Abby, Tried and True

by Donna Gephart

  Mom Rachel came out of her bedroom, wiping at her eyes.

  “Mom?” Abby asked, afraid something terrible had happened to Paul.

  “It’s nothing,” Mom Rachel said. “How was school?”

  Abby raised her eyebrows. It was obviously something. And Abby didn’t want to talk about school right now. “Mom, what is it?”

  Mom Rachel nodded toward the living room, and Abby followed her there, holding her glass of juice but not drinking it.

  They sat on the couch, and Miss Lucy jumped up and plopped down between them.

  Mom Rachel fiddled with a button on her overalls. “Your brother refused to see his tutor today.”

  “You mean the guy from the school district who comes to the house?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Then how’s Paul going to get through eleventh grade? He can’t go back to school yet. Can he?”

  “No, he can’t. That’s why he needs the tutor.” Mom Rachel threw her hands up. “And he’s not eating enough. I can see each of his ribs. It’s like he’s disappearing, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Abby didn’t like seeing her mom this way. “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I’m sorry to dump this on you, Abs. Mama Dee’s still at the shop, and I’m so upset.” Her mom started crying again. “I thought it would be hard to get Paul through treatments, but then we did it.”

  Abby patted her mom’s hand. “We did.”

  “No one said it would be this hard after the treatments were over.”

  Moving closer to her mom without squishing Miss Lucy, Abby gently put an arm around her mom’s shoulders.

  She never did get a chance to tell her mom about what happened in school. If she had, Abby would have mentioned that she read an original poem out loud in front of all the kids in her language arts class. Afterward, on the way back to her seat, Kyle Baxter gave her a high five while the class applauded. After Abby sat down, Miranda leaned over and said, “That was a good poem, Abby.”

  Abby realized she and Paul were both changing. She was becoming Abby 2.0, which was really just the best version of who she already was. And Paul, it seemed, was becoming less like himself every day.

  * * *

  Later, when Conrad texted to ask if Abby felt like going for a walk, she threw on a jacket and dashed outside, glad to escape the sadness in the house for a while. She didn’t feel bad about leaving because Paul was in his room sleeping, as usual. It’s not like she would have been keeping him company if she’d stayed home.

  Conrad and Abby walked all the way to town without saying anything.

  Abby loved how they could be together without talking and it felt comfortable.

  They didn’t stop at any of the stores in town but kept walking.

  It was getting dark, but Abby didn’t want to turn back. She felt calmer being with Conrad. Happier.

  They ended up in a neighborhood Abby wasn’t familiar with. The homes were bigger than in the neighborhood where they lived. There were a lot of open spaces with grass and palm trees. One grassy area had a bench under a big tree and pretty streetlights around the space.

  Conrad sat on the bench and patted the seat beside him.

  Abby sat, feeling a spark of energy being so close to him. “How far do you think we walked?” she asked.

  “Couple miles.” Conrad kicked at the thick grass.

  Abby sensed something was bothering him, but she didn’t want to pry. She’d let him talk when he was ready.

  They were quiet together for a while, and then Conrad said, “My dad asked me to spend spring break with him and his family.”

  Abby turned his words over in her mind and was ashamed her first thought was a selfish one about how much she’d miss him. “How do you feel about that?”

  Conrad sighed. “It’s kind of hard.”

  Abby didn’t say anything, to allow him space to keep talking.

  “I like being there. His wife is nice to me, but I watch my dad do all these things for my half brother and half sister.” Conrad looked down at his lap, where his fingers were clasped tightly. “Things he never did for me.”

  “Oh,” Abby said.

  “Yeah. It’s like he’s figured out how to be a great dad for them, but what about me? Why didn’t I get the great dad, instead of the one who fought with my mom all the time and couldn’t wait to leave us?”

  Abby pressed her shoulder against Conrad’s. “That sounds so hard.” She felt lucky to live with two parents, who loved her and Paul and who loved each other.

  Conrad turned to Abby. “Sometimes when I’m there, I don’t want to come home. My dad’s more like me, or I’m more like him.”

  Abby nodded because Conrad didn’t seem much like his mom.

  “My dad likes cooking and poetry like I do. My mom hasn’t read a book in, like… I don’t even know when. She comes home from work and watches her shows or talks to her girlfriends on the phone. And once, when I read her a poem I really liked, she laughed at me. Laughed! Told me I was so much like my dad, it was scary.”

  Abby could picture Conrad’s mom acting this way. Also, poetry? He liked poetry? How had she not discovered this sooner?

  Conrad looked up to the dark sky, as though there might be some answers written up there among the twinkling stars. “When I’m at my dad’s, we go to art museums and this great old library with marble columns out front. I love it, but it makes me sad, too. That makes no sense. Right?”

  Abby felt honored that Conrad shared these personal feelings with her. That’s what real friends did when they trusted each other. “Of course it makes you unhappy. It must be hard to see the life you wish you had but don’t.”

  “Wow.”

  “What?” Abby was afraid she’d said something wrong, something to upset him after he put his trust in her.

  “You nailed it, Abs. That’s exactly what it is. It’s the life I wish I had, but… I’m here with my mom, and I don’t feel like she gets me. At all.”

