“Colin isn’t here, Nora. He hasn’t been for a while.”
“Colin went home?” No wonder I couldn’t find Jack! Although I was a little hurt that he hadn’t said good-bye or at least found me to tell me the good news.
Monica bit her lip, as if deciding something. Then she took my arm and walked me into an empty room, sliding the glass door closed.
“Nora. Colin died a few weeks ago. I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
“That’s impossible! That doesn’t make any sense. . . .” I had seen Jack. He even named the fish with Jeremy. I was right there and Jack was his usual self!
Monica looked pained. “Jack . . . still comes to the hospital. He spent an awful lot of time here; and he’s . . . comfortable here. Sometimes he comes here specifically to talk with me, and sometimes he just likes to be here.”
“What?” I sat in one of the visitor chairs. “But . . . why wouldn’t he tell me? We had a million conversations—why wouldn’t he tell me that? Why would he . . . why would he pretend that his brother was still alive?” Yes, that was by far the dumbest thing I had said since I’d been here. Why wouldn’t he pretend that his brother was still alive? Wouldn’t anybody if they could? Monica pulled up a chair and sat next to me. She didn’t rush in to fill the silence. Even when it went on for five minutes. “He didn’t want to say it out loud, did he?” I finally asked.
“Maybe.”
“Are you helping him? When he comes?”
“I think so. I hope so.” She smiled a little, finally.
“If . . . if I see him, should I tell him that I know? No, right? That would make it harder for him . . . wouldn’t it? What should I do?” I had the sudden, terrible thought that the room we were sitting in now might have been Colin’s room. What would Jack want me to do? “Maybe I should just talk normally, right? We mostly talked about fish . . . and doughnuts . . . and Fisher-Price people. He really . . . helped me.”
“Did you need him for something specific today? Anything I can help you with?”
I wanted to tell her about Riley, about what I had done that was even worse than putting her on that roller coaster—I tried to cover it up. Even as she struggled to get back her words and her memories, I hid some of them from her. I couldn’t confess that to Monica. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to confess it to Jack.
“No,” I finally answered, looking at her. “I’m okay.” She prolonged-eye-contacted me. Reading me. Waiting for more, just in case. But I was done. When I felt my eyes sting with tears, I looked down at the floor.
“You can sit here as long as you need to, Nora. I know it’s a lot to take in.” Still watching my face. Still waiting for a response.
“Uh-huh” was all I could muster.
Monica left, and I moved to the window. My legs weren’t frozen this time, my brain wasn’t frozen, but something was, some part of me was locked in place, not wanting to know. Not wanting to let go of the idea that even though Jack’s brother had cancer, and even though Colin was in intensive care, that he would just continue being sick, being here, being alive here.
Please don’t let it have been a Code Blue; the running, the ANNOUNCEMENT. The awful thought that Jack might have heard his brother’s room called on a Code Blue announcement while he made himself a cup of coffee or, even worse, been pulled out of the cube while doctors and nurses rushed past him, settled on me like a shadow. Of course he came back here, where else could you possibly go where you could surround yourself with people who wouldn’t shirk away from cancer; who could handle knowing that; be okay with not only knowing it but also knowing all the hardest moments it handed to you. Where they encouraged you to sit as long as you needed to, and watched you and tried to comfort you, and where you could actually help people by being kind to their children and siblings and cousins who invariably wound up in the family room by themselves with the fish and coffee and doughnuts. But where, maybe, just maybe, you worried that telling might scare them because if they knew that your brother died there, then their person might die there too.
And maybe you just didn’t want to be the floating fish in the tank in the PICU family room.
DAY 13 1/2
I don’t know how long I sat in that empty cube. Monica was true to her word and never bothered me or hurried me along. I finally left when I realized that Jack might actually spot me in there—and I had no idea how I’d handle that. Worse, if he saw me in a cube by myself, he would try to cheer me up, and I knew it would be too much and I’d blurt everything out. So I used the stairwell, the bathroom, even the lobby and the nursery to avoid Jack, avoid Riley, and avoid every conversation I didn’t know how to have. And I managed to do just that, until I got in the car.
