Текст книги "Revived"

Автор книги: Cat Patrick

Соавторы: Cat Patrick
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

fourteen

It’s been two days since I last saw Audrey, and in that time, she’s aged. Matt and his parents let me see her alone, and when I walk into her bedroom, I have to fight off tears. Audrey’s lying on her back, eyes closed, arms at her sides. Her face looks ghostly, even compared to the white comforter, and I have no clue whether to stay or go. While considering my options, I scan the writing on Audrey’s chalkboard wall. There’s a new addition; a proverb:

 
Fall seven times, stand up eight.
 

I smile sadly; the rest of me is a statue. I look at Audrey’s face just before she opens her eyes.

“Hey,” I whisper.

“Why the hell are you whispering?” Audrey says loudly with a jovial laugh from the nest in her bed.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I say in my regular voice.

“You didn’t,” she says. “I wasn’t asleep. I was meditating.”

“Ah,” I say, nodding and wondering if she’s joking. I shift from one foot to the other. I can’t decide if she’s putting on an act for me right now. I decide to cut to the chase.

“So, thanks for telling me you have cancer.”

Audrey laughs again. Even though she looks weak, her laugh is normal. I step farther into the room and sit down gingerly at her feet.

“Whoops,” she says.

“Whoops?” I ask.

Audrey shrugs. “For not telling you.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand. But don’t worry, I’m not scared of you.”

“Thanks, Daisy,” she says softly.

“Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

“Actually, yeah. I’m feeling a lot better now. The hospital gave me some painkillers and I slept most of yesterday. Good stuff. Of course, even though I’m feeling better, my parents made me promise to stay in bed for another couple of days.”

I nod, not sure what to say next.

“I read your email a little while ago,” Audrey says. “Sorry for not getting back sooner. That sucks about your parents dragging you to Kansas City. Oh, but of course I wasn’t mad at you. How could you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I just…” My voice trails off. “Anyway, I’m back.”

“I’m glad,” Audrey says. “Speaking of which, did my brother pick you up in KC? What’s going on?”

I crawl up and sit next to her, leaning against the headboard like I did earlier with Matt.

“We’ve got a lot to talk about,” I say with a broad smile despite the circumstances.

Audrey sits up and gets comfortable, then looks at me excitedly. “Okay, spill.”

Finally, when I can’t procrastinate any longer, I dial Mason’s number. I have a nervous stomach; this must be what normal kids feel like when they break the rules. I hear him pick up and brace for the worst. But the worst doesn’t come.

“Are you all right?” he asks, concerned.

Surprised, I’m silent.

“Daisy, are you there?”

I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say weakly. I clear it again. “I’m here.”

“Are you all right?” Mason asks again.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I wanted…” My voice trails off.

“You wanted to see your friend,” he answers for me.

“Yes,” I say.

“I understand,” Mason says. Then, softer, “I wish you would have talked to me about it.”

“I know, but you were at Wade’s and I just found out and I felt like I needed to be with Audrey right away.”

“How did you get there?” Mason asks.

“Audrey’s brother, Matt, came and picked me up,” I say, rationalizing that it’s the truth; I’m just altering the timeline.

“Uh-huh,” Mason says, like he’s going to ask more about Matt.

“It’s really upsetting,” I say, bringing it back to Audrey.

“I know, Daisy,” Mason says softly. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

“Anything?” I ask.

“Within reason,” Mason says hesitantly.

I look around to make sure I’m still alone in the McKeans’ kitchen.

“Revive her,” I whisper. “When it happens, I mean. Bring her back.”

Mason actually laughs into the phone. “You know I can’t do that, Daisy,” he says. “As much as I’d like to, you know that I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. When she dies, you stick the needle into her vein. She’ll come back,” I say, tears threatening to crop up again. “Just like me.”

“She’s not just like you,” Mason says. “When I heard where you’d gone and why, I looked into her medical history. Daisy, her body is broken. Irreparable. I can’t give a two-million-dollar treatment to someone it has no chance of working on.”

