I close the book quietly, admiring her sleeping face, praying that while she dreams, she rests in a rejuvenating place. Lena has been in the hospital since just before Halloween. She’s five. Her cancer started in her stomach. After they began treating it, it started spreading. No one has given up, but it seems as though the fight against the disease is just as aggressive as the disease itself.
“Hi, Kenzie. How’s our girl?”
I turn to see Maribel, Lena’s mom, enter the room. The smile that curves her lips doesn’t light up her eyes, and I know she’s tired. Lena is her youngest daughter, and she has two more at home. Weekends are the hardest for her and her husband George, since the girls aren’t in school. They bring them to visit their sister often, but they’re working so hard to make sure that not all of their daughters are forced to live in a hospital. I admire and respect them—as I do so many parents who find themselves in this horrible situation. Just looking at Maribel, I’m reminded why I love doing what I do. Reading to Lena for just an hour is something. It might not fix anything. It might not seem like much. But it’s something.
“She’s tired today,” I murmur, looking back at Lena.
“It’s been a long week,” says Maribel as she rounds the bed. I watch as she leans over the guardrail to press a kiss against her daughter’s smooth head. Suddenly, I feel guilty that when I arrived at the hospital earlier this morning, I thought the very same thing.
It’s been a long week.
My head has been all over the place since last Saturday. After waking up in bed with Brooke on Sunday, I made myself go to church. It was there that I decided I really am mad at God. I can’t shake it, and I’m too frustrated by all the other things that I’m feeling to even try. Not entirely sure where I’m to go from here, I’ve pushed that issue aside, leaving it to be dealt with later.
Other than my relationship issues with the Lord, my first week back in classes was mundane, at best. The thrill of a new semester, new professors, new classes—it just wasn’t there. And the couple shifts I had at the drug store were even worse. I’m just sad and confused and angry. So—yeah, it’s been a long week.
Then I come here, I look at Lena, I imagine the week she’s been through, and I immediately feel like crap for complaining.
“George is going to bring the girls by in a couple of hours. If you’re still here, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. Seems like Christmas break took you away from us forever.”
I smile, knowing that the expression doesn’t reach my eyes anymore than it reached hers, and then I stand to my feet. “I, um—I might be,” I lie. With Timothy gone, I only have one more hour of reading time left today. “If I miss him, tell him I said hello.”
“I will.”
I sling my purse over my shoulder, the bag heavy with my collection of children’s picture books, and then take one last lingering look at Lena—hoping that I’ll see her again. She looks so much more fragile now than she did before the holidays.
“When she wakes, tell her I’ll be back next week to finish The Princess and the Pea. I know how much she hates to miss the ending.”
“I’m sure she’ll love to hear that.”
“Bye,” I say with a wave. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
She smiles knowingly, offering me a small nod as she whispers, “You too, sweetheart.”
I step into the hallway and move away from the door before I stop and press my back against the wall. I pull in a calming breath, willing myself to muster more enthusiasm and hope. I’m on my way to visit Zoe next, and the last thing I need to bring into her room are my problems. She’s got plenty of her own to deal with, and she’s three.
God—she’s three!
I shake my head and roll my shoulders back, reminding myself that I’m not speaking to God right now, and then I start down the hallway.
“Kenzie!”
I stop when I hear my name being called through an open door. My heart starts beating faster when I realize that I recognize that voice. I take a step back and peek my head into the doorway I just passed. What I see sends another crack through my heart. He looks better than the last time I saw him, just before I left for summer break at the end of my freshman year. He’s older. He seems stronger. And yet, he’s here.
Nevertheless, I plaster on a smile as I enter the room.
“Sheamus, hi—what—what are you doing here?” I stutter, looking from him—covered in a hospital gown, with tubes coming from his arm—to his father, Lance.
Lance forces a smile to match mine as he says, “Hi, Kenzie. It’s good to see you.” I shake my head ever so slightly, silently expressing that he’s wrong. He’s so, so, so wrong. He notices, his false smile falling a smidge before he nods subtly. “I’m glad to see you’re still hanging around,” he amends.
“What’s happening?”
“There’s another tumor in my brain,” Sheamus declares in his little boy voice. “But I’m going to get better. Dr. Churchill says he’s going to take it out.”
