All the Impossible Things

by Lindsay Lackey

  Celine was wrapped in a blanket in her rocking chair in the living room. The sight of her sent relief rushing through Red. She’d been half afraid Celine wasn’t coming home at all. But the initial relief faded as she looked more closely at her foster mother. Celine’s hair was limp and lifeless. Her cheeks were as pale as paper, and she looked thinner, even though it had only been a few days.

  But the worst part was her eyes. The green of them was faded and glassy, and her eyelids were swollen.

  She’d been crying, too.

  Chapter

  37

  Celine’s smile was tired but warm. She squeezed Red’s hand and brought it to her face.

  “I’d hug you, but moving isn’t much fun,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  Red nodded and shrugged at the same time. “Are you?”

  Gandalf came plodding up to Red, pushing her wet nose into her palm. Red scratched Gandalf’s ears, but kept her eyes on Celine.

  “Sit down, sweetie,” Celine said.

  She waited until Red was sitting on the couch, shoes off, feet tucked up under her. Gandalf didn’t join Red, instead sitting next to Celine and leaning her head against her legs. Celine ran the dog’s silky ear through her fingers over and over again.

  She took a breath. “There was something strange about my gallbladder and appendix. The doctors were concerned and wanted to do tests. We didn’t want to worry you, so we didn’t tell you yesterday.” She smiled apologetically. “Honestly, I thought the tests would take longer. But right before they discharged me today, the doctor came in with the results.” Her voice was steady and low, but emotion thrummed beneath the surface.

  “It wasn’t good news.” Jackson was pacing the room. He ran a hand over his face, then looked at his palms like he was checking to see if he was still there.

  “It’s cancer,” Celine said.

  Fear shimmered in the air above Red’s skin. Cancer. She’d seen cancer before. She knew what it did.

  “It’s called—” Celine paused, glancing at Jackson. “Well, it’s a big name. But it’s called PMP for short.”

  “Pseudomyxoma peritonei,” Jackson said.

  Celine reached up and caught his hand as he paced, stopping him. She kissed his palm, then tipped her cheek into it. His hand easily covered her whole face. She looked so small and fragile. He drew a slow breath.

  Gamma, getting thinner every day. Gamma fading like breath on a window.

  Red pressed her fingers into the seam of the couch cushion. “Is it—bad?”

  “It’s cancer,” Celine said, sounding tired. “Cancer is scary no matter what kind it is. But the good news is they caught this one fairly early. The doctor said treatment can be very effective if it’s caught early enough.” Celine was still working one of Gandalf’s ears between her fingers. “I’ve spent the last few hours reading about it online. Which is a really, really bad idea, by the way. Who knew the internet is all bad news and cat videos?”

  Jackson made a sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh and a sob. Celine squeezed his hand again, then looked at Red in that way she had, the way that made Red feel present and important. “Do you want me to tell you more about it right now?”

  Red shook her head. Nodded. Shrugged. Nodded again. An anxious breeze was rippling from her skin, but she barely even noticed.

  The bruises spreading like tea stains over Gamma’s arms. The cold, dry, papery feel of Gamma’s skin.

  “How about you ask me questions when you’re ready. Ask me what you want to know, and I won’t tell you more or less. Not until you want me to. Deal?” Celine said.

  Red tried to think of a question that could bottle up some of the explosion that was cancer. The pages of the magazines on the coffee table rustled. Gandalf sniffed the air, eyeing Red.

  “Will you need chemo?” Red asked.

  She and Gamma playing card games during the first chemo sessions, the ones that made Gamma sick, but didn’t yet scrape her out completely.

  “I’m not sure,” Celine said. “It may depend on the course of treatment we decide on. There are so many questions we need to ask. First, we need to find a doctor who specializes in PMP. I’m meeting with an oncologist this week, so I’ll know more then.”

  Gamma sleeping so deeply she didn’t wake up, even when Red was crying on the bed next to her.

  “What happens with me?”

  The last, long beep of Gamma’s heart monitor.

  “We’ll have to talk to Ms. Anders.” Jackson moved to the second chair and slumped into it. “I don’t know what the procedure is.”

