Cyclone

  I had never heard my mother sound quite like that—it was something sharper than anger. But I felt responsible for Mom being mad at Aunt Elayne. I wanted to fix it. “C’mon Mom, stop,” I pleaded, but she charged right past me toward her sister. “Aunt Elayne texted you!” I added.

  My mother stopped short. “No, Aunt Elayne did not text me.”

  “What?” No wonder Mom was out of her mind.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Paige. We went out for fresh air. You knew I was with her,” Elayne said without turning around. That’s when my mother grabbed her hard enough to spin her around.

  “What the f—?” Aunt Elayne threw her arms up quickly, ready to defend herself or land the first blow. I couldn’t tell.

  One of the nurses looked up from his computer. “Ladies? Why don’t we all take a deep breath?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but nodded to someone else behind the desk, who picked up the phone.

  “It’s not her fault, Mom,” I tried again. Well, it kinda was—why didn’t my aunt text like she said? I even saw her with the phone. . . . Oh my gosh, that dog . . . that stupid dog!

  “It is my fault.” Elayne was practically nose to nose with my mother. “I dragged her out for a walk. I’m the one who wanted to get away. Mostly . . . from you!” She jabbed a finger at my mother.

  “Me?” my mom shrieked. Then they really went at it, yelling over each other, their voices getting louder as the space between them got smaller and smaller. Now even the people at the far end of the hallway were staring at us. Those curious faces popping out of the doorways again. This time, they didn’t duck back in.

  “What the HELL is it now?” Aunt Maureen sprang out of Riley’s room just as the security guard showed up. I cannot repeat the string of obscenities she muttered as she marched toward us. “I am sick to death of this! Sick of it! Do you know what your niece did all morning? She managed to stand up on her own and take a few steps with a walker! My daughter WALKED for the first time in a week—and instead of praying to God about how grateful I am, I have to listen to you two snipe at each other!” Riley used a walker today? While I was at the beach?????

  The security guard took a step forward, but Aunt Maureen held up her hand to stop him. He stopped. “I love you both, but either find a way to get along or you can both go home!”

  At that, Aunt Maureen stalked to the elevator without another word. The security guard held the door for her.

  “Mo, stop, where are you going?” called my mom.

  “To the F-BOMB chapel to get some F-BOMB peace!”

  Aunt Maureen punched a button. Mom and Aunt Elayne stared at the closing doors, just as Riley peeked out of her own room, both hands on a walker to keep herself steady. Jodi, her physical therapist, was at her side.

  The nurses’ station broke out in a round of applause.

  Riley took a bow.

  DAY 8 3/4

  There you are, Nora!” Monica was balancing a huge pile of paper and folders in her hands, and it was threatening to collapse. “I had an idea!”

  Uh-oh. “What kind of idea?” The fish-tank chairs were already taken, so I was sitting on the couch closest to the little-kid art table with the crayons and construction paper. Yes, I was back in the PICU family room. I liked it better than the pediatric one, which was always crawling with kids. Monica sat on the other end of the couch, leaving a space between us for the pile, which I could now see had Riley’s communication chart on top of it.

  “Um, doesn’t she need this?”

  “She’s with her OT37 now.” Monica began to spread papers and plastic sleeves on the cushion between us.

  “Occupation? Like a job?”

  “Kind of a weird title, right? Occupational therapy teaches people how to do everyday things for themselves—like brush their teeth or use a fork. Kinds of stuff we take for granted but have to be relearned by patients, especially after a stroke. OTs call them ‘activities of daily living.’ ”38

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, her speech therapist told me that you had been working on something for Riley, and I thought you might be able to use some of this stuff.” She popped open the metal rings on a hard red binder, the same kind I’d used for sixth-grade science, then picked up a plastic sheet protector and lined up the hole punches.

  “What’s this for?” I added a few more of the plastic sheets to the binder, even though I still had no idea why I was doing it.

  “For . . . these.” Monica now slid the hospital word charts into the protectors. “Then you can add the ones you did and—if you want—keep adding new words and drawings, so everything is organized. It might make it easier for Riley, too, so it’s all in one place. What do you think?” Her eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

  “Makes sense.” I didn’t have quite her enthusiasm about it—and I wasn’t sure Riley would either. “You know that she doesn’t . . . really . . . you know . . . use these so much, though?”

