“Come here,” he said as he sat down on an old log.
Deanne sat next to him and he took her hand. Her heart pounded, and her knees felt weak.
“I’ve never shown this place to anyone,” he told her. “Never.” He put his arms around her shoulders. She rested her head on his chest.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she whispered.
“Somehow, it didn’t seem right that no one else should see it. Especially since I don’t think I’ll ever see it again.”
She let out a cry and pushed away from him. “Matt! No . . .”
“It’s all right, Deanne. I’m not afraid,” he said, pulling her close.
“Please don’t,” she begged, tears brimming in her eyes.
“You’ve been a good friend to me,” he said. “You’ve made these last few months the best. Thanks.”
His chin rested on the top of her head. She lay her head back onto his chest. She could hear the beat of his heart.
“I used to wonder,” he continued softly. “I still wonder. . . what it would be like to grow old . . .”
Tears escaped her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “Hey,” he smiled, cupping her face in one of his hands. “Don’t cry. It’s all right. Really. I just wanted you to know that I’m not scared. I wanted to bring you here and show you this place.”
His arms tightened around her again. They stood like that for a long time, letting time and summer wash over them. His mouth brushed her ear. “We’ve got to get back,” he whispered.
She looked up at him. He looked pale. “Why don’t I paddle home?” she offered. Then she added more lightly, “That is, if you trust me not to capsize the boat.”
“I trust you,” his smile looked pained. Deanne took his hand and headed back into the undergrowth, toward the canoe. She sniffed loudly and took a deep breath. Somehow she knew that she had to be the strong one now.
Matt lay down in the canoe and Deanne began to paddle back toward his house. It was longer to follow the shoreline, but she felt safer going that way. By the time she paddled back, her arms and shoulders ached. But she kept up a constant stream of chatter. It kept Matt’s mind off how bad he felt.
Mr. Gleason rushed into the water and grabbed the front of the canoe as it glided up. “He doesn’t feel well,” Deanne called out.
“I-I’m okay,” Matt whispered weakly.
“All right, son,” his father said, grabbing him under his arms and hoisting him up. “Lie down inside for a while. You’ll be all right.” He helped Matt into the house.
Later, Janet fixed lunch, but no one had much of an appetite. They tried to play basketball in the afternoon, but everyone kept thinking about Matt. He still didn’t feel better.
During supper, there was hardly any conversation. Afterward, they tried to play Hearts. The game seemed slow and boring. No one could concentrate. Janet kept checking on Matt all evening. About nine o’clock she sat down at the table. Her face looked very worried.
“Chuck,” she said, leaning over toward her husband, “Matt wants to go back to the hospital. I think we should leave right now.”
Twelve
The rest of the evening became a blur in Deanne’s mind. They laid Matt in the backseat of the car. Janet sat, holding his head in her lap. “Deanne,” Mr. Gleason said, “you’d better come back with us. You can call your folks from the hospital.”
Then he turned to Tina and put his arm around her. “Honey,” he began intensely, “we’re leaving you in charge. Mom’s called Mrs. Colwell. She’s on stand-by, if you need her. We’ll call you all just as soon as we get Matt to All-Children’s.”
“Dad,” Tina began, her eyes filling with tears. “Matt will be all right, won’t he?”
“Of course, he will!” Mr. Gleason said with a smile. “He’s just overtired. They’ll fix him up at the hospital. Now don’t worry. And get the kids in bed.”
Deanne sat tensely in the moving car. She watched the darkness speed by. She could hear Matt’s shallow breathing from the backseat. She was scared.
When they got to All-Children’s, the orderlies whisked Matt upstairs to his room for tests. Deanne and the Gleasons nervously paced the hallway. It seemed like a nightmare to Deanne.
Hours before, she had been holding onto Matt in a sun-dappled forest clearing. Now, they were back at the hospital. And Matt was very sick. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
“Deanne, honey,” Janet Gleason said softly. “Maybe you better call your parents and let them know where you are.”
Deanne nodded and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty. She didn’t want to call. She didn’t want them to make her come home. Her father answered the phone. Quickly, Deanne told him about Matt.