  Celine nodded. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

  Gamma gone. Gamma gone, and no one left for Red when her mother forgot to come home.

  Red began to tremble. Fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. “So I’m leaving?” Then, hotly, “Even though you promised I can stay? I have to leave again?”

  Celine looked surprised. “Oh, Red, no! No, no. That’s not what we’re saying. We’re saying we don’t know what happens next, but you are part of it, whatever it is. You’re family. We’re all in this together.”

  But Red wasn’t listening. She jumped up, and the magazines on the table scuttled back and flapped onto the floor. Her hair was wild against her cheeks. “I want to live with my mom!”

  She wanted to say, At least I know what to do when my mom leaves. She wanted to say, If you leave me, how will I hear the stars? She wanted to say, If you leave me, I’ll be even more alone than when Gamma left me. Tears choked her, cut off the words.

  “Red—”

  “NO!” Red’s voice shattered. Her chest heaved. “I don’t want to be here anymore! You already sent me away once! I hate it here! I want my MOM!”

  And then Celine was crying. Great heaving sobs that made her body shake. She covered her face, apologizing through her fingers in gasps. She wrapped an arm around her middle and groaned, like each sob was ripping her open. Gandalf whined and pawed at her leg, and Jackson rushed to her, kneeling in front of her. He was crying, too.

  Red was embarrassed by the openness of their grief. Embarrassed and angry and afraid. She wanted to go to them, to let them wrap their arms around her and pull her into them. But she also wanted to run away. As far away as she could. Away from tears, from cancer, from every broken, impossible feeling funneling through her.

  She backed up, bumping into the couch, then spun on her heel and fled.

  Chapter

  38

  No one followed her, and Red was glad. She paused by the back door only long enough to stuff her feet into her rubber boots and then stomped into the night. The ground was pale with snow and moonglow, and the yellow light on the front of the barn drew her in like a breath. She pushed open the door and slipped into the silky, warm darkness. Hooves shuffled and one of the horses chuffed in greeting. A chorus of sleepy clucking rose from the chickens, then fell silent again.

  She stood for a long moment in the darkness. Only Tuck’s heat lamp glowed fire orange in his stall near the back. Her fingers fumbled against the wall and clicked on a light switch. Instantly, the barn began to sparkle with silent, twirling stars.

  Cancer.

  Her feet dragged her heavy body forward, past the chickens and the horse stalls. Past Fezzik, who nodded in his customary greeting, and the goats, who blinked at her while Lancelot glared and Merlin looked indifferent. The latch on Tuck’s gate closed with a soft snick behind her as she stepped into his stall. His head swayed in her direction and he shifted toward her.

  She slumped onto the floor, leaning against the wall. The wood was warm from his heat lamp. She picked up a carrot that had fallen out of his food dish. He came close, black eyes glinting like wet stones. Red ran her hand over the dimpled scar.

  “Do you remember it?” she asked Tuck. It was a silly question, though. Of course he remembered. Pain never really went away. It scarred over. It dulled. But its shadow always lingered.

  “I hate it,” she whispered.


  Tuck blinked.

  “I hate it, Tuck. I hate that your family left you alone. I hate that the first people who found you hurt you.” She pressed her palms into her eyes, hiccuping a sob. “I hate it that you finally came here, and Celine and Jackson love you, and then I came along and … and the wind—” The words tore through her chest. She groaned, curling into herself. “My—wind—hurt you—too.”

  The tortoise turned in to her. His bowed, scaly knee knocked into her shins. She shifted her body so he could come closer, and he swung his face toward hers. She sniffled, her breath coming in broken gasps. He lowered his head and nosed her arm.

  “I hate that you were lost,” she whispered, rubbing his neck. The tortoise sighed so deeply, his whole body sagged toward the floor.

  “And now Celine is sick. Bad things keep happening to you, Tuck. Everywhere you go. It isn’t fair.”

  Tuck bobbed his head slowly. His knees and the sharp front edge of his shell pushed against her. She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her nose and eyes. Disco-starlight danced around them, brushing over shell and hair and face and scaly feet.

