by Nancy N. Rue
But fame was not the reason the good Christian doctor was so devoted to this work. If she could just see one Down syndrome child’s eyes and ears and tongue become normal, if she could hear one say “heinous” and know that one was enjoying breakfast at Pop’s Drive-In on a Saturday morning, it would all be worthwhile.
Dr. Devon Downing picked up her notebook of findings. She must make sure that she was as close as she thought she must be to —
“What are you doing down here reading a magazine?” Lacie said.
Sophie looked up with a jerk.
“The nurse said we could come in and hold Hope,” Lacie said.
“Only one of us can hold her at a time.” Sophie hugged the magazine to her chest. “You go first since you’re the oldest.”
Lacie put her hands on her hips, just like Daddy did when he was suspicious. “We can only hold her five minutes each, so don’t take too long.” She stepped back toward the door.
“And since when do you read Sports Illustrated ?”
Sophie pulled the magazine out just enough to see the title.
“This isn’t the best time in the world to be daydreaming,” Lacie said. “Daddy said we all have to pull together as a family.”
“I’m pulling,” Sophie said.
Lacie disappeared, and Sophie tossed the magazine aside. It had been a long time since she’d gotten in trouble for lapsing into one of her imaginings and forgetting what she was supposed to be doing. It had hardly happened at all since Daddy had given her the video camera a year and a half ago. She knew if it became a problem again, he’d take it away.
Sophie sighed back into the sofa cushions. Would she even be able to make movies anymore? Was she going to be so busy pulling together with the family that she wouldn’t have time to write scripts and act and direct?
Dr. Devon Downing straightened her white lab coat. There were always sacrifices to be made when a doctor was on such a quest as she was, but it was all right. “I will find a cure for Down syndrome,” she said. “And that is all that matters.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?”
Once again Sophie jolted up, only this time Daddy stared down at her. He didn’t put his hands on his hips, though. He sat beside her on the couch. Sophie had never seen dark smudges in the skin under his eyes before.
“I wish you or anybody else could find a cure, Baby Girl,” he said.
“Somebody will,” Sophie said. “They find cures for things all the time.”
“Not for this.” Daddy pinched the top of his nose with his fingers. “Whether a baby is going to have Down syndrome is decided way before she’s born, when the chromosomes get handed out. They carry the genes that tell whether she’s going to have brown eyes like you or blue ones like Lacie and Zeke. If she gets an extra chromosome, that decides she’ll be — like Hope.”
“Can’t they just change the chromosomes or take one back out?” Sophie said.
Daddy shook his head like it hurt to move. “Once a baby is born with Down syndrome, that’s it. She’ll always have it. And no matter how hard you dream, Soph — there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Three
Sophie let everybody else in the family take turns holding baby Hope. Sunday morning she begged Daddy to let her go to church instead of the hospital, but he said they were having a special thanksgiving service for Hope in the hospital chapel, and she needed to be there. The only thing that made that bearable was that Dr. Peter was there too.
She spotted him right away, standing outside the chapel door. There was no mistaking his short gelled curls, his smile full of mischief, and the wire-rimmed glasses he always pushed up with a wrinkle of his nose. The eyes behind them twinkled when Sophie ran up to him, and the inner fingers that kept squeezing her heart let go a little. Any hard thing was easier with Dr. Peter on the scene.
“Sophie-Lophie-Loodle,” he said in a hospital-low voice. “How’s the big sister?”
Sophie’s throat went tight. Dr. Peter nodded.
“What do you say we talk after this, huh?” he said.
That got her through the ser vice. Lacie said it was pretty, with the candles and the tiny pink tea roses and the prayers Daddy and Mama and Dr. Peter said. All Sophie saw were the tears behind Mama’s and Daddy’s smiles. She was ready to cry a few of her own when it was over.
Dr. Peter said, “Want to go downstairs and have a soda?”
