by Cat Patrick
“Okay,” he says. I glance at him long enough to watch him thumb his hair out of his eyes and turn the music down to a whisper. Then he shares the story. “Two years ago we were on a weekend trip to Fremont Lakes with our parents. We ate these super-spicy tacos and Audrey got a stomachache. But then she threw up and could barely stand and Mom and Dad freaked out; they thought she might have extreme food poisoning or something.
“Dad rushed her to the hospital, and the doctor looked at her, and it turned out it had nothing to do with tacos. The doctor thought maybe she had a hole in her stomach or intestines or whatever. He wanted to operate immediately to fix it.”
I look at Matt and watch as he flexes his sharp jaw muscles. There are no tears in his dark eyes as he speaks, but there’s pain, pure and simple. I reach over and touch his hand to encourage him to go on. He does.
“When Audrey went into surgery, Mom and I went to the hospital to hang out with my dad, and then, when it was over, the doctor asked my parents to follow him to his office. I sat in the waiting room until they came out. When they did, my mom was crying and couldn’t stop. It was…” His voice catches; he takes a breath and finishes. “My dad told me that they found tumors in Audrey’s stomach and liver.”
“Oh my god,” I say, covering my mouth.
“I know,” he says. “It was insane.”
I’m quiet, so Matt continues.
“Then Audrey was in the hospital for five or six days. The first few she was on a ventilator. It was really weird because when she woke up, she couldn’t remember where she was or how she got there.”
“Sounds like me last night,” I joke, instantly regretting making light of the situation. Matt laughs weakly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Anyway, she kept falling back to sleep, and then she’d wake up confused again. We kept having to tell her the story over and over. Finally it stayed in her brain. The next time she woke up she remembered, and she just cried. It was horrible.”
“I can’t even imagine,” I say, and it feels flimsy.
“Eventually, she was well enough to get out of the hospital. We went home and she saw a bunch of different doctors, who gave her a bunch of different options.” Matt humphs.
“What?” I ask.
“Doctors,” he says flatly. “There’s no right answer. It’s all opinion. And some of their opinions suck.”
I think of the only doctor I know: Mason. He went to medical school, but did his residency in a very different way, as part of a covert team under the umbrella of the FDA. Shaking off thoughts of Mason, I ask about the only way I know to treat cancer: “Chemo?”
“No. I guess it doesn’t work on what she has,” Matt says. “Basically her treatment is giving her some experimental drug, waiting and watching. It’s bullshit.”
It reminds me of the program’s stance on Nora. It feels weak.
“Isn’t there more they can do?” I ask, instantly pissed at Audrey’s doctors. “Surgery or something?”
“I guess her liver has too many little tumors to take out,” Matt says quietly.
“What about a liver transplant?” I offer.
Matt looks at me with a sad smile. “They don’t give healthy livers to cancer patients, Daisy.” I feel childish for suggesting it, and I’m glad when Matt’s eyes turn back to the road.
“How long did they give her?” I ask.
“Three years,” Matt says. “It’s been two and a half. She was okay for a while, but now she keeps having pain. She keeps going back to the hospital.”
“Is that where she is now?” I whisper.
“Not anymore,” Matt says. “But that’s why she didn’t call you back or whatever. After the movie on Friday, she didn’t look so good, so my parents freaked out and took her to the ER. They ran some tests and then sent her home, like usual. But they gave her painkillers, and they knock her out. She’s been sleeping all weekend.”
I look back to the mile markers and watch them zoom past for a while. Somehow the landscape amplifies my feelings of sadness, anger, and helplessness. Again, I think of Revive; again, I’m reminded of its limitations.
When I was seven, Mason gave me a rabbit to make me feel better for falling out of a tree and breaking my arm. I named the rabbit Ginger and took good care of her. She lived in a very clean cage in my bedroom, and I let her out for hours every day to play indoors, and sometimes outside in our fenced backyard. I don’t speak rabbit, but I believe she was happy.
But then Ginger got cancer.
At first, it was a small lump. In the end, her feet barely touched the cage floor because the tumor eating her from the inside out was so huge. She wobbled around like a balloon animal with no legs, which would have been funny if it weren’t so sad. And then she died.
I pleaded with Mason to save her.
“Give her the medicine,” I cried, facedown into my bed so that I couldn’t see the dead rabbit in the cage near the door. Mason sat next to me, patting my back.
“Shh,” he said calmly. “I know you’re upset. I know you loved Ginger. But unfortunately, I can’t do it, Daisy.”
“Why?” I wailed.
“Because it won’t work on her,” he said softly.
“How do you know? Have you ever tried?” I cried. Mason smoothed my messy hair and sighed.
“Daisy, the rabbit had cancer. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes!”
“Well, we’re learning that there are certain limitations to Revive,” Mason said, like he was giving a report to his superiors, not comforting his pseudo daughter.
“What does limitations mean?” I asked, still facedown.
“It means that the medicine only works on certain types of bodies.”
“People bodies?” I asked.
“Yes, and rat bodies, too, but that’s not what I mean,” Mason said. “I mean that it only works on bodies that are healthy before they die. Bodies that die suddenly—not from a disease.”
