She thought, And my parents were splitting up, and I felt like a yo-yo between them, but how could Holly understand that part? She said, “I guess I never had time to think about having a boyfriend.”
“But you’re pretty now. I wish I looked like you.”
Her words surprised Carrie. To her, Holly was cute and bubbly, open and friendly. She told her so, but the younger girl shrugged away the compliment. “I’m skinny and flat-chested and better at sports than most guys—which is a turnoff for most of them. I’m scared to death of starting at Martin High next year.”
Holly plucked at the nap on her towel. “I always thought Keith would be there for me. I had this idea that he’d have a girlfriend, and I’d meet a neat guy, and we’d all double-date and have so much fun.”
Carrie saw the image all too clearly as Holly talked. It was simple to see herself as Keith’s girlfriend. “But it can’t be,” Carrie said miserably.
“Oh, I’m not so sure,” Holly said in a mysterious tone.
Carrie studied the girl’s profile, the wide brown eyes and straight nose, so much like Keith’s. “What do you mean?”
“I think Keith’s gonna get well.”
“Oh, Holly, I don’t know—”
Holly rolled on her side to face Carrie. Her eyes, dark and serious, held a conspiratorial gleam. “I’ve been praying every day. I promised God that if he cured Keith, I’d become a nun.”
“But you’re not even Catholic.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve promised him that I’ll never get married and live my whole life in India helping the poor like Mother Theresa.”
Carrie recalled making pacts with God to keep her parents from getting divorced, but her offers had fallen on deaf ears. She wanted to tell Holly that her vows were useless—God did whatever he felt like. “Have you—uh—told Keith what you’re doing?”
“Oh no,” Holly confessed. “I want the miracle to happen, and then I’ll tell him why it happened. I think if I tell him before, it might get jinxed or something. The doctors can’t cure him,” Holly continued. “A miracle’s his only hope.”
“And you’d do that? Become a nun in India if it would give Keith a miracle?”
“Of course! He’s my brother,” Holly said, flattening onto her tummy position. “I mean, boys are mostly idiots—except for Keith of course. Who wants to get married anyway?” She rested her chin on upturned palms. “Still, I might date a little. You don’t think that would spoil the deal if I dated, do you?”
Carrie felt like crying but couldn’t explain why. “It’s hard to say,” she said evasively.
The sun had evaporated the water on her skin by now, and she rose and stared out to where Keith and his father were fishing on the lake.
She watched as Mr. Gardner cast his fly rod outward. She could just make out Keith, who was reclining in the stern. She knew instinctively how he was feeling physically. He’d be slightly nauseous; exposure to the sun did that sometimes. He’d be weak too, and sort of drifting in a stupor of pain medication.
If only Holly’s pact would work. If only Keith could get well. She glanced down at Holly’s resting body and wondered if never getting married for the sake of her brother’s cure wasn’t such a bad trade-off. At least she’d never have to endure divorce and making kids choose which parent to live with. Holly would always have a home, always have a place that was her very own if she was doing something worthwhile like serving mankind.
But she thought about what Keith had said. No matter if a miracle saved him or not, he’d eventually wind up right back in the same place. Carrie sighed and announced, “I’m going in the water.” She ran and dived, welcoming the wet, biting chill as it closed over her. Under the surface the world was dark and primordial. She curled up into a ball and wished she’d never have to come up for air. But of course that was impossible. She’d already seen the sun.
That night Keith made her perform solo on the guitar for his family. “I’m not ready,” she sputtered.
“Sure you are. You know all the chords, and you’ve been practicing every day. It’s time to knock ’em dead.”
“When they hear me play, they’ll die all right,” she grumbled. Yet in spite of her nervousness, she sat cross-legged in front of the fireplace and strummed the instrument.
Keith sat on the sofa, and Jake and the girls scooted around her in a semicircle. Mr. and Mrs. Gardner pulled chairs from the oak table behind the others. Carrie’s mouth went dry. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, she told herself. She looked at Keith, who gave her a thumbs-up signal, then she lowered her head over the neck of the guitar and played.
The tune wasn’t masterfully performed, but as the last notes faded, Carrie smiled at her small audience. They applauded. “Excellent!” Holly cried.
Carrie blushed, but she felt good. She looked at Keith, whose expression said, “I told you so.”
“Encore!” Mr. Gardner shouted.
“Sorry, that’s the only tune I know,” Carrie told him. They clapped again, and she quipped, “Is that ’cause it’s over?”
April tossed a sofa pillow at her, and then Holly jumped her, followed by the others. They rolled and tumbled on the floor, tickling each other and laughing until Carrie’s sides hurt and she couldn’t catch her breath. She finally cried for mercy, and while she smoothed her hair and retucked her T-shirt, she looked once more toward Keith.
His face was etched with a lonely, melancholy look that made her smile fade and turned her insides cold. There would have been a time when he would have been rolling on the floor with them, a time when he would have led the tickle session.
“I need to lie down,” he said.
“Are you okay?” his mother asked.
