by L. R. Olson
“Hope, did something happen in Norway?” She rests her hand on mine. “You know you can tell me, you can tell me anything.”
“I know, Mom.” I smile, but it feels forced and brittle and she notices. “But nothing happened. It was great.”
Her lips pinch together. She doesn’t believe me. “Your cousin Heidi told your aunt Clare that you met someone…”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the windows. Thanks, Heidi. “It was nothing. A fling. I can have those, right?”
She hesitates, either put off by my tone or the idea of her daughter discussing flings. Even though she’s an artist and a feminist, she’s rather subdued when it comes to talking about sex. It’s the Midwesterner in her. “Well, yeah, but if one of those people in the fling develops feelings…”
“He’s a nice guy,” I snap, praying to god this conversation will end. “But I knew him for three weeks. It’s not like we’re in love.”
Despite Gabby’s happy chatter, I’ve sort of ruined her visit by taking her to see Zach. We went to the beach-side restaurant to eat lunch, but our conversation was tense, uneasy. She was afraid of saying something wrong, I just didn’t want to talk. Right before she left, she gave me some parting advice, like so many do.
“You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be in love.”
Maybe I do. But Christian didn’t deserve to have his heart broken. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for that.
“I thought…I thought this trip would make you happy.” She plays with the strap of her faux leather purse, because my mom never uses real leather. “I thought it was what you needed to help you…”
Time to do damage control. I thought she would eventually give up on me, but obviously she isn’t. “Mom, it did. Okay? I just…I wish it could have been longer.”
She shakes her head. “Then why did you come home early? Is it…the cancer? Have you been feeling worse? You look so much better. You’ve gained weight, you’ve got color.”
“Mom,” I interrupt. “It’s not the cancer.”
She looks hurt again. “Then what?”
I don’t want to get into this conversation. Not here, when the doctor can walk in at any moment. Yet, she won’t let up. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a little part of me that wants to explain, to lay the burden at her feet. I clasp my hands together and stare at my lap. “I just…I realized what I’m going to miss.”
Silence settles in the office. I peek up at my mom through my lashes. A variety of emotions sweep across her face all at once. Understanding. Sadness. Pity. At least now she gets it. At least now maybe she’ll leave me alone, let me mourn in peace.
“Oh Hope. I’m so sorry.”
Tears sting my eyes. I can’t stop them. It’s like a dam has burst open. One by one, they fall, trailing down my cheeks. All the tears I’ve pushed down, ignored. “It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair!”
She shakes her head. “It’s not.”
The door opens.
I swipe angrily at my cheeks as the doctor moves quickly across his plush office. He’s got a folder in his hands. My numbers, and from the frown on his face, they aren’t good. My chest feels tight. My hands grip the arms of my chair.
“Great,” he says. “You’re here.”
He finally manages to look at us. First his gaze on me, then my mom, and then back to me. He’s noticed my splotchy face, my wet lashes. He looks uneasy. He’s one of the best in his field, but he sure as hell isn’t very comforting. I know that bird feeder that’s outside his window was put there by some nurse, hoping to make up for the doctor’s cold personality.
He settles in the leather chair behind his desk. “Did I interrupt something?”
My mom forces a smile. “No, no, it’s fine.”
Mom starts telling him about my trip, even though we already talked about it during the last visit when I had my numbers checked three weeks ago. She’s giving me time to compose myself. I zone out, staring at the bird feeder and watching a house finch as it eats. The doctor is going to tell me I’m dying. I know it. I know it, yet instead of focusing on my lack of health, my mind goes back to Christian. Always Christian.
I spent over three weeks with him. I thought the memories would suffice, that they would offer me comfort at a time like this, but I was wrong. So very wrong. They only make me feel worse. I hurt him. Badly. And I realize I never should have hooked up with him at all. But I wanted him so desperately. Wanted to be normal. Wanted to forget. And yes, I realize, I wanted to be in love. I was completely selfish.