  “Josephine mentioned that, but this is all new to Riley, so it may take some time. What’s important is that it’s there if she wants it.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I found my drawings and words and carefully tore them out of the sketchbook, figuring out what order I should put them in. I also had drawings in my math notebook and on loose-leaf paper I had in my summer work folder. Maybe organizing wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  “I’ll leave you to it.” Monica stood, looking pleased. “If you think of anything else you need, just let me know. I have access to the office supplies,” she said with a wink.

  I smiled as she left. She was, without a doubt, what my mother would call a “good egg.” All good eggs should go in The Official Riley Binder, I decided.

  Jack would definitely say Monica had a Fisher-Price quality to her, but I thought my drawing was okay, despite the fact that it made her look sort of disheveled, which she definitely was not. Of course, if Monica was in there, Josephine and Jodi should be too; and Dr. Mejia, but she should probably go at the top of the page, I thought. Hmm, this was going to require some planning. And what would I call the page? Helpers? Too preschool. Professionals? Boring. Specialists? That sounded depressing—who wants to see the entire team of specialists required to get you through the day and back on your feet? TEAM. Duh!

  It took me more than an hour, but I thought Riley would be able to recognize everybody:

  “Nora.” This time it was Aunt Maureen who nudged me. “We need you.”

  I hadn’t just fallen asleep on the PICU couch, I had spread myself all over it, like I was at home. “What’s wrong?”

  “Come on,” she said, hauling me up. “We need you to play cards.”

  “What? With who?”

  “Riley, silly. Your aunt Elayne is playing UNO with Riley to help her with her grip and her concentration.” Confused, I shoved The Official Riley Binder into my backpack. Did Riley want to play cards with me? “Your aunt may be having a harder time than Riley!”

  * * *

  When we got to Riley’s doorway, Aunt Maureen motioned for me to be quiet while we watched. Aunt Elayne cut the deck into two piles and held them vertically on the table in front of her, ready to shuffle. I could see from where I was that she was applying too much pressure, practically bending the cards in half. And then PFFFFFFTTTTTT! They were all over the place.

  “How does a grown woman not know how to shuffle a deck of cards?” Aunt Maureen teased. I picked three cards up off the floor, avoiding Riley’s gaze. “Nora, honey, please help her, I can’t watch anymore!” Aunt Elayne took a halfhearted swipe at her sister and then threw up her hands in mock defeat. This morning, Aunt Maureen was dropping F-bombs at her sister, and now they were acting like best friends at the lunch table.

  I slid into the chair opposite Elayne and gathered up the sorry pile of cards—and then I stopped. I smelled coconut. The way it smelled on Riley’s pillow at home. I put the cards down and stared at my cousin. Her hair was back! Her dark, thick, shiny, coconut-smelling hair was back! I gape
d . . . and had to stop myself from grabbing a handful of it.

  “She looks great, doesn’t she?” Aunt Maureen was smiling ear to ear.

  “She does!” I answered. Aunt Maureen jerked her head toward Riley. “I mean, you do! You look . . . awesome!” She did. She really did.

  “Grat.” Riley’s face lit up—spark, spark, spark!—and she ran her fingers through her own hair. She was feeling more like herself. Not only did she have Riley hair again, but she was wearing purple sweatpants, and I could see her dark purple bra through the NY METS T-shirt she was wearing. Regular hair and a bra! There was no doubt she was smiling at me now—so close to being a full smile, an even smile. Maybe I’d been imagining that Riley was mad at me?

  Aunt Elayne pointed to the curtain and then gave a thumbs-up sign to me. “New roommate,” she mouthed.

  I shuffled the UNO cards and dealt hands to Riley, Elayne, and me. It was turning out to be a good day—now Aunt Maureen was laughing with someone in the hallway.

  “Free,” said Riley. “Oh.” She tugged on her blanket with her good hand. “Free-oh.”

  I threw down a green four.

  “Free,” said Riley, more forcefully. “Oh.”