“Elayne said Riley was upset today.” Aunt Mo was turned halfway around in the front passenger seat. “Do you know anything about that?” Shoot. How much had Aunt Elayne told her?
“Yeah, she seemed a little . . . agitated,” I answered. “Agitated” was the word Mom and Aunt Mo used whenever Riley struggled with something. Not upset or angry, but “agitated.” Like a washing machine.
“I hope she didn’t upset you,” Aunt Mo continued. I couldn’t tell if Aunt Elayne had just misinterpreted what had happened between Riley and me or if she knew exactly what happened and chose to leave out the details for Aunt Mo. How long had she really been asleep anyway?
“Not really,” I mumbled.
“I know it’s hard when she’s . . . not herself.” Not herself? Which self were we talking about? The secret-boyfriend-push-you-to-the-floor self (which Aunt Mo knew nothing about)? Or just the 100 percent big-smile-walking-talking-and-using-the-bathroom-by-herself self?
“No, it’s okay.” I smiled nervously. “I understand.” I understand a lot more than you do, I thought.
* * *
Finally, at home, I kicked off my sneakers and threw my backpack down on the floor of Riley’s room. More than anything, I wanted a door to shut. I took out my notebook and looked down at the moronic words I had drawn when I was feeling sorry for myself because Jack was too busy for me. Busy trying to make Jeremy feel better in the PICU family room. Jack keeping this, what, eight-year-old boy company and naming fish with him, like he had done with me.
Had I really wanted to give Riley words? Or had I just been uncomfortable with the hospital words? Pain. Medicine. Nurse. Bedpan. Jack’s words too: T-cells. Cancer. Leukemia. No, he hadn’t told me about Colin . . . but how could I not have known? I hadn’t known because I was too busy talking about myself, my triangles, my cousin, my running. I hadn’t really listened, had I? Yes, Monica’s prolonged looks were annoying sometimes, but they were invitations. Invitations to talk, if you wanted to. To say more. To explain. To take a minute and feel something instead of spraying words out into the air. I had changed the subject often and quickly with Jack, whenever things got slightly uncomfortable. Jack, who wore the same clothes for two or three days in row. Jack, never with family in the family room. Jack, who shifted uncomfortably when I mentioned Colin in the triangle game. Who left abruptly when I had written I wanted to meet his brother. Why would Jack tell me the hardest thing in the world when I hadn’t really been listening to anything? Jack was lost and went to the only place he could find that felt familiar. I still had no idea what I was going to do when, and if, I saw him again before we would leave the hospital for good. Jack had been on my team, but I wasn’t so sure I had been on his—and he desperately needed one.
And had I really listened to Riley? How long had she been hiding this boyfriend, and how long had I not really been paying attention? I rummaged around through her desk until I found her phone, exactly where I had thrown it. The battery was dead now. I dug deeper until I found the charger.
* * *
It took an hour, but finally the bar was fully lit. You know how they tell you never to use your birthday for a password? That was exactly what Riley did, and so I got in on the first try. The phone lit up like crazy. I quickly made sure the ringer was off
, too. Her voice mail was full and there were more text messages than I could count. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t read them, because I did. Some of them, anyway. Most of them were from the first few days after the stroke. It seemed like after that, her friends had heard what happened and knew their texts weren’t going to be answered. Only one person had kept texting and calling.
GEORGINA: WHERE DID U GO?
I’m in the hospital, I wanted to say.
HELLO?
I MISS YOU.
ARE YOU ANGRY?
I am very angry, I wanted to say.
I NEED TO TALK TO YOU.
I can’t talk right now because I’ve had a stroke, I wanted to say.
I wanted to say a lot. I laced up my sneakers and ran downstairs, and out the back door, Archie in his now usual spot at my side. I left the phone, hidden under the bed so Aunt Maureen wouldn’t come across it.
“What are you up to?” Aunt Maureen called after me from the window.
“Just stretching my legs!” I answered. “And Archie’s!”
“Thanks, Nora!” She was so happy and cheerful these last two days, getting everything ready for Riley to come home. I wanted to take care of one thing for her.
