Abby, Tried and True

by Donna Gephart

  “Abby?”

  “Mm-hmm?”

  “I need to tell you something. It’s important.”

  Abby nodded to show she was listening.

  “My uncle—the one I told you about who’s a cook?”

  “Yes?”

  “He had testicular cancer.”

  Had? Abby’s heart thundered because she assumed Conrad’s uncle must have died. She bit the inside of her cheek and waited for him to say the awful words.

  “He had the same surgery your brother is probably getting. And chemo. Lots of chemo. His hair fell out from that. But you know what?”

  “What?” Abby’s voice trembled.

  “He’s been doing great ever since. His surgery and chemo happened three years ago. I was ten. He works in a restaurant now. He plays basketball and goes kayaking and runs, like, twenty-five miles a week.”

  “Your uncle’s… fine?”

  “Yeah, he totally kicks my butt whenever we play basketball even though he’s way older than me.”

  Abby let this new information swirl through her mind. Maybe Paul would be okay. She thought about how good Conrad’s uncle must be at basketball because Conrad was good. “Then your uncle could definitely kick my butt in basketball.”

  Conrad laughed. “Abby, a three-year-old could kick your butt in basketball.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry.”

  “A coconut could kick my butt in basketball,” Abby said.

  Conrad smiled. “A ladybug.”

  “Now you’re just being mean.”

  They both laughed.

  Conrad ran a hand through his hair. “It really could, though.”

  Abby shoved his shoulder, but she burst out laughing. “It probably could.”

  Then they both got quiet.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about what your brother has to go through. But I really think he’ll be okay, you know, when his treatments are over.”

  Those words made Abby’s heart feel lighter. “I hope so. Hey, Conrad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you want to come in? My brother’s having a going-away party… for… for his…” Abby couldn’t say the word. “The part of his body that has the cancer.”

  “I could come in for a while,” Conrad said. “If it’s all right with your family. I don’t want to—”

  “It’s definitely all right. My moms have a ‘the more the merrier’ philosophy when it comes to parties.”

  Abby opened the door, and they walked in. “Everybody,” Abby said, “this is my friend Conrad.” The word “friend” felt good and right. She was sure now that he was a new friend. “Conrad?” Abby waved her arm. “This is… everybody.”

  “Welcome, Conrad!” Mama Dee offered him a pointy hat.

  Mom Rachel shoved a limeade spritzer into his hand.

  Abby put her silly hat back on.

  Paul handed Conrad a paper acorn with Velcro on it so he could take a turn at Pin the Nut on the Squirrel.

  “You’ll do great, man.” Ethan clapped.

  Blindfolded, Conrad was spun around a few too many times by Mama Dee, and then he tried to pin the acorn on the wall, the couch, and a floor lamp, nearly knocking it over.

  Paul grabbed the lamp before it fell.

  When Conrad peeled off his blindfold and saw how far he was from the target, everyone cracked up.

  He stood close to Abby and whispered, “I guess I play Pin the Nut about as well as you play basketball.”

  Abby burst out giggling and covered her mouth. She loved that they shared their first inside joke.

  When everyone was leaving, Conrad gave Abby another quick hug. “See you tomorrow.”

  Until that moment, Abby had been angry with her moms for telling her she couldn’t go with them to wait during Paul’s surgery and that she had to go to school. But now Abby was glad she’d get to walk there with Conrad in the morning and could talk to him if she was feeling nervous. She knew she’d made the right choice telling him about Paul’s cancer instead of keeping it bottled up, and Conrad made her feel better by sharing what had happened with his uncle. “See you tomorrow, Conrad.”

  Abby could still feel the ghost sensations from his hug.

  After Conrad left, Paul walked Ethan to the door. “Thanks for coming, Eth.” Paul gave his friend a tight hug.

  “No worries. I’ll come visit tomorrow, after it’s, um, over… if you want.”

  Neither of them said anything for a few seconds.

  “Yeah, I’ll let you know how I’m doing.”

  “Cool.”

  After Ethan left, Mom Rachel said, “I like that boy.”