  “Four,” said Elayne. She rifled through the cards on the tray until she found a three. “This is a three,” she said. “See the curves?”

  “Per-oh,” said Riley, turning to me. “Done Per-oh?”

  “Pear? You’re hungry?” asked Aunt Elayne. “You want a pear? Of course, I’ll get you something.”

  “She’s cold,” said a voice on the other side of the curtain. The new girl. “It’s cold in here. She could probably use another blanket. And where’s her dog?”

  “See!!!” Riley shouted, her face pulling together and up into the biggest smile I had seen on her since the stroke. She almost looked like herself—her real self—her 100 percent self. Aunt Mo heard from the hallway and rushed back in as Aunt Elayne leaped up and slid the curtain wall back halfway. “What are you talking about?” she demanded to a very startled-looking girl in the other hospital bed.

  “She’s cold and she’s looking for her dog.”

  “See, see, see!” Riley yelled. “Per, oh. Per, oh.” I dropped my cards all over the floor.

  “What?” Aunt Maureen looked from Riley to the girl to Riley again.

  “¿Dónde está el perro?” the girl called out to Riley. I left the cards on the floor and pulled the sheet the rest of the way back so they could see each other.

  “See, see!” said Riley. She pushed herself up with her good arm, then began gesturing wildly. “See, see, see!” She was pointing at the girl like she had just won a prize on a game show.

  Aunt Elayne looked back and forth between the girl and Riley. Aunt Maureen looked back and forth between the girl and Riley. We all looked back and forth between the girl and Riley. Even though I couldn’t follow what they were saying, there was something familiar about the way they were speaking. It wasn’t grunting or made-up words, and it wasn’t gibberish. It was something real.

  “Archie . . . is home . . . honey,” said Aunt Maureen, like she wasn’t quite sure she was using the right words. “Nora is taking very good care of him!”

  “No, no,” Riley answered. “No gooos meh.” She shook her head and swung her good leg over the side of the bed toward the girl. Here was the one person in the world who seemed to understand what Riley was saying, and Riley seemed ready to crawl through hot lava to get to her. The girl swung her own legs over the side of the bed and dragged her monitor with her to move toward Riley. She looked closer to Riley’s age than mine, and she was wearing pajamas instead of a hospital gown. Her hair was dark blond—short, choppy, and dirty. Hospital hair. Definitely. Maybe even recently-in-the-PICU hair. She had the same Beep beep beep.

  “No gooos meh.” Riley shook her head harder and pointed at me. Uh-oh.

  “¿No le gusta?” asked the girl. She gasped, then shot me a dirty look. I sensed a new triangle—and it wasn’t a good one for me.

  “See,” said Riley, shaking her head.

  “She says you don’t like the dog?” the girl now asked me, her voice accusatory. In English. In English. So—my mind was exploding—so: Riley was still in there. Riley was having a conversation. In Spanish. “It’s Spanish!” I yelled.

  “¡¡¡¡¡SÍ!!!!!” Riley snort-laughed. “¡¡SÍ SÍ SÍ SÍ SÍ!!”

  “Duh,” said the girl. She towered over me, with a you’re stupid look on her face. I narrowed my eyes at her. Oh yeah, we were in full triangle. Well, I’m on the team and you’re not!

  “Free-oh?” asked Aunt Maureen.

  “What on Earth . . . ,” said Aunt Elayne.

  “F-R-Í-O,” said the girl, with a shrug. “Cold.”

  “Pear?”

  “P-E-R-R-O,” said the girl. “Dog.”

  “See?”

  “S-Í,” I answered this one for her. “Yes.”

  “Sí, sí, sí,” Riley said. She slapped the bed with her good hand. “¡¡Síííííí!!”

  “You knew I was tomato soupin’ the dog?” I yelped. The girl shot me another dirty look. Was I really the only kid in the world who didn’t like dogs?

  “Sí, sí,” Riley whispered. “Sopa. Sí.”

  “ ‘Sopa’?” asked Aunt Maureen.

  “Soup,” said the girl. “I don’t get it.”

  I got it. The “tomato” part was implied.

  Aunt Elayne sat back down slowly and looked at Aunt Maureen. But Aunt Maureen was looking at Riley, and Riley was still looking at the girl. Nobody was looking at me.

