Jory felt the darkness of the night closing in on her. She was afraid. Afraid because she could do no more to change the course of Melissa’s life than she could to change the course of the tide. “You will tell me when you decide, won’t you? No matter what you decide?”
Melissa hooked her arm through Jory’s. “You know I will. You’re my best friend.”
Jory felt a lump wedged in her throat. “Come back to the party with me and I’ll roast you a marsh-mallow.”
“You’re on.”
They walked together slowly toward the party and the bonfire’s flaming fingers. As they walked the water washed their footprints away leaving no trace of their existence on the shell-strewn beach.
“Your father’s furious, Jory. How do you think we felt when the police showed up at two A.M. to tell us that they’d busted a bunch of minors for drinking on our beach property?”
Jory faced her mother in the luxurious living room of their house, too weary to do much more than shift from foot to foot. “For the tenth time, Mother, I left at midnight to take Melissa home and I didn’t go back to the party. I just came on home.”
“But it was your responsibility and your friends.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. We allowed you to throw that party, but we’d never condone drinking by minors.”
Jory knew she should have hung around and supervised the party, but after hearing Melissa’s latest news, neither of them had been in the mood for it. “Look, I’ll go back today and make sure the property is cleaned up. I never meant for things to get out of hand.”
“It’s going to be a long time before we allow you to have another party, Jory, so don’t ask.” Mrs. Delaney glared and tapped her nails on the marble mantle of the fireplace.
Jory sighed, impatient to escape her mother’s foul temper. She didn’t know what else to say. She couldn’t tell her about Melissa’s problems because her friend had asked Jory to keep it secret until she decided what she wanted to do about the transplant. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a long time before I want to throw another party. Can I go now?”
“Not yet. I want to discuss your schedule for the upcoming holiday season.”
“What schedule?”
“The party agenda and where we’ll be expected to attend.”
Jory groaned. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you do. There’s a dinner dance at the University Club that highly placed educators from all over the state will be attending. I told Beverly Hotchkiss that her son Steve could escort you.”
Jory rolled her eyes, remembering Steve as conceited and mouthy with roaming hands. “Not him,” she groaned.
“Beverly’s husband chairs the state committee on education and is very influential. For a girl who may need all the influence she can gather simply to get into college, this particular party is a must.”
“Kids get into college on their grades and test scores, Mother, not on who they know.”
“Don’t you bet on it,” Mrs. Delaney said. “Besides I think your father has his sights set on your attending the University of Miami, his alma mater.”
Jory’s mouth dropped open. Her parents had already decided her future! “Since when? Cripes, I haven’t even made up my mind about going to college yet. That’s not fair!”
“We’re only trying to do what’s best for you, Jory. If you do decide to go to college, at least this way you’ll have your foot in the door. Your father’s already begun your paperwork.”
“How dare you and Daddy do this without my permission!”
“Why can’t you see that we are not your enemies, Jory? We only want what’s best for you.”
Jory felt that the world was crumbling. Melissa was facing a risky cure, Jory was expected to date boys she disliked and go to parties she didn’t want to attend, and her parents were negotiating her life like a real estate deal. “You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do,” she said stubbornly. “And I still haven’t made up my mind about college, much less where I want to go. So stop it!”
“Well make it up,” Mrs. Delaney said, her tone angry. “Decide something by January, because that’s all the time I’m going to give you to start being sensible about the rest of your life.”
Chapter Seven
On Monday, the school was buzzing about Jory’s party and the raid by the police. Without meaning to, she’d achieved minor celebrity status at Lincoln. “What did they do to you?” she asked a group of guys at lunch.
Billy Warren lowered his dark glasses and grinned. “Not half of what my dad did to me. I’m on probation until 1999.”
“Glad you can make light of it, Warren,” another boy said. “I got my car taken away and I’m walking to school for the rest of the semester.”
Jory propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her palms. “Sorry it got out of hand.”
Billy shrugged. “It was still a cool party, Jory, so don’t sweat it. The cops have us going before a judge next month and we’ll probably all be assigned some sort of community service.”
“I guess it could be worse,” she told him. “Maybe it won’t go on your record.” After the guys left, she found herself sitting alone with Lyle Vargas. “You get busted too?”
“No. I left before the action started.”
“Smart move.”
“Why’d you and Melissa leave so early?”
She was surprised that he’d noticed when she’d taken off. “Melissa was tired and she wanted to leave.” It was a half-truth, but the whole truth wasn’t any of his business.
“Are you her keeper?”
Jory sat up and stared him straight in the eyes. “What’s that crack supposed to mean? No, I’m not her keeper, but she’s my friend and she’s sick and I brought her to the party. When she wanted to go, I took her home. That’s all.”
Lyle’s expression was serious. “When we were on the Brain Bowl team together, I saw how much determination she had and I admired it. I feel sorry for her too.”
“I don’t feel sorry for her.” Jory bristled. “I respect her. She knows what she wants and she goes after it. She’s a National Merit semifinalist,” she added pointedly.
Lyle grinned sheepishly. “So am I.”