  “But Jake.” Mama Dee shook her head. “Why wasn’t he here with you?”

  “Something difficult is going on with you,” Mom Rachel said, “and he’s nowhere to be found?”

  Paul shrugged and went to his room.

  After Paul walked away, Mom Rachel whispered to Mama Dee, “I sure hope Jake shows up when Paul goes through surgery and treatments. He’ll need all the friends and support he can get.”

  Mama Dee filled her cheeks with air and let it out. She put her arm around Mom Rachel’s shoulders and leaned her head down against hers. “We all will.”

  Abby got a pain in her gut, wishing Cat were still here. At least there’s Conrad, she thought. Then Abby realized her moms might have been talking about Cat’s mom and wishing she were still living next door.

  “At least we have Bubbe Marcia and Zeyde Jordan,” Abby offered.

  Mama Dee pulled Abby into their hug. “And Aunt Jeanne, Uncle Steve, and your cousins.”

  “We’ll be okay,” Mom Rachel said, but Abby heard the hesitation in her voice.

  Mama Dee looked into Abby’s eyes and then into Mom Rachel’s, then toward Paul’s room. “He’ll be okay.”

  “He will,” Mom Rachel agreed. “He has to be.”

  Thinking about Conrad’s uncle, Abby said, “He definitely will.”

  Abby helped her moms clean up before she retreated to her bedroom, exhausted but surprisingly happy.

  “Who knew,” she said to Fudge, “the night before Paul’s surgery could actually be fun?”

  Fudge showed his enthusiasm by not budging from his rock.

  * * *

  Abby couldn’t fall asleep; her mind whirled with happy thoughts of Conrad hugging her, mixed with worried thoughts about Paul’s surgery. She imagined how much it must hurt to have surgery and how scary it must be for her brother. The longer Abby couldn’t fall asleep, the more she thought about the statistics she’d read online. Some people died from testicular cancer. Not many, but some. Paul could be one of those. Just because everyone kept saying he’d be okay didn’t mean he actually would.

  She got out of bed, checked on Fudge, and then went to the bathroom between Paul’s and her bedrooms.

  The house was dark and quiet. Abby heard frogs croaking in the canal behind their home. She loved when the house was quiet enough to hear the frogs’ nighttime concert. It was the perfect background music for deep thinking.

  When Abby came out of the bathroom, she heard a different sound. A wounded noise, like someone might be hurt. At first, Abby thought it could be Miss Lucy with her paw caught in a door or something, but then she wondered if she was imagining the sad sound because she was so sleep-deprived.

  Abby’s heart squeezed when she realized it was coming from Paul’s bedroom. She almost sprinted across the great room to get her moms, but instead she took a couple steps closer to Paul’s bedroom door and listened carefully.

  Abby heard muffled sobbing and imagined Paul in bed, clutching his pillow to his chest and crying into the darkness.

  She wanted to barge in and hug her brother like Conrad had hugged her out on the porch. She wanted to tell Paul about Conrad’s uncle and how he’d probably be okay after all the hard parts were over. Mostly, she wanted Paul to know he wasn’t alone.

  But something kept Abby from opening Paul’s door. It wasn’t fear. Abby someh
ow knew Paul needed to be alone with his feelings, even though they were hard and scary. She understood Paul had a right to experience those things without her coming in and trying to keep him from them.

  As softly as she could, Abby whispered into the wood of his door, “I love you, Paul Braverman. You’re one of the best people I know.” She hoped the words traveled from her heart to his.

  Then Abby crept back into her bed and pulled the turtle-shell afghan up to her chin, straining to hear her brother’s painful sobs in the darkness.

  The First Hard Part

  The next day, in language arts class, Abby kept tapping her foot. She couldn’t wait until the bell rang and she could sneak a peek at her phone. She knew Paul should be done with his surgery by now. Mom Rachel explained that the whole surgery would take no more than an hour. But if Abby looked at her phone during class, her teacher, Ms. Petroccia, might take it, and then Abby wouldn’t get it back until the end of the school day. She couldn’t let that happen.