I thought about “Georgina” as I stretched on the deck. I didn’t know anything about who he was, or where he lived, or whether he would even care about Riley. I did one lap around the yard to get my brain going. But I did know he should have left my thirteen-year-old cousin Riley alone. He was going to listen to me. Another lap around the yard. It was the one thing I should have done weeks ago that I actually had a second chance to get right.
My heart was not pumping fast enough. I touched the fence and then sprinted to the other side. I imagined our conversation as my legs pounded.
Hi, you don’t know me, but you are in big trouble.
Touched the fence and sprinted back.
Who is this?
None of your business.
Touched the fence and sprinted back.
Where is Riley? Who is this?
Nora. Nora Reeves. I am her cousin, and you need to know what you did.
Touched the fence and sprinted back.
Where is Riley?
Riley had a stroke because of you. I won’t tell you where because you don’t belong anywhere near her. You ruined her life, you ruined her mother’s life, and you ruined mine. I just thought you should know.
Touched the fence. And walked off the stitch in my side. Dripping with sweat, I took the inside stairs two at a time and hopped into the shower. I used Riley’s coconut shampoo and slowly turned off the hot water until it was as cold as I could stand it. I wasn’t sure if it was having a plan, or fixing a mistake, but I felt better than I had in a while, which was weird because I also knew Riley hated me now. Maybe I just felt better because I had nothing to lose.
The phone was fully charged and in my backpack, and I fell fast asleep with Archie curled next to me, his nose nestled in my coconut hair.
DAY 14
When I woke up the next morning, I took Archie out for a quick run around the block. Have I mentioned he was huge? He didn’t need a walk, he needed to run, poor boy. When we had finished one lap around the block, Archie was still bounding and loving every minute. I took him around two more times.
By the time I got back, Mom and Aunt Maureen were dressed and ready to go. Now all I had to do was get out, way out, of earshot of my family. As we entered the hospital, I announced that I was taking the stairs.
“Sure.” Mom left without giving me a second thought. As soon as the elevator doors closed, I swung around and headed back outside. Were my hands shaking as I took Riley’s phone out of my backpack? Yes, they were. I could barely thumb through the address book.
GEORGINA
I paced back and forth, practicing my talk into the phone, even though I hadn’t even dialed yet. No one paid any attention to me. I rehearsed my speech three times as people came and went out of the hospital. Walked in. Walked out. Some ran.
I took one last big breath.
GEORGINA
I hit dial.
Ring, ring, ring. I had just about lost my nerve—would I leave a message? I hadn’t considered that! My stomach knots were crawling up my throat, when I heard a man’s voice. The man.
“Riley? Where have you been?”
I couldn’t respond.
“Riley?” the man said again. “What’s going on? Where have you been?” He was angry.
“This isn’t Riley,” I said, suddenly unsure of myself. I was pacing again. My voice had gone shaky, and the words I’d practiced wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
“Who is this? I’ve been trying to reach Riley for weeks! What happened? Where is she?” He didn’t sound angry anymore. He sounded worried—almost panicked. “Who is this? Is Riley with you?”
“Yes. No. Kind of . . .” I stopped pacing. I was blowing this, big-time. I had to get it together. “I know your fake girl code name: Georgina!” I blurted out.
“What’s happened to Riley? Where is she? Let me talk to her.”
I never imagined that the jerk would sound so scared. It threw me. “Riley had a stroke. It’s your fault. You gave Riley a stroke!”
“Is this a joke? This isn’t funny. I don’t know who you are, but you’d better put Riley on the phone.”
“She never wants to see you again, and you will be in big trouble if you ever call her or come near her. We will have you arrested if you come anywhere near her. I mean it. HAVE YOU ARRESTED! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?? YOU WILL BE HANDCUFFED, YOU STUPID F-BOMB F-BOMBING44 JERK!” Then “Georgina” began to shout right over me.