“It’s good to see you.” He picks up a pen, tapping it against the desktop, his movements jerky and quick, as if he’s got adrenaline pumping through him and can’t sit still. “You look well.”
I’ve gained weight. At least five pounds, maybe more. I nod, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the way he’s staring. He knows something. I can see it in his eyes. God, I hate surprises. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He clasps his hands together and rests them on his desk. “How are you feeling?”
I smile even though it feels like my face is going to crack. Something is wrong. I can tell. Gabby leaves in two days. I don’t want her to go. I want to cling to her, my one reminder of Scandinavia, of life. Once she’s gone, my link to Europe, my link to Christian…is too. Once she’s gone, I only have my health, or lack of, to focus on. “Great. Good.”
My mom looks dubious, as if she’s about to tell him the truth. I give her a pointed look. I swear, if she tells Dr. Robbins about my love life, I’ll never forgive her. He doesn’t need to know about my emotional issues. And frankly, I doubt he cares.
“Well.” He leans forward and opens a folder. “Something truly interesting has come up.”
“A new trial?” my mom asks hopefully.
My irritation grows. I’m super close to my breaking point. I don’t want a new trial, I just want to leave. I don’t want to be here. My chest is growing tight again. I grip the arms of the chair so hard I think they might break. Damn it all, I haven’t had an attack since returning home. I breathe in slowly through my nose, focusing on the bird feeder.
“No. Not a new trial, but…” He hesitates, his brows snapped together as if confused. With a short laugh, he leans back in his chair. “Your numbers in Norway came back great.”
I frown. Now I’m the one confused.
“What do you mean?” Mom asks.
“Your numbers were strong.” He reaches for the folder, takes out a piece of paper and hands it to my mom. “Which is why I’ve had you come in a couple times the last month to draw blood, and do some scans. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t a mistake. But…there wasn’t. The numbers from Norway match the numbers here. In fact, they’re even better now.”
I don’t really understand what he’s saying. Everything has gone blank. The world around me seems fuzzy. Unstable. Off balance. “I don’t…what do you mean?”
“I mean…” He smiles as he leans back in his chair again. “I don’t know how, or why, but Hope, your numbers are improving. You’re getting better. Your scans are clean.”
“The trial worked?” my mom whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart.
“It seems so. Of course we’ll continue…”
I stumble to my feet. The room spins. My mom stands and slides her arm around my waist. She’s saying something, but I can’t seem to understand. She looks worried, but thrilled at the same time. She’s happy. I should be happy…shouldn’t I?
“Are you okay?” The doctor’s face wavers in and out of focus. I want to respond, but can’t seem to move my lips. They’ve grown cold, numb. He grabs his desk phone. “Bring a wheel chair into my office ASAP.”
My chest feels tight. I can’t breathe. Mom is rubbing my back, murmuring words of comfort, but I hardly feel her touch, hear her words.
I’m getting better. My cells are responding. I’m better.
No. It can’t be. It’s not possible.
The floor shifts. The room
spins and I’m falling…falling.
Chapter 17
Accept that I’m going to die
Accept that I’m going to live
Funerals suck.
There’s nothing more I despise than hovering over a casket with a shell of a body laying prone inside. I hate them so much, I would have skipped my own father’s if I’d been allowed. It’s not that I’m heartless, it’s that I don’t want to remember the person in a casket, as a weird, pale reflection of who they had been.
But society says we have to go to pay our respects. If we don’t, we’re horrible people. And so I’m there in the same black dress I wore when I was with Christian those months ago at the concert in Bergen, where he played the piano for me. But this time it isn’t to celebrate but to mourn.
Almost three months. It’s been almost three months since I left Christian. Two weeks since I found out my cancer was going into remission. One week since Zach died. I count the weeks like a new mother counts her baby’s days.
And even though Scandinavia should feel like a fantasy, it feels more real than anything else. The remission, Zach’s death, this world…it feels like the hazy, muted reality of a dream.