  “Maybe you and your mom are really different people, but I’m sure she loves you.”

  “We are different, and I know she loves me. I love her, too. But sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I lived with my dad instead.”

  Abby looked down.

  “What?”

  “Then I’d never have met you.” Abby thought about how empty her life would be without Cat and without Conrad, especially while going through Paul’s cancer treatments.

  Conrad nudged his shoulder into hers. “That part would stink.” He sat taller and looked at Abby. “I’m glad to know you, Abigail Braverman. You’re definitely one of the best things about moving here.”

  The compliment overwhelmed Abby, and she giggled. Trying to deflect the praise, she said, “I’m sure you’ve made plenty of friends at school, but thanks.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Huh?” Abby thought she’d heard him wrong.

  “You’re pretty much my only friend.”

  “I… I… had no idea.” Real friends trust each other with the truth. “You’re my only friend too, Conrad.”

  He nodded. “Well then, it’s a good thing we have each other.”

  “It really is.”

  They were both quiet for a long while, shivering occasionally from the cool breeze, but neither one suggested they go home.

  Abby couldn’t believe how much she’d just learned about Conrad. She knew she’d spend a lot more time thinking about some of the things he’d said. It must have been hard for him to talk about his parents and not having friends at school. “Thanks for sharing all that stuff with me.” She bumped her shoulder back into his.

  “Thanks for listening.”

  Abby beamed.

  “You want to walk back now?” Conrad asked.

  Abby wished she could stay on that bench with him forever, but it was dark and getting chillier. “Okay.”

  When they stood, something made Abby look at the bench they’d be
en sitting on, and she noticed a plaque affixed to the back of it. It glistened in the light of a nearby streetlamp. Abby bent and squinted so she could read the words on the plaque.

  THIS BENCH IS DEDICATED TO NATHAN LAURENCE

  GREENE, AUGUST 11, 2006–SEPTEMBER 19, 2020—A BRIGHT LIGHT EXTINGUISHED TOO SOON.

  Abby’s hand flew to her mouth. “He was only fourteen.”

  “Who?”

  She pointed to the plaque, and Conrad leaned over and read it too. “Wow. That’s horrible.”

  They began their walk toward home. “How do you think he died?” Abby asked, her voice a whisper.

  Conrad shrugged. “Car accident? Cancer?”

  Abby inhaled sharply.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean…”

  Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. “It’s… it’s…”

  Conrad grabbed her arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Paul’s going to be okay. He is.”

  That’s when the waterfall let loose. Abby shook her head. “He’s not. He’s not acting right. He’s not getting better.”

  “That’s from the chemo.”

  “Huh?” Abby stopped walking and found a tissue in her pocket to wipe her eyes and nose. It reminded her that Paul was always wiping his nose. He said his nose ran all the time because he didn’t have nose hair anymore.

  “It happened to my uncle,” Conrad said.

  For a moment, Abby thought he was talking about his uncle’s nose also running all the time, like Paul’s.

  Conrad continued. “I remember how worried my mom was after his treatments were over. He seemed really sick for a couple weeks afterward, and then he slowly got better.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “A hundred percent.”

  “But what if Paul doesn’t… get better?”

  “He will.”

  “But…”

  They walked the rest of the way home with only the wind whispering in their ears and the sounds of crickets and occasional croaks from frogs to keep them company.

  Breakfast

  The next morning, Saturday, Abby got up early. She had a plan.

  Quietly, she went to the kitchen and put on her mom’s apron. It was too long on her, but she didn’t care. Abby made sure to soak the slices of French toast in the egg mixture a long time so they’d be really soft. When everything was cooked and smelling delicious, Abby placed a plate of French toast with sliced strawberries on a tray, along with a glass of coconut milk. She poured syrup into a small container, so Paul could put on the amount he wanted. Then she carried the tray to Paul’s room and knocked on the door with her foot.

  No answer.

  Balancing the tray with one hand, she opened the door.

  Her brother was huddled under the endless afghan, only his head with the new crocheted blue hat showing.

  “Paul?” Abby whispered. “I made you French toast.”

  He mumbled and rolled onto his back.

  Abby thought her brother looked so vulnerable, lying there, blinking at her without eyelashes.

  “Hello?” The tray was getting heavy.

  “Yeah, yeah. Come in, Abs.” Paul sat up in bed and leaned back against his pillow. He yawned.

  Abby put the tray on his desk. “I made you French toast.”

  “I see that.”

  “And I soaked it a long time so it wouldn’t hurt the sores in your mouth.”

  “Thanks. It smells really good.”

  Abby smiled. “I used the good cinnamon from Penzeys. Do you think you can eat it?”

  Paul scratched his head through the hat. “You sound like mom.”

  “Which one?”

  Their inside joke didn’t feel as funny today.

  Paul wasn’t reaching for the food. He looked so washed out. Even though Conrad said her brother would be okay, Abby wasn’t sure if she could believe him. What if everyone is wrong? What if he never gets better? Abby thought of the plaque on that bench. What if…?

  Abby lunged toward the bed and grabbed Paul around the neck. She pressed her head to his and whispered fiercely, “Oh, please don’t die, Paul.”