The table and plastic chairs in the corner of the cafeteria weren’t Dr. Peter’s colorful office with its window seat and pillows with faces on them, but it didn’t have to be. Once Sophie was seated across from him, a cherry Coke in front of her, she finally felt like she could tell someone everything. Still, she started slow.
“You know my little sister has Down syndrome,” she said.
Dr. Peter pressed his lips together and nodded.
“I guess you know what that is.”
“I do. Do you?”
“My dad told me. It can’t be cured, you know.”
“I know,” Dr. Peter said.
The last piece of Sophie’s dream was chipped away. She’d dared to hope that Dr. Peter, being a psychologist, would know something Daddy didn’t. Right now, he looked as sad as everybody else.
“Are you scared, Loodle?” Dr. Peter said.
“Yes. Only don’t tell my dad. We’re supposed to be pulling together as a family.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t be afraid. Do you want to talk about why you’re making a mustache out of your hair again? I haven’t seen you do that in a while.”
Sophie let her hair drop and took a sip of her cherry Coke. It didn’t taste as good as it usually did.
“There’s this new girl in my PE class.”
Dr. Peter didn’t ask her what in the world that had to do with her new sister, like most grown-ups would.
“She’s out of control,” Sophie said. “It’s like she forgets there’s anybody else around, so she runs all over, like, plowing into people and hitting them in the head with the ball. She can’t pay attention, so she gets bonked with it too. And, seriously, she can’t be still. I keep thinking she has to go to the bathroom.”
Dr. Peter nodded.
“There’s something way different about her — not, like, unique, but like something’s wrong with her.” Sophie discovered she had to swallow hard. “The other kids, you know, like the Corn Pops — ”
“And the Fruit Loops?”
“Yeah — they all make fun of her. It’s even hard for us not to say bad stuff about her. I bet she doesn’t have any friends and — Dr. Peter?”
“What, Soph?”
The lump in Sophie’s throat broke, and she felt her face wad up into tears. “I’m scared that when Hope goes to school, the kids are gonna be even meaner to her because she’s — because she’s — retarded!”
She pushed her Coke aside and folded her arms on the table so she could cry into them. Dr. Peter let her.
“Y’know, Loodle,” he said, “I’d be worried about you if you didn’t admit that you were afraid. Maybe mad too.”
“Mad? At who?” Sophie said.
“Whoever’s responsible for Hope being born with Down syndrome.”
Sophie sat up straighter. “Who? What do you mean?”
“Remember when we first found out Kitty had leukemia?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I told you when something happens that seems so unfair like that, instead of asking God why, it’s better to ask, what now? I think that’s what your dad means by pulling together as a family.”
Sophie suddenly felt cold, as if she’d stepped right into her icy drink. “Are you saying you think God did this?” she said. “Oh — sorry. Is that bad to ask?”
“It’s not a bad question, but that puts us back at why? and who?” Dr. Peter scooted his glasses up with a nose-wrinkle. “Do you think God made this happen?”
“How could he? Everything he does is for good, right?”
“We can trust there’s a
good purpose behind everything. And he’s definitely in the what now? Do you think he’ll help you know what to do with all this?”
Sophie couldn’t answer right away. Other words — not very nice words — were in her head, shouting at her. She wasn’t sure even Dr. Peter would want to hear them.
He leaned on the table, searching Sophie’s face with his eyes. “Don’t hold back, Loodle.”
She looked away from him.
“You need to get this out — ”
“I don’t see why God didn’t stop that one evil chromosome from getting into my sister,” she blurted out. “Since he didn’t stop it, maybe he’s not involved at all. Not even in the what now? ”
Sophie put the back of her hand up to her mouth. She would have given up her video camera just to have those words back.
But Dr. Peter didn’t look disappointed. “You’re having doubts.”
“Yes, but I’m not supposed to doubt God. I mean, he’s — God!”
“Which is why he can handle it. If you didn’t have doubts, Loodle, you wouldn’t ask questions. And if you never asked questions, you’d never get answers.”
Sophie pulled her hair under her nose again.
