Am I the only girl on earth who’s never been here?
“Tell that boy he owes me three chocolate bars for this.”
I run away from his friendly voice. Get on an elevator. Stare at the map. Crap. This can’t be right. I ask a young red-haired guy who pushes a cart of pills onto the elevator at the next floor for help. I show him the room number, helplessly.
“That’s Derek’s room.”
“Why does everyone here know him so well?”
“We have our favorites. And that kid—the way he comes back and sings to everyone, brings his friends. We’re all pulling for him.”
My eyes are blurring up again. The guy reads my gross red-blotched, puffed-fat face and how I have to bite my lips to keep them still. “Here. I’ll take you.”
He puts his freckled arm out for me to grab onto and leads me down a long corridor, up another, through a bunch of doors into another elevator. He hustles me past the nurses’ station.
I want to hug him by the time we’re standing in front of the door that matches the room number written on my map. He opens the door and pushes me inside and pulls the door closed behind me.
Derek’s there, lying in a hospital bed, with a mask strapped on his face. He has to fight to get each breath in. His face looks blue against the stark-white hospital sheets. His damp hair stands out dark against his pale skin. His eyes are closed. The eyelids are purple, and he’s got dark shadows under his eyes. His long black lashes look wet. There’s a bag of clear liquid hanging on an IV pole. My eyes follow the narrow tube out the bottom of it to where it turns into a syringe sticking into his chest. There’s another pole holding up a bag of yellowish murky stuff. It has a tube, too. A bit fatter. That tube disappears under the sheets. Oh, gross. I think it’s going into his stomach—where that Band-Aid was. I peer at his face. Tiny clear tubes run into each nostril.
I must have made a noise—a sharp intake of my breath. Maybe I sniffed.
His eyes open, and they focus on me. “No, Beth.” He closes his eyes again.
“No ?” I say it too loud, too harsh.
“Not you.”
“Who else?” I’m losing control.
He pulls down the mask he was breathing into so he can talk better. “You’re not supposed to see this.” His voice is thick and raspy. “Go away.”
“Look at me.” I move to the foot of his bed. “Open your eyes, damn you.” It’s my turn to curse. My turn to scream.
He won’t open his eyes.
I go around to the side of his bed and pry an eyelid open. His skin is hot and slick, but I persist.
He sees me well enough. He turns his face away.
My fingers slip into his dark, damp hair. I lean down and speak in his ear. “This is what you’re doing to me.”
“Go away.”
“It’s not that easy.”
He turns to face me, brushes my face with his fingers. He holds me there with the love deep in his feverish eyes until I can’t bear it anymore.
I turn away this time, stumble over to a chair by the door, and break down.
“Oh, Beth.” He struggles to speak. “Please, Beth. Don’t cry like that.”
I jump to my feet, fear fueling that anger I uncovered in the car. “What am I supposed to do?” I screech in his face. “Tell me, Derek. Whatever it is—I have to know.”
“I didn’t want this to happen.”
“That’s so stupid.” I scream. “I love you. How can you be so cruel?” I whip my head back and forth and keep yelling. “I hate you for doing this. I hate you.” I lunge at him with my fists balled up, screaming, “Stop lying. Damn it, Derek. Stop! ”
The door to his room flies open. A short, sturdy woman with Derek’s eyes darts into the room and gets between me and Derek’s bed. “Control yourself, young lady.” She grabs my wrists. “I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing here, but you need to get your evening gown theatrics out of my son’s room.”
I stare at her. “But I’m Beth.”
She lets go of my arms. “We don’t know any Beth.” She herds me toward the door.
“Derek! ” He can’t lie there and let her do this to me.
“Stop, Mum.”
“She doesn’t even know who I am.” My knees buckle, and I sink to the floor, crimson gown and all.
His mother whirls around to face Derek. “Do you know this girl?”
“We met in Lausanne.”
“No. You said Blake met a girl in Lausanne.”
“Not like the one I met.” He sucks in air and whispers. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Hearing that makes my tears start again. His mother stares at me and then back at him. “You didn’t tell her? Oh, Derek. How could you do that?”
She comes back to me, helps me up, and hugs me. “I’m sorry, honey.” She keeps an arm around me, and I lean against this woman I don’t know. Maybe she’ll tell me—if Derek won’t.
From his bed, Derek struggles up onto an elbow. “I was going to tell her once I got back on the active list, but it’s taking way too long. Go away, Beth. Forget you were here. I don’t want you in this world.”
Active list? What is that? I’m sure he thinks I’ll leave him here like this—that I’ll ever leave him again. “How can—”
“Hush, dear, he doesn’t mean it.” His mom turns back to him. “It may never happen. You have to tell her—now.” I like this woman. A lot. She emanates sense and strength.
She leads me back over to Derek’s bed, leans over him, smoothes his hair off his forehead, and kisses the spot.
She squeezes my arm, bites her lower lip, and leaves us alone.
chapter 28
TRUTH
I’m not angry anymore. The terror returns.
“Can you go back to the chair and sit for a minute.” The only thing I hear in his voice is utter weariness. “I need to finish this.” He puts the mask back on, lays his head on his pillow, and breathes, with kind of a gasp and a rattle, into his mask.
I move the chair close beside his bed and take his hand. He worms it away so he can hand me the tissues from his bedside table. I use up half the box, wiping my runny face. Then I lay my cheek down on his upturned palm.
In a few moments he starts to speak. “Did you ever wonder why my skin tastes so salty?”
“No.” I kiss his hand and lick my lips. “I just like it.” I didn’t get past Scott’s mouth. Derek’s the only guy I ever tasted.
“I was a really sick baby. Always a cold or pneumonia. I screamed all the time and wouldn’t eat. Then I’d eat and eat and eat until I started screaming again.”
“Poor Derek.”
“My poor mum. My dad worked nights—even back then. She couldn’t keep me quiet so he could sleep. And then I’d scream all night, too.”
“What was wrong?”
“Nobody knew. Her doctor said she wasn’t producing enough milk. Stuck me on formula.”
My eyes go to the bag on the second IV pole. That’s what the stuff in it looks like, baby formula.
Derek pushes the sheet down past his waist and pulls up his hospital gown. The tube is attached to a plastic disk embedded in his stomach. “Now you know why I always wore bulky sweatshirts, backed off when you got too close, went ballistic when you tried to take my shirt off.” He notices my eyes following the tube to the bag of stuff on the pole. “It’s a feeding tube. People with my condition need a lot more calories to thrive than normal people.”
“But you eat. I’ve seen you.”
“Not enough. I was a skeleton baby when the doctor finally stuck me in the hospital. One of the doctors suspected and gave me a sweat test.” He nodded. “I have CF. That’s why my skin tastes so salty.”
I lift up my head. My face pulls into a knot. “But you’re not in a wheelchair. I can’t believe your brain is messed up.”