I stifle a gasp as my eyes begin to sting, and I try to remember that God is good and that He’s way bigger than cancer; He’s way more powerful than death; He’s God—which means I cannot kick Him in the shin. Not literally. Not figuratively. Not at all.
But I want to. So bad. This is so freaking unfair. Sheamus has already been here. He’s already fought this battle. He’s already won the war—dammit!
“I started kindergarten, Kenzie. Now, when you come, I can read to you,” he announces, beaming at me.
I smile, a real one this time, and I take a step closer to him. “That would be awesome!”
“Yes!” he hisses, holding out his S as he pumps his fist in the air.
“I guess I’ll have to make a special trip to see you soon, huh? You probably won’t be around for too long after Dr. Churchill takes out that tumor.”
“Yeah, exactly. He’s gonna take it out, and I’m gonna go back to school.”
“One day at a time, buddy,” says Lance, reaching out to pat Sheamus’s leg. “Let’s just get you better first, all right? Then we’ll talk about school.”
Sheamus visibly deflates, sinking back against his pillows as he mutters, “Okay, dad.”
“Well, I have to run, Sheamus, but I’ll be back.”
“Promise?” he asks, his eyes lighting up once more.
I narrow my gaze playfully before I hold out my hand and proclaim, “I promise to be here if you do.”
“Ye—”
I snatch my hand out of reach, turning my head to give him the side-eye before I ask him, “Do you remember how this works?”
“Kenzie!” he groans, rolling his eyes as if I’m being ridiculous. “I know,” he continues, dragging out the word. “We fight to keep our promises. Now, give me your hand.”
I smother a smile, trying to keep my face serious as I offer him my hand. He wraps his little fingers around mine, squeezing tight as he shakes, and I can no longer hide my grin. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Yup!”
As I begin to make my way out of the room, I wave at Lance, who smiles his own farewell. Then, when my back is turned, I look up toward the sky and make another promise.
God—if you take him, I’ll never forgive you.
“Merry Christmas, Happy New Year—you’re going to look hot as shit in this tonight!” Brooke declares as she bursts into my room.
I push myself up onto my elbows, still stretched out across my bed. I have my earbuds in, but I don’t bother taking them out, hoping that if I scowl hard enough, she’ll get the hint and leave me alone. Then again, why I would think that is beyond me. My closed bedroom door didn’t stop her.
“If you want to have time to do your hair, you better hop in the shower now. I know it takes you nearly an hour. God—I don’t know how you do it, but—”
“Brooke,” I grumble, yanking my earbuds out. “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”
“Of course you are. We leave at nine, and you’re not allowed to smell like hospital, so—shower. Now. Chop, chop,” she says, snapping her fingers at me as she hangs an outfit on my closet door.
I see something covered in sequins, and I squint at her before I ask, “Are you insane? You must be insane. I’m not wearing that. I’m also not going anywhere. I’m perfectly content right here,” I declare.
With no intention of arguing, I drop back down onto my back, grabbing my earbuds so that I can go back to what I was doing—which was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Unless you count laying here in the stillness, my music playing in my ears as I try and drown out the sound of my thoughts.
“Oh, no you don’t,” says Brooke, snatching my phone from off of the bed. She unplugs my cord and I scowl at her, but she isn’t fazed. “I just went shopping and bought you a kickass outfit—an outfit you will wear tonight—an outfit that will look totally hot on you. Now, get up and get your little ass in the shower. Capisce?”
“No. No, capisce, Brooke. I don’t—”
“I know,” she says softly, sitting beside my hip. She leans over me, propping herself up with her hand on the opposite side of my waist. “I know you don’t want to go anywhere. I know you want to stay in bed and be sad, and I get it. I get it, babe, I do. But it’s been a week.”
I open my mouth the argue, but she shakes her head and forges on before I can get in a word edgewise.
“I’m not saying get over it; I’m just saying—it’s time to move on. You’re nineteen! You’re beautiful and fun and way too smart to spend your entire college career with your nose stuck in a book.”
“It’s school. You’re supposed to—”
“Live! You’re supposed to live it up, Kenz! You’re supposed to try new things, make mistakes, get stupid, have fun, and repeat.”
I groan, folding my arms over my face. I’ve heard this all before. “I don’t want to get stupid.”
