Send Me a Sign (28 page)

“Is she okay?” asked Ryan as the nurses frowned and paged the doctor.

“No kissing,” teased Mark, but his smile was flat. “This is more than the flu. We’re going to need to do a full blood workup.”

“I’ll call her parents,” said Business Nurse.

Mark drew blood, then the nurses were gone in a rush of rapid-fire medicalese.

“Is it always this crazy in the morning?” Ryan rubbed his eyes.

“Sometimes.” My head felt so heavy; I rested against his chest and asked, “Will your mom freak out that you didn’t go home?”

He shrugged. “She’ll just think I stayed over at the party. No big deal.”

Ryan leaned his chin against my forehead. Instantly he jerked away. “Baby, you’re burning up. Your shirt is soaked.”

“I’m too tired to change.” I shut my eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

The sunlight hit my room with stinging brightness. Everything looked pointed and sharp. I wanted the curves and buffer of unconsciousness.

“Two minutes. Change and wait for your meds, then you can sleep.”

“You’ll stay?”

“They’ll have to pry me away.”

I willed my eyes open and relaxed my fingers from Ryan’s shirt. He opened the closet and unzipped my suitcase.

“Pick one that buttons. My IV.” I made a weak gesture toward my port.

“Got it.” Ryan selected a green paisley pajama top. “Do you need pants?” He held out a red-and-blue-striped pair.

“No.”

He put an arm around my shoulders to help me sit up when my trembles made it clear I couldn’t do it alone. I leaned against him and lifted shaky hands to my buttons. Why were they so
hard to undo? Had the buttons grown and the holes shrunk? My fingers were clumsy.

Ryan gently pressed them out of the way. Shifting his arm on my back and sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands—most at home when shooting three-pointers—were soft as kisses as he unfastened the buttons on my sodden top. He held the cuff so I could pull my right hand out of the sleeve, then traded support arms and peeled it off my back, carefully freeing my left hand. The cool air hit my damp skin and I began to shiver, hugging my arms across my chest, too cold and weary to be embarrassed.

“This probably isn’t how you imagined seeing me topless.” I tried to joke, but my teeth chattered and mangled the words.

He helped thread my arms through new sleeves. “Plenty of time for that when you’re better.” He was being so careful and his fingers brushed like whispers, but still left aching pathways on my fevered skin.

Eyes shut, I leaned my throbbing head against his shoulder as he closed the buttons over my blue-white stomach.

“It’s not the right time, not how I planned it, but I have to tell you—” His fingers stilled on my third button and he turned his lips toward my ear. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

I was trying to summon the energy to lift my head and look at him; the noise of the door opening barely registered.

“Hey—” The greeting crashed to a stop. “You’re unbelievable, Winters. This is a hospital.” Disdain dripped off each word. I twisted my head—still on Ryan’s shoulder—to see Gyver at the door, his face darkened with contempt.

“God, what’s wrong with you? She’s sick. I would never—” Ryan’s voice choked off and he turned his back on Gyver. Fastening my last three buttons, he eased me back against the pillow and tucked the blankets up. I shivered as the cool sheets replaced his body heat.

Gyver dismissed him. “It’s nothing compared to this summer—not that you’d know.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t here then. But I’m here now—so stop acting like you know everything.” His voice was fierce, but the hand on my cheek was gentle and cool.

“It’s just the flu,” Gyver said.

“She’s neutropenic—she has no immune system,” corrected Ryan. “There’s no ‘just’ about anything she catches. Do you know how bad her counts are? Or that her temp went up four degrees since yesterday?”

“Where’d you learn all that?” My voice was too thin to reflect my shock.

“The nurses just now. Internet. Books from your dad. And I listened when the doctor was talking to you.” He sounded miserable. “I don’t want you to end up in isolation.”

“Isolation?” Gyver and I asked.

“My God, Mia. Were you in the same room when the doctor was talking? If you don’t respond to antibiotics, you have to go in isolation. That’s why there are hand-washing signs all over your door and why the nurses keep telling us ‘no kissing.’”

“But they were saying I might go home today. Weren’t they?” It was so hard to remember; it seemed so long ago.

“Yesterday it looked good, but now your fever’s back up.” He reached for my hand, stroking it with his thumb.

Gyver had gasped “huh?” when Ryan mentioned kissing. I shut my eyes. It was much more likely I was sicker via the stress of last night than the barely-brushed-lips kiss I’d stolen from him. Perhaps I should’ve reassured Gyver, but I couldn’t. “Ryan was helping me change. I sweated through my shirt,” I offered instead.

I peeked from beneath lowered lids; Gyver looked defeated, wilted. “Mi, how’d you get so sick? You were fine. I would’ve stayed.” He took a step forward, then stopped. Ryan was in his spot.

“I’m just tired,” I mouthed.

“’Course you’re tired, you didn’t sleep well last night. You can as soon as your meds come. Promise.”

“You stayed here?” There was a long pause before Gyver continued in a detached voice, “I came to talk about yesterday, but it looks like you don’t need me.”

The tears started as a whimper this time. They leaked from under closed lids and felt icy on my fevered face.

“Don’t cry, baby.” Ryan’s soft breath on my neck as his hand wiped my face; Gyver’s panicked, “Mi—”

I didn’t open my eyes, couldn’t look at either of them. Or my parents, doctors, and nurses when they arrived.

“There’s too many people in here,” barked Business Nurse over the melee of greetings, status updates, and my mother’s loud wailing. My hand instinctively closed on Ryan’s.

