“Ready to rock and roll?”
“Oh, yeah.”
I try not to giggle as we head out of the hotel, where paparazzi are snapping photos of anyone who is anyone as they come out the door. Actually it’s a sign that hotel staffers are doing a fairly good job with security by keeping the riffraff out of the building. Paige smiles and waves as she gracefully climbs into our waiting car. I try to imitate her.
Do I feel like a celebrity? Maybe a little. Mostly I feel like an imposter, or like I’m riding my sister’s stylish coattails. But as we ride to our destination, a popular hot spot Paige has picked out, I feel unexpectedly appreciative of this excursion as well as this experience. Even if our moment of fame is just that—a moment—I think when it’s all said and done, I will be thankful to have been here.
Chapter
12
Fran doesn’t seem to have any more energy on Sunday than she did last night. “I thought you’d be starting to feel better by now,” I say as I pour her a cup of green tea.
“I thought so too.” She’s sitting on her bed with a pink scarf tied loosely around her head. She’s wrapped in the comforter and shivering, even though the temperature in here feels about the same as outside, in the eighties. I point to her untouched breakfast tray. “You really need to eat something.”
“I know. It’s just … I have no appetite.”
I sit in the chair across from her, literally wringing my hands. “What can I do to help you, Fran?”
“I don’t know.” There’s a waver in her voice and I can tell she’s close to tears. “I guess you were right.”
“I was right?” I frown. “About what?”
“I shouldn’t have come.”
“Oh.” As much as I normally enjoy being right, this makes me feel lousy. “Maybe you’re just having a bad day,” I suggest. “You know how that can go.”
“Maybe … but it’s been a whole week since I’ve had chemo. I shouldn’t be having a bad day.”
“Well, yesterday was tiring.” I sigh loudly. “I’m even a little worn out. It’s a good thing we have today to catch up.”
“Yes.” She nods sadly.
“So maybe if you eat a little breakfast, just your toast and fruit, and if you keep resting … by tomorrow you’ll feel better.”
“Yes.” She makes a stiff smile. “I think you’re right.”
“Paige wants me to go shopping and do the beach thing with her today.”
Fran waves her hand. “You go. Have fun.”
I’m torn. It’s hard to leave her like this when she looks so miserable.
“Go on, Erin. And, if you don’t mind, take one of the camera guys with you to get some footage of you two just having fun. Okay?”
“Okay.” I hold up my iPhone. “Call me if you need me.”
She barely tips her chin in a tired nod.
“And drink your tea.” I point to the cup by her bed. “Call room service for lunch, even if you don’t feel like it.”
“Thank you, Nurse Erin.”
I roll my eyes. “Hey, I just want you to get well.”
“I’m trying.”
But as I return to my room, I’m wondering—is she really trying? I know that’s harsh, and I’d never say it to her, but I want her to get better and I just don’t get it. If she wants to get well and strong, why can’t she at least try to eat some food? Maybe something in her stomach would help with the nausea. At least Fran should get lots of rest today. Hopefully that will do the trick.
“You ready?” Paige calls from the hallway. I grab my things, and we are off … at least until we reach the lobby, where I remember what Fran said about filming. So I tell Paige and reach for my phone, hitting speed dial for JJ’s number.
“Let’s do the beach shots first,” he tells me after I fill him in. “The sun will be perfect now.” We agree to meet there, and I inform Paige that shopping will have to come later.
We head to the dressing room area by the pool, get into our suits, and then go out to the beach, where I see that JJ is already getting set up. Not too thrilled with the idea of being filmed in a bathing suit, I am wearing a bright-yellow sarong, as well as a navy-blue oversized straw hat and matching sunglasses. Naturally, Paige is making fun of my outfit. “You look like an old lady, Erin.”
“Thank you,” I say primly. “Maybe no one will recognize me.”
“At least take off the sarong,” she urges.
“No way.” Even though I insisted on a one-piece suit, which sounded safe, this yellow-and-navy-striped number has french-cut legs that go nearly to my hipbones. And although the V-neck clasps with a silver metal buckle, it seems to be rather low and I suspect cleavage is showing. Then again, I could be exaggerating this whole thing in my mind.
