn as she made her way into the hospital. Reporters shoved microphones near her face and asked for more comments. Once inside the lobby, she grabbed a cup of punch, but before she could take a sip, the Chandlers came up to her.

“Thank you for remembering our little girl,” Mr. Chandler said.

“She was my best friend. I’ll never forget her,” Dawn replied.

Mrs. Chandler opened her purse. “I found this in a drawer and had a copy made for you.” She handed Dawn a photograph. It was a snapshot that Mr. Chandler had taken of Sandy and Dawn at camp. The two of them had their arms around each other and were mugging for the camera. Their balding heads were covered with scarves, and Sandy held Mr. Ruggers under her arm.

Dawn stared at the picture, trying to fight the tears that were springing to her eyes. How young she and Sandy looked at thirteen! And how very happy—in spite of having cancer. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll treasure this always.” She slipped it into the purse that was hanging from her shoulder.

Rhonda rushed over, all smiles. “Your speech was so amazing! I mean it, Dawn. I had a huge lump in my throat the whole time.” Rhonda’s gaze darted to one side. “Oops. Cute-guy alert to our left. I’d better go check this out.”

Dawn shook her head as she watched Rhonda scurry away. Her parents and Rob and Katie came up and hugged her. “When are we going bridesmaid’s dress shopping?” Dawn asked Katie.

“Is that all you can think of at a time like this?” Katie asked, grinning.

Dawn smiled back. “Yep! Let’s go next weekend! Promise?”

Rob slugged her arm playfully. “I’m proud of you, Squirt. How’d you get to be such a good speechmaker?”

“It’s in my blood,” she joked, and they all groaned.

Finally, the crowd thinned, the reporters and cameramen left, and the dignitaries vanished into expensive cars. Dawn leaned against a wall, sapped by the crazy tangle of emotions that had been pouring through her.

“Tired?” a voice asked.

She turned and faced Jake. She’d forgotten he was there.

“Yes, but it’s a good tired.”

He took her empty punch cup and placed it on a table. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” She glanced around for her parents.

“I asked your mom and dad if I could drive you,” Jake explained. “They said it would be all right.”

“That was nice of you.”

“Hey, I’m a nice guy.” He grinned. “Besides, I’m not about to let some hot-shot college guy ace me out.”

“Brent? He’s just a friend. I didn’t know you cared.”

“I care, all right,” Jake said. He took a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you in the hospital. That was no way to treat a friend.”

“I guess I needed it,” she said, feeling her mouth go dry. “Pity parties aren’t my usual style.”

“Well, after hearing your speech today, I’m able to see some things through your eyes. I can’t imagine watching my friends die the way you have. And I can’t imagine how you deal with knowing it could happen to you, too.”

Dawn shrugged. “I really try not to dwell on that part, Jake. No matter how down I feel, I try to concentrate on living, not dying.”

“Well, even though I’m sorry for the way I said it, I’m not entirely sorry for what I said. You do make me feel like an outsider sometimes, like I don’t belong in the cancer part of your life.”

Dawn experienced a pang of guilt. Is that what she had been doing to him? “I never meant to make you feel like an outcast because you’re healthy. It’s just so hard trying to live in two worlds.”

“When we were in seventh grade and the teacher told the class that you had leukemia, I felt really rotten. It scared me. I felt sorry for you, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“That’s part of the problem,” Dawn said. “People like me, who are sick or hurting, don’t want pity. We just want to be accepted.”

“I stopped feeling pity for you that day at the school carnival. I wanted you to notice me. That’s why I volunteered to go into the dunk tank.”

If he only knew how much she’d noticed him! “I couldn’t believe it when you showed up here at Hardy this year.”

“Me either. But I’m glad we moved back to Columbus. And I’m glad I got to know you again. I wasn’t sure how to treat you at first. I wasn’t sure you’d want to be around some guy you’d known since the fifth grade.”

“I felt the same way,” she said. “I’d changed so much and been through so much while you were gone. I didn’t want you to feel as if you owed me anything just because you’d known me for a long time.”

His voice became low and soft. “I’ve always liked you, Dawn. And I have a feeling I always will.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt so giddy and light that she thought she might float off the floor. “I always liked you, too.”

For a minute, they stood staring into one another’s eyes. Finally, Jake said, “We’d better get going.”

They had only walked a few steps when Dawn stopped. “I just thought of something I need to do before I leave,” she said. “Will you come with me?”

“Lead the way.”

She crossed to the elevator and punched the button for the top floor. She and Jake rode up in silence, and when the doors slid open, they stepped off into a deserted section of offices.

“Where are we?” Jake wanted to know.

“Follow me.” She led the way past a bank of windows, down the dimly lit hall, and stopped in front of the mural of the Tree of Life. Its long branches and green leaves seemed alive.

“Cool,” Jake commented. “Whose names are on the leaves?”

“Survivors. They’re people who’ve beaten the odds against cancer. They’re part of a support group that I’m going to join.”

He studied the tree carefully. “Where’s your name?”

Dawn took a deep breath. “It’s not there yet.”

He glanced at her quickly. “Why not?”

“No good reason. Come on, pick a leaf for me.”

Jake pointed to a leaf near the top of its furthermost branches. Dawn dug in her purse until she found a felt-tip pen. She stepped forward, took a deep breath, and wrote her name in bold, black strokes. “There. What do you think?”

“I think it looks terrific.”

She stepped away from the wall and looked up at him. Jake reached out and gently raised her chin with his forefinger and gazed into her eyes. “You know that old saying ‘This is the first day of the rest of your life’? I always thought it was kind of corny, but now it seems to fit. What do you think, Dawn? Is that true?”

She felt her heart pound at jackhammer speed.
The rest of her life!
No one ever knew what the future held—even kids who never got leukemia. Perhaps her cancer would be permanently cured. Maybe she’d go to medical school and become a doctor and help others, like Dr. Ben had done. Maybe she’d get married. And maybe she’d be able to have children someday in spite of the grim prognosis. Maybe life was for living. She said, “Yes, Jake Macka. It’s true.”

He brushed his lips lightly across hers, then tucked her under his arm, against his side. “Then let’s go live it.”

She hooked her arm around his waist, and together they walked down the deserted hallway toward the light streaming through the windows.

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