“I still believe,” said the doctor, “that if the surgery is successful, the hardest part will be over. You won’t be out of the woods, Marco, but you’ll be on your way.” And then, at last, the doctor turned toward Gabby. “Do you have any questions?”
Gabby’s mind was nothing but questions: Is Marco going to die? Is he going to be okay? What are his chances? What is going to happen? What can I do? What can any of us do? Why is this happening? Haven’t we been through enough? But the only one she actually asked was, “When is the surgery?”
The doctor tapped a pen against his clipboard. “Tomorrow morning.”
“That soon?” asked Gabby’s mom.
“Sounds good,” cut in Marco. Mrs. Torres started to protest, but he cut her off. “The surgery was going to happen one way or another,” he said. “It sucks that this is the reason it has to happen now, but I’m sick of waiting, and I’m sick of being sick, and the sooner I can get through this, which I will, the sooner I can get better, and get my life back.” He finished, breathless and flushed, but his eyes were bright. “Okay?”
The doctor nodded. “All right, then. Let’s help you get your life back.”
Gabby focused on Aria’s hand squeezing her shoulder and the strength in Marco’s voice, and she tried to believe that everything would be all right.
Gabby was sitting on the hospital steps with her head in her hands when Aria materialized beside her.
“Aria, please,” said Gabby without looking up, “there has to be something you can do.”
Aria’s chest tightened at the plea. Not this again. If there was anything she could do for Marco, she would have done it already. “I told you, Gabby, I’m not a healer.”
Gabby drew a shaky breath and looked up. And then her eyes widened.
“You said you saw smoke,” she said, grabbing Aria by the shoulders. “Around Henry, before he died. Aria, you have to promise me you’ll tell me if you see that kind of smoke around Marco. If you don’t see it, then it means he’ll be okay, right?”
Aria wished it were that simple, but she didn’t think it was. After all, the hospital was filled with people, some of them who would be okay, and some who wouldn’t, but those who wouldn’t weren’t all wreathed in a prophetic smoke. She worried that the smoke only marked Henry because he needed help letting go. What if Marco didn’t?
“Gabby, I don’t think —”
“Just promise me,” begged Gabby. “If you see it, you’ll tell me.”
Aria sighed and nodded. “If I see it, I’ll let you know.”
Gabby made her shake on it. As Aria gripped Gabby’s hand, she knew with a sinking heart that she would keep her word.
“Gabby?” called a voice, and the two pulled apart to see Sam and Charlotte trotting up the steps toward them.
“What are you doing here?” asked Gabby.
“You ran away talking about hospitals,” said Charlotte, breathless. “We were worried.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“We didn’t. But there are only two hospitals in this area, and we already checked the other one.”
Aria got to her feet. She took a step back and stood behind Gabby, watching as Sam and Charlotte sat down on either side of her.
“What’s going on?” asked Sam.
And Aria watched proudly as Gabby took a deep breath and told them the truth. About the move. About Marco. Their eyes widened as they listened, but neither of them said anything. And when Gabby was finished, tears brimming and voice tight, Charlotte simply wrapped her arm around the girl’s shoulders.
All day Gabby’s smoke had been getting thinner. When she’d turned the journal in to Mr. Robert, it thinned. When she’d gotten the solo in choir, it thinned. When she’d laughed with Charlotte and Sam, it thinned. And despite all the hope and fear that came with the news about Marco, as Charlotte and Sam sat there comforting her, there was almost no blue left in the air. This is right, thought Aria, even as a strange sadness spread through her. This is the way it’s supposed to be.
“Why would you hide something like that?” asked Charlotte at last.
“I just … I wanted a fresh start. I didn’t want you to find out and feel like you had to be my friend out of … pity … or something.”
“We wouldn’t,” said Sam simply.
“You don’t know that,” said Gabby, shaking her head.
“We would be worried,” said Charlotte, “I mean, we are worried, but that’s part of being someone’s friend. We care about you.”