“Is it because you’re not comfortable with your body?” she asks.
“I am perfectly comfortable with my body,” I tell her. “I’m just not perfectly comfortable having the whole world see this much of it.”
She laughs as she adjusts a string on her pink and yellow bikini top. I shake my head; compared to my sister I probably do look like an old lady, but honestly, her bikini is so scanty I almost wonder why she even bothers. Although I’m glad she does. I’ve heard there are some nude beaches in the Bahamas. Hopefully, we won’t be shooting on any of those. If so, I will positively decline!
“The sarong’s okay,” JJ assures me. “The colors are great, and your suit actually makes a nice contrast with Paige’s … uh … outfit.” He suddenly looks embarrassed.
“You mean Paige’s lack of an outfit?”
He chuckles as he lifts his camera.
“Hey, you’d better get used to it,” Paige tells him as she strikes a starlet pose with one hand behind her head. “Tomorrow we’re covering a swimsuit shoot, and you are going to be seeing a lot of skin there.”
It turns out we’re seeing a lot of skin here at the beach today too. After a while, I do feel slightly overdressed in my “granny sarong,” as Paige is calling it. But as long as the camera is running, I’m sticking to my guns.
“You know, Erin, you’re probably not helping one of your favorite causes,” Paige tells me as we’re wading in the waves.
“What favorite cause?”
“You know, the whole body image thing?”
“Huh?”
“Well, if you’re afraid to let America see your body because you’re worried you don’t look like a fashion model, you’re cheating our viewers out of seeing a regular-looking girl who’s comfortable in her own skin.”
I consider this, and as much as I hate to admit it, Paige has a good point. The truth is I am more modest than my sister, but it’s also true that I’m not that comfortable in my skin. Especially now, with so many thin model-type girls roaming around on this beach.
“Fine,” I say as I untie the sarong. “You win.” I turn and face JJ, who is still filming us. “This is for all you girls out there who worry about not looking like a model. I don’t look like one either. We need to just get over it and be thankful that we are the way we are. So there!”
“That was good,” JJ tells me. “Could you do it again, this time with the mic?”
And so, feeling a bit silly, I take the hand mic and do the whole thing again. Only this time my sarong falls into the water and I nearly drop the mic. “Oh, well,” I say to the camera. “I’m sure you get the point. Let’s stop focusing on overly thin girls with breast implants and start remembering that everyone is different. It’s okay to just be yourself.”
Paige is smiling and clapping now. “Bravo!”
I hand the mic back to JJ then pull my soaked sarong out of the water, wring it out, wad it up, and toss it at my sister. Before she can get me back I turn and run into the water, continuing until I’m waist deep and can dive right into the next wave. The water feels cool at first, but I quickly get used to it and swim out a ways, which I know will thoroughly aggravate Paige, because ever since she got tumbled by a wave as a child, she’s sca
red to death of swimming in the surf.
When I come back, Paige is settled on one of the hotel lounge chairs, holding a green drink that’s complete with a little orange umbrella.
“I’ll assume that’s a virgin something,” I say as I sit down on the lounge chair beside her.
She simply nods then flips a page of her French fashion magazine.
I towel my hair and lean back to soak up some sun, enjoying the moment. Then my phone rings.
“Oh, yeah,” Paige says, “it rang a couple of times.”
I scramble, digging in my beach bag until I untangle my phone from a scarf, then look to see it’s Fran. “Hi, Fran,” I say cheerfully. “What’s up?”
“Can you come back?” she asks in a hoarse voice.
“Sure.”
She hangs up quickly, and I pretend to still be talking to her. Dumb, I know, but I want to avoid Paige’s suspicion. “Sure, Fran, I can help with that. Paige and I just shot some beach stuff with JJ.” I pause like I’m listening. “Yeah, I’ll head on up there now.”
“What’s going on with Fran?” Paige tips up her sunglasses to peer curiously at me.
