The Mother's Promise(52)
“Missing you out there, man.”
“How’s the knee?”
“Not bad,” Harry replied. “Good practice?”
There were a few more high fives and then the guys disappeared into the locker room, leaving nothing but a faint scent of body odor behind. Harry, she noticed, looked a little wistful.
And then, they were alone again.
“So … what happened to your knee?” Zoe asked shyly.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked her.
Zoe nodded dumbly.
“Nothing.”
Zoe blinked. “What the heck does that mean?”
They’d reached the door now, and Harry pushed it open and stood with his back to it. As Zoe slipped past him, he grinned. “Why don’t you try to figure that out while I walk you home.”
“Sure,” Zoe heard herself say, to her utter surprise. And as they headed down the steps together, side by side, Zoe felt almost like a normal teenager.
37
Preparing to have chemotherapy, as it turned out, was like preparing for a wedding (or what Alice had heard about it), jam-packed with appointments. Except instead of having spa appointments for spray tans and leg waxes, Alice had medical appointments. A few days ago, she’d had her PICC line put in—a tube that would remain in her arm for the next few months, making it easy for them to attach the IV during chemo. She’d visited her dentist to check her teeth for signs of infection. She’d undergone blood tests. Everything looked good. So today, three weeks after her surgery, was the day.
When she heard a knock on the door, she looked at her watch. Sonja was early. She was driving Alice to chemo today. Alice was less than enthusiastic about the idea, but she didn’t have a lot of other options.
She dropped her feet onto the ground leisurely. Let Sonja wait. But before she was even out of her chair, there was another knock, and then a voice called out, “Alice? Are you there?”
Alice suspected she was hearing things—a side effect of the cancer perhaps. Still, she called out uncertainly, “Paul?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
She opened the door and stared at him.
“I’m sober,” he said. “I can’t promise about tomorrow, but today I’m here to help, for as long as you need me.”
Alice looked at his clean clothes, his wet hair. He looked almost like a … caring family member. “Seriously?”
He nodded. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here earlier. But I’m here now.”
Tears built treacherously in Alice’s eyes. “So you are.”
“Well,” Paul said. “What can I do?”
Alice thought for a moment. “Do you … still have a driver’s license?”
“Miraculously, I do.”
It was, indeed, a miracle. Alice smiled at the thought of calling Sonja to tell her that she would not be required to drive her to chemo. Then she grabbed her keys off the hook in the kitchen and tossed them at Paul. They fell to the floor with a clatter. Alice prayed it wasn’t an omen.
“Pick those up,” she said, grabbing her purse. “You’re taking me to chemo.”
*
Paul double-parked in front of the outpatients’ area. As Alice was getting out, she noticed Kate out in front of the building in her uniform and sneakers.
“Good morning,” she said.
Alice stared at her. “Do you meet everyone outside?”
“No,” she admitted. “But on the first day of chemo, I try.”
Alice felt irrationally annoyed that Kate was giving her no reason to hate her.
Kate looked over at Paul, still behind the wheel, with a painful look of optimism. “Is this—”
“My brother,” Alice said. “Paul. He’s going to park the car and meet us up there.” She nodded at Paul and he drove away. She wondered if she’d see him again today. Doubtful, she decided.
“Okay,” Kate said. “Let’s go.”
They entered the hospital side by side. On the way, Kate’s phone rang but she immediately silenced it. It was as though Alice were the only person in the world. No wonder Zoe liked her so much.
When they arrived in oncology they stopped briefly at a desk for Kate to grab some documents and Alice surveyed the waiting area. A group of three women in their fifties or sixties—sisters perhaps—giggled quietly. A young girl, probably no older than twenty-five, lay with her bald head in (what must have been) her mother’s lap. A blond woman flicked through a magazine while her husband dozed beside her.
After a moment Kate appeared with a folder and steered Alice to a large communal room at the end of the corridor. Along each wall was a row of beige vinyl armchairs of which about half were occupied. Green curtains hung open between each chair. Support people sat beside their charges, reading magazines or talking to nurses, while the patients stared at iPads or portable DVD players. Alice watched a bosomy nurse theatrically sneak some cookies to the husband of a patient.
“These are the fancy ones,” she whispered, loud enough for the whole room to hear. “They’re s’posed to be for patients only. Don’t tell anyone or I’ll lose my job.”
“This is you,” Kate said, leading her into the far corner. Alice was grateful to be tucked away. There was something about being in this big long room alone that made her feel exposed.