“Is this about money?” I hiss.

“Not entirely,” Mason answers in a businesslike manner. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t so honest with me. “Things would be different were she in good health to start, but she’s not. Add on top the hefty price tag, and you’ve got two big strikes against doing it. And she’s not even in the program!”

“Maybe God would make an exception,” I murmur.

“You know God doesn’t make exceptions,” Mason says quietly. “No one in; no one out.”

“That’s so… wrong,” I protest. “Revive helps people. Shouldn’t it be helping more people?”

“Perhaps,” Mason says thoughtfully. “But regardless of that, as you well know, the drug doesn’t work on cancer patients.”

“But when was the last time that theory was tested?” I ask, trying to keep my volume in check. “The lab is always updating the formula. Maybe the newest version will work. It’s at least worth a—”

“Daisy?”

I stop talking, but don’t answer.

“Daisy, it won’t work,” he says softly. Mason doesn’t have to finish his sentence; I know what he means. I get a sick feeling in my stomach, so I change the subject.

“When are you coming back?” I ask.

“Will you be okay if we stick to our original plan?” Mason asks. “Returning Monday evening?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

“Would you like me to ask the McKeans if you could stay at their house tonight? So you’re not all alone?”

“Sure,” I say, with little enthusiasm.

“All right,” Mason says. “I’ll take care of it. But check in with me tomorrow afternoon, okay?”

“I will,” I promise.

“Oh, and Daisy?” Mason says.

“What?” I ask, just wanting to hang up.

“If you ever take off without telling me again, you’re going to be grounded for the rest of your life.”

fifteen

I’m glad, then feel guilty for being glad, when Audrey goes to bed at eight o’clock. I jump in my seat when she abruptly stands and dramatically bids Matt and me farewell, barely one second into the credits for the first movie. After she leaves, we look at each other quizzically from opposite ends of the couch.

“Want to go somewhere?” Matt asks, like he’s been waiting all evening. He’s in jeans; I have on yoga pants.

“This late?” I ask in protest, even though my stomach is flipping at the thought of going somewhere—anywhere—with Matt.

“It’s not so late, Grandma,” he says with a gleam in his eye. He stands up. “I’ll go tell my mom we’re going out for a bit. Get dressed and meet me back down here, unless you want to go outside in your pj’s.

“These aren’t pj’s,” I correct him. “They are stylish loungewear.”

“Do you want to go out in your stylish loungewear?” he asks.

“Not really,” I admit.

Matt heads off to find his mom, and I rush to the guest room—I’m staying in here tonight instead of in Audrey’s room, so I won’t disturb her—and quickly change into jeans, then throw a light sweater over my red shirt. Then I remove the sweater and the red shirt, and put on a purple T-shirt with ruffle embellishments instead. It’s one I borrowed from Audrey that, according to her, “pimps my eyes.” I apply lip gloss, let down my hair, put the sweater back on, and meet Matt downstairs.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” I say back.

“You look good,” he says, turning toward the front door.

“Thanks,” I say quietly, following him outside into the warm fall evening.

I climb into the passenger seat of his car. It feels and smells familiar, thanks to our ride from Kansas City. Matt starts the engine and plugs in his iPhone—or maybe it’s Audrey’s—then quickly turns down the dial from full blast to normal. I roll down my window halfway to let the fresh air into my lungs. Matt rolls his down, too.

My favorite song ever begins as Matt pulls away from the curb. A breeze sends a waft of Matt’s shampoo my way, and that combined with the fresh scent of the fall air that still wants to be summer makes me want to inhale and hold my breath until I might die if I don’t let it out. I look at Matt’s profile again and he must feel my gaze because he smiles even though his eyes are still on the road.

The perfectness of the moment makes me think of Audrey and all the moments like this that she won’t have.

It makes me mad at Mason, until I realize that it’s not his fault.

It’s the program’s.

“What are you thinking about?” Matt asks.

