Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep Read online

  “You can’t ever think this will happen to you,” Keith 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.”

  Published by

  Dell Laurel-Leaf

  an imprint of

  Random House Children’s Books

  a division of Random House, Inc.

  New York

  Copyright © 1991 by Lurlene McDaniel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. For information address Dell Laurel-Leaf.

  Dell and Laurel are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Visit us on the Web! www.randomhouse.com/teens

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit as at

  www.randomhouse.com/teachers

  ISBN: 0-553-28897-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-307-77626-6

  RL: 5, ages 10 and up

  v3.1_r2

  I would like to thank Judy Whedbee and Hospice of Chattanooga. Thanks also to Valerie Blancett and Joel Alsup, who live with cancer every day.

  Now I lay me down to sleep,

  I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep.

  If I should die before I wake,

  I pray Thee Lord my soul to take.

  —CHILDHOOD PRAYER

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Epigraph

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Other Books by This Author

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “But Mom, you told me you’d take me for my bloodwork today,” Carrie Blake said as she stood in the doorway of her mother’s bedroom.

  “I know, honey, and I’m sorry I have to back out. But my boss wants me at a meeting this afternoon with one of our biggest clients. I just can’t pass up an opportunity like this.” Faye Blake scurried around the room dressing as she spoke. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve never gone to the clinic alone before. You’ve been going for six months—it should be routine by now.”

  Carrie felt resentful. How could she explain her fear that her bloodwork would be abnormal? And that being alone during her clinic visits was getting to be a drag? “Yeah, it’s pretty routine all right,” she mumbled. What other ninth-grade girls at Martin High School have such a normal routine of checking for a relapse into leukemia?

  Her mother sat on the bed and gathered her pantyhose. “Look, if it’s bothering you that much, call your father. Have him come get you. He should be helping me out more anyway.”

  Carrie didn’t want her mom to get off on that topic. “When we talked on the phone last night, he said they’d be pouring cement today, and you know he can’t leave the project till that’s done.”

  Mrs. Blake tugged the hose to her waist. “So ask his new wife. Maybe Lynda can pick you up.”

  “She can’t. Bobby’s got a Little League play-off game at four.”

  Mrs. Blake slumped. “I forgot—now I’m going to miss that too.” She turned toward Carrie, her brown eyes clouding. “Do you really think he understands, Carrie? He’s only nine, but he did want to live with your dad. I just don’t want him to think I abandoned him, you know?”

  Carrie sighed. “He’s doing great, Mom.”

  “Last year it seemed like the best thing to do when I went back to work. Besides, Lynda doesn’t work, so Bobby doesn’t have to go to day care like he would if he lived here with us.”

  Carrie had heard her mother rationalize her choices hundreds of times. Her mother kept asking her kids to forgive her for divorcing their father, and Carrie kept feeding her the reassurances she wanted to hear. “You see him every weekend, Mom. He’s used to it.”

  “Maybe we swap you kids around too much,” her mother said.

  Carrie almost blurted, But it’s what you wanted. Instead she changed the subject. “Look, don’t worry about my clinic visit. I was just being a baby about it.”

  At her dresser Mrs. Blake rummaged through her jewelry box. “Carrie, this is the easy part. That first year—with the diagnosis and all—and then the chemo and remission … well, this part seems like a piece of cake. I really think you’ve beat your disease, Carrie.”

  Your disease, her mother always said. To her it would forever be Carrie’s problem. Throughout her hospitalization and clinic treatments, her parents fought over it. Whenever her father confronted his wife about not staying with Carrie in the hospital, her mother had argued, “There’s an entire staff to take care of her, Stan. What can I do to help?”

  And her father would shout back, “For crying out loud, Faye, you’re her mother, and she’s just a twelve-year-old kid. Stay with her!”

  And then her mother would yell, “Why don’t you spend your day up there? You know I can’t stand hospitals and needles and those tests that hurt her—why aren’t you holding her hand while they stick a foot-long needle into her spinal column? She’s so sick afterwards. I hate it!”

  “I work, Faye,” her father would yell back. “She needs her mother!”

  And her mother would yell, “Well I’d work too, if you’d let me! But no, you have some pigheaded idea that I need to be home all the time.”

  “Your place is with your family!” he’d shout.

  Finally it got so bad that Carrie simply ignored them and asked her doctors and nurses to explain the procedures to her. Carrie realized that she knew more about her leukemia and its treatment than both her parents put together, and watching her mother prepare for work made her painfully aware that she probably always would. “Well, I guess I’d better take off, or I’ll be late for school. I’ll catch the bus to the hospital after school and then home after I’m finished.” One advantage to living in a city the size of Cincinnati was its convenient transportation system. On her way out she asked, “What’s for supper?”

