Chloe steps up to the bed, pulling Sid after her. “I’m Chloe,” she says, “and this is Sid. He’s a bit freaked out at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll stop acting like a total whiny baby pretty soon.”
Devi opens her eyes and tries to focus. “Sid,” she says.
“He’s not always like this,” Chloe continues. “Usually he’s pretty cool. Not exactly outgoing though, are you, Sid?”
She nudges Sid, who continues to stare silently at Devi. She’s so small, he thinks. So helpless. So—he searches for the right word—fragile. Like a robin’s egg that has dropped from a nest. There is nothing about her that screams Mother or monster. Nothing at all.
He clears his throat. “I don’t know what to say,” he croaks.
Devi nods. “Me too.” She coughs and Elizabeth hands her a plastic glass of water with a striped bendy straw, the kind Megan keeps for when kids are sick.
“The medication makes her mouth very dry,” Elizabeth explains as Devi drinks.
“I’m sorry you’re sick,” Sid says. “I hope you get better soon.” He knows he sounds lame, as if she has the flu or maybe pneumonia—something ordinary and curable—but his own mouth is dry and his brain has shorted out. He hopes it’s temporary.
“Yes,” Devi says. Her eyes close and she turns her head away from him.
That’s it? Sid thinks. My big reunion? A tiny sick woman in a hospital bed. Three little words. He shakes his head.
“She’ll sleep now,” Elizabeth says. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but she made a huge effort today. Huge.” Her eyes fill with tears as she smoothes the covers over Devi. “You’ll come back tomorrow, won’t you? I know she wants to see you again.”
How can you tell? Sid wonders, although he knows he will return. He has promised Wain they would come together while Chloe goes shopping.
“Yes,” he says. “But then we’re going home.”
A voice from the bed whispers, “Home.”
The next day, Sandra greets Wain by name when he and Sid arrive on the ward. Today she is wearing a pink T-shirt that says I will get my ocd under control…as soon as I wash my hands one more time.
Wain stares at her chest a long time and then laughs. Sid’s pretty sure Wain doesn’t need that much time just to read a slogan.
“Not as funny as the one you had on the other day, the paranoid one! I loved that.” He turns to Sid. “It was awesome. What did it say again, Sandy?”
“Paranoid? You would be too if everyone was out to get you. The guys love it.” Sandy and Wain cackle. An old man watching TV yells, “Sucked in the vacuum cleaner!” and someone else tells him to shut up.
“Business as usual,” Sandy says. “You can go on down to your mom’s room. She’s expecting you. She’s much better today. I called your grandmother and told her there was no need to rush in. She said you two were coming. She has a meeting with Devi’s team this morning.”
“Her team?” Sid asks as he and Wain walk down the hall to Devi’s room.
“Shrink, social worker, nutritionist, massage therapist, yoga instructor, priest. Who knows? The Dalai Lama could be on her team for all I know.”
“That’d be cool,” Sid says.
“I guess.” Wain stops outside the door, shuts his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Relaxation breathing. Megan taught Sid to use it years ago. Maybe Devi did the same for Wain at some point.
Sid fills his lungs and lets the air out with a whoosh. “The Dalai Lama would be proud,” he says as they open the door to Devi’s room.
Devi is sitting up in bed, eating breakfast. Cream of Wheat, weak tea, orange juice. Gross. The IV has been disconnected, but the pole is lurking in a corner. She pushes the tray away when they come in. When she speaks, her words are a bit slurred.
“My boys,” she says. She holds her hand out to Wain, who leans over and kisses her. Sid stays at the end of the bed.
“Thank you for coming, Sid,” she says. “You didn’t have to.”
“Actually, I did. Or Wain would have beaten me up.”
Devi laughs. It’s a strange sound in the dim room—clear and deep as the water in Sid’s favorite lake.
“Is that true, Wain?” she says.
“I could,” Wain says. “He’s such a—”
“Such a what?” Sid asks, waiting for the words. Pussy. Faggot.
“A wimp,” Wain says. “He’s, like, a pacifist or something.”
“That true, Sid?” Devi smiles. Her teeth are perfectly straight but dingy, as if she had orthodontics but never brushed her teeth. “Are you a pacifist? Or a wimp?”