Once again, I consider breaking my vows and Mason’s trust and telling Matt about the Revive program. But then I remember Mason’s uneasy feeling; I remember the strange call to Sydney, and the way that God wanted to move up the tests. Something is going on, and telling our secrets definitely won’t help the situation.

“Nothing,” I say. “I just love this song.”

We pull into a public lot and Matt kills the engine.

“It’s good that you brought a sweater,” he says. “It might get breezy where we’re going.”

“I came prepared,” I say.

“Let’s go,” Matt says.

Without thinking too much about it, I join hands with Matt as we set off through the lot, and then across a wide street. There are trees, a path, and water.

“What’s that?” I ask, pointing.

“The Missouri River,” Matt says. “We’re going across.”

Deciding to let go of my worries for the time being, I smile as we head toward a walking bridge that spans the river. Even at night, I can see clearly the massive pillars jutting out of the water and high into the sky, with webs of cables stretching down from their tops to support the river walk’s weight. From the bridge, I can see both the twinkling lights of downtown Omaha and the bright stars above. It’s beautiful.

“Pretty cool, right?” Matt asks.

“Yes!” I say enthusiastically. “Thanks for bringing me here. I’ve never done anything like this.”

“Really?” Matt asks. “There aren’t any rivers where you lived before? Where was it again?”

Everywhere, I want to say, but don’t.

“Frozen Hills, Michigan.”

“Sounds cold.”

“It was.”

We’re still holding hands. I can’t help but marvel at the fact that there’s nothing remotely strange about it. No sweaty palms. Neither of us holds on too hard or soft: Our hands instinctively know how to be together.

“Hey, thanks again for coming to get me in Kansas City,” I say. “That was really cool of you.”

Matt shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t know anyone else who would have done that.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Matt says.

We walk in silence for a few minutes. A breeze picks up over the water and gives me goose bumps. I want to button my sweater, but I don’t want to let go of Matt’s hand. Instead, I walk a little closer to him.

“So, were your parents pissed about you leaving Kansas City?” Matt asks.

“No, not really,” I say. “My dad got it.”

“You never talk about your mom,” Matt observes.

“Yes, I do,” I say. “What do you want to know?”

“What’s her name?”

“Cassie,” I say.

“What does she do?”

“She’s a professional mom.”

“Like mine,” Matt says. “That’s cool. What about your dad?”

“He’s a psychologist,” I say, feeling a pinch of guilt in my side for the lie.

“He’s a shrink?”

“Sort of,” I say.

“Does he always try to figure you out?” Matt asks.

“Sometimes,” I say, laughing.

“And that doesn’t bug you?” he asks.

I shrug. “Not really. He’s all right.” I get the sense that Matt’s going to keep asking about my parents, so I abruptly change the subject.

“Hey, did you know that I’m an excellent gymnast?” I drop Matt’s hand and move toward the railing.

“Uh, no,” Matt says, curious and a bit confused.

“It’s true,” I say, kicking off one shoe, then the other. “I’m especially great at the balance beam.” Before Matt can reply, I’m up on the river-walk railing, crouched at first, then, when I have my balance, standing. I stretch my arms out to the sides and begin walking forward, my toes turned out so I can grip like a monkey.

“What are you doing?” Matt shouts. I glance at him without moving my head; he looks genuinely afraid.

“I’m showing you my balance-beam skills, of course,” I say, taking two more steps. “Want to see my turn?”

“No!” Matt says harshly. “I want you to get down. You’re going to fall.”

“No, I’m not,” I say without meeting his gaze. “And even if I did, I’d be fine. It’s not that far of a fall. I’d just get a little wet. It’s not like I’m going to die or anything.”

I hear Matt stop. Carefully, I pivot to face him. Matt is not impressed by my skills. In fact, he looks pissed. I think I even see a trace of disgust. I lower myself into a crouch, then jump back to the walkway.

“What?” I ask as I walk back to my shoes and slip my feet into them. Matt shakes his head at me. “What?” I ask again.

“Is this how it is with you?” Matt asks. “Are you always this careless?”