He caught Jory completely off guard and she felt herself blush. “Congratulations,” she said. Then a thought occurred to her. Lyle was brilliant. Would he be capable of taking away a scholarship from Melissa? “Are you applying for a scholarship?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’d like to go to medical school. How about you?”
Jory suddenly felt nervous. She’d never considered that someone else from Lincoln might get the award. She decided not to say anything to Melissa, since her friend had so much else on her mind, but she would keep tabs on Lyle. He wasn’t bad-looking, Jory thought. A bit serious, but tall and lean with an angular face and intense amber eyes. He was no Michael, but he was handsome in his own way. “I haven’t decided where I’ll go,” she said. “Maybe the University of Miami.”
“It’s a good school.”
“It’s close to the beach.”
“I haven’t decided where I’ll go either. A lot depends on getting a scholarship. Even if I don’t get the National Merit, I need to get some sort of scholarship, and since I want to be a doctor, I need to do pretty well wherever I end up going.”
She shrugged, feeling irritated. Did everybody in the world know what he wanted from life except her? “It takes years and years to become a doctor,” she said. “I couldn’t stand all that studying. That’s the problem with college—you have to study. Maybe I’ll just go for the frat parties.”
“You can have anything you go after,” Lyle said, his eyes holding hers.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll keep it in mind.” She shifted, feeling self-conscious. “I’ve got to scoot. If I cut one more English class, I’ll flunk this six-week grading period.”
Lyle scrambled up when she stood. “Maybe we can t
alk again, Jory.”
“Sure, Lyle. Sometime.” Jory hurried off to class without a backward glance.
Jory had a fling with Doug Swanson during football playoffs, which kept the next few weekends tied up, but by Thanksgiving, the infatuation had run its course. On Thanksgiving Day, she ate a quick and boring meal with her parents at a restaurant, then went to Melissa’s to watch the college games.
Sunk in a comfy beanbag chair, Jory was profoundly aware of Michael stretched out on the sofa near her. He seemed to have returned to his solitary ways and Jory was secretly glad that his relationship with Beth had broken off.
“Popcorn?” Melissa asked, passing Jory an oversized bowl of buttered white kernels.
“I can’t eat one more thing.”
“Not even chocolate chip cookies? Mom’s got a batch in the oven.”
“On Thanksgiving Day?”
“She bakes when she’s agitated,” Melissa said, but offered no other explanation.
“Chocolate chip cookies? Well … maybe I could force one down.”
Melissa rose from a matching beanbag. “I thought so. I’ll be back in a flash.”
Alone in the room with Michael, Jory attempted to concentrate on the game, but it was a losing battle.
“What do you think she’ll do?” Michael’s abrupt question startled her.
“Do about what?” Jory sat up and faced him.
“About the bone marrow transplant. I know she’s told you about it.”
Jory nodded. “But she hasn’t made up her mind yet.”
“You’d tell me if she had, wouldn’t you? I know she tells you everything.”
“Yes, I would,” Jory said.
“I mean, it involves me too. It’s my bone marrow.”
“I think it’s a great thing you’d be doing.”
“I’d give her my right arm if I thought it would make her well.”
Jory heard his anguish and longed to comfort him. If only she had the nerve to put her arms around him. “I know what you mean,” she said.
Michael snapped, “How could you? She’s just your friend. She’s my sister. Why are you so helpful to Melissa, anyway? What’s in it for Jory?”
His sudden animosity surprised and stung her. “Nothing’s in it for me, Michael. I … I just care. That’s all.”
Michael stood abruptly and paced. “Some people get positive strokes from helping life’s underdogs,” he said accusingly.
Jory’s temper flared. “Is that what you think? That I get some sort of kick out of hanging around Melissa?”
“Look at yourself, Jory. You’ve got money and a rich family and you can have most anything you want. Why Melissa?”
She wanted to shout, “Because she’s like a sister to me. Because your family has been more of a family to me than my own. Because I love you, Michael!” Instead, she said, “Sometimes there’s no explaining why you like some people more than others. It’s just the way things are.”
Michael raked his fingers through his black, disheveled hair and rocked back on his heels. “Forget it, Jory. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. It’s just that I can’t stand this waiting around.”
“Melissa needs time to decide, Michael. It’s not something she can change her mind about halfway through.”
“I know, dammit. It’s all or nothing.” He rotated his shoulders and pressed his eyes closed. “If she tells you first,” he asked hesitantly, “if she says anything to you, let me know. Please.”
Jory almost reached out and touched him, but instead tucked her hand into the pocket of her jeans. “Okay. But I don’t think she will. I think she’ll tell you first. You’re her brother.”
“I’m going for a drive,” Michael said. “Tell Melissa to let Mom know. Tell them not to wait up. I’ll be gone for a long time.”
Jory watched him leave and felt like crying.
Jory and Melissa went Christmas shopping the next day. “Biggest sale day of the year,” Jory said as they plowed through the crowded department store in the mall. “Did you bring your list?”
“Yes, but I can’t stop long enough to fish it out or I’ll get trampled.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure? Come on. There’s a sale rack of sweaters and jeans.”
