So Much to Live For (9 page)

“T
HIS will be my last day on the job.”
Dawn tied her apron behind her back
as she made her announcement to Rhonda.

“What! You can’t be serious.” Rhonda dropped the ice cream scoop she was washing in the sink with a loud clank.

“I’ve already called your uncle and told him.”

“But you said you loved this job.”

“I do.”

“Then why?”

“I have to quit. Marlee’s dying,” Dawn told her, expecting the phrase to explain everything.

But an uncomprehending look crossed Rhonda’s face. “What’s that got to do with you?”

“Because she needs me to be with her. She
wants
me to be with her.”

“But what about all the plans we’ve made? Buying new school clothes? What about all the fun we’re having?”

Dawn stared at Rhonda in amazement. “Didn’t you hear me? I said Marlee’s
dying
.”

Rhonda turned and began to furiously wash the sink full of ice cream scoops. “Well, I think it’s weird and creepy to hang around someone who’s dying.”

“It isn’t weird or creepy,” Dawn declared. “It’s something I have to do.”

“How long?”

“‘How long’ what?”

“How long will you be with her?”

“However long it takes.” Dawn felt bewildered by Rhonda’s response, by her lack of sensitivity. She whipped around, grabbed a damp sponge, and hurried over to wipe off the table tops in the empty shop.
This is ridiculous
, she kept telling herself. How could Rhonda be so heartless?

Dawn heard the sound of crying coming from behind the counter. She dropped the sponge and ran back to the sink. Rhonda was leaning over the basin of water, tears slipping down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” Dawn asked.

Rhonda burst into sobs and grabbed Dawn and hugged her fiercely. Shocked by her outburst. Dawn cautiously patted her on the back. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t want you to go away,” Rhonda said, gulping for air.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Dawn insisted, confused. “I’m just quitting my job, that’s all.”

“But you’ll start school with me?”

“Of course, I’ll be starting school. Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re not going to get sick ever again, are you?”

Was that what was bothering Rhonda? That
she
might get sick? That
she
might die? “It’s not in my plans.”

Rhonda wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks. Melted chocolate made a dark smear on her skin. Dawn reached over and dabbed at it with a paper towel. “You’ve got fudge on your face,” she explained. “There, I’ve got it off.”

“How will I manage without you?” Rhonda asked with a self-conscious half-laugh. “If you aren’t here, who’s going to look out for me? Who’s going to tell me I’m making an idiot of myself over some cute guy?”

“I’ll hang around and keep an eye on you.”

“How long will you hang around with me?”

Dawn held onto Rhonda’s shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. “Until we’re both old and fat and wrinkled.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * * * *

Dawn lay awake in the dark. The lighted digits on her radio alarm clock read 5:00 A.M.
Go back to sleep
, she told herself.
You’ve got to be at the hospital in a few hours, and you’ll be all tired out if you don’t
. She didn’t want to fall asleep while visiting Marlee. But no amount of plumping up her pillow or snuggling down under her covers could make sleep come.

Her mind kept resisting what her heart kept telling her to go do.
I can’t
, she said inwardly.
Yes, you can. You must,
another inward voice directed. In the end, the “must” voice won out. Quietly, she slipped from her bed, tugged on her summer robe, and stole into the hallway.

The house was quiet, her parents and Rob still asleep. A nightlight from the bathroom cast a glow along the wall. She followed it and at the end of the hall she found the door to the attic. Beside the door was the flashlight her father always kept plugged into the wall socket. She took it, turned it on, and slowly climbed the stairs. At the top, inside the attic, she swung the light in a wide arc, throwing beams into the dark corners.

In a few hours, the summer sun would make the area unbearably hot. But right now, the room was only stuffy, a contrast from the air-conditioned coolness of the house below. “Where is it?” she asked aloud, swinging the flashlight in a circle. Where had she put it?

The light beams fell on an old dresser. Behind it, there was a set of wooden shelves. Her heart hammered as the rays of light fell across an old, dog-eared box. Forcing the dresser quietly aside, she tugged the box off the shelf. Clutching it, she dumped a pile of old curtains from a sagging overstuffed chair, sat down and placed the box in her lap.

Dust had settled on the lid, and she blew on it, making it billow. She rested the flashlight on the arm of the chair so that it spread a circle of light across her lap.

Open it
, she told herself. It should be so simple. But her hands were shaking, and her mouth was dry and every nerve in her body tingled. “Nothing’s hard about taking a lid off a box,” she whispered aloud as if the words would give her courage.