“I’ll be right there,” Dr. Vandervoort said. Deanne felt better. Her father would know what to do. All of Matt’s doctors would listen to him. Together they’d make Matt well again.
* * * * *
All night long, doctors, lab technicians and nurses went in and out of Matt’s room. Deanne could see the doctors conferring with each other through the door, whenever it opened. Dr. Vandervoort arrived and joined the quiet talks.
About four o’clock that morning Dr. Vandervoort and the two main physicians on Matt’s case came over to the Gleasons. Deanne stood next to them.
“He’s stabilized,” Dr. Gallagher told them.
“Thank God,” Janet said.
“That’s good, isn’t it, Daddy?” Deanne asked.
Dr. Vandervoort took her by her shoulders and stared at her with his piercing blue eyes. He said, “Yes, Matt’s holding on. But, Deanne, he is very, very sick.”
Her heart pounded. “Will he . . . could he . . . ?” she couldn’t say the word.
“We don’t know. But he’s resting now, and so should you.”
“Oh, Dad!” she cried. “Please don’t make me go home. Please let me stay till Matt’s awake.”
He looked hard at her. “I will,” he said. “But go lie down in my office for a while. Someone will come and get you if there’s a change.”
Deanne nodded numbly. She was very tired. She knew she’d feel better if she got some sleep. She went to her father’s office.
* * * * *
All the next morning there was no change in Matt’s condition. Deanne had breakfast with the Gleasons in the hospital cafeteria. No one was very hungry. Since it was the Sunday before Labor Day, there wasn’t much activity in the hospital. Only a bare minimum staff was working.
There were hardly any of the familiar faces Deanne was used to seeing. She wished Mrs. Stewart was there, and Susan, too. Vaguely, she remembered Susan telling her that the Pyle family was going to the beach over the long weekend.
Deanne felt alone. She sat in the fourth floor rec room. She looked over the familiar games, tables, and chairs. She remembered all the fun and good times she and Matt had there. Deanne lifted up the Scrabble game and carefully laid it out. She set it up, as if they were going to play. She ran her fingers over the smooth tiles.
“Deanne.” She looked up at the sound of her name. It was her mother. Mrs. Vandervoort stood in the doorway. Her hair was perfectly groomed. She wore a white cotton skirt and a red silk blouse. All crisp and clean and fresh, Deanne thought.
“Hello, Mother,” Deanne sighed.
“I wanted to check on you. You look so tired.”
Deanne leaped up. “I’m not going home!” she cried defensively. “I’m going to stay until Matt gets well.”
Mrs. Vandervoort bit her lower lip. “I didn’t come to make you go home,” she said softly. “I was just worried about you.”
Deanne stared at her. Her mother continued. “I brought you an overnight case,” she explained.
For the first time Deanne saw the small blue leather suitcase. “I put some fresh clothes in it, and a toothbrush and hairbrush and some makeup. I thought you might like to freshen up.”
Deanne felt foolish and grateful. “Thanks,” she mumbled. She took the case from her m
other. “I would like to do that. I’m sorry. Thank you.”
Mrs. Vandervoort reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek. “I’ll be at home today,” she said. “If you want or need anything . . . please call me.”
Deanne nodded, fighting down a lump in her throat. “Thanks,” she whispered again. Her mother sighed and left the room.
* * * * *
Deanne stood next to Matt’s bed. She watched his pale face in the dim light of dusk. He didn’t move. “Oh, Matt . . .” Deanne reached down and touched his cheek.
Then, she remembered something she learned as a VolunTeen. Even though a patient was asleep, he could still hear. It was a good idea to talk to a resting patient.
“I know you’re going to get well,” she began. “We have a date with Pam and Paul to play Scrabble Tuesday afternoon.” Suddenly she remembered that by Tuesday, she would be back in school. She put the thought out of her mind.
“Do you know you’ve only beaten me four times?” she continued. “You’ve got to try again.” She couldn’t talk anymore. She reached down and took his hand. She held it tightly. “Hang on,” she whispered. “Please Matt, hang on.”
