The next day, at school, she could scarcely keep her mind on her classes. She saw Chris in the lunchroom and he came straight over to her. “How's it going?” he asked.
“I start treatments today at four,” she said.
“You're okay with it, aren't you?”
“As okay as a person can be, I guess.” She looked up at him. “Why didn't you call me last night?”
He looked away. “The game went into overtime. By the time I got home, showered, and ate, it was late. Then I had to work on a history paper. I tried to call once, but your line was busy.”
She would never know if he was telling her the truth.
“I miss you cheering for me,” he said.
And I miss you cheering for me, she thought, but she said, “See you in English class.”
After school, she went to the hospital, signed in, and fidgeted in the waiting area until her name was called. With her heart pounding, she entered the treatment room, fighting a stomach filled with butterflies. A cheerful technician didn't make her feel any better, and when she lay on the table and heard the machine whirl into gear, she tensed. “Lie per-fecdy still,” the tech said. “You'll hear a buzzing sound, then I'll reposition the machine via remote control, and you'll hear another buzzing sound. I'll be out of the room until it clicks off.”
April heard the heavy metal door of the room close as the tech left, and she knew she was all alone. She was shaking. She bit her lip and held her breath, hoping it would stop the trembling.
The treatment was over in a few minutes and the tech returned with a smile. “You did fine.” Then he added, “You look pale. Feel all right?”
“I'm okay,” she said breathlessly.
“There's free juice in the waiting room. Why don't you grab some on your way out and get your blood sugar up a bit. You'll feel better.”
She didn't want juice. She just wanted to leave. Out in the parking lot, she blinked against the brilliant spring sunlight. The air was cool and she slowly began to feel better. She glanced around, trying to remember where she'd parked her car, when she heard a horn honk and turned to see an aqua and white car with gleaming chrome coming toward her. Her mouth dropped as the car stopped in front of her and Mark Gianni grinned at her through the open window. “Want a ride? Hop in.”
“I—I have my car …,” she sputtered.
“Not so,” he said with his million-watt smile. “You have transportation. This is a car.”
“What are you doing here?”
“When you didn't call me, I decided to come see you.”
She'd tossed out the balloon he'd given her days before, without ever retrieving the slip of paper containing his phone number from it. Now she felt guilty about it. “I had my first treatment,” she said.
“I know.” He leaned over and popped the passenger door handle. “Come on. Let's go get a soda.”
She climbed into the car. The white leather seat felt smooth against the backs of her legs. Mark put the car in gear and drove out of the parking lot toward the small strip mall across the street. “I saw a coffee shop while I waited for you to come out. Is it okay?”
She nodded, still stunned at seeing him. She knew it was a long commute from the city and couldn't figure how he'd managed to track her down.
Inside the coffee shop they ordered cappuccino, and when it was served, she sipped it, waiting for him to explain himself.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“You came all this way to tell me that?”
“I came because I wanted to see you again. Because I had to see you again.”
“But how—?”
“I can't reveal my sources. But I did find out that your treatments began today and I am here to give you moral support. Plus,” he added with a grin, “I wanted to be with you again. And since it seemed like you weren't ever going to call me, I decided to make the first move. Or, actually, the second move. So, here I am.”
His forwardness made April a little uncomfortable, but she couldn't pretend that his presence didn't mean something to her. “You ever have radiation?” she asked, changing the subject.
“No. But I've had more than my share of medical treatments.”
She knew it was true. And while her friends were sympathetic, Mark was empathetic—he knew firsthand what she was experiencing. “I thought I'd be able to handle it better than I did,” she said. She told him of her fears, and once the words started coming, she couldn't stop them. She told him how she felt alienated from friends and smothered by her parents. She told him things she hadn't even realized she'd been feeling until they spilled out of her. He listened intently, never taking his gaze off her face, and when she was finished, and her eyes had filled with tears, he took a paper napkin and dabbed her cheeks tenderly.
“That's sure a lot of baggage you've been carrying around.”
She blew her nose and nodded. “Thanks for letting me dump it on you.”
“No thanks necessary. We're comrades in medical misery.”
“How have you done it all these years?”
“I keep hoping there will be some big breakthrough, some kind of medical miracle. There's been some progress lately. A new medication. Lung transplants. But nothing that's right for me just yet. So I keep on waiting. And I try to live as normal a life as possible. Because while you have to respect your disease, you can't let it control you. If you do, it robs you of what's good about life.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “And there's a lot of good in life.”
She felt her heart skip a beat. “Are you flirting with me again?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiled, and this time she didn't push him away. “I still have that boyfriend.”
“How is Mr. Lucky anyway?”
“Mr. Lucky? You mean Chris?”
“Is that the guy I saw you with at the hospital?”
“Yes.” She pulled her hand away. “He's struggling with all this. I understand. But still …”
“His loss,” Mark said, his smile lighting up his eyes. “My gain.”
“But we haven't broken up,” she told Mark.