Another wisp of smoke dissolved.
“What can we do?” asked Sam. “To help you.”
Gabby chewed her lip. “Do you want to come say hi to Marco?”
“Is that a good idea?” asked Charlotte.
Gabby nodded. “I want you to meet him. I think he’ll want to meet you.”
“Then let’s go,” said Sam, bouncing his soccer ball. “And just so you know,” he added as they made their way inside, Aria trailing behind, “we’d be your friends no matter what your family’s like. My dad does Civil War reenactments, and Charlotte’s parents decorate their house for every single holiday, even the silly ones. Plus her little sister is a monster in a tutu. But we’re still cool.”
“Way cool,” said Charlotte.
“Super cool,” said Gabby as she led them inside.
Aria followed in their wake, watching as more and more of the blue smoke disappeared.
Gabby stood alone in the hallway.
Charlotte and Sam had just left, and Aria had gone in search of cookies, and Gabby was now staring through the glass insert of her brother’s room. Marco had loved meeting her friends. He and Sam had talked for ages about soccer. Marco gave Sam a few pointers and said that being short could be a good thing out on the field. Charlotte, who was always so sure of herself, had been tongue-tied, not because of Marco’s illness but because “he’s really, really cute,” she’d told Gabby in the hall. Gabby had screwed up her nose. “Ew.”
Now they were gone, and Marco was resting and Gabby was standing outside his door, reading through her journal. She had started to go back through and write in the blanks between sections, filling in the things she’d been too scared to talk about before. It seemed important now, to put them down on paper. In case. As she read through what she’d written, she was amazed at how honest she’d become.
She didn’t hear her mom come up beside her. When she noticed her, Gabby stepped out of the way instinctively to let her get to Marco.
But her mom didn’t go in. She just stood there, next to Gabby, staring at her.
“Mija,” she said. “I think … we should … I mean … we need to talk.”
“About what?” asked Gabby, suddenly nervous. “Marco’s surgery?”
Her mom’s brow furrowed. “No … no, this isn’t about Marco. This is about you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I didn’t say you did,” snapped her mom, and then, softening her voice, added, “I just want to know how you’re doing. I want you to talk to me.”
Gabby stared at her mom, as if the offer were a puzzle she needed to decipher. Part of her wanted to say no, to walk away. She’d waited for so long for her mom to ask, really ask, long enough that she’d stopped waiting. She’d given up. But wasn’t that the problem? Wasn’t that why Aria was here?
“I’m scared for Marco,” Gabby said at last.
“I know,” said her mom. “We both are. But right now I want to talk about you.”
Gabby chewed her lip. “I like my school,” she said at last. “I’m making friends and I don’t want to leave, even if — when — Marco gets better. And I miss you,” Gabby added, eyes burning. “I miss talking to you and I —”
She was cut off by the sound of her mom’s phone.
Her heart sank as her mom pulled it out of her pocket. But her mom didn’t answer it. Instead, she switched the ringer off.
“Go on,” she said. “I’m here. And I’m listening.”
/>
Aria climbed the stairs, rounded the corner with her stack of cookies, and stopped.
There, at the other end of the hall, Gabby and her mom were sitting on a bench by the window, and they were talking. And as she watched, the very last of Gabby’s smoke disappeared.
A strange sensation filled Aria’s chest. She was proud and sad at the same time. This meant it was time to go. But she couldn’t go yet, wouldn’t go yet, not until after Marco’s surgery. She’d promised to stay with Gabby, to let her know if she saw any smoke around her brother.
And Aria would keep her promise.
Later that night, in the hospital, everyone was asleep except for Marco and Aria.
Aria peered in through the glass insert and saw Mrs. Torres curled up on a cot in the corner and Gabby curled up on the chair, her notebook pressed to her chest. Marco was sitting up in a small pool of light, writing in his journal. And because people seemed to see Aria when she wanted to be seen, his gaze drifted to the door where she was standing, and he nodded for her to come in.