The smells of the attic clung to her. She wanted go back downstairs, wash the grime off her hands, and climb back into bed. But instead she lifted the lid. Inside the box everything was exactly as she remembered. All that remained of Sandy Chandler’s life lay cradled in her lap. At least, all that remained of the things she could touch and smell and see.

She had expected to break down, fall apart, as she’d done so often in the past. But although a huge lump had risen into her throat, she didn’t cry. Instead, a feeling of warmth and tenderness spread through her. Her finger caressed the hair combs and popcorn necklace. Each memento was like a tiny sparkling jewel that glowed in her memory.

Dawn untied the bundle of letters and re-read them, one by one—from the first, following Sandy’s return home from the hospital where they’d met, to the last, postmarked from Mexico. Sandy had written.
Good night, my friend. Go with God
, in small, neat, perfect handwriting.

At the very bottom of the box, in a plain white envelope, Dawn discovered the page from the Bible, Ecclesiastes 3. She didn’t have to read it. She knew the words by heart. Aloud, she said, “‘For everything there is a season. . . . A time to live and a time to die.’”

Dawn sighed and rested her head against the chair. “I miss you, Sandy,” she said. “I wish I could talk to you. Tell you about camp. And Brent.” She smiled. “He’s pretty cute, and he kisses real nice. Of course, with my limited experience, I’m no expert.”

There was a window high above her, at the highest point of the attic. Daylight was breaking, and she could see pale streaks of pink in the sky. Soon, it would be time to get ready to go to the hospital. “I wish I could tell you about Marlee, too, Sandy. She’s kind of a pain, but I like her anyway.” Dawn said in the close air. “I wish you could have been a CIT with me this summer.” She thought about the fun they might have had and smiled again.

Dawn stared absently into space, images of the two of them running through her mind’s eye like a scene from a movie. The pretty pictures made her feel warm and soft. Yet, they always ended with the image of her standing alone by her front door, receiving a box from the mailman.
Alone
. That’s how her memories of her and Sandy always ended.

She closed her eyes and saw herself walking down a road. Sandy was walking with her, but then somewhere along the way, Sandy dropped back. Dawn saw herself stop and turn to signal to her friend to come beside her, but Sandy simply stood and waved. And no matter how urgently Dawn beckoned to her, Sandy would not come.

Slowly Dawn opened her eyes. She was in her attic and day was breaking outside the window. She thought of Marlee. Soon she, too, would slip away from her. Why did the people she cared about go off and leave her?

Dawn stood, her eyes still fixed on the outside sky that grew brighter each minute. From below, she heard the sounds of water running. Her father taking his morning shower. Life was going on all around her.
Her life
. She put what was left of Sandy Chandler’s away in the box and took it downstairs to her room.

D
AWN sensed a hushed atmosphere on the oncology floor the moment she got off the elevator. The first person she saw was Marlee’s grandmother, shuffling down the hall with her cane. Dawn hurried up beside her, her heart thudding. “Is everything all right?” Dawn asked.

“Yes. Marlee’s resting. I’m going down to the lounge to prop up my feet. Doctor’s orders.”

Dawn tagged after her, unsure of what else to do. She watched the elderly woman settle into the chair and elevate the footrest. “Can I get you something?” she asked.

“No, thank you, dear. The nurses have taken good care of me.” She gazed at Dawn with kind, tired eyes. “I want to thank you for being here for Marlee these past six weeks. It’s meant so much to her to have somebody more her age care about her.”

“You mean a lot to her, too.”

The old woman smiled wanly. “Marlee and I make an odd couple, don’t we?” she asked. “How I remember that first day she came to live with me. My son and daughter-in-law had been killed in a car crash.” Her eyes grew misty. “You see, there was no one else but me to take little Marlee. She was so scared and confused, and she missed her mama so much at first.”

“It must have been hard for both of you.”

“I gave her everything I could, but I know she didn’t have a normal childhood. How could she? I was sixty-seven years old when she came into my life. With a heart condition.” She shook her head as if confused by life’s events.

“And then when they told me she had cancer—I could hardly believe it. How often I’ve wished it could have been me instead of Marlee. I mean, she has her whole life in front of her. And me? Well, I’m an old woman who has buried a husband and my only child. No one expects to bury her child, much less her grandchild. . . .” She let her sentence trail off. Finally, she added, “I plan to ask the good Lord some things when I see him.”

Dawn felt at a loss for something to say. Inside, her heart was breaking. To her, nothing made any sense. The old lived; the young died. Where did she fit in? Grandmother Hodges’s eyes closed, and Dawn stole from the room, walking quickly toward the room where Marlee lay.