  “Okay, class.” Ms. Petroccia clapped her hands. “Since there are twenty-one of you, we’re going to break into seven groups of three to work on our poetry projects.”

  Abby’s heart did a little zing because she loved poetry, but then it sank like a stone because she did not like group work. Poetry was quiet and personal. It meant reaching deep inside and pulling out bits of your heart to sprinkle onto the page. It wasn’t the stuff of collaboration.

  Why do teachers keep shoving us into groups, Abby wondered, when solo work is so much more satisfying and less stressful?

  By the time Abby gathered her notebook and pen and looked around, everyone had already formed groups. What if there’s no place for me?

  Nearby, Miranda Gross and Laura Fournier had pushed their desks together and were talking. Abby didn’t join them. She’d work quietly at her desk and hope Ms. Petroccia didn’t notice.

  The class was supposed to decide which poetry project they wanted to do from the three choices on the board and brainstorm ideas about that project.

  Abby opened her notebook to a fresh page and wrote Paul.

  Then surgery.

  Before she could write another word, Ms. Petroccia appeared in front of her desk.

  Abby slid her arm over her notebook.

  Her teacher tapped Abby’s desk with her fingernail. “Go over and join Miranda and Laura. They need a third in their group.”

  As soon as Ms. Petroccia turned, Abby scribbled out the two words she’d written and picked up her notebook and pen.

  She pushed a desk toward the two girls. It made a loud screech, and everyone in the class turned to look at her. Abby slipped into a chair, slunk low, and wished for the millionth time that her moms had let her go to the hospital where Paul was having his surgery, so she could know the minute he was done. Abby had a burning urge to look at her phone, but she forced herself to resist. She couldn’t lose her phone. Not today.

  Abby turned to a clean page in her notebook and waited for Miranda to take charge, like she usually did.

  Miranda pulled her own notebook toward herself, away from Abby’s desk. It was a small gesture, but Abby noticed.

  “Okay, what should we do for our project?” Miranda pointed to the list on the board. “A small book of poems? A video of several spoken poems? Or a poetry-inspired art project?

  “Abby?” Miranda asked in a too-loud voice.

  Abby didn’t want to respond first because she had a feeling that if she said what she wanted to do—a small book of poems—it would be the exact wrong answer. There was a long pause; Abby sank lower in her chair.

  Laura shook her head at Abby to show that not answering was the exact wrong answer. “Well, I think the art project would be the most fun.”

  “I agree,” Miranda said. “Well, what do you think?”

  Both girls stared at Abby.

  She shrugged. Abby didn’t want to do the art project. She didn’t want to do any project with Miranda and Laura. All Abby wanted was to hear from her moms. What if something went wrong during the surgery?

  “You know…” Miranda turned to see where Ms. Petroccia was.

  Their teacher was seated at her desk, looking over some papers.

  Miranda leaned toward Abby. “You should talk more.”

  “Or at all.” Laura laughed, but it wasn’t a funny sound.

  “I’m only telling you this to help,” Miranda said softly. “You know, it’s weird when you don’t talk.”

  Then Laura added in a whisper, “That’s why no one wants to be your friend, Abby. You seem like a snob.”

  Abby glanced around the classroom, wondering who else thought she seemed like a snob.

  “You really do,” Miranda said. “And like I said, we’re only telling you to help you be better.”

  Abby pressed her lips together and breathed hard through her nostrils.

  “I mean,” Miranda continued, “would you even yell if there was an emergency, like a fire?”

  Laura leaned closer and whispered, “Or would you let people die?”

  What a terrible thing to say, Abby thought. How can they talk about people dying? Especially today! Of course Abby would yell to save someone in an emergency. Wouldn’t she?

  “You’re too weird to be in our group.” Laura waved Abby away with a flick of her wrist, like she was a pesky mosquito.

  Abby picked up her notebook and pen and moved back to her own desk. She stared at the page in front of her and drew Xs, pressing so hard, she ripped through the paper. When she looked up, Ms. Petroccia was staring at her from her desk at the front of the room. What if Ms. Petroccia told her she had to go back and sit with Miranda and Laura?

