As Close as Sisters

by Colleen Faulkner

  McKenzie texted me just before four o’clock. I made two wrong turns and had to go around the block once before I arrived at the Perelman Center. There was a circular drive for the pickup and drop-off of patients.

  I spotted McKenzie before she spotted me. She was sitting on a metal bench. She’d worn a blue and green maxi dress, which looked pretty on her, and no scarf. Big earrings. She’d looked nice. Right now, she looked petrified, though. And like she was about to cry.

  I stared straight ahead for a minute, gripping the steering wheel. Trying to get ahold of myself. I knew she shouldn’t have come today. What the hell was the point? Wasn’t positive energy supposed to help you live longer? What kind of positive energy could there be in a place like this? A place of death. To hell with helping science.

  I looked over to see McKenzie walking toward the car. She was carrying a canvas tote bag that seemed too heavy for her. She got in and fastened her seat belt.

  I was glad I was wearing my sunglasses. I didn’t want to upset her more, letting her know I was upset.

  When she got in, the heat and humidity came with her. I waited until she had fastened her seat belt, and then I pulled away from the curb.

  She dug around in her bag and came out with her sunglasses and slid them on. I pulled out when there was a break in traffic. I stole a quick glance in her direction. She was looking straight ahead. Did I ask about the scans and the follow-up appointment with the doctor? Did I comment on how freakin’ hot it was in this city and how I couldn’t wait to get back to the beach? Did I tell her about Charles Willson Peale and how he’d been a saddlemaker before he became a portrait artist?

  “I need to make phone calls,” McKenzie said. “Mia and Maura. Lilly and Janine.” She sounded short of breath, like she did sometimes when we walked back up from the beach in the loose sand. “My mom and dad. My mom is going to lose it.” She pressed both hands to her face, sliding her fingers up under her sunglasses.

  I was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles were white. I shouldn’t have brought McKenzie here today. It should have been Lilly or Janine. Anyone would have been better than me. I’m no good in these kinds of situations. Everyone knew that.

  Obviously the news was bad. But what kind of bad news could you get when you’d already been told you were terminal? Only that you were going to be terminated sooner rather than later, I thought. “It can wait,” I said, trying to sound casual.

  We pulled up to a traffic light, and I looked at McKenzie. She was looking at me. Staring at me.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” she said. Her voice was shaky.

  “Okay.”

  There was a long pause, or what seemed long, before she spoke. “The tumors . . . they’re shrinking.”

  I knew what McKenzie had said. I knew exactly what she had meant, but for a second, I couldn’t react. I didn’t know how.

  She reached out and rested her hand on my thigh. Squeezed it. “Aurora, the medicine. It’s working.” Suddenly there was joy in her voice. “The stuff that made my hair fall out and then made me puke for two months, it’s shrinking the tumors in my lungs.” She went on faster. “It’s not a cure, of course. There is no cure. And we don’t know how long the tumors will continue to shrink or how much they’ll shrink. The drug is just in the testing stage, but—”

  Someone blew her horn behind us. The light had turned green. I sat there for another beat of my heart before I pressed on the accelerator. “Holy shit,” I said.

  She laughed. “Yeah. Holy shit.”

  I looked at her, then back at the road. The traffic was heavy. I needed to get over to make my exit or we’d be headed back into the city. “And . . . they’re sure?”

  “I made them show me the scans.”

  I signaled, checked the mirror, and moved over. “And they were yours?” I asked, still not believing what she was saying. There had been no hope. No hope for months. Every doctor she saw said there was no hope. McKenzie was dying. I had seen it in her eyes.

  She laughed. “I said the same thing.” She turned toward me in her seat. “I’m not out of the woods. Anything could happen. But this month I’m better than I was last month. It’s not my imagination. I thought it was wishful thinking. I really am breathing better. I saw it. The tumors in my lungs are definitely smaller. The doctor showed me with an electronic ruler thingy how they’re measured. She put one scan up next to the other.”