  “It’s not fair,” she repeated.

  Sometimes, Red’s whole life felt like a heaping serving of not fair. Gamma, her mom, the wind … And now Celine was sick.

  “I was mean to her,” she whispered to Tuck.

  He blinked.

  “I guess that isn’t fair either, is it?” She sighed.

  It wasn’t like Celine got sick on purpose, just to hurt Red. Gamma certainly hadn’t.

  “I hate cancer, too, Ruby girl,” she used to say. “But there’s no sense worrying about fair or not fair. All I can do is try to make this world better while I’m here.”

  Gamma had made things better, no matter how sick she got. Maybe not for the whole world, but for Red. She’d danced broken things into life. She’d shown Red how to believe in the impossible. She’d made Red laugh.

  The ache of missing Gamma that always stayed inside Red’s heart swelled and throbbed. She traced the pattern of Tuck’s shell with her fingers. There wasn’t much in her life she had control over. She couldn’t bring Gamma back or make Celine’s cancer go away.

  But she could apologize.

  It wasn’t a lot, but sometimes an apology made things more bearable.

  “I don’t ever want it to hurt you again,” she said to the tortoise.

  Tuck’s toenails scratched against the floor. She bit her lip and gently rubbed the J-shaped scar above his eye. He looked at her like, It still hurts. Like, Everyone else forgets. Like, I never do.

  “I know,” she said. Leaning forward, she rested her cheek against him. Her tears left polished pathways on his shell. “Me too.”

  Chapter

  39

  When Red came back into the house a while later, Celine was in the guest room on the main floor, propped up by what looked like a hundred plump pillows. Her lank hair was matted in the back, and strands of silvery blond stuck out at the top. But her eyes were clear, like crying had scrubbed out the dullness left behind by sickness and surgery.

  “Where did they go?” Red asked. It had just occurred to her that Nicole, Anthony, and the twins were gone.

  Celine patted the bedspread next to her, inviting Red to sit. “They decided to take the boys to a hotel near the airport since they leave early tomorrow. More space for everyone that way.”

  “Oh.” Red heard the whisper behind Celine’s words. More space from her.

  Celine traced the tortoise-shell creases in Red’s cheek. “You okay?”

  Red bit her lip, nodded.

  A moment later, Jackson came in carrying two steaming mugs. “Hot chocolate and tea,” he announced, handing one to Celine and the other to Red. His eyes, too, looked clearer. “I thought you’d like a little warm-up.”

  She took the mug of cocoa. Jackson fetched his own mug and returned, settling into a chair by the bed. They all blew away the steam from their drinks before saying anything.

  Celine started: “It’s been a rough few days, and I know we’re all tired. But we wanted to talk to you first, Red, before the world takes over tomorrow.”

  Before the world takes over. The words rolled around in her brain and she realized they described her whole life. The world always took over, and nobody ever bothered to talk about things before it did.

  Except for Celine and Jackson.

  “Nicole told us what happened in the barn.” Jackson gazed at the mug hugged between his palms.

  Red set her hot chocolate on the nightstand and slid away from Celine, toward the foot of the bed. She pulled her knees up under her chin. A nervous spinning tickled the insides of her skin, but she kept the wind in, where it couldn’t hurt anybody.

  “We want to hear your side,” Celine said.

  Jackson looked up. Red’s cheeks burned under their steady, quiet gaze. She couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d never believe her. She chewed her lip. Pressed her nails into her wrists.

  Maybe they will. Celine had followed Red’s voice on the wind to find her in the blizzard. Celine had asked the stars to sing. Celine believed in impossible things.

  So maybe she’d believe in Red, too.

  “Red.” Celine reached for her foot, grimacing a little as she leaned forward. “Honey, look at me, please.”

  It took a moment, but Red finally did.

  There was no anger in Celine’s expression. Just the steady gaze of, It’s okay, of, I see you there, of, I am listening. “Please, Red. Help us understand.”

  “It was for the rat.”

  “Rat?”

  Red nodded. “The rake. It was for the rat. Not the boys.”