But he never moved. Deanne left his room and stepped back into the hall. She saw the Gleasons talking to each other.
“I think I’d better drive down to the lake and bring the kids back,” Chuck Gleason said.
“Are—are you sure?” Janet asked. Her voice trembled.
“It’s best that we’re all here,” he said. Janet nodded and hugged her husband. Deanne leaned against the wall for support.
* * * * *
The hospital chapel was small and quiet. Three wooden pews faced an altar where candles stood flickering. The chapel was universal. It was for people of all faiths.
Deanne sat next to Janet Gleason, staring at the glimmering candles. Janet held her hand. Outside, it was night again. But in the little room, time seemed suspended.
“You know,” Janet said, half to herself. “Matt once told me that dying was just the last part of living, that a person couldn’t die, unless he lived.”
“He’s not afraid,” Deanne told her.
“I know,” Janet responded. “He has great faith. He’s never been afraid.”
“But I am,” Deanne whispered.
Janet squeezed her hand. “Me, too. But it’s just because we’ll miss him so much.”
“I don’t want him to die,” Deanne said. Tears filled her eyes. “I’ll miss him so much.”
“You made him very happy, Deanne,” Janet said. “Thank you for that. Thank you for caring.”
Deanne began to cry quietly. “I love him . . . ,” she sobbed. “I love him.”
* * * * *
The rest of the Gleason family arrived. Anthony was half asleep, but they all stood around Matt’s bed and spoke to him. Then they went and sat in the waiting room. Anthony fell asleep on the couch. Janette and Theresa played a game of cards. Tina and Deanne sat close together and talked. Chuck and Janet Gleason stayed in Matt’s room. The night dragged on.
“Why are nights so long?” Tina asked.
“I don’t know,” said Deanne. “Matt hates the nights, too.” She rested her chin on her hand. “I sometimes sit by his bed and hold his hand until he falls asleep,” she told Tina. “He loves to see the morning come. Every morning when I go into his room, he says, ‘Well, I made it through another night.’ I used to get mad at him for being a pessimist. But now, I realize that he was really glad that the night was over. He loves the sunlight.”
Suddenly, a red-haired nurse stuck her head in the waiting room. “Gleasons?” she asked. “Your parents want you to come to your brother’s room.”
Deanne’s stomach lurched. Quickly, Tina woke up the sleeping Anthony. “Hurry,” she said. They all went down the hall to Matt’s room. Deanne stopped at the door. She couldn’t go inside with the rest of them. The door closed quietly in her face.
She stood alone in the hall. She felt cold and numb. Her heart pounded. Her hands felt clammy. She walked to the end of the hall and stared at the closed blinds over the outside window. She stood there for a long time.
Deanne felt a gentle tug on her jeans leg. She looked down into Anthony’s wide, tearfilled eyes.
“Matt went to sleep,” the child said.
Her breath caught in her throat. She looked at Janet, who came up behind Anthony and put her arms around him. Bright tears filled Janet’s eyes, but her face was peaceful and smiling.
“He just stopped breathing,” she said. “Matt’s at peace now. He doesn’t hurt anymore.”
Slowly, Deanne turned back to face the closed blinds. She felt empty. She reached up and absently opened the blind’s slats. Outside, the first bright streaks of dawn were breaking through the gray cloud banks of the night.
She watched as the bright, golden ball of the sun broke over trees.
Thirteen
“Everybody’s asking for you at the hospital, Deanne,” Dr. Vandervoort said to his daughter as she sat hunched over her school books. She sat at the breakfast bar in their sunny kitchen.
Deanne looked up at his face, then glanced quickly away. “I’ve been very busy with my new classes and all,” she shrugged.
“Too busy to stop by and say hello to everybody?”
“I’ll go back sometime,” she said quietly.
“You know, Pat Jacobson has a pile of VolunTeen service awards and certificates waiting for you in her office.” He paused. “It’s been a month, Deanne. You should start to think about the future.”