An hour later, Jory led Melissa to the food area in the center of the mall for a soda. She heaped their packages on a chair and sat next to Melissa. “What a ratrace. Have we gotten through your list yet?”
“I’ve got a blouse for Mom and two tapes for Michael.” Melissa paused. “Remember last year? I was in the hospital and you had to do my shopping for me.”
Jory remembered. Melissa had been receiving chemo and she’d lost her hair and was sick as a dog. Jory had brought everything back to the hospital for Melissa’s approval. “I did a good job, didn’t I?” Jory asked, above the babble of voices around them.
“Michael still wears that cologne you picked out.”
The mention of Michael made Jory recall his hostility toward her and she gave an offhanded shrug. “I had fun choosing it.”
“Wonder what we’ll be doing this time next year.”
“Shopping, of course.”
“Will we?” Melissa withdrew her straw from the cola and let a few drops puddle on the table.
A shiver went up Jory’s spine. Melissa’s mood swings were frustrating. One minute she was involved and happy, the next minute she was distracted and pensive. “We’ve done this post-Thanksgiving ritual for four years,” Jory reminded her.
“Except last year.”
“Ah, come on, Scrooge, where’s your Christmas spirit? We’ll be here shopping again next year. We were born to shop!”
“I might not get home for Thanksgiving, depending on where I go to school.”
“That’s a possibility,” Jory said.
“Then again, if I don’t get a scholarship … ”
They stopped talking because Jory wasn’t convinced they were really discussing Christmas shopping. From speakers, Christmas music played. A small ficus tree stood decorated with white lights and the stores were decorated with bright green plastic wreaths with red bows. Suddenly the mall looked too bright. There were too many people and too much noiser “You want to get out of here?” Jory asked.
Melissa plucked at her straw with her thumbnail. “Would you take me someplace special if I asked you?”
“You know I will. Name it.”
“Don’t freak out on me, all right?”
Puzzled, Jory began to gather up her packages. “Would you like to drive over to the beach? It’s chilly, but at least the sun’s shining.”
“Not the beach.” Melissa caught Jory’s eyes and held them. “I want you to take me to Memorial Gardens. I want to visit Rachael Dove’s grave.”
Chapter Eight
The grounds of the cemetery were beautifully kept, and a gravel road wound through sections of headstones and monuments. A cloudless blue sky stretched overhead and the afternoon sun warded off a chill in the air. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Jory asked, driving slowly in the direction of Rachael’s gravesite.
Melissa glanced up from the map she’d been given at the entrance. “I’m sure. Take a left.”
Jory obeyed, but didn’t like the idea one bit. She’d never met the four-year-old Rachael and knew of her only through Melissa. Yet she did remember how devastated Melissa had been when the child had died the previous spring. Rachael had given Melissa a page from her Cinderella coloring book and it was still pinned to her bedroom bulletin board. “This place is creepy, Melissa.”
“I don’t think so. I think it’s sort of restful.”
“Too restful for me.”
“Stop, Jory,” Melissa directed. “I think it’s over there, by that tree.”
Melissa was out of the car before Jory could turn off the engine. By the time she caught up, her friend had found the bronze marker with Rachael’s name on it. Jory eyed the embossed rose at the bottom. It seemed indecent to see the dates of Rachae
l’s birth and death—too short a time span lay between the two numbers. Other markers stretched row upon row, in both directions. The plots seemed small and crowded together. “You ready to go yet?” Jory licked her lips nervously.
“Not yet.” Melissa stared down for several minutes before she spoke. “I read a poem in English Lit. last month by Gerard Manley Hopkins called ‘Spring and Fall.’ ”
“Could we discuss this someplace else?”
Melissa continued as if she hadn’t heard Jory speak. “It was about a little girl named Margaret who’s crying becuase the leaves die in autumn. I don’t remember it word for word. But the last part goes, ‘Now no matter, child, the name: Sorrow’s springs are the same.… It is the blight man was born for, It is Margaret you mourn for.’ ”
Jory felt goose bumps on her arms. “We’re all born to die. Is that it?”
“So it seems,” Melissa said.
“Are you going to have the transplant?” Jory asked quietly.
Melissa’s eyes were wide and troubled. “I don’t know. I’m scared, Jory. Real scared.”
“I’m scared too.”
“My doctor said he found lymphoblasts in my blood work last time. The chemo isn’t doing the trick for me anymore.”
“The transplant is a chance,” Jory observed.
“They shut me in a sterile room, Jory, with machines and monitors.”
“Can you have visitors?”
“Yes, but everyone who comes in has to dress in those sterile green hospital gowns and wear a mask.”
“I look good in green,” Jory ventured, hoping to break the tension.
Melissa looked around the cemetery. “This might be the only way out of that room for me, Jory.”
Jory swallowed hard. “Maybe not. Maybe you’ll beat the odds.”
“Rachael didn’t.”
“But you’re not Rachael. And she didn’t have a bone marrow transplant.”
Melissa nodded slowly. “That’s true.”
“You can lick this thing, Melissa,” Jory said. “I know you can. Didn’t I predict you’d be a National Merit semifinalist? Didn’t you beat the odds on that?”
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