“I guess I’ll go,” Gyver offered.

I didn’t protest. Didn’t open my eyes.

Couldn’t bear to see him walk away from me for the second time in two days.

Chapter 36

I spent two days at the mercy of feverish hallucinations. Voices alternated between whispering and yelling gibberish. Faces loomed clownishly large and then blurred behind the spots in my vision. In my delusions the nurses’ needles morphed to guns, then transformed into my mother’s knitting needles.

I woke up yelling something, my mouth coated with desperation, but I couldn’t remember why. I’m sure there was a moment when my fever broke and danger passed, but I didn’t notice it. Awareness came back gradually—being able to differentiate day from night. Sitting up without the room tilting. Realizing the only person who’d held my hand or called all week, besides my parents and Mr. and Mrs. Russo, was Ryan. That his summer tan was fading and being replaced by dark circles under his eyes and lines on his face. Lines that seemed to get deeper every time he rubbed his forehead.

His blue eyes filled the first time I opened mine and said, “Hi, Ryan.”

He wiped them on his sleeve and climbed out of his chair so he could pull me against his chest in an urgent hug. “Hey, you. How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

He sniffle-laughed and rocked me gently. “Tired? How’s that even possible?”

I wanted to answer him, but my eyes were sliding shut and my lips wouldn’t cooperate.

Mrs. Russo walked through the door carrying a plate of biscotti. Mr. Russo was behind her with a cardboard tray holding four cups of coffee. I didn’t care about either of those things. I cared about Gyver, and when he didn’t appear behind them, my stomach sank.

“Where is he?” I asked, still staring at the door like I could will him into appearing just by wishing hard enough.

Mrs. Russo handed the biscotti to Dad and washed her hands before answering. Then she came to stand beside me and put a warm hand on my arm. “Gyver’s at home.” There was sadness in her voice and eyes, I didn’t want to think about what it meant.

“He didn’t … He hasn’t …” Finishing those thoughts meant acknowledging his continued absence out loud and I couldn’t do it.

“Is there a message we can give him for you?”

I shook my head.
Always
. When he’d asked if I wanted him to come, I’d told him
always
. It hadn’t occurred to me that his answer might not be the same.

After four more days I was discharged and sent home, where Dr. Kevin ordered me to spend three more days resting before I attempted school. I was still borderline neutropenic—I didn’t have enough white blood cells to fight off an infection. There were rules about visitors: one at a time and I had to wear a surgical mask. Not that it mattered. Ryan was the only one who came.

I knew the lack of messages from Lauren was a bad sign. The fact that Hil hadn’t stormed my house demanding explanations was an awful omen. I wouldn’t let myself think about what Gyver’s absence meant.

I wanted numb back. I wanted the hospital drugs that had made it possible to sleep and pretend I wasn’t terrified. Instead, the skin around my eyes and nose were raw from tissues and tears. I sometimes woke up and caught Mom standing in my doorway like she was guarding my sleeping body. Dad was constantly on the phone with doctors and on the Internet. He’d started making charts of experimental treatments and new drugs in development.

“We won’t need them,” he told me. “But I feel better knowing what’s out there.”

Mom hovered now. Fingertips always reaching for my forehead, searching for a fever. She fussed with the thermostat and fretted about germs. Her manic kitchen cleaning surpassed Mrs. Russo’s; she vacuumed my room and changed my sheets daily.

That night apart had changed her—I wasn’t sure if it was our fight or my fever. She didn’t ask questions or intrude on my silence; she gave me so much space it started to feel like a barrier. Stuck in my own thoughts, or in my struggles not to think, I didn’t know how to reach out and give her the reassurance she needed. We revolved around each other in careful orbits.

“Kitten, you have a visitor.” She gave the germ masks a pointed look, patted my arm, and disappeared into the laundry room.

I was filling a glass from the dispenser on the fridge door, wishing I could convince myself it was only the metallic distortion that gave my reflection such an ethereal look.

“Hey.” Gyver’s voice was hesitant and soft. He was leaning against the kitchen door, one hand grasping the opposite elbow, his feet crossed at the ankles. It was a casual pose, but his posture was stiff and he was staring at the tile floor.

“Hi. Water?” I lifted my glass, then fumbled like an idiot putting it on the counter. “Want some?”

“No, I’m good.”

I looked at him, waiting for him to look back. He should wash his hands and I should put on a surgical mask, but those reminders seemed less important than bridging the distance between us.

“Can we?” I pointed to the family room behind him. I wanted to leave the kitchen—Mom would be bustling back in to unload the dishwasher and wipe down counters. He let me lead him through the doorway, then chose a recliner across the room from my spot on the couch. Not a good sign. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them.

“Gyver, at the hospital—” I began.

“Ryan said you wanted to see me,” he interrupted.

“He did?”

“Yeah. If you wanted to see me,
you
should’ve called.”

“I didn’t ask him to say anything.” I leaned my cheek on my knees. “But I did want to see you. Why haven’t you called or visited? I know the hospital’s a pain, but I’ve been home for days. I miss you. I don’t get what’s going on with us.” I pulled my knees in closer, knotting my fingers in front of my shins.

Gyver shut his eyes and groaned, a hurt-animal sound in the back of his throat. “That makes two of us, Mi. I don’t know what’s going on either.”

“Is this because of what happened at the hospital?”

“We need to talk about that.” He leaned forward and rubbed his face with tired palms.

“It didn’t mean anything.” I could still picture his anger when he’d seen Ryan help button my pajamas.