One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths #2)(20)
“Well, I hear your reference glows in the dark,” she jokes as we round the corner and follow the signs toward the playroom, my quick tour of the hospital coming to an end. “You’re a natural magnet for children.”
My eyes roll before I can stop myself. Not at the nurse—at Stayner. Back in June, when I mentioned to him that I had applied for a volunteer position at this hospital but hadn’t heard back from them, he casually mentioned that he had a few friends there. The next week, I received a phone call for a brief interview, quickly followed by an offer for a position on Saturday afternoons in the Child Life program—playing with young patients. I jumped at the opportunity. Of course I saw Dr. Stayner’s fingerprints all over it but it only made me appreciate him more, knowing that when I apply for med school, having this volunteer position on my application will show that I’ve been committed to pediatrics for years. It had seemed like he was helping me achieve my goals at the time. Ironic now, given that he basically thinks I’m a preprogrammed drone who shouldn’t be here in the first place.
I push all of that away, though, because I know what I want and I know that I belong here. So I nod politely at Nurse Gale and say, “I think they’re a magnet for me too.”
She stops at a door and turns to give me a pensive smile. “Well, you just be careful about what kind of attachments you make, you hear, sweetie?” With that, we step into a bright and colorful playroom with a handful of children and other volunteers. My shoulders immediately relax as I hear the infectious laughter. It’s like a shot of Valium through my veins.
I know I’ve never been quite normal. As a child, I was always the one rushing to the teacher when someone needed a Band-Aid, or stepping in between a squabble to mediate. As a teenager, I looked forward to my volunteer days at the YMCA, or the pool, or the library. Really, anywhere that involved these tiny humans. There’s just something so uncomplicated about small children that I gravitate toward. Maybe it’s their infectious giggles or their shy hugs. Maybe it’s their brutal honesty. Maybe it’s the way they cling to me when they’re scared or hurt. All I know is that I want to help them. All of them.
“Livie, this is Diane,” Nurse Gale says, introducing me to a stocky, middle-aged woman with short, curly brown hair and kind eyes. “She’s a part of our Child Life program. She’s supervising the room today.”
With a wink, Diane gives me a quick five-minute tour of the bright playroom and explains what her role is. When she’s done, she points out two boys sitting side by side with their backs to me, cross-legged, in front of a pile of LEGOs. They’re the same size, except the one on the right is leaner. He’s also completely bald, whereas the boy on the left has short, sandy brown hair.
“These two are yours today. Eric? Derek? This is Miss Livie.”
Identical faces turn to regard me. “Twins!” I exclaim with a grin. “Let me guess . . . you’re Derek.” I point to the one on the left, the one with the full head of hair.
He gives me a wide grin displaying missing front teeth, instantly reminding me of Storm’s daughter, Mia. “I’m Eric.”
I roll my eyes dramatically. “I’m never going to get this right.” Why do parents feel the need to name their identical twins rhyming names? I don’t say that out loud, though. I only smile.
“Derek’s the bald one. He’s easy to remember,” Eric confirms with a shrug. “But soon I’m going to be bald too. Then you’re screwed.”
“Eric,” Diane warns with an arched brow.
“Sorry, Miss Diane.” He diverts his attention to a Hot Wheels car next to him, a sheepish look on his face. And my chest tightens a notch. Both of them?
“Are you here to play with us?” Derek asks quietly.
I nod. “Is that all right?”
His little face suddenly brightens with a smile and I see that he’s also missing his two front teeth.
Shifting my focus to his brother, who’s now smashing two cars together, I ask, “And you, Eric? Are you okay with that?”
Eric looks over his shoulder at me and says with another shrug, “Sure. I guess.” But I catch the tiny smile as he turns back, and I know without a doubt that he’s the imp of the two.
“Okay, good. First I’m just going to go over a few things with Miss Diane, okay?”
Their heads bob in unison and they go back to their Legos.
With my eyes still on them, I take a few steps back and drop my voice. “Cancer?”
“Leukemia.”
“Both of them? What are the odds of that?”
She just shakes her head and sighs. “I know.”
“How—” I swallow, unsure how to finish that sentence, a lump forming in my throat. “How bad?”
Diane crosses her arms over her chest. “Their chances are great. Well . . .” Her eyes flicker to Derek briefly. “Their chances are good,” she corrects herself. Offering me a pat on my forearm, she says, “You’re going to see a lot while you’re here, Livie. Try not to lose sleep over it. Best you just focus on the here and now and leave the rest to medicine and prayer.”
I have to remind myself to smooth my furrowed brow as I walk over to where the boys are. Sitting down cross-legged on the floor opposite them, I clap my hands. “Who wants to show me how to build one of these cool houses?” Neither, apparently, because that’s when I get hit with a barrage of questions—one after another, the two of them tag teaming like they’ve rehearsed it for hours.