Sid shrugs. “Bit of both, I guess. Depending on the situation.”
“Very commendable,” Devi says.
“Very stupid,” Wain says. He reaches over and punches Sid on the shoulder. Sid ignores him.
“Nana tells me that Sid’s”—Devi hesitates—“Sid’s mother has invited you to stay with them until school starts.” This is the longest sentence she has spoken and she seems exhausted by the effort. Her eyes close and she leans back on the pillows.
“Can I go?” Wain asks.
Devi’s eyes remained closed as she says, “Do you want to?”
Wain nods and then realizes she can’t see him.
“It’s so cool, Mom. There’s this tiny island, and Sid took me to this amazing lake. And his dad says he’ll teach me how to fish. I’d come home whenever you want. Whenever you’re feeling better. For school for sure. I could bring you a salmon. And Irena—that’s Chloe’s grandmother—makes awesome jam from her own raspberries. I could bring you a jar—”
Devi opens her eyes and holds up her hand. “Stop, stop. I was there too, a long time ago. When Sid was little. I’m sure he doesn’t remember.”
Sid stays silent. There’s no point in telling her she is right. She gazes at Sid, her eyes damp. “You’ve had a good life,” she says. It’s not a question.
“The best,” Sid says.
“All right then.” She pulls herself up in the bed. “Wain, if Sid’s okay with it, you can go. Sid? What do you think?”
Sid glances up at the little slit of a window. He can see a scrap of blue sky through the bars. A bird—not a crow, a starling maybe—zips by, intent on…what? Finding food for his family, catching an updraft, romancing a hot starling chick? What does he think about Wain coming back with him? He wishes Megan was here to tell him what to do. A few days ago, he was sure it was the worst idea ever. He still thinks his brother is a pain. He realizes the rest of his summer will be crowded and noisy if Wain comes home with him. But the fact remains: Wain’s life sucks and his doesn’t. There’s no way around that.
“Two conditions,” he says. “No fighting. No swearing. And oh, yeah, no stealing.”
Wain laughs. “See what I mean, Mom? Stupid. That’s three conditions, dummy.”
“Let’s make it four then,” Sid says. “No name-calling.”
Devi laughs. “Sucks to be you.” Sid isn’t sure which one of them she is talking to, but for a moment she sounds just like Wain. “Thank you, Sid.” She reaches out to take his hand. He hopes his palms aren’t sweaty again. “Thank your mother for me,” she says. “For everything.”
“I will.”
“I need to sleep now,” Devi says. “Be good, Wain. I mean it.”
Her eyes close, and Wain leans over to kiss her cheek. “Get better, Mommy,” he whispers. “See you soon.”
He turns and walks out the door. Sid stays in the room a moment, watching Devi’s face as she surrenders to sleep.
I can walk away, he thinks. I can go home now. I don’t have to come back unless I want to. He reaches over and strokes Devi’s sunken cheek.
“Be well, Devi,” he says.
He straightens up and walks out the door. Wain is waiting in the corridor, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“Ready to go, asshole?” Wain says.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sid says.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to Monique Polak, cheerleader extraordinaire, who read the book in its early stages and provided valuable feedback and much-needed support. Thanks also to the usual suspects for their friendship, laughter, insight and patience: Jennifer Cameron, Lynne Van Luven, Brian and Hatsumi Harvey, Margaux Finlayson, Robin Stevenson, Maggie de Vries, Bruce Collins, Christine Toller, Fiona Harvey, Christian Down, Joan Backus and Yvonne Haist. And of course, endless gratitude to the Orca team for putting heart and soul into every book Orca publishes. Special thanks to Mike Deas for the amazing cover and for sharing his thoughts about the art of comics. I am also grateful for the grant I received from the British Columbia Arts Council to write this book.
Sarah N. Harvey is the author of nine books for children and young adults. Some of her books have been translated into Korean, German and Slovenian, none of which she speaks or reads (although she is trying to learn Italian). Her novel The Lit Report has been optioned for a feature film. She will not be in it. Sarah lives and writes in Victoria, British Columbia. Visit www.sarahnharvey.com for more information.
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