“I know it’s scary,” Dr. Peter said. “But go ahead and pour out all that stuff to Jesus tonight when you imagine him. Tell him you don’t know what to do next.”
“He won’t get mad?”
“Nah. Of course, don’t expect the whole answer right away. You know how that works.”
Sophie nodded glumly. Dr. Peter pushed her drink toward her.
“Now, about that wild thing in your PE class?”
Sophie blinked until she remembered Brooke.
“I doubt your little Hope is ever going to act like that. I don’t know for sure without actually meeting the girl — ”
“Brooke,” Sophie said.
“Brooke. But it sounds to me like she might have ADHD —attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Sophie said. “Lacie says she thinks Zeke has it sometimes when he can’t sit still.”
“Zeke doesn’t, but if Brooke does, she can’t focus, can’t stay on task. She gets distracted easily. She really can’t help the impulse to do things without thinking about them first,” Dr. Peter said. “The point is, your little sister won’t act like that because her brain is very different.” His eyes twinkled behind his glasses. “She’ll probably be just as wonderful as you are.”
Although Sophie finished her cherry Coke and the rest of the day without crying again, she felt dreary when she climbed into bed that night. She wasn’t sure Dr. Peter was right about this telling-God-your-doubts thing, but he’d never steered her wrong before. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Jesus.
She couldn’t see his eyes, kind or sad or any other way. It was as if there was a fog separating her from the look she depended on.
Are you there? she asked in silence. I mean, I know you are — it’s just that I really need to know — how am I supposed to be a good big sister if I’m so confused?
It wasn’t at all what she’d intended to pray, and she still wasn’t sure she should have prayed it at all. But Dr. Peter was right about one thing: there were no answers right away.
By the time third period came around on Monday, Fiona had already told Darbie about Hope. But Kitty, Willoughby, and Maggie arrived in the locker room with a banner that read CONGRATULATIONS BIG SISTER SOPHIE and enough candy pacifiers for all the Corn Flakes. Sophie took one look and burst into tears.
There was a lot of whispering as Darbie and Fiona filled them in. And then there was a lot of Corn Flake hugging and promising to help Sophie with anything.
“Thanks,” Sophie said as they walked into the gym together.
“But there isn’t anything anybody can do.”
Willoughby’s eyes grew round. “I never heard you say that before, Sophie.”
“Don’t ever say it again, either,” Darbie said. “You’re scaring the bejeebers out of me.”
A whistle blasted, which scared the bejeebers out of Sophie.
“Everybody up in the bleachers!” Coach Yates yelled.
“Will you be okay, Sophie?” Darbie whispered to her as they found seats.
Sophie didn’t have a chance to answer.
“Do you smell something, Cassie?” Julia said.
Sophie stifled a groan, and Fiona nudged her in the side. The three Corn Pops sat in the row in front of them, all filing their fingernails.
“Yes, I do smell it.” Cassie let her already-close-together eyes narrow. “Do you smell it, Stewie?”
“Definitely,” Anne-Stuart said, with a juicy sniff. “I can’t place it, though.”
“Is it garbage?” Cassie said.
“Nuh-uh,” Anne-Stuart said. “That’s pooh if I ever smelled it.”
“You’re both wrong,” Julia said. “That is the stink of somebody that lives in a . . .” She curled her lip. “Mobile home.”
“Eww,” Cassie said.
Tossing her silky hair back, Anne-Stuart gave the longest sniff in sinus history. “Where’s it coming from?”
Julia paused in her manicure and pointed a silver file with the jeweled head of a cat on one end. In spite of herself, Sophie followed it with her gaze toward the red head in front of Julia, next row down.
“That’s heinous,” Fiona whispered into Sophie’s ear. “Brooke has to be able to hear her.”
At that moment, Brooke stood up and snuffled into the air like a bloodhound. Darbie grabbed Sophie’s knee. Fiona put her hand over Willoughby’s mouth before she could poodle-shriek.
“I smell it too,” Brooke said. She turned to Julia. “Want me to find out who it is for ya?”
