I drop my head onto her shoulder. “I have to get back up there. What if—”
“Is he that bad?” She lets me loose.
I sink down on my bed. “How can I waste time on school when he—” I take a deep breath and steel myself to say it. “When he could be dead tomorrow?”
“It’s that close?”
I fight hard to keep my emotions steady. “No one knows. It could be. This new medication they’ve got him on seems to be helping.” His mom filled me in when we went back to the hospital Sunday. “How long it will help and how much is a mystery. They have to keep him alive long enough for him to get the transplant. Only problem is they have to get him so he’s not antibiotic resistant anymore first.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s not.” I sniff and start to blink. “If they take him off his antibiotics, the infections will win.”
Mom sits beside me. “I’m sorry.” She’s fighting back tears, too. “So, so sorry.” She puts her arm around me and squeezes. “Okay. Let’s take it one day at a time. Go to school today. Get your assignments, and you can take off tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Try to make it before midnight.” I had a hard time leaving Derek last night. “I love you, Beth.” She leans her head against mine. “I’m here. Whatever I can do. I’m here.”
I kiss her cheek, hug her, jam a change of clothes and my zit stuff into my bag, and tear out of there.
I get to school late, but Scott’s still at his locker. I was so awful to him Saturday night. I need to apologize—explain. “Hey, Scott. I’m so—”
He whirls around with his arms full of books. “To hell with you, Beth.” He walks past me, to the far end of the hall.
The locker beside mine is empty.
I hear books thud and a locker door slam down the hall. I feel like he hurled those books right in my face.
He’s not in choir.
At lunch I see him with a tiny junior girl who’s new this year. On my way out after school, he’s making out with her by the front doors.
Crap. He’s taking my stupid, stupid advice. I should be happy for him. I’ve got Derek to worry about. No room for a friend who wants more than I can give. I relied on him and that’s not really fair. Better to have Scott occupied. Right now he’s more occupied than I want to know, but he deserves something. He can’t really like her. She’s tiny and pretty and perfect for him, but he can’t love her. He loves me. She’s probably had a crush on him since school started. And now, oh my gosh, he’s got his hands on her butt.
I hurry by them, chuck my bag on Jeanette’s passenger seat, and drive fast for London. No line at the border between Port and Sarnia. I’ve got my passport today, but the guy glances at my license plate and waves me through. It’s snowing again, but the road is fine. I make it to the hospital in under an hour. It’s easier than driving to choir. Shoot—choir. We have a practice tomorrow. I’ll have to call Terri. Maybe I’ll just update my status on my page. Everyone will get the message that way—
Oh my gosh. My page.
Derek friending me—curious about the rest of me.
What a brat. He was right, though. The Amabile guys beat us. He got his way with me, too. He always gets his way.
He’ll get those lungs. It’s Derek.
I burst into his room. He’s asleep with his inhaler thing strapped to his face. His mom, poor woman, is nodding off, too, balanced on that uncomfortable chair. I gently shake her shoulder. Her eyes flutter open.
“He’s still good?” I whisper.
She blinks and nods. “Get him to finish that. Then his vest.”
“I can stay. Sleep in tomorrow.”
She gathers her purse and knitting, leaves a stack of books about cystic fibrosis for me. “Make sure he doesn’t skimp his treatments in the morning.” She hugs me and stumbles out.
I steal the table that swings over Derek’s bed for meals, push it over by the window, lower it, and spread out my books. I grab the chair—catch him spying at me through one eye.
“Are you awake?”
“No.”
I drop the chair and very gently, mindful of his IV and how weak he is, attack him.
He kisses me back and breathes, “You’re going to make my monitors go off,” into my ear.
I press my ear to his chest. His heart races back. “Too much excitement?”
He presses the magic buttons and the bed sits us up. “Bring the table back over here.”
“Not until you finish with your vest.”
I bring it over to him, help him get it strapped on. It vibrates him for twenty minutes, and then he huffs gunk into a basin.
Meg sticks her head in the door. “Need any help?” She sees the green tinge to my face and comes in. “I’ll take over. Get some air. Don’t push yourself too fast.”
I walk up and down the hall, berating myself until Meg comes out. “He wants you again. He said something about a sponge bath.”
That makes me smile. I go back in the room, push the table back to his bed, and dutifully study with his head resting on my shoulder. He falls asleep like that—drools on my neck. I don’t dare move, keep studying until late.
He wakes up when I try to lower the bed. He takes the controls and makes the head go down and the foot go up. “I think my ankles are swelling.”
“Like a pregnant lady?”
“I’m not a pregnant lady.”
“I noticed.”
“Turn around. I’ll never get back to sleep with you looking at me like that.”
I kiss him. “Are you sure?”
“My mom’s cot is under the bed. If you don’t stop torturing me, I’ll make you sleep in it.”
“You didn’t offer me the cot Saturday. I thought she slept in the chair.”
“I can’t keep my eyes open. Meg upped my morphine.” He gets these awful headaches.
“I’m supposed to watch you. This isn’t about sex. I thought you knew that.”
He manages a drowsy laugh and lies back, closes his eyes, and he’s out.
I lie on my side, wanting him, and wonder how I can feel like this when he’s so sick.
The next two weeks, I only go to school for tests. Mom manages everything with my teachers. I get way more studying done in Derek’s hospital room than I ever did wasting time in class. Derek’s headaches get worse. He’s on so much morphine now—sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. So I watch him and study. And ace everything except econ.
I try to talk to Scott after that test, but he cuts me cold.
The week before Christmas is peaceful. Mom lets me go up for the whole time. Derek’s mom takes advantage of me being there to get her shopping done and mail stuff. I help her wrap Derek’s presents. I get him black leather riding gloves to match his jacket.
I sleep in his mom’s cot. I can’t lie beside him night after night and not go crazy. I love him more every day and with that love come other feelings I’m not sure I can control. Not next to him all the long, silent night.
The info-desk guy brings up a steady flow of notes, gifts, and cards from people he can’t let up. Amabile—seems like the whole amazing family stops by at one time or another.
Before their Christmas concert, his choir—all those guys in their tuxes—stand in the snow outside his window and sing to the twilight. I open the window a crack to let in the sound. At first they just sing, “Oh,” in rich harmony as old as monks and cathedrals. Then they slowly unwind the gentle hymn. Lo, how a Rose e’re blooming from tender stem hath sprung! Their harmonies build and dissipate, break into a celebration at the solemn birth and salvation. Then close with a single voice in the night.O Savior, King of glory, who dost our weakness know ;
Bring us at length we pray,