“Five weeks and three days,” Deanne said, closing her geometry book with a snap. “I can’t go back. I hate that hospital. I never want to go inside it again!”
Dr. Vandervoort tried a different tack. “That girl, Pam Miller. She stopped by my office yesterday to say good-bye.” Deanne looked at him sharply. “She went home. She’s in complete remission.”
“I’m glad,” Deanne said.
“Kids with cancer do get well, Deanne. She stopped by because she missed seeing you. She wanted me to know what a good friend you’ve been to her. She wanted to tell you goodbye herself.”
“Dad, please!” Deanne cried, standing up while gathering her books. “I don’t want to go back to the hospital.”
As she started out the door toward her bedroom, he asked, “What shall I tell Mrs. Jacobson about your awards?”
“You could bring them home to me,” Deanne said hopefully.
“No,” he said simply. “I can’t. If you want them, you’ll have to pick them up yourself.”
“Then I don’t want them,” she said stubbornly. And she ran up the spiral staircase.
* * * * *
“Want some company?” Deanne heard Susan’s familiar voice.
“Sure,” Deanne said, pushing her lunch tray aside. “You don’t normally have this lunch period. Why today?”
Susan sighed. “I was helping Mrs. Wilson on a literature project, so I’m eating late today. So, how have you been? I haven’t seen you much since school’s started.”
“Okay,” Deanne said. “Classes are boring and I still can’t stand the country club scene. I’m not doing much of anything.”
“We miss you at the hospital,” said Susan.
Deanne felt her defenses go up. “Mom’s got me signed up for tennis lessons every Saturday morning . . . ,” she started.
“But you hate tennis,” Susan said.
“It beats sitting around,” said Deanne.
“You could come in on Saturdays. A few of us summer VolunTeens are working Saturdays and after school—”
“I don’t want to,” Deanne cut her off. “It was a fun thing to do this summer, but it was beginning to bore me.”
Susan was silent for a minute. “Even Mrs. Sanders, the dragon lady, asked about you.”
Deanne tried to look bored and uninterested. “She asked, ‘Miss Pyle, whatever happened to Miss Vandervoort? Is she ill?’ I said, ‘No, Mrs. Sanders. She’s too
busy since school started.’ And she said, ‘Funny, she didn’t seem like a quitter.’”
Deanne’s cheeks flushed hotly. “I’m not!” she cried. “Why can’t everybody just leave me alone? I worked at the hospital for one whole summer. It was fun, but it’s over. I don’t ever want to go back there again!”
Then she picked up her tray and left the cafeteria.
* * * * *
Deanne lobbed the tennis ball absently against the net. It bounced back at her and she caught it. Already, the October mornings were chilly. The smell of autumn was in the air.
“Hey, Deanne. Need a partner?” She turned to face Judson Cortland. He was as blond and good-looking as ever.
“I was just thinking of giving up,” she told him.
“Don’t do that,” he smiled. His teeth were white and even, his face still tanned. “Come on, let’s hit a few,” he urged. “Then, maybe, we can go get a soft drink.”
“I’m supposed to meet Mom back at the Clubhouse,” she explained.
“So? I’d still like to buy you a soft drink.”
She paused and looked hard at him. “You don’t have to be nice to me, Judson. Our mothers aren’t around.”
He cocked his head to one side and said, “Hey! No one’s making me do anything. It’s just that . . . well . . . I don’t know. You’ve changed a lot over the summer.”
She felt herself blushing. “How?” she asked. She enjoyed watching him squirm and grope for words.
“I don’t know. . . you’re just . . . different,” he said shyly.
“I don’t feel different,” she said.
“Well, you are. Did something special happen this summer?” he asked.
“I did a lot of volunteer work at the hospital . . .” her voice trailed off. “Look, I gotta go. Mom will be waiting.”
“But, what about our game?” he asked. “And how about the pop?”
She called over her shoulder, “Thanks. Some other time.” As she walked away she said to herself, Judson Cortland asked me out, unprompted by either of our mothers!
Six months before, it would have been the biggest moment of her life. Now, she couldn’t have cared less.
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