“I’m going to say this one time, so you listen good. My name is Peter McMorrow, and I am Riley’s father. If you don’t put my daughter on the phone in the next five seconds, you are going to be in more trouble than you’ve ever imagined. Do you understand me? PUT MY DAUGHTER ON THE PHONE THIS INSTANT!”
Wait. What? WHAT? Who? OMG. OMG. Everything I had been thinking and feeling about Riley’s “boyfriend” shattered into pieces. Riley’s boyfriend . . . wasn’t a boyfriend. Georgina was her father. HER FATHER. And I had just ambushed Uncle Pete—her father—with terrible, awful news. I couldn’t even say my name. Uncle Pete? I felt like my brain was buzzing with static, beginning to shut down. And then I realized that he was crying. Uncle Pete was crying.
“How did this . . . how did this happen to her?” he finally choked out. “Oh my God. Oh my . . .”
Words clattered in my head. Hospital, stroke, roller coaster, emergency, bedpan, P-SOCKS, AFib. I hung up. For an instant, I couldn’t even think. I could barely remember what I had been trying to do in the first place. RING, RING, RING.
GEORGINA
I stared at the phone. I had no idea what to do. Answer? Don’t answer? RING, RING, RING.
GEORGINA
I let it ring. Ahead of me, across six lanes of traffic, I saw the Abraham Lincoln face on that sign. I understood that. I recognized that. I ran toward it.
Cars began honking and people began screaming at me. I was in the middle of the street. I was shaking. DON’T WALK. DON’T WALK. DON’T WALK. What did I do? Riley’s father? Uncle Pete? Georgina? The roller coaster? The stroke? DON’T WALK. Solid this time. I didn’t. I stood. I kept my eyes on Abraham Lincoln’s face hanging off the streetlamp. DON’T TALK. DON’T WALK. DON’T TALK. I turned my head just in time to see a car coming straight at me. Brakes squealed. STOP STOP STOP. I was trapped in between lanes, in between cars. RING, RING, RING. “Move!” “Idiot!” “You trying to get killed?” Somebody was running toward me, between the cars, hands thrown up and wide—stopping traffic. “Get out of the way!” I couldn’t remember how I got where I was. I was too scared to go back. BEEEEEP. BEEEEEEP. BEEEEEEEPP. The angry driver in the closest car gave up and drove around me. Another followed. A car door opened. Someone was yelling. WAIT, WAIT, WAIT. There was no place for me to go. Too many cars. Then somebody was next to me, holding my ha
nd. Someone I didn’t know. “Honey, are you okay?” The sign turned. WALK. WALK. WALK. I didn’t walk. I couldn’t walk. My whole body—and my brain—shook, and I just couldn’t find my brain or my words or my feet. Oh no. Riley. This is you. This is what I did to you. Words and sounds and people and thoughts and feelings and memories shattered, cracked, and spilled everywhere around you—all unreachable. My knees buckled. RING, RING, RING.
“Come on. Come on, sweetheart.” A girl was grabbing at my arms, lifting me, almost carrying me. “Out of the street. It’s okay. You’re okay.” She walked me back to the sidewalk. I leaned into her the entire way. I said nothing. Thought nothing. The horns stopped. I finally felt my feet in my shoes again. RING, RING, RING. I felt the phone in my hand. “Are you lost? Are you by yourself? Where are your parents?” RING, RING, RING.
I gestured toward the hospital. The girl walked me to the front entrance and sat me down on a bench. She looked about eighteen or nineteen years old. She had super-short blond hair, lightning bolt-earrings, and her Doctor Who T-shirt was tied in a knot. “Can I call someone for you?” RING, RING, RING. I finally pressed the ignore button.
“Nobody, thanks. I’m okay.” I was still shaking, but my head was beginning to clear. “Really, I’m okay. I just got . . . confused.” She didn’t look convinced. “I thought I could make it across the street and I just got scared. Thank you. Thank you for helping me.” One of Riley’s nurses walked past and waved at me. “Hi, Nora!”
“You sure you’re okay? I can walk you inside if you want.”
“I’m okay. You’re very nice. Thank you.” I shoved my hands under my legs to calm them down. It helped to feel my own body. The girl stood up. “You sure now?”
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