  “Yamma?” Riley asked the girl.

  “Sophia,” said the girl. “¿Cómo se llama?”

  “Rye,” she answered. “Yammo Rye.”

  “Hola, Rye.” Sophia smiled.

  “O, Sofe.”

  Riley waved her mother over closer to Sophia. “Moo-Moo . . . Sofe.” She was introducing them!

  “Hi, Sophia,” answered Aunt Mo, looking stunned, but remembering her manners. “How are you, honey? You can call me Maureen.”

  “Moo-Moo,” corrected Riley.

  “Moo-Moo works too,” said my aunt.

  “Moo-Moo . . . casa,” said Riley in a firm voice, pointing at Sophia, then her mom.

  Sophia shook her head, embarrassed.

  “¡Sí!” insisted Riley. “Sí. Ca-sa.”

  “What is it?” asked Aunt Maureen.

  “She said,” Sophia said hesitantly. “She said she wants you to go home.”

  Oh.

  Maybe Riley wanted some privacy after all.

  * * *

  37 Reminder: occupational therapist.

  38 OTs usually call them “ADLs” for short.

  DAY 8 9/10

  Riley—or Rye, as Sophia called her—was like a new person. It was as if she’d been talking underwater this whole time and had finally broken through to the surface. Apparently, stored in the language part of Riley’s brain were a few boxes of Spanish39 she must have packed away in there from school. Aunt Maureen even joked about how apparently Riley’s brain clearly knew more Spanish than Riley had let on, because Riley gotten a C in it on her last report card. Still, Riley was not speaking good, clear Spanish, so Sophia had her work cut out for her.40

  “Verano,” Sophia said across Riley’s bed. “V-E-R-A-N-O. Summer.” She was helping me translate the drawings I had done into Spanish. Riley sometimes tried to repeat the words after Sophia said them. I think it was a good exercise for her. It was a little weird—and I was a little jealous—that Sophia, a complete stranger, seemed to be an even more important part of Riley’s team than I was. Even my “team-ness” had been out-triangled.

  “Abraham Lincoln.” She laughed. She had beautiful, perfect white teeth, like Riley’s. “A-B-R-A—”

  “I got it, I got it!” I laughed right back. You are who you are in any language. Sophia, if you looked at her, seemed pretty healthy, just a little pale and tired. There was no cast, no bandages, and no loud phone
calls, so I had no idea what her story was. Her mom, Ofelia, came late in the afternoon. Thanks to Jack, I figured she must be coming when she got off work.

  Riley looked over her new words:

  “Can I have a sheet of paper?” Sophia asked.

  I ripped one out for her.

  She took the pencil out of my hand. Riley and I watched, both of us, I think, expecting her to write something, but instead she began to sketch.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” replied Sophia without looking up. She had a tube taped to her hand, too, and it ran to the IV pole she had rolled beside her. She turned the page as she drew, which was something Riley never did, making it harder to see what she was drawing. Finally, there was this:

  “When is Riley going to use the word ‘horse’?” I asked, without complimenting her on what was a pretty great-looking horse.

  “Maybe right after she uses the word ‘wolf,’ ” Sophia answered. Wow. It was like that? Really? I reached to take the pencil back. “I’m not done.” And she wasn’t. A cat appeared on the page in under a minute. She labeled it Gato and Slipper.

  “Slipper? What language is that?”

  “That’s his name, silly. That’s my cat!”

  Riley petted the stupid cat on the page. “Ola, Slips.” Ugh. They were so annoying now. And guess what? These weren’t Riley words, they were Sophia words. How did that help anybody? I decided I was going to disqualify the page and rip it out later when nobody was around.

  “One more,” Sophia announced. She kept the page still this time and started to sketch eyes, topped with thick brows (they looked like caterpillars to me, just saying) and then, in astonishing speed, finished a face that I did not recognize. She didn’t label it either.

  I pointed at the dark-haired guy on the page. “Do I even know this person?”

  “Sí,” Riley said, then grinned and nodded an exaggerated nod. Her personality was catching up with her hair.

  “Should I give Nora a hint?” Sophia laughed.