  Abby couldn’t let that happen. She grabbed her things and rushed to Ms. Petroccia’s desk. In the tiniest voice, Abby said, “I need to use the bathroom.” She almost said, It’s an emergency, but that reminded her of the mean things Miranda and Laura had just said to her.

  Ms. Petroccia handed Abby a hall pass, and Abby fast-walked down the hall, away from those awful girls. They acted like being quiet was a disease they didn’t want to catch. On the way to the bathroom, Abby thought of running out of school and figuring out how to get to the hospital. She could return the dumb hall pass to Ms. Petroccia tomorrow.

  Instead, Abby went to the bathroom and locked herself in the first stall. It smelled bad. She held her breath and sorted through what had happened. Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes.

  She needed to tell Cat about it. Cat was friendly with Miranda and Laura, but she didn’t like the way they talked about other people all the time. Abby would text her, and Cat would probably reply to her right away, telling her to ignore those stupid girls, that she was so much better than they were. That she wasn’t a snob, but a quiet, thoughtful person. Abby knew Cat would have her back, even from 6,584.2 miles away.

  With trembling hands, Abby pulled out her phone to text her best friend.

  She never got a chance to text Cat, though, because there was a message waiting for her from Mom Rachel.

  Paul’s out of surgery. He did great!

  That’s when Abby finally let the tears flow.

  * * *

  “Hey, slow down!”

  Conrad jogged to catch up to Abby after school.

  “I have to get home,” she called behind her.

  “Oh, that’s right.” Conrad reached her. “Your brother’s surgery was today.”

  “My mom told me he did okay, but I want to get home and see him.”

  The two of them jogged all the way to their houses, their backpacks knocking on their spines the whole time.

  “Tell your brother I hope he’s doing okay,” Conrad said, but Abby was already jamming her key into the lock.

  When she saw her brother lying on the couch, Abby let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  Paul’s head lay on a pillow from his bed, and a package of frozen petite peas—Mom Rachel’s version of an ice pack—rested on his lower stomach.
<
br />   Abby dropped her backpack and plopped onto the floor next to Paul. “How are you? How was it?”

  He blinked at her and smiled. “Six-Pack!”

  Paul was happy to see her. It almost, almost made up for the mean things Miranda and Laura had said about her in language arts class. How can people be so unkind?

  “I’m still sort of…”

  Mom Rachel walked into the living room, wiping her hands on a towel. “He’s still out of it, Abs. The anesthesia’s working its way through his system.”

  “I’m good… Six-Pack,” Paul slurred. Then he licked his lips, and Mom Rachel went back into the kitchen and got him a glass of water to sip on with a straw.

  “Let me grab your pain medicine,” Mom Rachel said.

  Paul sat up, swallowed two pills with a grimace and a swig of water, and then lay back down. “What?”

  “I’m just looking at you,” Abby said.

  “Stop worrying. I’m okay.”

  “You know you have a bag of frozen petite peas on you, right?” Abby grinned.

  Paul laughed, then winced. “Ow. Laughing hurts.”

  “Sorry.” Abby told herself to be as unfunny as possible while Paul recuperated.

  “It’s okay,” Paul said softly. “It only hurts when I laugh. Or cough. Or walk. Or breathe.”

  “Really?”

  Paul licked his lips again. “Breathing doesn’t hurt.”

  “Hey,” Abby said, “maybe when you feel better, we can play Monopoly to, you know, take your mind off things.”

  “That would be gravy.”

  “Gravy?” Abby asked.

  But when she looked at Paul, his eyelids were closed and he was breathing softly through slightly parted lips.

  “Gravy.” Abby shook her head, then tiptoed away and sat on a stool at the counter so she could talk with Mom Rachel. “Paul is out of it! He said ‘gravy’ instead of ‘great.’ ”

  Mom Rachel laughed. “Maybe he’s hungry.”

  Abby studied her mom. “Did everything really go well today? Is there anything you’re not telling me? Paul’s acting weird.”