For Better, for Worse, Forever Page 8

  After hugs and promises to keep in touch, April returned home. Her father insisted on taking April and her mother to a restaurant overlooking Long Island Sound for dinner. They sat in a quiet corner booth with lit candles, watching the sky turn from orange to red to purple with the waning light of the sun.

  April stared out at the water, a deep navy blue, so different in color from the intense turquoise of the Caribbean. Lately all things seemed different to her. Music sounded more beautiful, colors appeared more vibrant. Did knowing that she would soon have to leave this world make her time in it more precious? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she felt balanced on the brink between dread and expectation. “I visited Mark’s grave today,” she told her parents.

  They looked startled. “Was that wise?” her father asked.

  “I miss him. I wanted to be near him again.”

  Her mother’s lips pressed together. April could tell she didn’t approve. “I hope you aren’t dwelling on dark thoughts. You should be putting your energy into positive ones. Doctors don’t know everything. Miracles happen.”

  “Is that what you think will happen for me? A miracle?”

  Her mother’s face flushed. “I just don’t think it’s smart to abandon hope.”

  “I’m not. But I have to know what to hope for. A cure doesn’t seem likely. So I have to hope for other things.”

  “Such as?”

  She shrugged. “Courage. The next few months aren’t going to be easy. Not for any of us.” Her parents said nothing. “Mark’s mother said that you should call her. That she knows what you’re going through and that she’ll be there for you.”

  April’s mother turned her head and jabbed furiously at the napkin in her lap. “I know she means well, but she can’t possibly know what I’m feeling. She can’t begin to understand how angry I am.” Her voice cracked. “You are my only child. Rosa has others.”

  April blinked, incredulous. Would knowing you had other children make it easier to lose one? “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “And your dying does?”

  April’s father put out his hand, and April’s mother took it. April watched as their grip on each other tightened and wished she could hang on too. After she was gone, they would still have each other. She was glad of that. “Mom, I don’t want to die. I don’t want to leave either of you, but I can’t help it. Please, don’t make me feel as if there’s something I should be doing to stop it.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Is that what you think?” Her mother looked stricken. “Do you think I’m holding you responsible because you’re dying?”

  Her father said, “We know you can’t help it, baby. We know it’s not your fault.”

  The incredible sadness of the moment was breaking April’s heart. A part of her wished she could save them all from the horrible process that lay ahead for them. But a part of her desperately needed them with her to help make the leaving easier. She felt torn between wanting to spare them and needing them to shield her.

  “I’m sorry,” her mother whispered. “I had no right to dump my frustrations on you. There’s nothing you can do to stop this from happening. There’s nothing we can do either. But I feel helpless and powerless. And so very angry. We have all this money, and it counts for nothing when it comes to stopping what’s happening. When we wanted a baby, we turned to medicine and it helped us. Now the medical community has abandoned us.”

  By the time their food arrived, none of them had an appetite. April toyed with her fork, feeling absolutely strung out. She didn’t want her last months—maybe only weeks—to be like this, with each of them sad, angry, and locked in a prison of pain. If she allowed it, death would have a double victory over her. And that she could not stand. It was hard enough to lose her life. She would not also lose her spirit, her capacity to feel joy and show love. Mark had shown her love up until the very end of his life. His last breath had gone into forming the words “I love you.” She couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow hers to say less. This, then, was her season of goodbye, her farewell to a good life. She vowed to make each and every minute that was left to her count for something.

  13

  The arrival of April’s friend Kelli in mid-August was like a fresh breeze blowing through the stagnant air of April’s life. April flung open the front door and they threw themselves into each other’s arms. Kelli squealed, “How are you? I’ve missed you so much!” She dropped her duffel bag on the floor, for they’d already planned that she would spend the night.

  “Same here!” April cried. She held Kelli at arm’s length. “Wow! You look fabulous! When did you cut your hair?”

  “Ages ago. Do you like it?” Kelli spun, showing off her short dark cap of curls. “But look at you! You’re absolutely golden brown. And your hair. I’ll bet it’s three shades lighter.”

  “All that sun in St. Croix.”

  Kelli peered closely at her. “Have you put on weight?”

  “Um—I’m back on that headache medicine for a while. You remember how it makes me puff up like a blowfish.”

  “But why—”

  April grabbed Kelli’s arm and dragged her up the stairs to her room. “We’ll talk about me later. First I want to hear all about you. And college. And your summer job.” She scrambled onto the bed and hugged her knees. “So, start talking.”

  “School’s awesome,” Kelli said, plopping down across from April, Indian style. “It was scary at first, being so far from home and all, but now I love it. My roommate, Cheryl, is a real athlete—she’s on a basketball scholarship—and she lives down in San Francisco, so that’s where I crash over major holidays when the school shuts down. She’s dragged me hiking and rock climbing and blading—” Kelli ticked off on her fingers. “I’ve never had so much exercise in my life.”

  “And classes? You do go to classes, don’t you?”

