Send Me a Sign (9 page)

The pain became tolerable. The nausea bearable. The boredom wasn’t. Gyver finished all our summer reading. I’d never
known a month could feel so long; I’d run out of things to say to my parents weeks ago. Mom’s refrain was: “I think you look better. Do you feel better?” Dad’s was: “Can I get you anything? Want to play Go Fish?” There was never enough time for Gyver to visit or enough contact with the outside world. I missed the Calendar Girls. I missed Jinx. I missed Ryan, cheering, and my life. I could handle the shots, the bone marrow tests; it was the waiting that was the worst.

It had been an eternity. A shapeless eternity where days and nights blurred with pain, boredom, and repetition. Where my body belonged more to the doctors and blood counts than me. Where life outside the hospital seemed like another world, one I was no longer a part of.

Then, five weeks later, it ended. “Your numbers are looking good and holding steady. It’s time we sent you home. Though we’re not done with you just yet. We’ll see you in late September for your first round of consolidation therapy. And, of course, sooner if you’re feeling at all …” Dr. Kevin continued to lecture me on limitations, statistics; Dad took notes.

My mind locked on the word “home” and tuned out the rest.

Chapter 7

My parents were nervous about my homecoming. They tried to hide it, but there was an undercurrent of “now what?” in the looks they exchanged as they carried my bags from the car. Jinx was in cat bliss. She followed me like a puppy, twisted through my legs until I had no choice but to pick her up or trip.

“I think Gyver overfed Jinx. She feels heavier.” Either that or I was weaker, because my arms began to shake pathetically.

Mom looked up from the grocery list she was writing for Dad. “You might want to shower and get dressed.”

I looked at her notepad: quinoa, acai berries, salmon. “What is this stuff? Since when do we eat kale? What is kale?”

“It’s a superfood. Your dad read about it,” Mom answered defensively. “You’ll like it. You’re a healthy eater, but it couldn’t hurt to eliminate some of the junk food.”

Healthy eater? Had they seen Iggy’s menu? But she looked so anxious, the pen in her hand was quivering. “I’m sure it’s great.”

“You’ll love it. It’s good to have you home. I’ve missed you so much.”

I opened my mouth to ask how she could miss me when she’d spent almost every moment by my side, but she’d already turned away, opening the fridge and clucking at its contents. “I hope no one’s expecting a gourmet dinner. There’s nothing in here for me to work with.”

“Do you want me to pick something up while I’m out?” Dad began listing options and Mom criticized each in turn.

I scratched Jinx below the chin. She purred and nuzzled closer. Mom had moved on to complaining about her neglected garden; Dad was scanning the grocery list. I slowly climbed the stairs, plopping Jinx on my bed before heading to the bathroom.

The shower felt amazing—real water pressure. I took my time, wrapped myself in cozy towels and rested before smoothing on lavender lotion to cover any lingering hospital smells. I twined my hair into two loose braids—pretending not to notice how much had stayed tangled on my fingers and in the drain while shampooing. Digging through my suitcase, I found my horseshoe and rehung it above the bedroom door, picked up Jinx, then headed downstairs.

Mom unloaded strange foods from Whole Foods bags. New diet, new grocery store: I might be home, but things had changed.

“Pajamas?” Her face tightened in disappointment. “I thought you might like to get dressed for a change.”

“I’m not going anywhere today.”

“But you’re home now. And better. You don’t have to go back there for seven weeks. You don’t need to wear pajamas anymore. People don’t wear pajamas in the middle of the day unless they’re sick.” A box of organic, whole-wheat crackers dented beneath her fingers.

Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. If Mia wants to wear pajamas it’s okay. She’s still healthy.”

Mom inhaled a shaky breath. I noticed she wasn’t dressed in her wrinkled gardening clothes today. She had on khaki capris and a button-down shirt. Her hair was smoothed in a twist and she had on makeup. She looked like Mom again. She needed me to look like Mia.

“You’re right,” I piped up with a silly-me smile. “What was I thinking? I’ll go change.”

Mom exhaled and placed the mangled crackers in the pantry. “Well, if that’s what you want.”

My bed felt too big and soft after so many nights on that thin mattress and stiff hospital sheets. The silence felt hollow, like the air was empty without the soft padding of nurses’ shoes, the squeaky wheel on the meds cart, the giggles and shrieks of kids in the lounge, the falsely positive chatter of visitors stepping into the hallway to “get some air,” the blip of machinery, the
scream of alarms, and the buzz of the crash cart. I missed the noise. I’d become accustomed to it, even the annoying rattle of my hospital room’s air conditioner. It was scary to have so much freedom and privacy.

I was alone for the first time in five weeks. I could breathe without them watching. I could sneeze without raising an alarm.

I could … cry.

I’d leaked a tear or two during excruciating moments in the hospital, but these were real tears. Real, pitiful, fear-saturated sobs that shook my bed until Jinx mewed in annoyance and moved. Until I started to feel motion sick and empty. Now-what? tears that had been forbidden during the heavy surveillance of hospital life. Can-I-do-this? tears that would shatter my mother. I’m-so-lonely tears dedicated to the Calendar Girls and the lies I’d told them. My face felt tight and raw. My nose streamed all over the pillowcase.