“No problem. All I want is a chance with you. All I want is for you to go out with me, just once, and get to know me. After that, if you tell me to get lost, I'll do it.”
“That would be pretty cold.”
“Believe me, it's happened.”
For a moment she saw through his cheerful smile and into the hurt of rejection beneath it. Ashamed, she recalled that avoiding him had been her first reaction also. “Well, whoever told you to get lost wasn't much of a catch,” she said. Then she took a deep breath and added, “If you want to call me, it's all right. If you ask me out, I'll go. Once.”
He raised his fist in the air and said, “Yes!”
She laughed. “I'm not that big a deal.”
“Yes you are,” he said with a grin. “To me, you're a really big deal.”
April smiled. For the first time in days, she was looking forward to something.
You told Mark you'd go out with him?” Kelli sounded incredulous.
April sorted through her locker. “What's wrong with that?”
“Well, what about Chris?”
“I don't think I'm at the top of Chris's list anymore.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Ever since he found out about my tumor, he's backed off. He hasn't called once since I broke the news to him.”
“Maybe he's just going through an adjustment period.”
April rolled her eyes. “You didn't go through one.” She found her literature book and heaved it into her backpack.
“But I'm your best friend.”
“And what was Chris? Wasn't he supposed to be my ‘best’ guy?”
Kelii shrugged. “What makes Mark so special? You weren't interested in him at all before now.”
“Mark accepts me.” April slammed her locker door. “The way I am.”
“You mean he isn't put off by your tum
or.”
Kelli was right. But April knew it was more than that. There was something special about Mark she couldn't explain. “The next six weeks aren't going to be a picnic,” she said, feeling overwhelmed by what lay ahead of her. “Mark seems to understand, without any explanation. He knows because he's been through it too.”
“Except that there's one big difference,” Kelli said before April could rush off.
“And what's that?”
“You're going to get well. Mark isn't.”
April walked away without answering.
By the end of the first week of radiation treatments, April was ready for a change. She was tired of her life revolving around cancer, so when Mark came to pick her up Saturday morning, she was eager to go. Her parents weren't thrilled—they thought he was too old for her—but Mark was charming and pleasant. By the time she and Mark left the house, April thought her parents were somewhat pacified.
Sunshine gleamed through the windshield of Mark's car as they drove toward the city. Blooming wildflowers grew along the sides of the road like bright punctuation marks of color. “So what are we doing today?” April asked.
“I'm introducing you to my world. I've seen yours—lifestyles of the rich and famous—so I thought I'd show you mine.”
“You exaggerate.”
“I've just been inside your family mansion, so I think I know what I'm talking about.”
His tone was friendly, but it hadn't really occurred to April that their material worlds were so very different. “So what part of your world do you want me to see?”
“All of it. Where I work, where I live. Oh, and did I mention, my mother is expecting us for dinner?”
“No, you didn't mention it.” She wasn't sure how she felt about being thrust into his family life so soon. She'd barely gotten to know him.
He must have sensed her reluctance because he hastily added, “I told you … we're a close family. Mom's a great cook. Her dinners could feed a small country.”
“I'll meet your family, but I don't know what they're expecting.”
“An angel,” he said.
“Then they're in for a rude awakening,” she countered.
Mark drove to Brooklyn and he parked his car inside a building that was both a garage and a workshop. It was littered with auto parts and the partial shells of car bodies. “We're restoring a fifty-six Thunderbird now,” he said proudly, showing April around. He patted a car that needed a paint job. “And this old Dodge may not look like much, but it has a muscle engine. It's our best racing machine.”
She thought the place felt cold and looked dingy. It smelled of motor oil and grease, but Mark was obviously proud of it. She stopped beside the Thunderbird. “Will you sell it or race it when you're finished?”
“Sell it. Maybe I'll build one for you someday. Any preferences?”
She didn't want to admit she didn't know one car from another, so she said, “Surprise me.”
Out on the sidewalk he said, “We don't have to be at my parents' place until five.”
“All right,” she told him. “I glimpsed your world, now I want you to come do something with me in mine.”
“Such as?”
“How about lunch at Trump Plaza?”
They took a cab because it was easier than driving through the city. Once inside the opulent glass and marble plaza, April felt more comfortable. She chose a quiet restaurant with booths and crisp linen tablecloths, a place where she'd often eaten with her mother.
Mark studied the menu, which was in French. “You know French?”
“Oui.” She giggled because he looked impressed.
“You've been to France?”
“We went when I was thirteen.”
“I've never been out of New York.”
“I won't hold it against you.”
He put down the menu. “How do you order bread and water?”
“How about onion soup and a salad?” He agreed and when the waiter came, she ordered—in English.
“Cute,” he told her, but he smiled because she'd so smoothly taken him in.
Afterward, she dragged him through a few of the trendier stores in the plaza. Mark kept doing double takes at the price tags. He made her laugh, and much later she realized he had made her forget what was really happening in her life.