  “Oh, Carrie, I’ll be going out to dinner with Larry Farrell. You remember meeting him?”

  “The man from your office,” Carrie said matter-of-factly. “Gray suit, white shirt, and wing tips. A real catch.” Not like her father, who smelled of sweat and construction dust, she thought.

  “A brilliant CPA,” Mrs. Blake added sharply. �
�He’s been a big help with my clients’ accounts. And he’s nice too. Goodness knows I need a nice man in my life after all the years I put up with your father.”

  “So is there something in the fridge for me if you and Larry go out to dinner?” Carrie asked quickly.

  “Some leftover meat loaf. And there’s a pizza in the freezer.”

  Carrie’s stomach reacted to both suggestions. “Maybe I’ll grab something at the hospital after I finish in the clinic.”

  Her mother made a face. “How can you even think about eating that disgusting hospital food if you don’t have to?”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “I’d think you’d have gotten your fill of that place. I hope I never see the inside of that hospital again.”

  Carrie had felt the same way, at first. But a person didn’t spend three years of her life as she had without feeling some sort of kinship with the people who’d helped her through it. “I think Hella’s in the clinic today. Maybe she’ll grab a bite with me.” At the mention of her favorite nurse, Carrie smiled. If it hadn’t been for Hella, there’d be no teen support group, and without support group—

  “Maybe she’ll give you a lift home, I’m not crazy about you riding the bus after dark.”

  But not bothered enough to change your plans, Carrie thought. She watched her mother fluff her hair, remembering when she’d been only a housewife and her father was the one stumbling around the bedroom getting ready for work. Bobby had been in the second grade, and she’d been in chemo, still trying to go to school even though she was vomiting most mornings. They all lived together in the same house and at least pretended to be a family. “So I hope your meeting goes well,” Carrie said.

  “Thanks,” Mrs. Blake answered. “Carrie, you do understand about my not being able to take you, don’t you?”

  Carrie looked at her mother, at the stylish blouse and new-wave haircut, pearl earrings and expensive heels. “It’s no big deal, Mom. Like you said, it’s routine for me.”

  Mrs. Blake smiled her approval and finished doing her hair.

  Chapter Two

  “We’re almost finished,” the lab technician said.

  Carrie watched in bored fascination as the clear glass vial, attached to the syringe stuck in her vein, filled with her blood. She guessed that she’d given them an ocean of blood during the length of her illness.

  “Sticking you kids is always the worst part for me,” the tech said.

  “It beats the catheter,” Carrie told him. “Or taking it out of the neck like Count Dracula.” She arched her eyebrows suggestively and made him laugh.

  She hated wearing the Hickman catheter, but the apparatus made it easier for patients to receive chemo. Nurses would simply hook the IV tubing attached to the bag of chemo medication to the small IV tube inserted beneath her shoulder blade that led to a vein deep in her chest, and the solution would drip inside her. It saved getting stuck hundreds of times and her veins from collapsing. Still, the device had been a nuisance, always needing to be flushed and cleaned. And even though no one could see it, sometimes it got hung up on her bra, and without warning a bright red spot of blood would appear on her shirt.

  “Have you seen Hella Smithe today?” she asked the tech.

  “She was in the chemo room about an hour ago.” He slipped the needle out of Carrie’s arm and taped a cotton ball to the puncture. She automatically crooked her arm, holding it tightly, so that the bleeding would stop and a bulge wouldn’t form in the vein.

  She left the lab and walked through the clinic, passing through areas that were now as familiar to her as her own house. In the chemo room Hella was hunched over a small boy stretched out in one of the contour chairs used during chemotherapy. Carrie said, “I’ll hold her off, and you make a run for it, kid.”

  The boy giggled and Hella turned. “I thought I saw your name on the schedule. Wait just a minute and I’ll be with you.”

  Minutes later Carrie found herself with Hella in the nurses’ lounge sipping a cola. “Are you coming to support group Friday night?” the blond-haired nurse asked.

  “Don’t I always?”

  “Is it because you have such a swell time talking about cancer, or could it be because of Keith Gardner?” The nurse’s voice held a teasing tone.

  Carrie felt color creep up her neck. “Maybe a little of both. It helps to talk about it.”

  “So how are things at home?” Hella asked.

  Carrie found Hella’s sensitivity amazing. She always seemed to know when Carrie was upset or down. Maybe it was because she’d worked so hard with Carrie’s parents about accepting her diagnosis and treatment without blaming each other. Hella also knew that Carrie’s home life was something she’d never discuss in the group. “Mom’s really crazy about her job and some guy in her life. I think he’s sort of a dweeb, but my opinion doesn’t count for much with her.”

