The Names They Gave Us(30)

“Hm.” My mom scans the woods around us, eyes following a pair of birds flapping upward. “Remember that field-of-lavender puzzle we did a few Christmases ago?”

Of course I do. We do a puzzle every winter break—a difficult one, with one thousand pieces. But the lavender one, oh man. We drove ourselves mad trying to finish it. But I have no idea how it comes into play here. “Yeah . . .”

“It’s easy to sort by pieces that look alike. But it’s two differently shaped pieces that connect.”

“You sound like Dad,” I mutter. Straight out of the sermon. “It’s just hard because they have, like . . . years of memories and inside jokes. I can’t compete with that!”

“Ah. Well, maybe you don’t compete. You add to it. That’s how it was when you started public school, right? And how Lukas felt when he was new to town. But he found friends and you.”

I jerk my head over, wondering why she’d bring up something so cruel. It takes me a moment to remember: she doesn’t know. It’s the first time the omission has felt like a lie, but I still don’t want to tell her. Because how do I explain why Lukas broke up with me? It’s a humiliating reminder of all the ways I’m failing.

“Oh, Luce,” she says, taking my silence as despair. Which maybe it is. “It’s only been a week. It’s going to get so much easier.”

Only then do I notice the worn edges around her eyes and mouth. Maybe it’s something only a daughter could notice: the very earliest fraying. I’m sitting here complaining about Daybreak while cancer warps my mom’s healthy cells. While she stares down more chemotherapy.

“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out softer than I meant it to. “It’s just been a hard week, and I hate not being here with you.”

The last phrase cracks in my throat. Here with you. I want to be here with her. I want her to be here with me. Forever, indefinitely. That’s the heart of the problem—the entire, breaking heart of the problem.

“I miss you too, Bird.” I expected my emotion would choke her up too, but she says this happily. She scans the lake, as if letting the beauty hit her skin. “But I feel so peaceful here. I take naps. I brought a lot of books, and I’m knitting. And I’m reading the book of Psalms, which is so illuminating! King David was so deeply flawed. Sometimes brave and trusting, but sometimes cowardly and sinful. But his relationship with the Lord was rich, so passionate.”

I almost ask why, at Stage III, she’d find herself in songs of praise and gratitude. But I memorized Psalm 23 at Vacation Bible School years ago, and it sticks in my mind still. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.

“Are you scared of chemo getting worse?” The question leaps from my mouth, bounces awkwardly across the porch’s wooden planks, and lands at my mother’s feet.

But she reacts only with a quick tug of her eyebrows. Her eyes move to my face—watching closely for, I suppose, a trembling lower lip. “I’m scared of how terribly sick I’ll feel, yes. But I’m trying to focus on how grateful I am that this treatment is available to me. I’d be more scared to not have chemo. Does that make sense?”

“Yes.” I’ve never felt more fear-frozen than when she was wheeled away for her surgery. Once she was out of sight, I wanted to wail like a little kid lost at the mall. But I know I would have been more scared if her cancer was totally inoperable.

“Mom,” I say. “I need to be here with you. You’re going to need someone at the cabin when Dad is busy, and I gave Daybreak a shot, but—”

“Out of the question.” Her tone is still pleasant, and her hand flutters as if she can bat away this gnat of an idea. She’s not hearing me. She doesn’t understand how much better off we’d all be if I was here.

It hits me like divine inspiration—how I can change her mind. “There’s a girl at Daybreak who’s pregnant, Mom. A camper. Pregnant.”

Her face darkens like I knew it would. Ha! I’ll be packing for Holyoke by this afternoon. “Well, I hope you’re making her feel loved and supported.”

Wait, what? Our church is all about the true love waits message, and I can’t believe my mom would condone anything else. This is a woman who tried to convince me to talk to the swim team girls before prom about being safe! Her exact words included Birth control pills don’t protect against STDs. Make sure they realize that. As if I’d ever talk about that kind of thing! “Mom. She’s fourteen.”

“Then I hope so even more.” Her cheeks flush pink, her voice hushed with severity. “She’s a child. Imagine what she’s going through.”

If I did it and got pregnant, my parents would disown me. Well, that’s not fair to say. They wouldn’t kick me out to the streets. But they’d never look at me the same way, never love me the same way. This is what I’ve always believed. And yet my mom seems disappointed in me for being shocked?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

“Well, I should probably get back.”

“Already?” My mom sits up. “We haven’t even had real breakfast yet.”

“Yeah. I, uh . . . have Blue Team stuff.”

“Lucy . . .” She grabs my hand as I get up. “You’re going to walk out on your cancer-ridden mother just because this is difficult?”