I glance at my phone, opening my texts. Jessica wrote just two days ago: I hope you’re doing okay.
Did Gabby talk to her? Did she tell her about the remission? How badly I want to have a conversation with Jessica, ask her about her boyfriend, beg her for information on Christian. Did he change his major? Have things with his father improved? Is he dating anyone? But how can I? How can I admit I’m in remission, probably going to live, when her boyfriend is dying? How can I ask about Christian when I betrayed him, left him heartbroken?
Beth steps closer to me, sliding her hand into mine. It’s comforting to feel the heat and energy of her body. I give her fingers a gentle squeeze. My sister is trying to help cheer me up; always chatty, always asking me to take her to the movies, get me out of the house. But she’s young. She doesn’t understand.
I miss Gabby. She went back home to New York to see her dad, and I wish with all my heart I could have gone with her. To get lost in a city where no one knows me or my life story. A redo, since Scandinavia turned to shit.
“Zach lived life to the fullest,” the pastor says.
Will they say the same at my funeral? I release a soft snort. More like, that Hope….she really knew when to quit.
“He saw the positive in everything.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Did he? Zach was a typical teenager. He could be grumpy, selfish, and arrogant. He never saw the positive in anything. He loved to argue. Was always pessimistic. It was part of his charm. This idiot doesn’t know Zach at all. But his parents are drowning in grief, huddled together near the casket as if they’re thinking about jumping in the grave with him, and too overwhelmed to notice the pastor’s lies.
“He loved his family, and his society.”
No, he didn’t. He hated society. Mocked it every chance he got. I wish someone would butt in and tell the truth. I wish we could share our memories of him, real memories, and laugh as he would want us to. But no one is speaking up. Not his cousins. Not his aunts or uncles. And suddenly I’m pissed at the entire play. My hands fist in my lap. Fury races through me, burning in my veins. It’s sunny, and hot and I feel almost dizzy.
Why isn’t anyone speaking up? Why aren’t they saying that he was a recluse who loved books more than people? Why aren’t they talking about how when he was six his parents had to force him to trick or treat because he thought it was a silly waste of time? Why is no one talking about how he even hated pizza? I mean, who hates pizza? But that was Zach, and all of his awesome weirdness.
As the pastor’s false speech ends, I can’t sit here any longer. As people mill about, offering comfort with practiced words, I scoot around my mom and sister, and scurry down the make shift aisle. They’ll all eventually move on with their lives, leaving Zach’s parents behind at the grave, I just do it quicker than the others. I don’t pause until I reach the large elm where I hide like a baby behind its thick trunk. It’s only once I’m hidden away that the tightness in my chest eases.
A graceful, white egret is walking slowly amongst the headstones, like the ghost of a loved one haunting the cemetery.
“Zach,” I whisper. “Where are you?”
The warm wind rattles the leaves. I can still hear the soft murmur of the pastor as he tries to comfort Zach’s parents. Somewhere in the distance a car honks. Zach is gone, but I’m still here. His parents are still here. That damn egret is still here. I sink against the rough bark of the tree. Why do I feel so guilty? Why do I get to live but he doesn’t?
“Hey.” Beth pauses next to me. “Tell me what’s wrong, Hope.”
The world around me comes harshly back into focus. I can’t burden my sister. I won’t. She only just turned fifteen. She doesn’t need to deal with this shit. Zach is dead. But life goes on. I will have to go on too, somehow. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong.”
“Hope, please.”
I look at her. Truly look at her. She seems older, in some way, as if she’s aged. Her full, baby face has slimmed down in the last few months. Her pretty hazel eyes have taken on a world-weary look because she knows now. She knows how shitty life can be. But there’s also innocence still, lingering along the fine edges. Do I want to destroy the last of her innocence?
I think about how I hated when my mom would treat me like a fragile doll, who couldn’t handle the facts. I don’t want to treat Beth that way.