“She just wants me to go over some things for the show with her. Remember how I’ve been interning with her?”
“Oh.” Paige nods. “I’ll head up in about twenty minutes. I’m going to shower and change, and then we can go shopping and get a late lunch. Okay?”
“Sounds great.” I gather my stuff, shove my feet into my sandals, and casually walk toward the hotel, but as soon as I’m out of Paige’s sight, I begin to run. For some reason I have a feeling that Fran is really sick. Like maybe she needs to go to the hospital.
I knock on her door, and when she doesn’t answer I let myself into my room and use the adjoining door. “Fran?” I call when I see that she’s not in her bed, or even in the room.
“In here,” she answers in a weak voice.
I go into the bathroom to see her lying on the white marble floor. Blood is splattered everywhere. “Fran!” I cry as I get on my knees next to her. “What happened? Did you cut yourself?”
“I was vomiting … and I didn’t make it to the toilet … and then I fell down.”
“But this blood—” I stop myself when I see a drop of blood trickle down the side of her mouth. “Were you vomiting blood?”
She nods with tears in her eyes. “It’s normal, Erin. Just ulcerated bleeding … from all the meds … if you could get some Pepto-Bismol … I think it would help.”
“First let’s get you cleaned up,” I say as I help her to her feet then get her to sit on the lid of the toilet. I carefully remove her blood-splattered T-shirt, putting a bathrobe around her shoulders while I find a set of sweats I’d unpacked yesterday. Then I help her to get dressed and walk back to bed. “I’ll put a wastebasket by your bed just in case you need to throw up again. No more running to the bathroom. Okay?”
She nods and leans back into her pillow. “Thank you.”
I study her closely. “About the blood, Fran, maybe I should call a doctor and — ”
“It’s happened before,” she says quietly but firmly. “This too will pass … “ She sighs and closes her eyes. “Just need time. And Pepto-Bismol.”
“I’m going to run down to the hotel shop.” I pause at the door, picking up the little hanging sign. “Maybe I should put this do not disturb sign on your door in case the maids try to come in.”
“Yes. I don’t want them to see that … bathroom.”
“Right.” I suspect this means I’ll get to clean it up. As I’m going down the elevator, I can feel my adrenaline pumping. This thing with Fran is so stressful. When I saw her all bloody like that, I was sure she was dying. Maybe she is dying. Can I really trust her—that this is normal? How would I even know?
Fortunately, the gift store in the hotel has Pepto-Bismol. I also get some Tums and a couple of cartons of yogurt too. As I’m taking these to the elevator, I run into Paige coming in from the beach.
“What’s in the bag?” she asks as we ride up.
“Something for Fran,” I admit. “She’s got a stomachache.”
“Too bad.” Then she steps away from me with wide eyes. “I hope it’s not catching.”
“Me too. Just in case, you’d better keep your distance from her today.” What we’ll all do tomorrow is a mystery.
“Tell her to get well,” Paige says as we part ways.
If only it were that simple, I think as I go through my room and into Fran’s. “Paige said to get well,” I announce a bit glibly as I close the door.
“What?” Fran looks alarmed. “Did you tell her?”
“She thinks you have the flu.”
“Oh.”
After a dose of Pepto-Bismol, I get Fran to eat some yogurt. Then I offer to go over tomorrow’s plan with her. I’m surprised at how intricate it is; she almost has every minute scheduled. And the detailed schedule continues throughout the week: the various fashion shows, the Britain’s Got Style show, and so on. It’s all laid out like a well-formulated battle plan, and I can tell that if we don’t stick to it, there will be problems. “We have quite a week,” I say to her as I close her laptop. “You think you’re going to be able to do this?”
“I don’t know.”
I’m trying to remember how many times she’s said that — I don’t know, I don’t know. If Fran doesn’t know, who does?
“While you were downstairs, I recalled that something like this happened quite a bit the other time.”
“Huh?”
“Vomiting blood,” she says quietly. “My stomach got really irritated before. Then I got better. And your yogurt and Pepto-Bismol seemed to help.” She makes a weak smile. “If you decide to give up TV, you might consider taking up medicine.”