  “Abby!”

  She pulled back.

  “Sit.”

  Gently, Abby sat on the edge of Paul’s bed and sniffed.

  “First of all, I’m not planning to die.”

  “But—”

  “That’s why I went through all this. The surgery. The chemo. My cancer doctor says she’s almost positive all the cancer is gone. I’ll get a PET scan soon to be sure, but that’s a really positive sign.”

  Abby released a shaky breath.

  “What I seem to be having trouble with”—Paul rubbed a hand over his chin—“is figuring out how to live.”

  “You’re…” Abby couldn’t wrap her mind around what her brother had said. Why would he have to figure out how to live? Wasn’t that something you just did?

  “Now that this is all over, the get-well cards have stopped coming, the calls of support. The visits. Even Ethan hasn’t stopped by lately. It’s like, okay, Paul is done with treatment, so we can get on with our lives now. But I’m not sure how to get on with mine. I feel kind of… stuck.” He ducked his head. “Scared.”

  “Oh, Paul.” Abby recognized that her brother was trusting her with his truth, like Conrad did when they sat on that bench with the heartbreaking plaque. She wanted to respect that by not saying anything stupid.

  “I’m also really sad, but I’ll figure it out. And I’m not going to die, so stop thinking that.”

  Abby looked down. “Okay. Good.”

  “Six-Pack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Give me that tray. I’m starving!”

  A Purr-fect Date

  Three weeks later, on Valentine’s Day, Abby’s phone woke her with a chime.

  She was sure the text was from Conrad, reminding her to bring something or other for their perfect date.

  But it wasn’t. It was from Cat.

  I thought I’d miss you less as time went on, but I still miss you, Abs. Hope you have the world’s best Valentine’s Day. Wish we were there together, making cookies and laughing our heads off. You’d better tell me every detail of your date with Mr. Magnificent… or else. Kisses and kangaroos, Cat

  A sadness tugged at Abby’s heart. It was so strange to think that it took her best friend leaving for her to have met Conrad. When a door closes, a window opens. Abby wished she could have the door and the window open at the same time. But she was glad she could share everything happening with Conrad with Cat by text and during their video chats. It made her feel closer to Cat. It must have been horrible a century ago, when all people could do was send letters to each other and wait weeks in between for a reply. Abby squeezed her cell phone, grateful for the technology that allowed her to reply to Cat right away.

  Miss you too, Cat. You’ll always be my best friend, no matter where you live. Hope you and your mom have a happy Valentine’s Day. If you kiss any Israeli boys, you’d better tell me about it right away! (And I’ll tell you every detail about my date today, but I’d better get ready for it now.) Hugs and hummus, Abby

  Then another text came in.

  Should I bring cookies? My mom bought eight packages from Publix. They were on sale.

  Abby laughed and replied.

  Cookies are good.

  It wasn’t the same as baking cookies with Cat like she had done last year, but it was nice in a different way.

  As Abby headed to the bathroom, Paul was coming from his room.

  “Hey,” she said. “You’ve got some hair growing back on your head.”

  Paul rubbed the top of his head. “Yeah, some fuzz going on. But I wish my eyelashes would hurry and grow back. You have no idea how many little particles get into your eyes without eyelashes.”

  “Is that why you blink a lot sometimes?”

  Paul laughed. “Hadn’t realized I was doing that. But yeah, I guess.”

  “Never thought about how importa
nt eyelashes are to keep stuff out of your eyes.”

  “Why would you?”

  Guilt stabbed at Abby. She didn’t have to think about all the things Paul did. She didn’t have to deal with the challenges he did, and she never would. It’s not like Abby could ever get testicular cancer. It’s not like she could truly understand what Paul had gone through and was still going through. “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You can use the bathroom first.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

  “One more thing.”

  He turned toward her with his hand on the bathroom doorknob. “Yeah?”

  “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

  Paul’s shoulders sagged. “You know what I woke up thinking about this morning?”

  Abby shook her head.

  “Last year on Valentine’s Day, Jake and I had promised each other we’d have girlfriends by this Valentine’s Day. We swore it on a stack of our old X-Men comic books.” Paul laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh. “Now, not only don’t I have a girlfriend on Valentine’s Day, but I don’t have Jake, either. It sucks.”

  “It does.” Abby leaned against the wall, feeling bad because she was super excited about today. A year ago, she could have never imagined she’d be going on a date on Valentine’s Day. “Does Jake even text you or anything?”

  Paul shook his head. “Guess it’s hard to know who’s got your back until you go through something like this.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’ve got your back.”

  “I know you do, Six-Pack.”

  But Abby knew it wasn’t enough. There were some things Abby wasn’t able to provide for her brother, no matter how much she wished she could. Losing a friend was hard, especially if you lost that friend when you needed them most.

  * * *

  Abby was checking to make sure she had everything in her backpack when the doorbell rang. Her heart jackhammered.

  Miss Lucy charged to the door, barking.

  “I’ve got it,” Abby told her. “You’re a good guard dog, but way too small to be intimidating. Plus, when you roll over to offer guests your belly, you lose all credibility.”