  “Holy shit.”

  She laughed. I could tell she was crying. “You said that already!”

  It was suddenly hot in the car, and I turned up the air-conditioning, full blast. “I can’t believe it. You’re not going to die,” I said.

  She sat back on the seat and laughed. “Not this week.”

  37

  Lilly

  “Stand back, ladies, and see how this is done.” I took an exaggerated practice swing with the mini golf club. We’ve been coming to this pirate-themed miniature golf course for years. Since Mia and Maura were in grade school. There were better, newer places in town, but this was my favorite course; it was our course.

  “Careful, Aurora.” McKenzie backed away from me, hands up in the air. “You better not get too close to her. Lilly’s dangerous with that thing.”

  “Hey! I’m a pretty good golfer. I’ll have you know I’m a ten handicap without this passenger.” I indicated my belly.

  Janine, standing next to the hole in front of a waterfall that was the most bizarre color blue, cracked up and waved for me to putt the ball. “Come on, Lilly. The next group is catching up with us. We’re going to have to wave them through.”

  “Which will make, what? The fifth group?” Aurora waited, arms crossed.

  It was after eleven, way past my bedtime, but somehow McKenzie had convinced us that we needed to play miniature golf. Talk about a new lease on life. I don’t know where she’s finding her energy, but she was still going strong, even after a late dinner at Arena’s. Now she was talking about stopping for frozen yogurt on the way home.

  I eyed the hole in the middle of the strip of green indoor-outdoor carpet, then glanced up to catch McKenzie’s eye. I’m so happy about the news she came home from Philadelphia with that I’m not even upset that she hadn’t told Janine or me about the drug trial, but she had told Aurora. More than two weeks ago. I probably am upset . . . or at least I will be, once the euphoria wears off.

  I understand McKenzie’s explanation as to why she didn’t tell us—because she was afraid to get our hopes up when she’d been told so many times that there was no hope. But that doesn’t let her off the hook. Not completely. And there was going to be hell to pay. Just not tonight.

  I tapped my pink golf ball with the club. It banked left and rolled right into the hole. McKenzie clapped and laughed. “You’re not going to catch up with her, Janine. She’s going to win.”

  “She hasn’t won yet. I’ll beat her on the next hole.” Janine scooped up her ball. “Even if I have to cheat.”

  “Right, like you would ever cheat on anything.” Aurora led the way out of the fake cave, up a ramp toward the hole on the next level. “I couldn’t even get you to give me the answers on an eighth-grade social studies test, so don’t tell me what a lying, cheating badass you are.”

  McKenzie took my golf club from me and looped her arm through mine so we could walk together. “If you’re getting tired, we can wrap it up and head home,” she said.

  “And concede,” Janine threw over her shoulder.

  “I’m fine. I’m good,” I told McKenzie. “And I’m going to beat you fair and square,” I called to Janine. I turned my attention back to McKenzie. “I’m so happy that the new drug is working,” I told her, squeezing her arm.

  She smiled. “Me too.” She laughed. “Obviously.”

  “So how do you feel?” I looked into her eyes. “Is it real yet?”

  “No, not really. One minute I’m giddy, the next, I’m afraid I might wake up. When I went into the restaurant to talk to
the girls, I almost chickened out. I kept thinking, What if the hospital got my scans confused with someone else’s?”

  I laughed. “With another McKenzie Arnold? With the same social security number as yours?”

  “I know.” She laughed with me. “I’m just . . . I’m stunned.” She thought for a moment. “And trying to keep my excitement tempered. There’s still no telling what will happen down the road. I could still die from this. I probably will, eventually.”

  “The heck with tempering. We’re all going to die someday.” I rested my cheek against her arm. “I’m just so glad it’s not going to be any time soon.”

  “Which means”—she let go of me to switch the golf clubs into her other hand and rub my belly—“I’m going to be there when this little girl is born.”