Dawn entered Marlee’s room, stood by her bed, and stared down at her. She watched Marlee’s chest rise and fall. Every breath sounded shallow. Dawn touched Marlee’s hand and had almost decided to return later, when suddenly Marlee’s good eye opened. She whispered, “Hi, Dawn.”

“Hi yourself.”

“I was having a wonderful dream.”

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Brent was in it.” Dawn saw slight color spread across Marlee’s cheeks. “Do you ever hear from him?”

“He calls me and he writes. He asks about you.”

“About me?”

“He thought you were a wonderful diver.”

A soft smile played with Marlee’s mouth. “Did he ever kiss you?”

Now it was Dawn’s turn to smile. “Yes, he did.”

“Was it wonderful?”

“Didn’t we have this discussion at camp with the other girls?”

“I just listened that time. I didn’t have any good stories to tell like Cindy did.” Marlee’s eye closed, and for a moment Dawn thought she’d fallen back to sleep. But then she said weakly, “I wished I could have been kissed, just once. For real. Not like in my dream.”

A fist-sized lump stuck in Dawn’s throat. She remembered how, in her diary, Sandy had written,
Mike kissed me tonight. . . . I can’t wait until next summer. Then Mike and I can practice some more
.

“You don’t mind me dreaming about Brent kissing me, do you?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Will you see him at camp next summer?”

Dawn didn’t have the heart to tell her that she wouldn’t be returning to camp. She couldn’t go back again with both Sandy and Marlee gone. It would hurt too much. “Lots can happen before next summer,” Dawn said.

Marlee tried to twist beneath the covers. “Where’s Mr. Ruggers?”

Dawn fumbled at the head of the bed for the teddy bear. She placed him in Marlee’s arms, and Marlee rubbed his well-worn fur against her cheek.

“You’ll have to give him a bath,” she said. “He smells like the hospital.”

“He wants to stay here with you.”

“I’m tired, Dawn.” Marlee’s voice was so soft. Dawn had to lean down to hear her.

Something cold settled in Dawn’s stomach. She’d said the same thing herself to Rob just before her heart had stopped beating after her transplant procedure. She remembered well that feeling of unbearable weariness. “I know you are.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Marlee asked.

“What can I do?”

“Don’t let Grams know that I’m never going home again. I know she’s going to miss me, and I hate to see her cry.”

Dawn couldn’t speak. It hurt too much. Both Marlee and her grandmother wanted to shield each other from the truth. Dawn managed to say, “Sure. It’ll be our secret.”

“I’m scared, Dawn. What’s waiting for me?” Marlee’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Maybe another dream about Brent,” she offered, trying to quiet Marlee’s fears.

“Where will I be if I don’t wake up here?”

Dawn longed for something to say, something to bring Marlee comfort. Dawn smoothed Marlee’s forehead. Her skin had grown cool and dry. “I had a friend named Sandy, remember?”

“Yes . . . the girl who died.”

“She was Brent’s sister.”

Dawn saw Marlee’s facial muscles work as she tried to process the information. “Is that why you liked each other?”

“Maybe.” Dawn laced Marlee’s fingers through hers as she continued. “Sandy’s in heaven. She left me some of her favorite things. And she let me know that’s where she went. She’s exactly your age, Marlee, and I believe she’ll be waiting for you when you get there.”

The frown lines smoothed out on Marlee’s face. “Do you think she’ll like me? Not many girls like me. You’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

Tears had pooled in Dawn’s eyes until Marlee’s face shimmered and squiggled, making it impossible for Dawn to see her clearly. “Sandy will be your friend, too,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“She liked everybody, and they liked her. I know she’ll be your friend, too. You tell her ‘hi’ for me, all right?”

Marlee nodded and pulled Mr. Ruggers into the hollow of her neck. “I’ll tell her,” she promised. “And you tell Brent ‘hi’ from me.”

Dawn watched Marlee’s eyelid close as she drifted off to sleep. Before leaving, Dawn pulled the covers up around Marlee’s thin shoulders and made certain Mr. Ruggers was touching her cheek. She told Katie at the nurses’ station that she’d be back later.

But that morning turned out to be the last time that Dawn ever spoke to Marlee Hodges. That night, Marlee slipped into a coma. Two days later, while her grandmother held her hand, she died.

Katie called Dawn at home to tell her. Dawn called Brent and told him. Then she crawled beneath her covers and sobbed.