“Just tired,” he said. But when he rose, Carrie noticed that he held his side and that he shuffled when he walked. She wanted to cry, but of course she couldn’t. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t do that either. She watched him disappear into his bedroom, and as the door shut, she saw it as a symbol of closing them all out from a world he had to explore, where she could not follow.
Chapter Fifteen
Carrie awoke with a start. The bedroom was quiet, draped in shadow. From below her came the rhythmic sounds of Holly’s breathing, and in the next bunk April and Gwen slept peacefully too. She wasn’t sure what had awakened her, but something had.
Moonlight shimmered through the lacy curtain, casting leafy patterns from the trees. She was drawn to the window by the eerie beauty of the light. Quietly she climbed down from the upper bunk and pulled aside the curtain. Overhead the moon glowed like a translucent pearl. She pressed her palm against the pane of glass and felt the cold mountain air seep through.
She heard a gentle rapping on the bedroom door and padded quickly across the room and opened it. Keith stood there, fully dressed. She shielded her nightshirt-clad body from him with the door. “What are you doing up?” she asked. Her heart pounded, suddenly afraid for him. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t sleep. I want to go down to the lake. Will you come?”
She glanced nervously back toward the sleeping girls. “Right now? Yeah, I—I guess so.”
“It’s cold,” he said, and passed a hooded sweatshirt through the open crack. “I’ll be waiting out on the porch.”
She dressed hurriedly, pulling on the sweatshirt, even though it was much too large. It carried the scent of him—talc mingled with cherry Lifesavers. She met him on the porch and followed him down the now-familiar path to the lake. Sounds of katydids, frogs, and night insects sang through the woods. The moon lit up the world.
At the edge of the water, he stopped, and she came up beside him, remembering the first time they’d stood there together. Now the lake looked black except for a glimmering silver path paved by the moon.
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said. “I couldn’t waste my last night here sleeping. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.” She knew that today had been their las
t full day but couldn’t face going. “I wish we had a time garden,” she said wistfully. “I read about one in a science-fiction story once. It was full of special flowers that had the ability to hold back time. Whenever you were in the garden, time couldn’t touch you. Nothing ever got old. Nothing ever died.”
“I wish I’d read more,” Keith said. “Funny how you think about all the things you wish you had done when you don’t have the time to do them ever again.”
From far across the lake, a whippoorwill called to its mate. “I guess everybody thinks he’s got plenty of time to do things,” she said. “That’s the way it should be, you know. It’s not fair to rob people of time.”
“You’re not gonna get all teary on me are you?”
“Never,” she lied, swiping her hand across her eyes. She turned to him and peered up to his face, which was washed by the moon’s light. “Holly thinks you’re going to be cured by a miracle.”
Keith shrugged his shoulders. “I guess miracles can happen. But I don’t think one’s going to happen to me. You tell her that. In fact, Carrie, I’m feeling worse every day, and I’m taking more pain pills. My legs and feet are holding fluid too. The swelling is making my clothes feel tight.”
She understood what he was saying, and it frightened her. Time was running out. But it also made her angry because he wasn’t hoping for a miracle. She wanted him to believe enough to make one happen. “I don’t see anything wrong in hoping for a miracle,” she said, hugging her shoulders tightly. “You don’t have to be so resigned to dying, you know.”
“Listen, we’ve been through this already. I know what’s happening to me, and I’m ready for it.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I know where I’m going, and I’m ready for that too.”
“Heaven?” she asked.
“If God’ll let me in,” he answered.
“Well, since you’re going first, will you look out for me when I come along?” She hadn’t meant to ask such a thing, had never meant to blurt out her deepest, innermost fears, but he seemed at peace about it all, and she had peace about nothing.
Keith cocked his head, and his gaze was so intense that she almost turned and walked away. “You can’t ever think this will happen to you,” he said slowly.
“Cancer’s terminal,” she told him, trembling as she spoke.
“Life’s terminal,” he said. “You’ve never had a relapse, never had a problem.”
“Neither had you,” she countered.
“You can’t measure yours by mine. Where’s that ‘never give up’ attitude you’re so famous for?”
“Maybe I’m just tired of the whole mess. Maybe I’m sick and tired of watching my friends suffer. It’s like we hurt and hurt, and there’s no way out of it. The doctors can’t help us. Mommies can’t kiss us and make us well. God won’t do a miracle. What’s left?”
He laced his fingers through hers. “Just because this is happening to me now, there’s no reason for you to think it’s going to be the same way for you. We all aren’t asked to die when we’re sixteen.”
“But you did have plans,” she sniffed, afraid to look him in the eye. “You wanted to play baseball.”
“You wanted to be on the Carson show. You can still do that.”
“How can I? You were supposed to follow me on the guitar, remember? Now you’re leaving me all alone.” The words tasted bitter.
“For me … it’s over. But not for you.”
“How is it different for me? What can I do?”
He studied her in the moonlight, brushed her hair away from her cheek, and rested his hand on the nape of her neck. “You can live. For all of us who can’t, Carrie. You can.”
“But I don’t want you to die. I’ll miss you so much. We all will … the people who care about you.” She caught herself because she was just about to say “love you,” and she didn’t love him. She didn’t. Love was supposed to make a person feel good, and now she only hurt—hurt so bad. “How can we go on without you?” She began to cry and hated herself for breaking down in front of him.