  We walked past a speaker that was playing “Yo Ho, A Pirate’s Life for Me.” Loudly. Janine was already squaring up to take her turn at the next hole.

  Aurora was waiting for us at the top of the ramp. “I say we let Janine win and go for a drink at Irish Eyes.”

  I groaned and took my golf club from McKenzie. “The place will be packed.”

  “Come on. It’s not every night we celebrate our best friend getting a reprieve from the grim reaper.”

  “A reprieve from the grim reaper?” I laughed. I’d laughed so much tonight that my sides hurt. “It’s a good thing you’re an artist and not a writer, Aurora.” I took a practice swing. “Now step aside and watch me finish Janine off.”

  “I’ll give you five bucks if you make a hole in one here,” Aurora dared. “Better yet, I’ll buy you one of those big froufrou drinks you like. With extra umbrellas.”

  I frowned. Janine had a two on the hole. It was a par two. I knew I could make it in one long putt. “Can you not see that I’m pregnant, Aurora?”

  “So I’ll get you a virgin froufrou, and Mack can drink your alcohol.”

  McKenzie laughed, and I saw her meet Aurora’s gaze. We were all so happy, but there was something about the light I saw in Aurora’s eyes that made me think that this somehow meant even more to her than it did to Janine and me. Maybe because of Jude? I couldn’t tell. And tonight wasn’t the night to ask.

  38

  Janine

  I walked out onto the deck. The light was out, but I could see Aurora leaning on the rail at the far end.

  “Is that weed I smell?” I asked.

  “Nope.” I heard her inhale and hold her breath. Then I saw her pinch out a glowing ember between her fingers. She exhaled heavily.

  I leaned on the rail next to the steps. “Okay, boy,” I told Fritz. He ran down into the darkness to do his business. I glanced in Aurora’s direction. “Do I have to remind you I’m a state police officer?”

  I could hear the frown in her voice. “Please. You guys have better things to do than chase down half a joint.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the neighbors’ house. “Besides, if you’re going to arrest me, you have to arrest the Greenes, too.”

  I glanced at the dark house; they were always in bed by nine, and it was almost one. “The Greenes?” I laughed, knowing she was joking. She had to be. “They’re in their seventies.”

  “You’ve never smelled it?” She didn’t sound like she was joking. She sounded like she knew something I didn’t.

  I thought about it for a second. I thought about it so hard that I knew my forehead creased. “I smell . . . the smoker. He’s always smoking meat.”

  “Ever wonder why he smokes so much meat? What smells he’s trying to cover?” Now I could hear her smiling.

  I shook my head. The whole possibility was just too much to think about tonight. There was no way the sweet old Greenes were potheads. He was a retired CPA, for God’s sake. She was the head of some women’s circle at her church. “You’re crazy, Aurora. Certifiable.” I stared out over the grassy dunes. I could hear Fritz under the house, snooping around.

  Aurora climbed up to sit on the rail, swinging her feet over to let them dangle.

  I listened to the sound of the waves. It was so soothing . . . soul soothing. I thought about the last week, how crazy things had gotten. Spinning out of control, but for once, not in a bad way. I was still trying to sift through it all, trying to figure out how McKenzie’s new prognosis would impact me . . . our lives. Thoughts of Chris, Jude, and Aurora’s big revelation kept bubbling up, too.

  I glanced at Aurora, then back out over the dunes. For a couple of days, I’d had the nagging sense that Aurora was watching me when she thought I wouldn’t notice. That she was waiting for me to say something. I had a pretty good idea what it was about. I thought about how to ease into the conversation, but this was Aurora. It was better to just plunge. “You and I haven’t talked about what you told us,” I said. “About killing Buddy because he walked in on you.”

  She was quiet.

  “You know that doesn’t really matter to me, right? It doesn’t change anything between us.” I waited. Fritz came up the steps, crossed the deck, and trotted into the house.

  Still, Aurora was silent.