She padded silently into the room and sat in an empty chair beside his bed.
“Hi,” he whispered.
“Can’t sleep?” whispered Aria back.
Marco shook his head. “It’s okay, though,” he said softly. He hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I would rather be awake … while I can …” He looked at her for a long moment and said nothing. And then he added, “I’m glad Gabby has you, Aria.”
Aria smiled, even though that same feeling tugged at her. The one that said Gabby didn’t need her help anymore. That it was time to go.
“I hope I’ve been a good friend,” she said, fiddling with the laces on her shoes (she’d made them red, for Henry). “This is all very new to me.”
“Hospitals?”
“Everything.”
“What do you mean?” asked Marco.
“I mean … I’m new to this … to being a person.”
Marco squinted, confused, and Aria hesitated. It hadn’t gone very well, the last time she told someone. But Gabby had been angry and scared when Aria told her, and Marco wasn’t either of those things right now. “Want to know a secret?” she asked.
Aria leaned in and whispered what she was into his ear. Sharing a secret felt like a bit of magic, in that both magic and secrets change the people you share them with.
When Aria pulled back to see Marco’s reaction, his eyebrows had gone up in surprise.
“You’re joking,” he said.
“I haven’t really figured out how to joke yet,” admitted Aria, and at that Marco laughed, then clasped a hand over his mouth to keep from waking anyone.
“Do you believe me?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” he asked, lowering his hand. She thought about that and was still thinking about it when Marco added, “I want to believe you. I like to think that Gabby has someone watching over her.”
Aria tilted her head. “How do you know I’m not watching over you?”
Marco smiled a little. “Because I don’t need you to.” He gestured to the room. “Everyone’s already watching over me, looking out for me, trying to save me. Maybe they can; maybe they can’t. But everyone’s doing their best, and I’m doing my best, and I don’t need you….” The words could have sounded mean, but the way he said them wasn’t mean at all. It was gentle. “I don’t. But Gabby does. Besides, if you were here to save me, I bet you would have done it already.”
Aria examined Marco.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I think in some ways,” she said, “you’re the healthiest one here.”
“Tell the doctors that,” he said with a grim smile.
“The fact that I haven’t saved you,” said Aria, “the fact that I can’t … it doesn’t mean you’re going to …” Aria fumbled for the words. “It just means that’s not what I’m here for…. I don’t save lives,” she said at last, wishing for the hundredth time she could. “I just do my best to make them better.”
“Well, thanks,” said Marco. “For making Gabby’s better.”
Aria smiled. The reading light beside the bed brightened. Marco yawned then, and Aria got to her feet.
“Good night, Marco,” she whispered. “And good luck.”
Marco went into surgery at 9:15 a.m.
Gabby knew because she’d memorized the time, and had then written it on her hand in case she forgot.
At 8:30 a.m., she and her mom had gotten to say their — not their good-byes, she couldn’t think of it that way — good-bye-for-nows and good lucks. Marco had said he’d see them both after, and then he told Gabby she better not peek at his journal.
And then they’d rolled him away. Gabby had asked, as they were wheeling his bed into the hall, when the actual surgery would start, and one of the nurses had said 9:15 a.m.
It was now 3:38 p.m.
That meant Marco had been in surgery for six hours and twenty-three minutes.
Gabby watched the clock in the waiting room click to 3:39 p.m.
Six hours and twenty-four minutes.
Every time a door opened or closed she tensed, expecting a doctor to come out and tell them — she stopped herself. She didn’t want to start thinking again about all the different things the doctor might tell them. She’d spent two hours — between 10:20 and 12:20 — doing that, and it had only made her panic worse. Her mom had let her skip school to be here, and she was beginning to wish she hadn’t, because there was nothing to distract her. Nothing else to focus on. Not that she would have been able to focus on anything but this.