Late in the afternoon they caught a cab downtown to Little Italy. “My folks have lived here all their lives,” Mark told her. When the cab pulled up in front of an old brownstone, Mark paid the driver and, taking April's hand, led her up the front steps. “Pop brought Mom here right after they got married.”
Once inside, April smelled rich tomato sauce, garlic, and onions. In a room off the front hallway, a giant-screen television was blaring a basketball game and a man was yelling at the televised image. He sprang to his feet when Mark and April entered the room. “Dad, this is April,” Mark said.
He held out his hand and April clasped it. “Been looking forward to this.” He pumped her arm vigorously. “Hey, ladies,” he yelled. “They're here.”
From another room three women emerged, one older with graying hair, wiping her hands on an apron. They hovered around Mark and April, all talking at once, all hugging one another. April learned that the older woman was Rosa, Mark's mother. The others were his sisters, Marnie and Jill. Mark's mother took both of April's hands and beamed her a smile. “Let me get a good look at you. Oh, Mark, you didn't lie. She's beautiful.”
April felt her cheeks flame and cast Mark a sidelong look. “Don't smother her,” he said with a laugh. “And don't scare her off.” He slid his arm around April's waist. “She's not used to being pounced on, you know.”
April joined in the laughter with the others, although she felt a bit overwhelmed by his family. “What exactly did you tell them about me?” she whispered to him as Mark's mother led them all to the dining room table.
“Nothing,” he insisted innocently.
She sat beside Mark and watched him take his medication. Her mouth felt parched and she took a sip of water. She wondered if this was a side effect of her radiation.
Platters of food were passed and conversation flowed like water. It was different from meals at her house, but it was fun listening to them talk and joke with one another. She answered questions politely and wondered how much they knew about her, how much Mark might have told them.
“So, Mark,” Marnie asked. “You racing next weekend?”
Instantly, April felt tension close around the table like a fist.
“Yeah,” he said nonchalantly. “I'm running the Dodge.”
“Why?” his mother asked bluntly. “You know it's not good for you.”
“Ma, please.” He gave her a look and then cut his eyes toward April. “I have a guest. Let's not argue.”
“It makes me crazy,” his mother insisted, ignoring Mark's plea. “You shouldn't be breathing in all those fumes.”
“Ma, please—”
“Leave the kid alone, Rosa,” Mark's father said.
“You know you don't approve,” Rosa told him. “Why pretend in front of company?”
“Who's pretending? All I'm saying is now isn't the time to bring this up.”
“And when should I? When he's in the hospital?”
April felt caught in the cross fire.
Mark pushed back from the table. “Ma, we got to go.”
“I just want you to think about the consequences,” his mother declared. “Please, Mark, you're barely out of the hospital. Why tempt fate?”
But Mark ignored her and headed for the front door. “I'm out of here,” he called over his shoulder.
April hastily wadded her napkin and stood. “Um-m-m … thanks for the dinner. It was delicious.”
“And thank you for coming,” Mark's father said, standing. “Sorry things kind of deteriorated.”
“Yes, sorry,” Rosa said. “You're a lovely girl. You take good care of my Mark. And try and talk some sense into him. Maybe he'll listen to you.”
/>
April bolted from the room, through the front door, and down the steps. She saw Mark halfway up the street. “Wait!” she called.
He stopped and when she caught up with him, she was angry. “What do you think you're doing? Were you going to leave me there?”
He looked miserable. “I just had to get away. I go nuts when they start in on me about my racing.”
“Well, they have a point, you know. You have a disease that seriously affects your breathing. Not to mention that speeding cars can be hazardous to your health in general.” She was mad. Mad at the way a perfectly fine day had soured. Mad at the way Mark was acting. Mad at herself for caring about what happened to him.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes fierce with determination. “But it's my life!” he exclaimed. “It belongs to me, Mark Gianni. You of all people should understand that.”
And suddenly, she did understand it. Racing cars was something he could control. Cystic fibrosis was something he couldn't. And neither was brain cancer. Tears filled her eyes. Mark pulled her to him, crushing her against his chest. He put his finger beneath her chin and tilted her face upward. Their lips met and he kissed her longingly. “I'm sorry, April. I'm sorry. Please give me another chance.”
The feel of Mark's lips against hers left April breathless. His impassioned plea shocked her. She hadn't anticipated feeling such a strong emotional reaction to him, and she stepped away. “I'm not going to desert you just because you ran off and left me stranded with your parents.”
He looked shaken but relieved. “I didn't mean to leave you alone in there, but I had no idea Mom was going to get on her soapbox in front of you. I thought she knew better than to embarrass me like that.”
“Parents don't need excuses,” April told him. “I think hospitals give out instruction books on ‘how to embarrass your kid’ when they send parents home with their babies. Then, no matter what your age, they open the book and drag out some gem, use it in front of your friends, and make you wish you could fade into the floor.”