Or housekeeping, I think as I go into the disaster-area bathroom and attempt to clean most of the mess up with tissues. Finally I resort to a wet towel. Using it like a mop, I manage to make the bathroom look somewhat respectable again. I’m just finishing up when I hear my phone ringing. I run to get it and see that it’s Paige.
“You ready to go shopping?”
I glance over to where Fran is resting in bed. She seems okay right now, but who knows what’s next? And what if she needs me and I’m at some store? “I think I should stay with Fran,” I tell Paige.
“Really? Is she that sick?”
“Well, she threw up.”
“Ugh.”
“So, if you don’t mind, maybe you could just head out on your own.” I glance at Fran and see she’s relieved.
“But I really wanted you with me, Erin. It’s no fun to go shopping alone.”
“Take JJ,” I suggest. “In fact, you should take him so he can film you while you explore the island.” Fran nods as if this is a good idea.
“It would be better if you were along too. One girl shopping alone is kind of bleak … and a little pathetic, don’t you think?”
“I have a feeling you can spark it up if you try, Paige.”
“Maybe. But it won’t be fun. Now it’ll feel more like work.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. You know as well as I do, if Fran doesn’t get to feeling better, we’ll have a hard time doing the show this week.”
“You’re right.”
After I hang up, I look at Fran and see that her eyes are closed. Whether she’s actually sleeping or just playing possum is anyone’s guess. I straighten her room a bit, since I doubt that we’ll be getting maid service in here, and go into my room, leaving the door open between us. I fire up my computer and start reading about leukemia.
It’s not the first time I’ve researched this. I like information and I always hope that if you look long and hard enough, you can find the answer to just about anything. Unfortunately, leukemia could be the exception to this rule, because no matter how much I look, there doesn’t seem to be any rock-solid answers. And, of course, there is no certain cure. Sometimes treatment works on the kind of leukemia Fran has, but most
of the time, it doesn’t.
Finally, I decide to call Mom. She’s back from Paris and answers her cell phone from Jon’s place. Her new place, I remember.
“Erin,” she says happily. “How are you, sweetheart?”
I exchange a few pleasantries, inquire about their Paris trip, and then I go into my bathroom, just in case Fran can hear me, close the door, and give her a long update about Fran’s condition.
“Oh, dear, Erin. That sounds serious.”
“That’s what I thought too. I wonder if she should go to a hospital.”
“That’s a good question.”
“My biggest question is, should I tell Helen about this?”
“I wish Fran had told her.”
“Me too.”
“Well, it’s Sunday. I suppose you could call Helen at home.”
“Or I could wait and see if Fran really does get better by tomorrow. She keeps thinking she’s going to turn a corner. I’ve seen her go through chemo treatments before, and she’ll be so wiped out I think she’s going to die, and the next thing I know she’s up and dressed and ready to go.”
“What’s on the docket for tomorrow?” Mom asks. “Is it a very full day?”
I tell her about the swimsuit shoot on the beach and a fashion show we’ll catch in the afternoon. “It’s not jam-packed, but it’s busy. Although I suppose I can try to cover for Fran if she’s dragging. I wish Leah had been able to come with us.”
“Maybe you should call Helen tomorrow and ask her to send Leah,” Mom says. “Tell her Fran is ill and needs some extra assistance. You don’t have to tell Helen everything. Just that you’re a little short-handed. She should understand.”
“You’re right.”
“I’m sorry you got stuck in the middle of that whole mess,” Mom says. “It really doesn’t seem fair. That’s a lot for Fran to put on you.”
“Well, Fran’s got a lot weighing on her too.”
“I know. And you feel free to call me for anything, Erin. Even if it’s just to unload. Okay?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I do feel a little better after I hang up. I think Mom is right. This can probably wait until tomorrow. Helen will be in her office then, and hopefully she can send Leah out on the next plane. In the meantime, I’ll continue to pray. But I’m starting to wonder— where is that miracle I’ve been asking for?
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