  “I only sleep through the morning ones. Actually, I like classes. Much better than high school. Can you believe I’ll be a sophomore in September?”

  April didn’t need reminding. She too would have been a second-year college student if only cancer hadn’t happened to her. “And your job? Are you the boss yet?”

  “Work is work. But waiting tables at a coffeehouse all summer was kind of fun. I honestly didn’t want to quit and come home, but I had to … Mom was pressuring me. She hasn’t seen me since Christmas break, so I had to make an appearance.”

  “How is your mom?”

  Kelli shrugged, and her bright smile faded. “She’s adjusting to being divorced. She’s living in the city now that the house has been sold, and she’s got a job in a florist shop. She’s doing good, but I think she misses her old friends.”

  “And your dad?”

  “He’s into his second childhood out in Denver. He’s dating a girl who’s only eight years older than me. Can you believe it?”

  Kelli didn’t wait for a response. “What do I care? He’s paying my college tuition.”

  But April could tell that Kelli cared very much. “Any cool guy in your life?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “There’s Jonathan.” Kelli’s expression softened. “He’s a junior and going for a degree in restaurant management. We worked at the coffeehouse together. He’s perfectly wonderful.”

  “Kelli! Are you serious about him?”

  “Define serious. He makes my knees weak when he looks at me, and when he kisses me the earth moves. Just a crush, I’d say.”

  April squealed and swatted her friend with a pillow. “You’re in love! I know the signs.”

  “Well … maybe just a little. Not as serious as you and Mark were, of course, but I really like him.” Kelli’s eyes sparkled. “Which leads me to ask about Brandon.”

  Now it was April’s turn to look serious. “I don’t think I’m on Brandon’s favorite-person list. I, um, sort of ran out on him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We left St. Croix in a hurry. I didn’t tell him goodbye.”

  “
But why? That’s not like you.”

  “Oh—you know, we waited until the last minute to pack up and then the next thing I knew we were on the plane and on our way.”

  “You haven’t written him? Or called him?”

  “I will,” April said dismissively. Once again, she wasn’t up to confessing the whole truth to Kelli. As long as they could just talk about this and that, she could pretend that she was normal. She could make believe that everything was perfect, and she wouldn’t have to tell her best friend that she was dying.

  They went for ice cream, and as April drove through the familiar streets she recalled their days of growing up together. Every street corner, every neighborhood, blossomed with memories. The dance studio where they’d taken ballet classes in the third and fourth grades was open and conducting classes, and a group of little girls could be seen doing exercises at the barre through the plate glass window.

  Kelli licked her ice-cream cone, not paying much attention to April’s meandering tour. “I can’t wait to get back to Oregon,” she said. “I’d forgotten how muggy summer is around here.”

  “You’re right. It’s even cooler in St. Croix than it is here.”

  “I’m sorry I never got down there to visit you. I would have loved it. Will you go back?”

  “Probably not.” April regretted not returning. Not merely because she missed the beauty of the island, but also because she would never see Brandon again. All that lay ahead for her now was a downward spiral into sickness. She shifted gears. “How’d you like to run by school?”

  “Whatever.”

  Their former high school, a large redbrick building, had been closed for the summer, but a few of the teachers had returned to prepare for the fall term, so the doors were open. April and Kelli strolled down the empty halls, their footfalls echoing in the quiet. The scent of chalk and white paste sent a wave of nostalgia through April. She’d never thought she would miss the place, but suddenly she did miss it. She’d been an excellent student and had received high honors. Once she’d even dreamed of becoming a TV journalist.

  “I wish you could see my campus,” Kelli said, seemingly oblivious to the spell of the building. “It’s majorly cool, while this place is so rinky-dink.” They’d stopped in front of the trophy case. “Look, there’s your name.” Kelli pointed to a tall silver award won by the debate team in April’s junior year. April’s name was etched in the metal.

  “That was fun,” April said with a wistful smile.

  “Immortalized for all time,” Kelli said brightly.

  April figured that once she was gone, the trophy and photos in the yearbook would be all that remained of her. “I think you should go to the twenty-fifth reunion,” she told Kelli.

  “Sure. We’ll go together.” April didn’t answer, but headed for the parking lot and the car. “Hey, wait for me,” Kelli called, jogging after her. “What’s the rush?”

  “No hurry. Just thought of somewhere else I’d like to go.” April drove slowly and turned down a side street. “Have you been by your old house?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Would you like to?”

  “I guess,” Kelli said halfheartedly.

  The quiet tree-lined street was just as April remembered it. “The last time I drove down this street was that day last year when you left for college.”

  “I think I knew then that I wouldn’t be back to live here. My folks were barely speaking.”

  April pulled up to the curb and shut off the engine. The old brick house looked well kept. The shutters and front door had been painted blue, and a stranger’s car was in the circular driveway. “I missed you from the second you rolled out of the driveway.”

  “You were making plans to marry Mark.”

  “I wish I could have had more time with him.”