“What’s a disease?” I asked, rolling over and looking up at Mason. My tears stopped when my inquisitive nature took over. Mason was quiet for a moment, probably trying to decide how to boil it down for a seven-year-old.
“A disease is a really bad sickness that—”
“Like a cold?”
“Shh, let me finish,” Mason said, lightly touching my hand. “It’s like a cold, but a lot worse, and usually it’s not something you can catch from someone else or fix with medicine.”
“Am I going to get a disease?” I asked, sitting up straight. “I don’t want to die again. It hurts!”
“No,” Mason said confidently. “You’re not going to get a disease, and you’re not going to die again. But Daisy, listen to me. Ginger had cancer. That’s a disease. An incurable one, which means it can’t be fixed. Hers is the type of body that cannot be saved with the Revive medicine. Understand?”
I looked at the cage near the door, at the motionless rabbit inside, and said nothing.
“Ginger had a nice life, Daisy. Knowing that should make you feel a little better.”
“It doesn’t,” I said honestly.
Mason gave me a weak smile. “Someday it might,” he said before leaving my room and taking Ginger the dead rabbit with him.
Matt and I stop at a gas station about thirty miles out. Matt pumps and pays, then says he’s going inside for food. From the car, I watch him walk the aisles, scrutinizing the snacks. He holds up a pack of Twizzlers and I shake my head no. He waves some chocolate and I make a face. Finally, he holds up a bag of chips. I give him a thumbs-up and mouth Coke, too, but he doesn’t get what I’m saying, so I text him. He reads it and we make eye contact and laugh, both of us grabbing on to something meaningless like texting about junk food because the meaningful stuff is too huge.
At around five, we pull back onto the highway. Just as I’m opening the chips, my cell rings. Even though he’s not supposed to be finished with Wade for a couple of hours, I know it’s Mason calling to check in. I’m not ready to talk right
now. I don’t want to lie to him about where I am, and if I tell him, he’ll try to make me come back.
“You should tell your parents where you are,” Matt says, reading my mind.
“They’ll find out eventually; I left a note.”
“Yeah, but you should tell them you’re okay. Parents worry.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “Where do your parents think you are right now?”
Matt looks at me, then back at the road. “With you,” he says simply. “They trust me.”
“How nice for you,” I say. I hear Matt laugh a little under his breath. “What, you said, ‘Hey, Mom and Dad, I know Audrey’s sick and all, but I’m taking off to go save drunk Daisy from a stupid situation.’ ”
“Something like that,” Matt says. He’s smiling fully now and, knowing all I do about Audrey and how sad his life is right now, his smile seems precious.
“What exactly did you say to them?” I ask, taking in his profile. The golden sunset illuminates his features and makes everything else hazy. It’s as if I’m seeing him through one of those filter apps that makes your pictures look old-school. I admire his thick black eyelashes and the straight line of his nose. I sit on my left hand to keep from reaching over and touching the scar on his perfect chin.
“I said that you’re from a small town and got lost in a big city,” Matt answers, pulling me out of my imagination. “I said that you were scared and needed help and I was going to go help you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Weren’t they mad that you weren’t staying home to be with Audrey?” I ask.
“They get it,” Matt says seriously. “There’s nothing for me to do but sit and stare at her. That drives her crazy. She told us all to leave her alone.”
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me that she has cancer,” I say. “That’s a pretty huge secret to keep from your friends.” I’m distinctly aware of the irony of what I’m saying.
Matt glances at me again, warmly.
“It’s not like that, Daisy. It’s not like some great gossip she didn’t want to tell you. It’s just that her old friends sort of freaked and stopped hanging out with her when they found out.”
“That’s so bad,” I say.
“I mean, not all at once, but gradually. Everyone was supportive at first. But then she quit track and some of the clubs she was in and stuff, and she stopped partying. People stopped calling. You are Aud’s friend. In fact, I think you might be her only friend,” Matt says.
“She’s my only friend, too,” I say quietly, thinking to myself that since Megan is more of a sister, it’s not a lie. I turn to watch downtown Omaha materialize.
“Hey, what about me?” Matt jokes. “I’m your friend.”
I smile but don’t look at him. “Oh, right,” I tease. “I forgot about you.”
fourteen
It’s been two days since I last saw Audrey, and in that time, she’s aged. Matt and his parents let me see her alone, and when I walk into her bedroom, I have to fight off tears. Audrey’s lying on her back, eyes closed, arms at her sides. Her face looks ghostly, even compared to the white comforter, and I have no clue whether to stay or go. While considering my options, I scan the writing on Audrey’s chalkboard wall. There’s a new addition; a proverb:
Fall seven times, stand up eight.
I smile sadly; the rest of me is a statue. I look at Audrey’s face just before she opens her eyes.
“Hey,” I whisper.
“Why the hell are you whispering?” Audrey says loudly with a jovial laugh from the nest in her bed.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” I say in my regular voice.
“You didn’t,” she says. “I wasn’t asleep. I was meditating.”
