“Leukemia.”
“Both of them? What are the odds of that?”
She just shakes her head and sighs. “I know.”
“How—” I swallow, unsure how to finish that sentence, a lump forming in my throat. “How bad?”
Diane crosses her arms over her chest. “Their chances are great. Well . . .” Her eyes flicker to Derek briefly. “Their chances are good,” she corrects herself. Offering me a pat on my forearm, she says, “You’re going to see a lot while you’re here, Livie. Try not to lose sleep over it. Best you just focus on the here and now and leave the rest to medicine and prayer.”
I have to remind myself to smooth my furrowed brow as I walk over to where the boys are. Sitting down cross-legged on the floor opposite them, I clap my hands. “Who wants to show me how to build one of these cool houses?” Neither, apparently, because that’s when I get hit with a barrage of questions—one after another, the two of them tag teaming like they’ve rehearsed it for hours.
“We’re almost six years old. How old are you?” Eric asks.
“Eighteen.”
“Do you have parents?” Derek’s voice is so soft next to his brother’s that I barely hear him.
I simply smile and nod, not elaborating.
“Why did you come here?”
“To learn how to build with LEGOs, of course.”
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A doctor. For kids like you.”
“Huh.” Eric pushes his little car around. “I think I want to be a werewolf. But . . . I’m not sure yet though. Do you believe in werewolves?”
“Hmm . . .” I twist my mouth as if considering it. “Only the friendly kind.”
“Huh.” He seems to consider that. “Or maybe I’ll be a race car driver.” He gives an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Well, lucky for you that you have lots of time to decide that, right?” I feel the little kick my subconscious gives my stomach, warning me to get away from this line of conversation.
Thankfully, Derek is already moving toward a new direction. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“No, not yet. But I’m working on it.”
His little bald brows bunch together. “How do you work on a boyfriend?”
“Well . . .” My hand crosses over my mouth to keep from bursting out with laughter. With a quick glance over to my left, I see that Diane’s lips are pressed tightly together as she helps another patient paint. She’s within earshot and she’s trying hard not to laugh. “I met someone who I like and I think he might like me too,” I answer honestly.
Derek’s little head bobs up and down slowly as he mouths, “Oh.” He looks ready to ask another question, but his brother cuts him off.
“Have you ever kissed a boy?”
“Uh . . .” I stall for just a second, not expecting that question. “I don’t kiss and tell. That’s a good rule. You should remember it,” I say, and I fight against the blush.
“Oh, I will. Dad says one day I’ll want to kiss girls, but I’m only five so it’s okay not to want to now.”
“He’s right, you will. You both will.” I look at them both in turn with a wink.
“Unless we die,” Eric says matter-of-factly.
I pull my legs to my chest and hug them, the position somehow comforting against the sudden tightness inside. I’ve been around a lot of kids and I’ve heard a lot of things. I’ve even had several conversations about death and heaven. But, unlike that idle child chatter sparked by curiosity, Eric’s words send a chill through my body. Because they’re true. These two little boys in front of me may never kiss a girl, or become race car drivers, or learn that werewolves—friendly or otherwise—don’t exist. They may miss out on all that life has to offer them because for some cruel reason, children are not immortal.
“You’re pressing your lips together tight, like Mom does,” Eric says, snapping two Lego blocks together. “She always does that when we talk about dying.”
I’m not surprised. God, what that poor woman must face, watching not one but both of her little boys get pumped with rounds of chemicals, not knowing if it will be enough, wondering what the next few weeks, months, or years will bring!
A painful lump to my throat swells just thinking about it. But I can’t think about it, I remind myself. I’m here to make them not think about it. “How about we make a rule,” I begin slowly, swallowing. “No talk of dying during our playtime. Only talk about what you’re going to do when your treatment is over and you go home, okay?”
Eric frowns. “But what if—”
“Nope!” I shake my head. “There is no ‘what if.’ Got it? How about we don’t plan on dying. We plan on living. Deal?”