  Kelli stared out at the house for a long time before sighing. “It seems like a million years ago that I lived here.”

  April heard the emotion in her friend’s voice. “I know what you mean. When I got back home, everything seemed out of sync. It was as if I didn’t belong here anymore.”

  “I really don’t belong here. And I guess my parents’ split is for the best. They’ve been unhappy together for so long. I think they just stayed together because of me. Still, it’s weird.”

  “What’s weird?”

  “Seeing the house, knowing that someone else lives in it. Knowing I don’t have a home anymore—just a college dorm room halfway across the country.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” April said softly.

  “I’ll get over it. I mean, you were ready to start a new home with Mark last summer. Isn’t that the way things are supposed to be? You grow up, move out, get married, and make your own life.”

  Yes, for some people, April thought. She switched on the engine. “Let’s get out of here. It’s almost time for supper, and Mom will be miffed if you don’t eat with us.”

  “Has her cooking improved?”

  “Not much.”

  Both girls broke out laughing, and April sped back toward her house, anxious to dispel the gloom that had fallen over them both.

  Dinner would have been subdued if not for Kelli’s animated chattering. April’s father asked questions about college, and Kelli told about her campus, her classes, her aspirations.

  “I have to declare a major by the time I’m a junior, and right now I’m leaning toward a degree in public relations. I like working with people, and I’m getting good grades in a couple of advertising classes.”

  “You’d be good at PR,” Hugh told her.

  “Maybe April and I can go into business together someday.”

  April’s mother caught April’s gaze with a questioning look that asked, “Haven’t you told her?” and April flashed her a look that said, “Not yet.”

  But once dinner was over and April and Kelli climbed the stairs to April’s bedroom, Kelli shut the door firmly behind her and turned to face April. She said, “All right—it’s time you told me everything.”

  “Everything? What do you mean?” April’s mouth went dry, and her heart thumped nervously.

  “We’ve talked about everything but you. We’ve gone a lot of places today and tripped down Memory Lane. I’ve known you for most of my life, and I know when something is bothering you. Your parents look totally depressed, and I haven’t asked you about your health because I figured out real fast that you didn’t want to talk about it earlier today. But now I want to know. Please, don’t keep me in the dark any longer. Tell me, April, what’s going on?”

  14

  April stood in the middle of the room, looked Kelli straight in the face, and told her. She’d thought she would be able to get through the whole story without crying, but as she quietly delivered the news about her impending death, as she watched Kelli’s eyes widen and her hand clamp across her mouth to stifle sobs, and saw tears trickle down Kelli’s cheeks, April wept with her.

  “No! No!” Kelli kept shaking her head.

  April closed the distance between them and took her friend in her arms, trying to comfort her. “Don’t cry. I hate to see you cry.” It struck April as odd that she, the one who was dying, should be comforting the one who was not, but it seemed the right thing to do. Kelli was devastated, and April wanted to help ease her pain. It was as if she were removed from the situation. As if it weren’t her they were talking about, but some other person, some mutual friend.

  Between sobs, Kelli managed to say, “I knew it was going to be bad news. I knew by the way you were driving around today, visiting all the places where we grew up, that you had something heavy to tell me. Oh, April, I’d give anything if it wasn’t this kind of news.”

  “I wish it was something else too.”

  “Your doctor … he’s positive? There isn’t any mistake?”

  “No mistake.” April fumbled for tissue from a box on her vanity and handed a wad to Kelli. “It’s been hard to even think about it. Some mornings I wake up and I feel real
mellow, and then it hits me: I’m going to die. It sort of spoils the whole day.”

  Kelli blew her nose and attempted a smile at April’s dark humor. “It isn’t fair.”

  “What is fair?”

  “Well, not this!” Kelli sank onto the bed and grabbed April’s hand. “That settles it. As long as you’re here, I’m not going to leave you. I’m quitting school and moving back home.”

  “Kelli, you can’t drop out of school. I won’t let you.”

  “And I won’t let you die without me.” Kelli dissolved into fresh tears.

  April settled beside her on the bed. “Everybody has to die sometime or another, Kelli. You have to go on with your life.”

  “I’m putting my life on hold and you can’t stop me.”

  “Look, I don’t even know when this might happen to me. You can’t sit around in some kind of deathwatch.” She made a face. “It’s unnatural.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says me. You’ve planned to go back to Oregon in two weeks, and that’s exactly what I want you to do. I—I don’t want you to hover over me, waiting for me to keel over.”

  “That’s not what I’ll do.”

  “You won’t mean to, but it’ll happen. I remember what it was like to watch Mark die. I didn’t believe it was happening. I felt helpless because I couldn’t stop it. It was a nightmare, and you shouldn’t have to go through it.”

  “And so what am I supposed to do? Sit in Oregon and wait for my phone to ring? Wait for your mother to call and drop the bomb on me?”

  “Yes.”

  Kelli shook her head furiously. “I won’t. I won’t be three thousand miles away while you … while you …” She couldn’t finish her sentence.