“Hope?”
I sigh. “Fine. You want to know the truth?”
She nods solemnly. “Yes.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…I’ve ruined everything.” My throat grows thick. Tears burn my eyes. I hate myself for them. Hate that I can’t control my emotions. Angrily, I swipe at my cheeks. Christian tore down my emotional wall, and I’m not sure how to protect myself anymore. “I have nothing.”
“Nothing?” She hesitates, stunned. And this is why I’ve kept my mouth shut. “How can you say that?”
I know what she’s thinking. I just found out I’m going to live. I should be kissing puppies. I should be dancing in the rain. Embracing life. So why do I feel so depressed? Why am I not praising the heavens?
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
“I barely graduated high school. I can’t get into college. I gave up on life long ago because I thought life had given up on me. And now…now the bitch is back? Seriously? And I have to pick up the shitty pieces?” I look up at the sky. “Well, fuck you!”
She reaches out tentatively, as if she’s afraid I’m going to go over the edge. “But you’re one of the smartest people I know. You’ll find a way to go to college. And with grandma’s insurance money, you won’t have to worry about tuition for a couple years, at least.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is if you’ve taken advanced classes, if you’ve volunteered places, how many connections you have, if you did great on your SATs. I haven’t even taken them!”
“But none of that is your fault.”
I pace angrily in front of her. I know I’m ranting, but since I started, I can’t seem to stop. Every worry I’ve had comes tumbling out. “You think colleges will care that I had cancer? And just because I don’t have cancer doesn’t mean I’m healthy. I can’t even walk a mile without panting. I still get sick way more than most people.”
Her face is flushed, her eyes bright with confusion. She isn’t sure whether to feel pity or anger, and I wish I’d never opened my mouth. “So what are you saying? You’d rather be dead?”
“No!” I cover my face with my hands. “But at least…at least I knew when I was going to die. At least I could prepare. Predict. Now…now I have no idea what will happen. Will I ever be able to support myself? Will the cancer return? What if I mend the pieces back together, and suddenly have a rel
apse? I don’t know if I could take that.”
Spent, I slump back against the tree. Hell, she looks like I just slapped her across the face. I know she doesn’t understand. And I know I sound selfish. I feel like I’ve disappointed her in a way. Like I’m no longer the person she looks up to. Strong, saintly Hope who accepted her death so peacefully.
“I’ll always be here for you, Hope. So will Mom.”
I know they will, but to what extent? Beth will grow up, move away, have her own life, as she should. As my mom should. They can’t look out for me forever.
Zach’s funeral is dispersing. People are headed to their cars. Now the real hardship begins, and it’s his parents who will have to go on day, after day while everyone else goes about their lives.
“For years now I’ve known what my future would be. I was prepared. I knew what would happen. And now…”
“Now, you’re just like everyone else. Wondering?”
I nod. Maybe she does get it. Mom is talking to Mrs. Jackson. They hug. Bonded together by grief and death. I haven’t told Mrs. Jackson yet that my tests came back clean. I can’t. I feel too damn guilty, even though I know she’ll only be thrilled for me.
Beth sighs. “Heidi and I were talking about your Scandinavian Hottie.”
My annoyance flares. “You shouldn’t have.”
Her hands fist at her sides. She’s annoyed now. Good. I’d rather she be angry than see the pity in her gaze. “We did because I demanded to know what was wrong. You broke it off on purpose, to save him. Just like you did with Matt.”
I admit I’m surprised by her astuteness. Okay, maybe Beth does really get it. In fact, she knows more than I give her credit for. She’s not a child any longer. “Maybe.”
“Or maybe it was to save yourself from heartache.”
“Maybe,” I whisper, my chest growing tight.
“You love him.” Her words make my heart leap. Am I that obvious or is she just that much of a romantic? She takes my hand, playing with my fingers like she used to when she was a toddler. “You thought you were saving him, but now… now…”