They look at each other and then Eric says, “Can I plan on not kissing a girl?”
The heavy cloud in the room suddenly evaporates as I burst into laughter, on the verge of tears for so many reasons. “You can plan whatever you want as long as it involves you growing old and wrinkly. Shake on it.”
Their eyes light up as they slip their little hands into my proffered one in turn, like we’re making a secret pact. One that I think I need as much as they do.
I help the twins build a battleship, an aircraft carrier, and a torture chamber—Eric’s idea—out of LEGOs. They chatter back and forth, bickering occasionally, exactly as I would expect twin brothers to act. It’s so normal that I almost forget that both of these boys are in a hospital with cancer. Almost. But that unease in my chest lingers, and no amount of giggles seems to dissolve it.
I’m surprised when four hours has passed so quickly and a nurse pokes her head in to tell the boys it’s time for them to tidy up and get back to their room. “Are you coming back again?” Eric asks, his eyes wide with the question.
“Well, I was thinking about coming back next Saturday, if that’s all right with you.”
He gives an indifferent shrug, but after a moment I catch the sidelong glance and the grin.
“Okay then,” I stand, ruffling his hair. “See you next weekend, Eric.” Turning to Derek, who’s offering me a shy smile, I now notice the redness around his eyes and his slouched posture. Four hours in here has tired him. “See you next weekend, Derek, right?”
“Yes, Miss Livie.”
With a small wave to Diane, I slowly make my way out to the hallway where a woman with dirty-blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail stands.
“Hello,” she says. “I’m Connie—their mother.” Her eyes—shadowed with darkness from lack of sleep—flicker toward the boys, who are arguing over which box a specific piece of LEGO should go in. “I was watching you with them. I . . .” She clears her throat. “I don’t think I’ve seen them smile so much in weeks. Thank you.”
“I’m Livie.” I offer her my hand. Hers is rough and strong. I notice that she’s in a waitress uniform, so I suspect she just got off of work. I’d imagine she’s working a lot these days with the medical bills she’s facing. That’s probably why her skin looks drawn and the most she can offer me is a sad, worn smile. The thought makes my heart ache for her, but I push it aside. “Your little men are lovely.”
I see the infamous pursed lips as she stares through the window at them again, seemingly lost in thought. “They’re still babies to me,” she whispers, and I watch her blink back the sudden glossiness in her eyes. “Will you excuse me?” I watch her as she walks into the room, replacing the pinched face with a beaming grin full of hope and happiness.
“So?” I hear Nurse Gale ask from behind me. “How was your first day?”
“Great,” I murmur absently, watching the boys as they each grab one of their mother’s outstretched arms. She’s a small woman but she manages both of them at once, squeezing them tight. Even when Eric starts wiggling out of her grasp, she doesn’t relent, holding on for another moment, her lids pressed t
ogether firmly. Squeezing them like she never wants to let them go. And I can’t help but wonder if every hug feels like one of the last hugs she’ll have.
What if it is? What if I show up one weekend to find one of them . . . gone? It’s not as if I’ve come in blind, not expecting that. But now there are little faces and voices attached to that possibility. I suppose I’ll cry. I’ll have to accept it. And I’ll move on. But if I do this, if I become a doctor, how many more times will I stand in a window and watch parents cling to their children? How many more times will I make deals that fall through? Will I ever become immune to this sick feeling in my stomach?
Standing here with all of these thoughts swirling through my head, my eyes suddenly widen in shock. I realize that this is the first time in nine years that I’ve ever considered becoming a doctor as an “if” versus a “when.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Small World
“How’s Princeton?”
“A bit overwhelming,” I admit with a sigh. “I got lost trying to find my classes on Thursday and Friday. Ended up walking in just as the professors introduced themselves. Almost went epileptic.” I’m never late to class. I knew this campus was huge but I hadn’t realized quite how big. I’ve mapped out the routes to the rest of my classes to avoid all potential seizures in the future.
