You Shouldn't Have to Say Goodbye (6 page)

“I’m starved,” I said, trying to change the subject. “I could eat a horse.”

“Me too.”

“A horse?”

We both turned. Mom and Daddy were standing in the doorway to Mom's office, their arms around each other, and they
were smiling at us. “Would you settle for hamburgers?” Daddy said. “How about if we go out for some?”

“Okay!” Robin and I both said at the same time.

“Get your coats,” Daddy said. “Let's go.”

We got our things, and we all went down the walk together and piled into the car. Mom was leaning hard on Daddy's arm, just the way she had that morning when she came home from the hospital, but she seemed better, and she was laughing.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“A special place,” Mom answered. “I heard about it at the hospital, and I think we should try it. Horse burgers are their specialty.”

“Yuck!” I answered.

I turned to Robin, and she was smiling. She poked me in the ribs, then leaned over and whispered, “Your mom is fine. She's going to be fine.”

G
OING OUT TO DINNER WAS FUN, AND WE LAUGHED A LOT, and neither Mom nor Daddy said anything more about Mom's being sick. I kept sneaking looks at Mom, trying to see how she
really
was, but I couldn’t tell much that way. Mostly, she appeared tired and kind of skinny, but not really bad.

Later that night, when I went to bed, Mom came in and sat on the side of my bed just the way she used to, and she didn’t say anything about being sick then, either. But I was afraid that if she stayed, she’d start talking about it, so I yawned and told her I was super tired. I was, too. The night before, I had been so excited because Mom was coming home that I had hardly slept.

The next morning things were just the way they used to be. Mom was up early and dressed, working in her office before I even came down. I made my breakfast, and while I ate, Mom brought her coffee to the table and sat with me. Then I left for school, and Mom went back to work. While I walked to school, I thought about it. Mom looked pretty good, and she seemed just the same. So why had she said what she said yesterday? Was it just in
case—just in case—
she didn’t get better? She sure looked as though she was going to be all right, just the same as always. At school, when I said that to
Robin, she agreed that Mom had been just the same the night before. Exactly.

I didn’t stay for gymnastics practice that day. It had been so long since I had gone home from school and found Mom there that I wanted to get home on time and see her and talk, just the way we used to. It was a little after three-thirty when I burst into the house. “Mom!” I shouted. “Hi, Mom, I’m home!”

“Hello, honey, I’m in here.”

In her office, not in bed! I was so glad, because for a minute, when I opened the front door, I had been afraid I’d find her in bed like that other time.

I opened the door to her office. She was sitting in one of the big chairs, her feet up on another chair, reading from a folder in her lap. She smiled at me. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi. How do you feel?” I couldn’t help asking it, but I turned away and looked out the window before she could answer.

“Not bad. A little tired.”

“Good.” I was so relieved that I smiled at her. “I’m starved. I’m going to get a snack. Want anything?”

Mom smiled back. “Not really. But you get yours, and after you’re finished, there's something I want to do with you.”

“Yeah, what?” Right away, I thought of clothes. We’d go clothes shopping!

“Laundry,” Mom said.

“Laundry! How boring.”

Mom smiled again. “How necessary.”

I went back to the kitchen, feeling good but a little puzzled. Mom had never asked me to help with the laundry before. I didn’t even know how to run the washer or anything. But I guessed that if she was sick, she’d need help, at least until she was better. I made toast with cinnamon sugar and ate about half a loaf, and when I was almost finished, Mom came into the kitchen. She sat down at the table across from me.

“Looks like you haven’t eaten in a week,” she said.

“I’m finished now.” I dusted toast crumbs from my mouth and hands and stood up. “What do you want to do about laundry?”

“I want to teach you how to do it.”

“Boring,” I said again.

“Necessary,” Mom said again, and we both laughed.

We smiled at each other, and then Mom stood up and put both arms around me. “Oh, Sarah,” she whispered.

I pulled away quickly. “Come on,” I said. “Let's get it over with.” I turned to the laundry room just off the kitchen. “What do I have to learn?” I reached into the dirty-clothes bin and started pulling out things, Daddy's pajamas, my jeans, my white gym socks, and all the other stuff. It smelled terrible. “Dump it in, dump in soap. How much?” I turned to Mom. She hadn’t moved from where I had left her in the kitchen, but when I looked at her, she came toward me slowly.

She laughed softly and shook her head. “Honey, that's not how you do it. You have to sort wash first. Dark colors, light colors, white things.”

“Oh, pooh! You sound like an ad on TV.”

“Wait till your blue velour sweater comes out gray from being in with the jeans and you won’t think so.”

“Is that really what happens?”

She nodded, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

I turned away, bent over the laundry bin again, and tried to come up with things all the same color. I couldn’t look at Mom, wouldn’t ask her why she was crying.

Even though I didn’t ask, she started to talk anyway. “Sarah, it's the nuttiest thing, but you know what haunted me in the hospital when they first told me… about the cancer?”

I didn’t answer or look up, just stayed bent over the clothes bin.

Mom paused for a minute, then went on. “Thinking of leaving you, thinking of the little things, thinking of how you’re going to have to care for yourself. And all I haven’t taught you yet.” She paused for a long time, then spoke again. “Stupid things, like laundry. Who's going to make sure you have your blue velour clean when you want it, or your gym suit on Monday mornings? You have to learn that, honey.” I could tell she was crying, and I was crying too, but I wouldn’t look up. Nobody's ever stayed head-down in a laundry bin for as long as I did.