3:40 p.m.
She didn’t realize she was humming until her mom reached over and took her hand. She didn’t shush her, though, only squeezed her fingers.
The night before, Gabby had told Marco and her mom about getting the solo.
“Sing it for us,” Marco had said.
“I don’t know the song yet.”
“Then sing me something,” he’d said. “Anything.”
Gabby ended up singing the song she’d auditioned with. Marco and her mom applauded, and Marco told her that next time he’d be in the audience and she’d be onstage. She told him to promise, and he said he’d do his best.
Marco, she thought, you better do your best.
3:45 p.m.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Aria’s. The post-op waiting room was family only, but Aria had promised she’d be there and Gabby knew she was, even though she couldn’t see her. Seeing wasn’t all there was to believing.
And then, finally, at 3:53 p.m, the doctor came in.
Gabby and her mom scrambled to their feet, still holding hands.
They waited for the news.
“The cancer was extensive,” said the doctor, “And the operation was invasive….” Gabby held her breath. “But Marco is quite a fighter.”
Gabby’s mom let out a cry of relief.
“He’s got a long road to recovery, but if he does as well as he did today, he should make it through just fine.”
Gabby’s vision blurred from tears as her mom folded her into a hug. And then, over her mom’s shoulder, Gabby noticed the waiting-room door open and then close, as if pushed by a breeze, or a small, invisible hand.
Aria’s shadow wouldn’t stop fidgeting.
Even though she couldn’t see it — couldn’t see any part of herself — she could feel it moving restlessly around her feet. Not yet, she’d told it as the waiting-room clock ticked away the minutes. Just a little longer, she thought. And then the news had come, and Aria’s heart had been filled with joy for Gabby and Marco and their mother, and she’d looked down at the place her shadow would be and thought, Okay. Okay.
She was halfway to the lobby, and visible again, when Gabby caught up to her and, without warning, threw her arms around her shoulders, nearly toppling her midstride. Aria had never been hugged like that before. A hug filled with happiness and hope.
“You were there,” said Gabby.
Aria nodde
d. “I had to watch for smoke, remember?”
Gabby smiled, but then Aria started walking again, and the smile slid away.
“Where are you going?” Gabby asked.
Aria’s heart sank as she made her way to the revolving doors. “I have to go, Gabby.”
“But things are still so far from okay.”
“I know,” said Aria. “But they’re on their way. You’re on your way.”
“To what?”
“To becoming a who,” said Aria with a smile. “And that doesn’t mean life is always going to be good or easy. It just means you’re going to be a part of it.”
Aria started toward the revolving doors again.
Gabby grabbed her arm. “Why do you have to go?” she asked. “You could stay in school. You could stay with me. We would find a way to —”
Aria shook her head sadly. Part of her really did wish she could stay. “No, Gabby. This is your life. I was just visiting.”
She stepped through the revolving doors and out into the sun, the once-gray steps trailing vibrantly away from her.
“I can’t do this without you,” said Gabby beside her.
“Of course you can.”
“Don’t you want to know what happens next?”
Aria did, very much. She wanted to see Marco wake up, wanted to watch him recover, wanted to watch Gabby use her voice. But she knew in her chest she had to go. It was a pull stronger than gravity. She’d been here too long.
“You want to know what happens next?” said Aria. “You go to Marco’s room, so you’re there when he wakes up. He gets stronger every day and you get louder and he’s there in the front row at your first choir concert. And you’re there in the front row for his first soccer game, and you make sure that no matter what happens — no matter what happens — you don’t lose your voice again. You don’t forget who you are, because you, Gabby Torres, are amazing.”
Tears shone in Gabby’s eyes. “But will you come to the choir concert?” she asked. “Will you come back for that?”
Aria couldn’t promise. She didn’t know where she’d be. She wasn’t entirely sure who she’d be, though she hoped she’d still be her. “I’ll try,” she said.