“Ah,” I say, nodding and wondering if she’s joking. I shift from one foot to the other. I can’t decide if she’s putting on an act for me right now. I decide to cut to the chase.
“So, thanks for telling me you have cancer.”
Audrey laughs again. Even though she looks weak, her laugh is normal. I step farther into the room and sit down gingerly at her feet.
“Whoops,” she says.
“Whoops?” I ask.
Audrey shrugs. “For not telling you.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand. But don’t worry, I’m not scared of you.”
“Thanks, Daisy,” she says softly.
“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.
“Actually, yeah. I’m feeling a lot better now. The hospital gave me some painkillers and I slept most of yesterday. Good stuff. Of course, even though I’m feeling better, my parents made me promise to stay in bed for another couple of days.”
I nod, not sure what to say next.
“I read your email a little while ago,” Audrey says. “Sorry for not getting back sooner. That sucks about your parents dragging you to Kansas City. Oh, but of course I wasn’t mad at you. How could you think that?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I just…” My voice trails off. “Anyway, I’m back.”
“I’m glad,” Audrey says. “Speaking of which, did my brother pick you up in KC? What’s going on?”
I crawl up and sit next to her, leaning against the headboard like I did earlier with Matt.
“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” I say with a broad smile despite the circumstances.
Audrey sits up and gets comfortable, then looks at me excitedly. “Okay, spill.”
Finally, when I can’t procrastinate any longer, I dial Mason’s number. I have a nervous stomach; this must be what normal kids feel like when they break the rules. I hear him pick up and brace for the worst. But the worst doesn’t come.
“Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.
Surprised, I’m silent.
“Daisy, are you there?”
I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say weakly. I clear it again. “I’m here.”
“Are you all right?” Mason asks again.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I wanted…” My voice trails off.
“You wanted to see your friend,” he answers for me.
“Yes,” I say.
“I understand,” Mason says. Then, softer, “I wish you would have talked to me about it.”
“I know, but you were at Wade’s and I just found out and I felt like I needed to be with Audrey right away.”
“How did you get there?” Mason asks.
“Audrey’s brother, Matt, came and picked me up,” I say, rationalizing that it’s the truth; I’m just altering the timeline.
“Uh-huh,” Mason says, like he’s going to ask more about Matt.
“It’s really upsetting,” I say, bringing it back to Audrey.
“I know, Daisy,” Mason says softly. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Anything?” I ask.
“Within reason,” Mason says hesitantly.
I look around to make sure I’m still alone in the McKeans’ kitchen.
“Revive her,” I whisper. “When it happens, I mean. Bring her back.”
Mason actually laughs into the phone. “You know I can’t do that, Daisy,” he says. “As much as I’d like to, you know that I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. When she dies, you stick the needle into her vein. She’ll come back,” I say, tears threatening to crop up again. “Just like me.”
“She’s not just like you,” Mason says. “When I heard where you’d gone and why, I looked into her medical history. Daisy, her body is broken. Irreparable. I can’t give a two-million-dollar treatment to someone it has no chance of working on.”
“Is this about money?” I hiss.
“Not entirely,” Mason answers in a businesslike manner. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t so honest with me. “Things would be different were she in good health to start, but she’s not. Add on top the hefty price tag, and you’ve got two big strikes against doing it. And she’s not even in the program!”
“Maybe God would
make an exception,” I murmur.
“You know God doesn’t make exceptions,” Mason says quietly. “No one in; no one out.”
“That’s so… wrong,” I protest. “Revive helps people. Shouldn’t it be helping more people?”
“Perhaps,” Mason says thoughtfully. “But regardless of that, as you well know, the drug doesn’t work on cancer patients.”
“But when was the last time that theory was tested?” I ask, trying to keep my volume in check. “The lab is always updating the formula. Maybe the newest version will work. It’s at least worth a—”
“Daisy?”
I stop talking, but don’t answer.
“Daisy, it won’t work,” he says softly. Mason doesn’t have to finish his sentence; I know what he means. I get a sick feeling in my stomach, so I change the subject.
“When are you coming back?” I ask.
“Will you be okay if we stick to our original plan?” Mason asks. “Returning Monday evening?”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Would you like me to ask the McKeans if you could stay at their house tonight? So you’re not all alone?”
“Sure,” I say, with little enthusiasm.
“All right,” Mason says. “I’ll take care of it. But check in with me tomorrow afternoon, okay?”
“I will,” I promise.
“Oh, and Daisy?” Mason says.
“What?” I ask, just wanting to hang up.
“If you ever take off without telling me again, you’re going to be grounded for the rest of your life.”
fifteen
I’m glad, then feel guilty for being glad, when Audrey goes to bed at eight o’clock. I jump in my seat when she abruptly stands and dramatically bids Matt and me farewell, barely one second into the credits for the first movie. After she leaves, we look at each other quizzically from opposite ends of the couch.
“Want to go somewhere?” Matt asks, like he’s been waiting all evening. He’s in jeans; I have on yoga pants.
“This late?” I ask in protest, even though my stomach is flipping at the thought of going somewhere—anywhere—with Matt.