  I sighed. Sometimes I wondered if Aurora truly believed the things she wanted us to think she believed, or if it was all a game with her to get attention. “You were a kid, Aurora. No one could blame you for saving yourself.” I hesitated, and then went on. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter to me why you did it. You still saved my life.”

  The crash of the waves and the click and whir of the insects in the sea grass below filled the air for a few long moments before she spoke. “I let you believe I was someone I wasn’t,” she said so softly that I had to concentrate to hear her. “You thought I was a hero.”

  I gazed at her; I couldn’t make out her face now lost in shadows, but I could imagine its stoniness. “You were a hero, Aurora. You were my hero. The motivation of a scared fourteen-year-old doesn’t matter. Buddy would have killed me one day. I truly believe that.”

  She didn’t look at me; she just kept staring into the darkness, toward the ocean. “You mean that, don’t you?” Her voice was small, almost like a little girl’s.

  “Of course I mean it. When have you ever heard me say something I didn’t mean, Aurora?”

  She looked at me and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” She lifted a slender shoulder and let it fall. “Just thanks.”

  Silence stretched between us then, and I knew she was done talking about it, at least for tonight. We’d talk about it again, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

  I closed my eyes, suddenly realizing how exhausted I was. “I think I’m going to bed. You coming?”

  “In a few minutes,” she answered.

  “Okay.” I glanced toward the door; I could see Fritz waiting patiently for me. “See you in the morning.”

  “See you in the morning,” Aurora repeated.

  The next morning, Lilly and McKenzie greeted me almost in unison. “Good morning!”

  I walked into the kitchen from the laundry room; the dryer and the washer were both running. I’d decided to take a personal day; it just didn’t seem right to celebrate McKenzie’s good news by spending the day making traffic stops and hauling in teenagers shoplifting at the outlet stores. I wanted to be here. With her and Aurora and Lilly.

  Fritz went right for his water bowl on the floor at the end of the counter.

  “How was your run?” McKenzie was perched on a stool, drinking a cup of tea. She was already dressed for the beach, a pair of shorts over the blue bathing suit we all hated so much.

  “Coffee?” Lilly asked. She was still in her white housecoat, her dark hair up in a samurai topknot.

  “Not yet.” I went to the sink and got a glass of water. “Run was good. A little hot. I should have gone earlier. I guess we all slept in.” I leaned against the sink to drink my water.

  Fritz meandered out of the kitchen.

  “No sign of Aurora?”

  “Still asleep.�
�� Lilly took a mug from the cabinet and set it next to the coffeepot. “Coffee’s ready when you want it. It’s going to be a nice day on the beach. It cooled down overnight. Only expecting a high of eighty-nine today. I thought we could all go down for a while.”

  “Mia and Maura are trying to switch shifts with friends.” McKenzie reached for the local newspaper lying on the counter. “Either to get today or tomorrow off. They want to go to the waterslides. You up for it?”

  As I opened my arms, I heard Fritz bark from the front deck. “Bring it on.”

  “Any chance Chris might like to join us?” Lilly tilted her head to one side.

  “I’m not asking Chris if he wants to go watersliding with a bunch of women.” I drained my glass and set it in the sink.

  “Why not? It’ll be fun.”

  I glanced at Lilly’s belly. “You’re going on the waterslides? With that?”

  She frowned. “Of course not.” She dropped English muffins into the toaster and pressed the lever. “I can sit at the bottom on one of those benches and take videos and hold towels and such. I’ll pack snacks.”

  Fritz barked again.

  “Of course you’re going to bring snacks.” I tugged on my little ponytail that was held up more by bobby pins than the elastic band. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but I was kind of proud of my ponytail. I hadn’t had once since I was fourteen. “Did I tell you I got on the scale at the gym yesterday morning? I’ve put on three pounds since we got here. Thanks to your cooking and snacks, Lillian.”

  McKenzie flipped a page in the newspaper. “I’ve lost another four since my doctor’s appointment last month. I’m down to my college weight. I don’t seem to be having an issue with Lilly’s snacks.”