  “What are your summer plans?”

  “Find a job, I guess. I can’t work full-time till I’m sixteen, but even part-time would help.”

  “Don’t forget the support-group picnic on Memorial Day.”

  “How can I? I’m in charge of games.”

  Hella fiddled with a paper napkin. “I was thinking I might ask Keith to help you.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Carrie said.

  “Why not? He’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met, and I know he wants to help. Besides, he’s cute.”

  “You know why not,” Carrie told her.

  “Because you think he’s cute too and would rather die than let him know it?”

  Carrie tried to act casual. “He doesn’t even know I’m alive.”

  “Of course he does. I noticed him watching you at the meetings.”

  “You’d say anything to make me agree to one of your plans.”

  “Well, you need help with the games, and it’s either Keith or Sharon Haverly.”

  Carrie groaned and dropped her forehead against the tabletop. “Not Sharon. That girl never stops talking.”

  “Name your poison,” Hella said coyly.

  “Some choice! Either I drown in Sharon’s nonstop blabbering or in my own nervous perspiration.”

  “Yeah, isn’t love the pits?”

  “I don’t love him, Hella. What do I know about love? I’ve spent the past three years learning about cancer.”

  Hella patted Carrie’s arm. “Then it’s about time you learned that they can both leave you nauseous.”

  “What a comforting thought,” Carrie mumbled, her mind already racing in anticipation of Friday night.

  Carrie stood at the refreshment table in the front of the hospital auditorium trying not to stare at Keith Gardner. But like a magnet her eyes kept finding him. She knew that Keith had once had Hodgkin’s disease, that he was sixteen, an athlete, a sophomore at Martin High, and probably the most gorgeous male she’d ever set eyes on. Why had she ever let Hella talk her into pairing them on the picnic-games committee?

  She chose a chocolate-chip cookie from a tray and dipped herself a ladle of raspberry punch. Some prankster had hung a sign on the bowl that read: “This is NOT adriamycin”—the name of a drug commonly used in chemotherapy that caused nausea. She smiled at the inside joke, glad that chemo was behind her.

  “Hella tells me we’re doing a committee thing,” Keith said.

  “That’s what she told me too. Do you mind?”

  “Not if you have any good ideas.”

  “I don’t have a single one,” she admitted, making him laugh.

  “Well, according to Hella this picnic’s going to last from noon till dusk, so we’d better come up with something.”

  “Baseball’s good,” she said quickly, because she knew his sport was baseball. “Adults against us.”

  He surveyed the room, which was rapidly filling for the meeting. And because it was the only adolescent cancer support group within a fifty-mile radius of Cincinnati, the room was already crowded. Girls, bald from chemo and wearing hats, scarves, and wig
s, boys with crutches, and teens with artificial limbs were taking seats in the small theater. “It hardly seems like a fair matchup to me,” Keith said. “We’d kill ’em.”

  Carrie giggled. “Probably. But what’s a picnic without a ball game?”

  “How about tug-of-war?”

  Carrie watched one boy balance a small bucket on his lap and knew at once he’d been to chemo recently and therefore might start vomiting at any moment. “Only if we do it over a mud pit. Wouldn’t you love to see Dr. Fineman in the mud?” She named an oncology specialist popular with the kids.

  Keith nodded. “And a three-legged race? How about that?”

  Carrie saw another boy unstrap his artificial leg and prop it against the seat beside him to save a place for a friend. She looked back at Keith. “Unfair advantage for our side. They’d cry foul.”

  Keith laughed again, and she noticed how his green eyes sparkled. “We’re going to have fun planning these games, Carrie.” She hoped her nervousness wasn’t showing. “Why don’t we get together after the meeting and talk some more?” he asked.

  “Uh—no, not tonight.” Lynda, her stepmom, was picking her up to take her to her father’s for the weekend. “Other plans,” Carrie finished lamely.

  “How about tomorrow then? It’s Saturday. I could drive to your house. Don’t you live near the high school?”

  She wondered how he knew where she lived. She’d still be at her father’s, so she suggested, “How about we meet at the library?”

  “Sure. I’d have never thought to meet there.”

  “I used the library a lot when I was in and out of the hospital so much. The librarians were real helpful and would let me check out any books I wanted because I was too sick from chemo to get to most of my classes.”

  “The library it is. What time?”

  Carrie could hardly believe he was making a “date” with her. “Is ten o’clock all right? I’ll wait for you on the steps.”

  “See you tomorrow.” He waved and headed up the auditorium steps to the upper gallery. The rim of overhead lights left the top part of the room edged in shadow, and she watched until Keith disappeared from view.