  She waited for the deep sigh of, She’s lying. But it didn’t come. Sneaking a glance at the Grooves, she saw they were looking at her, not each other. They weren’t having a secret conversation with their eyes, like adults so often did when they thought they already knew the answers to their questions. Instead, they were watching her, waiting, listening for her answers. Something invisible and heavy lifted from her shoulders.

  “There’s—there’s a rat. In the barn. It was huge. It hissed at me. Noah was trying to touch it, and I got … scared. I wanted to make it go away. It’s my fault they fell. I shouldn’t have let them climb.”

  The words tumbled from her like lumps of snow from the branches of a blue spruce, relieving her of their weight. “But I didn’t mean for it to happen. I promise. I wasn’t trying to … hurt them. Nic—Nicole said I was. But I wasn’t. I only wanted to help. Anthony was trying to call … but Jack … crying so loud … I took … to the barn because it was quieter and … warm and … the chickens.”

  She was crying now. Great, heaving sobs that snapped her sentences.

  And Celine was there. Somehow, without Red noticing it happen, Celine had crawled down to the foot of the bed and wrapped her arms around Red’s shoulders. Her nightgown smelled like lavender and minty tea, and the press of her fingers was cool and firm.

  “Okay,” she whispered into Red’s hair. “It’s okay.”

  Red knew she shouldn’t squeeze Celine so tight, but she couldn’t stop herself. She needed her. Needed the crush of Celine’s arms. The heat of Celine’s breath against her ear. She needed the weight and strength and song of her.

  “I’m sorry,” she moaned into the flannel against Celine’s chest. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate it here. I don’t want to leave. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  “I know, honey.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Hush now, my girl. That sorry is big enough, you hear me? It’s plenty big enough.”

  Chapter

  40

  A few days later, as soon as Celine felt well enough, the three of them celebrated Christmas together. Jackson made chicken noodle soup, which was all Celine could stomach. After dinner, they turned out the lights, except for the Christmas tree, and lit some candles. Jackson and Celine took turns reading the Christmas story i
n the Bible. Red had never heard it read like that before, and it was a lot less boring than she expected. It was a story full of impossible things—angels filling the night sky, a star that burned bright to announce the birth of a baby, kings bringing gifts to a child.

  They sang songs, too. Hymns that were familiar, like “Silent Night,” and a few she didn’t know but learned as they sang. Jackson played the guitar. Not very well, but Red didn’t mind the missed chords. Even imperfect music made everything feel cozy and close. Finally, they turned the lights back on to open presents.

  “Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, all in one evening!” Jackson said, bringing a tray of cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate into the room.

  “I’m going to have to pass on the traditional Christmas-morning cinnamon roll,” Celine said, wrinkling her nose at the tray. She took the cocoa though. “Best medicine around,” she said, winking at Red.

  Once all the presents were opened—and there were a lot, especially for Red—they let the dogs back into the house. They ran around like maniacs, tearing up wrapping paper that Jackson crushed into balls and threw for them. Gandalf, who was twice as big as the other dogs, would plow her way into the wrapping-paper pile and emerge with bows stuck to her long fur. They hung from her legs and tail like ornaments. Celine and Red sat side by side on the couch, laughing.

  It was the best Christmas Red had had since Gamma died. Even if it was a few days late.

  The next morning, Red took Wishtree, one of the new books she’d gotten, to the stargazing rock. Gandalf followed her, carrying a plastic ball in her mouth. Though there was still a little snow on the ground, the rock itself was dry and even warm in the sunlight. She stretched out across it, Gandalf at her side, and watched the clouds shape-shift across the bright blue sky for a while.

  Gandalf finally grew tired of the stillness. She stood and dropped her ball onto Red’s face.

  Red laughed. “I can take a hint.”

  She sat up and threw the ball into the field. Gandalf dashed after it, her huge body crashing through the dry grass. She came back a minute later, tiny snowballs clinging to her fur and the pink ball in her mouth. Red threw it again. When Gandalf brought it back the second time, she dropped it next to Red’s feet and barked.