“Okay, but what about the fun part, huh? I can totally help with that! So get up, chica. Pronto. We’re going out.”
She stands without another word, smacking the side of my leg before she starts to make her way out of my room. Just when I think I’m in the clear, she cries, “The outfit and the shower are merely kind suggestions. I’m dragging you out of here whether you take me up on them or not.”
Throwing my hands down at my sides, I whimper in protest. Then I realize that she still has my phone. I’ve been bested. So with a heavy sigh, I heave myself out of bed and make my way to the shower.
Brooke is right. It takes me nearly an hour to dry and style my hair the way I like it. When I’m finished, my long, dark hair hangs in big, beautiful waves down my chest and back. I’m working on my make-up when Brooke joins me in the bathroom to do her own.
“Yes!” she cries, slapping my backside before reaching for her make-up bag. “Your hair looks awesome. I can’t wait to see you in that outfit.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask, applying a second coat of mascara.
“Out.”
I halt my movements and stare at her reflection, not at all satisfied with her vague response. “Out? That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me?”
“Out someplace fun. Someplace fun where you will look hot.”
I furrow my brow, tilting my head to the side as I ask, “Why are you so concerned with how hot I look?”
She giggles, meeting my eye in the mirror as she replies, “Because, where we’re going, the hot girls have the most fun.”
I frown, my stomach dropping as I turn to get a good look at her. I notice her feet are still bare, but she’s in a pair of glittery, black leggings. The long, dark pink, over-sized t-shirt she’s got on hangs just below her butt, and the neckline is cut in a deep V, showing off just enough cleavage. A year and a half of friendship has taught me that the long, pendant necklace that dangles down to her stomach serves as the distraction away from said cleavage—but that’s just a ploy.
“Brooke—”
“Finish your left eye, Kenz. Time’s’a wastin’!”
“You’re going to be cold,” I grumble, turning back to the mirror to finish my left eye as instructed.
“Oh, this outfit comes with killer black booties and an amazing satin blazer I got for Christmas. My sister is a fashion goddess, and her husband’s credit card is like mana from heaven.”
I raise my eyebrows as my jaw falls open in surprise. Staring at her reflection, I cough out a laugh. She meets my gaze, giggles, and winks before she asks, “What? I do listen when you drag me to church.”
“Right,” I chuckle, shaking my head at her.
It only takes me two minutes to finish my eye. On my way out, Brooke stops me to add a light tint of blush to my cheeks before she shoos me away to get dressed. Once inside of my room, I lay out the clothes that she has insisted I wear. Generally, I’m not exactly a flashy dresser. While the short, silver sequined skirt screams for attention, I have to give her credit for the rest of it.
I pull on the skin-tight, black leggings and then wiggle my way into the skirt, which barely—barely—covers my behind. When I reach for the simple, long-sleeved, gray sweater, I find that it’s comfy and hangs off my frame loosely; though, I’m slightly confused, as it drapes almost as low as the skirt.
“Brooke! I don’t think this—”
“Let me see,” she insists, bursting into my room. I ignore the intrusion, too distracted by the grin on her face when she looks me up and down. “Fuck, yes.” She closes the distance between us and then takes the front of the sweater and tucks it into the front of the skirt, which—not surprisingly, considering it’s Brooke—somehow manages to make the whole outfit come together. “You. Look. Perfect! Now, let’s talk shoes.”
“No,” I laugh, walking around her to my closet. I bend down and grab my black, high-top Converse sneakers before turning around to tell her, “You made me tame my hair, you made me wear this outfit, and you won’t tell me where we’re going—I will wear whatever shoes I want.”
“But—”
“Brooke—”
“Okay, okay,” she concedes, holding her hands up in surrender. “We’re out in ten. Oh, and you’re driving,” she calls out as she makes her exit.
I close my eyes, tilt my head back, and let my shoulders sag as I free a miserable moan.
If I’m driving, I now know one thing for sure—wherever we’re going, there will be alcohol. Great. Just what I wanted, to be trapped in a room filled with intoxicated morons.
“Brooke, I think we need to discuss what you consider fun!” I shout, pulling on a shoe.
“You’re not getting out of this, babe! You’re officially too hot to stay home. Besides, it’s gonna be fun. I promise!”
“Right,” I mumble.