“Yikes. But, you had your volunteer thing today. How was that?” Kacey’s last words are blurred by Mia’s shrieks and what sounds like our friend Ben’s maniacal laughing in the background.
“It was good. There are these two boys—”
“Hold on, Livie.” I hear muffling, like she’s covering the receiver with her hand. “Guys! I’m talking to Livie. Can you just . . . vamoose!” A second later, screams of “Hi, Livie!” flood the phone as they run by, making my heart swell and then immediately constrict. Uncovering the phone, Kacey says, “Sorry, Livie. You know how Saturday nights get.”
I smile wistfully. Yeah, I know exactly how Saturday nights get. The eight-person dinner table in the spacious kitchen is never enough for everyone. It’s always us plus Trent and usually a few friends from Penny’s. Occasionally our old landlord, Tanner, comes. Right now, Storm is probably clearing the table and Dan is washing dishes—if he’s not out arresting Miami’s criminals. It’s a mishmash of misfits and yet . . . it’s family. It’s home.
I sigh as I glance around at my tiny dorm room. It’s clean and nice, but I wonder when the novelty of it will wear off—when it will feel like I belong here.
“So, how was the hospital? You met two boys?” Cupboard doors slam in the background, which tells me that Kacey’s on tidy-up duty while she talks to me. She’s a tornado when she steps in the kitchen.
“Yup. Twins. Eric and Derek.”
“Seriously?” I can almost hear my sister’s eye roll.
I snort. “I know. They’re really cute.”
“And are they . . .” She doesn’t say the words. She doesn’t have to, and my stomach clenches tightly all the same.
I swallow. “Prognosis is good.” I don’t know that, but I say it anyway because it will make both of us feel better. The long commute home gave me a chance to decompress and evaluate. I acknowledged that the first day in a children’s hospital with sick—possibly dying—kids was bound to pull on a few heartstrings. Of course it’ll get better. I’ll probably also freak out the first time that I face a cadaver in med school. Everyone does. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean I’m not meant to be there or that I can’t hack it. By the time I arrived back at my dorm room tonight, the cloud hanging over me was all but gone. My bitterness with Stayner, though, had increased tenfold.
Kacey sighs. “Well, that’s good.” I hear the screech of the oven drawer opening and I grin, knowing what’s coming next. Sure enough, there’s a loud slap, followed by a yelp. I’m laughing as Kacey shrieks, “Dammit, Trent!” because I know that he caught her bent over and distracted and Trent just can’t seem to stop from slapping her butt playfully every chance he gets. A few seconds later, there’s a noisy kissing sound near the phone and Kacey’s giggle.
“Hi, Livie,” a deep male voice says.
“Hi, Trent,” I say, smiling at the two of them and how completely enamored with each other they still are, even after three years. It’s heartwarming, knowing that two individuals with such a train wreck of a past can thrive together. Hearing it in the middle of the night is not so heartwarming. Dan has had to bang on their door more than once to tell them to keep it down. I usually can’t make eye contact with Trent the next day, which amuses Kacey to no end.
“How’s school going?”
“Good. Classes only started on Thursday but they’re good so far.”
“Yeah?” There’s a short pause. “And have you made out with any other guys?”
I gasp as I hear jostling on the other end, followed by a loud slap and Trent’s laugh moving away.
“Sorry,” Kacey mutters.
“How could you tell him that?” Trent has become a big brother to me. A giant man-child brother who loves to tease me almost as much as my sister does. It’s a hundred times more embarrassing when he does it. “I’m never going to hear the end of this! He’s going to tell Dan now and then they’re going to gang up on me!”
“Relax, Livie!” Kacey’s voice cuts in. “He’s not going to say anything. Else. I had to explain why I had pictures of a guy’s ass on my phone, though, so he wouldn’t think I cheated on him.”
“Oh,” I say, biting my lip.
“But don’t worry. I’ll thoroughly beat him tonight for you.” She says that last part extra loud and I know it’s for Trent’s benefit. He’s probably grinning at her right now.
