The Mother's Promise(90)

“Kate, will you tell Sonja to inform the hospice that Alice is coming,” Dr. Brookes said. He got as far as the doorway before Kate found her voice.

“No.”

He paused, turned. “I’m sorry?”

“Alice isn’t going to the hospice. She’s coming home with me.” She looked at Alice. “I have the room. I can care for you myself. And you’ll have Zoe right there, in the very same room if you like.”

The emotion in Alice’s face nearly brought Kate to her knees. “Really?”

Kate managed to nod. “Hold on to your memories for now. We have time. I plan on hearing every last one.”

Dr. Brookes nodded and excused himself from the room. Zoe continued to sleep. And for several minutes, Kate and Alice stayed right where they were, looking down at the sleeping girl who would bind them together forever.





79

TWO WEEKS LATER …

“This,” Zoe said into the microphone. The room was quiet, ready. “This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Most people would say skydiving, and I’m terrified of skydiving too, but probably not for the same reasons as you. Heights don’t scare me at all. I’d be terrified about how I’d look with a parachute strapped to my back.”

There was a slight hum of laughter, and Zoe realized that, until now, they’d all been holding their breath, just like she had. She’d decided to do her presentation with her back to the audience. She was still terrified, but it was bearable.

“And not just that. I’d be worried that someone might have to talk to me on the way up, you know, give me instructions. Then, when we jumped, I’d be terrified that I’d fall the wrong way—not because it would kill me, but because I might be embarrassed in front of my instructor.”

The laughter was louder now. It was, she supposed, kind of funny.

“It is pretty funny,” she said. “Even though it’s not a joke, how bad I feel sometimes.”

The laughter died down, which was good. It was textbook, in fact. Start with an anecdote, make them laugh, then get serious.

“The reason I’m messed up is, I have social anxiety disorder.” She paused for a few beats to let that sink in. “What does that mean? Honestly, I don’t know. There are enough of us with it that the condition has a name, but all of us experience it differently. I have panic attacks, not everyone does. My panic attacks are not trigger-based, or at least, I don’t know what the trigger is. Anything can start them, but usually it’s a fear of being judged.”

The silence behind her was terrifying. It also meant that, hopefully, she was making her point.

“The last time I tried to talk in front of you all, I peed my pants. I have no guarantee that this won’t happen again today. I never have any idea what is coming. Whether it will be a good day or a bad day. That’s why this is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” she said. “People say that a lot, when what they really mean is that they didn’t sleep much. Their sleep was interrupted. They tossed and turned. But I literally didn’t sleep. I spent the night in battle, batting negative thoughts away as fast as they could come at me. I did a pretty good job of it, clearly, because I’m here. But I’m tired. And doing something scary when you’re tired, I’ll tell you, really sucks.”

Zoe’s mouth was devoid of moisture. There was a bottle of water on the table in front of her and she picked it up, tried to unscrew the lid. But her hands were useless, weak and sweaty. She took the hem of her T-shirt, tried to open the lid with it, but it was no good.

“This, for example, is particularly mortifying,” she said, and there was another burst of laughter. Harry appeared on the stage beside her and opened it with annoying ease. She took a sip. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not doing this because I’m trying to face my fear, or even because I want others to know that they are not alone. I wish my reasons were so noble. I’m doing this because my English grade depends on it. More importantly, I’m doing it because I want my mom to know that I can.”

Zoe glanced over her shoulder now and looked directly at her mom, in a wheelchair in the first of six rows of people. She looked so thin, so unbearably ill, but she’d insisted on coming. Kate sat beside her. Zoe held it together pretty well, until she noticed they were holding hands, squeezing so tight that the bones of their knuckles protruded like tiny mountains.

“I spent some time looking at the grading criteria before I wrote this speech,” Zoe continued, turning back. “There were five points to be graded on, and five marks for each. The first criterion was … originality. As far as I know I’m the first person to do her presentation with her back to the audience, so I’d say I have those points in the bag. The second was participation.” Zoe looked theatrically around. “Unless my speechwriter pops out, I’m thinking I got those points covered too. The third was eye contact, which I guess I’ve failed … Then again, if you consider criterion one, originality, I suspect you might find some points for me too. The fourth was content, which I’ll admit, there isn’t much of. But a good speech shouldn’t be measured in terms of content, but more in terms of reaction to content. And I’m going to go out on a limb and say that, judging by your silence, punctuated by interspersed laughter, I have your attention.”