Moonlight splashed his face, and he looked agonized. She threw her arms around him. He held her too, and his embrace was so tight she could scarcely breathe. She hugged him all the harder, as if by doing so she could absorb him into her skin and somehow hold onto him forever. They stood in the moonlight, with the sounds of the lake all around them and the scent of night-blooming jasmine heavy in the summer air until Carrie stopped crying. They pulled apart, and Carrie felt chilled, slightly embarrassed. Furiously she wiped the sleeve of the sweatshirt over her face. “I—I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I know you don’t like crying girls.”
He’d retreated to the edge of the clearing and was picking bark off a tree. “I felt like crying too,” he confessed. He pulled a pocket knife from his jeans and started carving at the trunk. Slowly she saw his and her initials emerge. Beneath them he etched: Keith was here.
“You come back someday, Carrie, and you look for this, all right? You find my name and tell people that I really existed, that I was a real, live person.”
She touched the freshly carved scars and felt as if they were chiseled across her heart. “No one could ever forget you,” she said.
“You’ll keep in touch with my family?”
“You know I will.”
“You’ll sort of watch out for Holly next year at Martin?”
“I promise.”
He closed the knife, crooked his arm around her shoulders, and together they slid to the ground, Keith pressing his back to the tree trunk. She leaned against his chest, held her ear to his heart, and listened to it beat. The rumble of bullfrogs seemed to play in harmony. Overhead the moon dipped lower, and the stars began to go out as dawn approached in the east.
She willed the sun away, hoping to hold onto the night, the stars, the slice of time that held them. But they were not in a time garden. And she could not stop the rising of the sun. Hoping he wouldn’t notice, Carrie wept again, the tears, soft and silent, ran down her cheeks and dampened the front of his jacket. And this time he did not ask her to stop.
After breakfast they all worked together to close up the house and pack the van. There was little discussion, little horseplay, and they worked quickly. Mr. Gardner stacked pillows along the back bench seat, and Keith lay down. Carrie kept eyeing him anxiously. His skin had taken on a yellowish tinge, and his face looked puffy.
They drove back toward Ohio silently; even Jake ceased his chatter. He sat clutching his jar of half-formed frogs, his legs dangling over the edge of the seat, his head of tangled hair catching the sun. The image caused a lump in Carrie’s throat that she couldn’t explain.
It was twilight when they rounded the familiar street of her neighborhood. She stared out the window as they passed along the long row of two-story houses. A sprinkler spun and splattered the side of the van, and the next-door neighbor’s dog barked as they pulled into the driveway.
She saw her home looming in the half light, lamps aglow from living-room windows. At least her mother hadn’t forgotten that she was coming home, she thought, relieved. From the corner of her eye, she saw a small rectangular square rising on the lawn. In the semidarkness she could just make out the bold lettering. It read: For Sale.
Chapter Sixteen
“But you can’t sell our house, Mom! You just can’t.” Carrie stood in the middle of the kitchen, her suitcase and duffel bags surrounding her feet where she dropped them after rushing in the door.
“Good gracious, Carrie. Stop making such a fuss. You haven’t even noticed how nicely Larry and I fixed it up.
“But why fix it up if you’re going to sell it?”
“That’s why I fixed it up,” her mother told her, pouring herself a cup of tea from the kettle that whistled angrily on the stove.
“But all you said was that you were going to do some repainting. You were just going to paint my room—”
“Oh, and it’s such a perfect shade of pink.
You’ll love it.”
“Why should I love it if I’m moving?”
“Sit down and stop yelling.” Faye demanded. “Let me explain.”
Carrie jerked a chair away from the table, causing a screeching sound. She plopped down and glared at her mother while she stirred a packet of artificial sweetener into her tea.
“This house is too big for the two of us. And the upkeep is killing me financially. Larry helped me see that it could be an asset and not a liability if I simply sold it and moved.”
“Larry!” Carrie exploded. “Since when does he have any say-so in our lives?”
Mrs. Blake shot Carrie a warning glance. “Stop it, Carrie. Larry Farrell is the nicest, most caring man I’ve ever met. He’s only looking out for our best interests.”
Carrie snorted disdainfully. “It’s not in my best interests to move. Where are we supposed to live anyway? Has Larry figured that out too?”
“Don’t be fresh. Of course I’ve thought about it. I’m getting an apartment on the west side. The complex is beautiful and—”
Carrie leapt to her feet. “The west side? But that’s out of Martin’s school district. I’ll have to change schools!”
“You’re only starting your sophomore year. You’ll have three years to get adjusted to a new high school before you graduate.”
“But I want to graduate from Martin.”
“Kids switch schools all the time. I don’t see what’s so special about Martin. It’s not even ranked as one of the top high schools in the city.”
“But it’s my school,” Carrie wailed. And it was Keith’s school and Holly’s.
“Well, think about this,” her mother argued, her voice rising in pitch. “Living in an apartment will help me save money. And that money will help put you through college.” Her mother leaned back in her chair, as if this tidbit was going to be the ultimate persuader.