“Get a grip,” I told myself in the dark, squeezing my necklace until I could feel a clover-shaped imprint on my palm. With one hand tangled in the chain and the other on Jinx, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 8

A salon appointment was my first trip out of the house since I’d left the hospital three days ago. I’d slept most of the first two days, grateful to wake up in my own room. Grateful my parents were settling back into hobbies other than watching me: Mom to her neglected gardening and Dad to the pool-shed-turned-astronomy-hideout, which he escaped to each night after dinner.

The August sunlight reflected off the salon’s windows. My head felt lighter. I’d left more than a foot of blond hair on the salon floor—until my mom had it all gathered and bagged. “I heard about a program where they can make a wig out of your own hair. Just in case.”

Nurse Snoopy had been right; the thinning wasn’t as noticeable with shorter hair. My phone rang while Mom paid. I tucked a strand of my new bob behind my ear and ducked out the door. “Hey, Ryan.”

“I hear you’re back in town.”

“I got home this morning,” I lied.

“I heard from Chris, who heard it from Hil. How come I didn’t hear it from you?” He sounded a little petulant and a lot sexy.

“Because I just got home. Are you in East Lake?”

“At the shore. Come down, we’ll celebrate your escape from the elderly. I’ve got the day off tomorrow and Chris’s mom is totally laid back about people staying over.”

Mom walked a step away—could she hear? “You want to celebrate my return to PA in Jersey?” I tacked on a teasing laugh.

Mom heard that—and shook her head. I mouthed, “I know,” and scowled.

“Well, your return to the Mid-Atlantic. C’mon—we’ll throw a big party and have everyone down. I don’t know anyone who deserves a party more than you, Saint Mia.”

“I just spent three hours in the car, I don’t want to spend the rest of the day fighting beach traffic.” They were reluctant lies. I’d gleefully sit in traffic if it meant I could flirt, bask in sunshine and Ryan’s smiles, and feel normal again.

“C’mon. You’re overdue for a party.”

“I just got home. Jinx’ll never forgive me if I leave again.”

“Ouch! I rate below your cat?” Ryan laughed. “Fine, if you won’t come see me, I’ll come to you. What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I’m meeting the girls at Iggy’s.”

“I’ll be there. But I want to see you afterward.” His voice dropped into a husky tone that made me blush. “Alone.”

“Okay,” I managed.

“What time?”

“One thirty.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Bye.” I opened the car door.

“Ryan’s coming to lunch tomorrow?” Mom asked as she climbed into the driver’s seat.

“He’s driving up from the shore.”

“That’s nice. He’s such a handsome boy. How are you feeling?” She placed one hand on my forehead and fumbled in her purse with the other. She pulled out a thermometer in its plastic case.

“I can’t believe you have that in your purse,” I said. “What else is in there?”

“Dr. Kevin said you had to be careful. And that I needed to watch you closely for any signs of illness or infection.”

“I’m fine.”

“Humor me.” She pressed it into my palm.

I did. Put the thermometer under my tongue and waited for it to beep. “Perfectly normal. See?” I held it out to her.

“Thank you.” She took the thermometer back, handing me one of the bottles of antibacterial gel that were sprouting like a fungus around the house, in our cars, and inside all my purses.

“Do you think they’ll guess? Do I look okay?” In the hospital everyone was sick so I blended in. In the real world I felt like a frail, pale-faced freak.

She leaned over and clasped my chin with her hand, forcing me to look at her. “You’re beautiful. Always.”

Her voice was too earnest to respond with an eye roll. “Thanks.”

“It’s true. Anyway, the haircut’s adorable and with some makeup and strategic clothing choices, no one will suspect a thing.”

I tugged the clasp of my necklace to the back and made a wish for acceptance. “I might tell them—now that I’m home. What do you think?”

Mom was quiet for a long time. She stared out the windshield at the parking meter. “I don’t want you to regret anything, kitten. Once you tell, you can’t take it back. They may not handle it well. You need to be prepared for their reactions.”

“What do you think they’d do?” I asked.

“We know how Ally’ll be. The others … I don’t know. I love Lauren, but she’s not very tolerant or patient. And Hillary? I can never guess how that girl is going to react.”

I tried to picture telling Ryan and saw his
come here
look melt into
stay away
. “The hard part of treatment’s over, so it’ll get easier to hide, right?”

Mom hugged me. “I can’t tell you what to do. It’s got to be your choice. Whatever you decide will be right; do what you think is best.”

“I just want things back to normal.” Or I wanted a clear sign for how to proceed.

“They will be.” She smoothed a strand of my hair and started the car. “Soon it will be like this all never happened.”

Chapter 9

After trying and rejecting a dozen outfits, I settled on white shorts and a navy-and-white-striped long-sleeved shirt. Mom helped with makeup, stepping forward to daub on color, stepping back to examine the effect. The result was more makeup than I usually wore, but I looked less pale and sickly. Once ready, I fretted and called Gyver. “Will you come with me?”

“Your goal’s to pretend everything’s normal, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then my coming isn’t going to help. I don’t normally hang out with your cheer friends and The Jock.”

“I guess.” I frowned at the mirror.

“You’re going to be okay. They’re your friends. You miss them. Remember?”

“Yeah.” I didn’t sound enthusiastic.

“How about this? I’ll call a friend. We’ll grab a late lunch
at Iggy’s before my band rehearses. That won’t be suspicious. But if you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Really?”

“Really. But you won’t need me. You’re going to be fine, Mi.”