“Great,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. My sister is the opposite of sexually repressed.
“So . . .have you run into that guy? What was his name?”
“Ashton. Yes,” I admit reluctantly.
“And . . .how’d it go?”
I sigh. “About as good as a lit match near a pool of gasoline.”
“Wow.”
I fill her in on the conversation.
There’s a loud clatter as Kacey throws whatever she had into the sink. “What a douche bag! The next time I fly up there, I’m going to tear that guy’s balls off as promised.”
“No you’re not. It’s fine. I’m over it. Reagan and I are going out with some friends tonight. I’m just waiting for her to get back from the bathroom and then we’re on our way.”
“Oh, good. I knew I liked that chick.” I hear the patio door slide open and the sudden breeze against the receiver, followed by Kacey’s small groan. I can tell she’s easing herself into one of the lounge chairs on the back deck. “Well, I hope you have fun. Maybe lay off the Jell-O shots, seeing as I’m not there to control the repressed beast when she reveals herself.”
“Funny.” I bite my lip, hesitating. Do I just come out and tell her what Dr. Stayner told me? I don’t know how she’ll take it. Probably not well. I don’t want her worrying about me because there’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Stayner is wrong.
Before I get a chance to decide, Kacey starts up again in typical Kacey fashion. “But if you do go on another wild bender, make the guy wrap it up.”
“Jeez, Kacey. You sound like a dude,” I hear Trent say in the background.
“What! I’m just making sure my virginal sis thinks about these things when she lets the beast loose again.”
“What beast? Livie has a beast?” I hear a second male voice chirp. Ben, Kacey’s good-looking bouncer-turned-lawyer friend. “Damn. I need to meet it. I love beasts.”
And it’s official. Even a thousand miles away, my sister has still managed to make me want to die. I groan, my face falling into my hand. “Why did I wait until college to drink, Kacey? I should have gotten this out of my system years ago. Why would you let me wait?”
“Hey, I tried.
Remember? If spiking your iced tea isn’t sisterly love, then I give up.”
The door opens and Reagan walks in, tossing her stuff on her dresser. She promptly taps her watch and then gestures to say she’ll be in the hall.
I nod, holding up a finger to indicate one minute. “Kace. I’ve got to go. Say hi to everyone. And tell them that I miss them.”
“Will do, Livie. We miss you tons. It’s not the same without you.”
Again, I have that nagging feeling that I should be telling her what Dr. Stayner said to me, but I don’t know how. I know he’s not right, but . . .what if he is? I know she’ll believe him. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to tell her. Because what will she say? What will she tell me to do? Probably the same thing she always says: Go live and let yourself make mistakes. “Hey, Kace?”
She must be able to sense the serious tone in my voice because her playful lilt disappears. Yeah, Livie?”
“How do you figure out the right way to live your life?”
There’s a long pause. So long that I check the screen of my cell phone to see if the call is still connected.
“Trial and error, Livie. That’s the only way that I know of.”
“It looks pretty quiet,” I say as I follow Reagan along the interlock driveway up to the front porch, which is attached to a stately two-story modern Craftsman-style house and surrounded by towering oak trees. One week ago I was walking along these same stones and feeling these same butterflies. Only this time it’s different because I do know someone inside.
Connor. And it’s a weird excited-nervous feeling that’s stirring inside my stomach this time.
“It’s early,” is all Reagan says, jogging up the steps like she’s been here a thousand times. She reaches out and opens the front door.
“Reagan! Shouldn’t we knock or—”
“Gidget!” I hear a male voice bellow. Peering over Reagan’s head, I see a guy sauntering down a long hall toward us, his bare feet slapping the hardwood floor.
Under my breath, I whisper, “Who is that?” I remember her saying that she knew a lot of people going to the party, but does she know the guys who live here? Does she know Connor? I mentioned Connor and she didn’t say anything except, “I’m in!”