Julia cocked her head of dark-auburn hair to one side. “Would you? I’d like to know so I can — uh — ”
“Help them out a little,” Anne-Stuart finished for her.
Cassie had already collapsed into a heap of giggles.
Brooke charged down the bleachers, stopping only to lean over and nuzzle at people with her nose. The girls the Corn Flakes called the Wheaties, because they were fun and athletic, reared away from her. Colton sniffed back and pretended to pass out on Tod. Nathan turned purple. Before Brooke could start in on the student aide, Coach Yates blew her whistle and froze the whole gym.
“What in the world are you doing, Singletary?”
Brooke thrust a finger toward the Corn Pops. “She said she smelled somebody so I was just — ”
“Just what?” Coach Yates said. “Giving everybody the sniff test?” She turned to Coach Nanini. “How about it, Coach? Why don’t we all just choose up sides and smell armpits, huh?”
While the class erupted into hysteria, Sophie crossed her arms over her chest to keep the hard fingers of fear from squeezing her heart to death. No matter what Dr. Peter said, that could be Hope Celeste LaCroix down there someday, with even a teacher making fun of her. Coach Nanini bent his head low to talk to Brooke, but it didn’t help Sophie. What if there was no Coach Virile for her sister? What if not one single person tried to help little Hope?
Coach Yates tooted the whistle again. “We’ll review the volleyball rules for your written test tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going to start on this end and drill you — ”
That was the last thing Sophie heard Coach Yates say that period. She was too busy coming up with a plan. The minute Coach dismissed them, Sophie bolted for Brooke — who was perched on the bottom row of the bleachers, chewing on her fingernails.
“Hi,” Sophie said as she sat beside her.
Brooke leaned over and tugged at Coach Nanini’s sweatshirt. “Hey — Coach What’s-Your-Name. Can I talk to her?”
Coach Nanini looked at Sophie and grinned. “Yes — she’s the perfect person for you to talk to. Go change, and I’ll see you back here after fourth period. We’ll go together.”
“Come on,” Sophie said to Brooke. “I’ll walk in with you.”
Brooke looke
d Sophie over with green eyes that didn’t stay any more still than the rest of her.
“We’re on the same team,” Brooke said.
“That’s for sure,” Cassie hissed as she sailed past.
Sophie caught sight of her Corn Flakes in the doorway, faces full of the question: What are you doing, Sophie?
I’m being decent to this poor kid, Sophie knew she would tell them later. Because somebody has to.
But when, for no apparent reason, Brooke pulled Sophie’s glasses off and stuck them on her own face, Sophie wasn’t quite sure why that somebody had to be her.
Four
Sophie had barely reached her locker when Brooke careened around the end of the row with her school clothes tucked under her arm.
“I’m changing here,” she said as she threw her stuff on the bench.
“Sure,” Sophie said.
“Won’t they give you a locker?” Julia said from the other end of the row.
“She can change wherever she wants.” Sophie patted the bench. “Here’s a spot for you, Brooke.”
Julia made a face and turned her back.
“Oh,” Fiona said to Sophie, “I get it.” Fiona gave a huff as if she were talking herself into something and looked at Brooke. “So — how come you just transferred into this class?”
“Where’s my sock?” Brooke said, pawing through the pile she’d just dumped. “I can’t find my sock.”
“Maybe you dropped it on the way from your locker.” Willoughby glanced at Sophie and added, “Want me to help you look?”
“I’ll just borrow one.” Brooke straightened up to face them. “Anybody got an extra sock?”
Sophie pulled out her toe socks, the ones with the turtles on the bottom. “You can borrow these. I don’t need socks with my boots — ”
“Sweet!” Brooke said and swept them out of Sophie’s hand. She was feeding her toes into them before Sophie could finish her sentence.
Brooke still wasn’t ready when Sophie left for fourth-period math class. Out in the hall, the Flakes were on her like Velcro.
“It’s cool that you’re being nice to her, Soph,” Fiona said, “but you know I don’t do nice as well as you do.”