“Here's four pairs of jeans,” I said after a while, still without straightening up. “And black socks. Can they go in together?”

There was no answer, and slowly I stood up. Mom was looking at me, tears in her eyes. “You have to face it, Sarah. You
have to. It won’t do any good to avoid it. Please! Please?” Her eyes were pleading with me.

I just shook my head. If I didn’t listen, if I made my mind as blank as possible, I could do it. I could feel nothing. I pulled the pajamas and white socks out of the washer, and put in the jeans and black socks. “How much soap?” I asked.

“A cupful,” Mom answered. There was no emotion in her voice then, just sort of flat. She leaned over the washer, pushed a button. “This is for a full wash,” she said. “If it's a small load, you push the one for small. Here…” She pushed another button marked COOL, then one that said LARGE, and then stood back. “Okay,” she said. “Large for a full load. Cool water for dark things. You’ll use hot water for white things.”

“That's easy,” I said.

Neither of us moved out of the laundry room for a while. Mom was blocking my way to the kitchen, and I’d have to look at her to get past. I was still keeping my mind blank, unfeeling. I just let it run around on things like laundry, like black socks. Mom still hadn’t moved, so without looking up, I said, “Anything else?”

“Yes. Books.”

I was so surprised, I couldn’t help turning to her then. She nodded sadly. “Yes, books. So many books I haven’t told you about, haven’t read to you. I want to buy you so many books now. You won’t understand some of them yet, but I want you to have them for later, for when you’re older. I couldn’t bear for you not to have read Isak Dinesen. She's a woman, you know. And Kazantzakis. Such funny names.”

“Stop it!” Tears were running down my face, and I put my hands over my ears. “Stop it!” I almost screamed it.

“I have to!” She put her arms around me. “I have to, Sarah. There's so little time. Please?”

“You can’t die! You can’t die, can’t die. You can’t…”

I was sobbing, and Mom had her arms wrapped tight around me as she rocked me back and forth, back and forth. Tears were streaming down my face as though something had broken inside. “Can’t die, can’t…” I looked up at her then, and I almost said it. “I—I…” But I choked it back. “I hate you!”—that's what I was going to say. “I hate you, hate you for doing this to me. Hate you for talking about dying.” But something made me stop, and Mom pulled me close. I tried to pull away, but Mom was amazingly strong, and she held me tight. And then I really couldn’t stop crying. Tears just ran out until I was exhausted, till I could hardly stand up, but after a long while, I couldn’t cry any more. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It was just that there were no more tears left. My breath was coming in big, shaky sobs, and Mom began patting my back softly.

After I had stopped sobbing, Mom held me away a little. “Better?” she asked quietly.

I nodded. The biggest silent lie I had ever told in my life, because I wasn’t better at all. I was worse than ever. Because now that I had begun to cry, now that I had begun to let it in, I was beginning to believe it was true.

A
FTER THAT, WE WENT CLOTHES SHOPPING AND THEN TO the bookstore. Neither of us said any more about what we had just talked about, but it was different from the day before— for me, anyway. I didn’t have the feeling that I had to keep running away from Mom to keep her from saying anything.

At the clothes store, I got new jeans and a new winter jacket because my old one had gotten so small that my wrists stuck out. And then I got a new velour sweater, a pink one, and after that we went to the bookstore. I picked out a lot of books from the young-adult section, and Mom picked out about a dozen books from the grown-up shelves. I didn’t even want to look at them, but I didn’t say that to Mom. She asked me to put them in my bookcase so someday I’d have them when I wanted them. I knew I would never read them, though, and secretly I gave them a name—getting-ready-to-die books. I would never read getting-ready-to-die books, ever. So when I got home, I hid them in the back of my bookcase, and then I began reading the books I had picked out.

Dinner was normal enough, and afterwards I went up to take my bath. I soaped myself all over and slid under the water, as though I could wash away everything that had happened
that day. Usually I take a book into the bathroom with me to read in the tub, but I had forgotten to bring the one I had started that day. I looked around, then reached out to the little stand that has some of my other books in it. I found an old one and picked it up. It's called
Summer of the Swallows.
It's all about a kid named Ellie who gets stung by a bee and dies. I used to like to read it because it's a sad book, and sometimes it's fun to feel sad—about a book. I would sit in the bathtub and cry because Ellie had died, and then I would go to my room, and the light would be on and Mom would come and kiss me good-night, and it felt good.

I started the book again. I’ve read it so many times, I have it memorized, practically. The words just slid across my brain, blanking everything else out. I was with Ellie and the swallows…

There was a knock on the bathroom door. “You okay, honey?” It was Mom.

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re taking forever.”

“I’m reading.”

“It's way past your bedtime.”

“That's okay.”

“Want me to make you something to eat? A little snack?”

“No thanks.” I felt full, as though even the thought of food would make me throw up. I looked down at my stomach. It was shiny from the soap and water, and it was flat, nice and flat. Still, Robin and I always want to lose at least another pound, and we’re always talking about going on a diet, but we never do. I
wouldn’t have a snack, and I could tell Robin that I had already started my diet. She’d be jealous.

There was silence at the bathroom door, but I could tell that Mom was still there. “You’re sure you’re okay?” she called after a minute.