I feel exposed by his words, and silly for showing off. I only wanted to change the subject, to lighten the mood. I didn’t think about what it might mean to him. I realize what an idiotic thing it was to do.

“Oh, Matt, I’m sorry,” I say. “Here I’m being flip while Audrey is sick. I didn’t mean to… I’m so sorry.” He stares at me, angry. “Do you want to go home?”

More staring, then finally, he speaks: “If you can manage to stay off the railing, I’m good with hanging out here awhile longer, if that’s okay with you.”

Relief floods through me, but I try to play it off.

“I guess I can handle that,” I say, moving to his side as he starts toward the opposite side of the river once again. After a few moments, Matt speaks again, his voice softer this time.

“Sorry I freaked out,” he says.

“No, really, I’m sorry. I didn’t think of how you might feel with all that’s happening with Audrey. I feel like a jerk.”

Matt doesn’t reply, which makes me feel worse.

“How are you with all of this stuff, anyway? Are you okay?”

Matt shrugs. “I’m as okay as I can be, I guess,” he says. He runs a hand through his shaggy, dark hair. “If you want to know the truth, I’m a little sick of her being sick. That sounds horrible, I know.”

“No, it doesn’t. I bet it’s hard taking care of someone.”

“It’s not even that,” Matt answers. “I don’t even really take care of her. She doesn’t want me to. She wants me to be normal. But there’s just so much buildup. In the beginning, it was all drama and sadness and planning, and now I just feel like I’m ready. Like I’ll be wrecked when it happens, and until then, I’ll hang out with my sister as much as I can.”

“You have a positive attitude about it.”

“Not on purpose,” Matt says. “It’s just how I feel.”

“Not me,” I say.

“You don’t have a positive attitude?” Matt asks.

“Not at all. I mean, I know this is new to me and everything, so I’m pretty naïve, but frankly, I want her to get well.”

“She won’t,” Matt says, matter-of-fact, which really annoys me. He zips his sweatshirt, reminding me that I’m cold, too. I button my sweater, then let my arms swing, ready for him to take hold of my hand again, but instead he shoves his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. I try not to feel disappointed.

“Can we change the subject?” I ask.

“Sure,” Matt says.

“Okay… tell me about you,” I say. “I know you’re good at English, hate public displays of stupidity, and save damsels in drunken distress. What else do you like to do? Who do you hang out with? What are your plans after high school?”

“Whoa!” Matt says with an easy laugh. “What’s with the interrogation?”

“Fine,” I say. “Start with an easy one. You probably know Audrey’s my best friend…. Who’s yours?”

Matt pauses, but right when I think he might play it cool and say something dude-ish about not having a BFF, he lets me in a little.

“Drew,” he says. “He’s in our English class.”

“The guy you sit behind?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’ve been friends since kindergarten. Funniest guy I know,” Matt says with a chuckle. “He’s a great guitar player, too. He’s in a band with some guys from Omaha South. He keeps trying to get me to join.”

“What do you play?” I ask.

“Baseball,” Matt jokes.

“No, seriously,” I prod him. I try to think whether I’ve seen any musical instruments around his house. Just as I’m wondering whether there’s a drum kit stashed in the garage, I remember the—

“Piano,” he says quietly. “I’d play keyboard in the band.”

“That’s cool. You should do it.”

“I guess,” he says, shrugging it off. “So, what do you like to do, besides getting blitzed with frat boys?”

“Very funny,” I say as a stall tactic, silently running through possible responses. What do I like to do? Nothing as cool as playing in a band. When too much time has passed to be comfortable, I reply honestly. “I like to read,” I say. “I’m super quick, and often I read like four books at once. I know that’s sort of nerdy.”

“No, it’s cool,” Matt says. “I wish I read more.”

“And I blog, too.”

Matt looks away, smiling.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing, I just… I know. Aud showed me. I’ve been following your posts. They’re really funny.”

My breath catches: Matt reads my blog?

“Is that weird that I read it?” Matt asks. “An invasion of—”

“Privacy?” I laugh. “It’s hardly private. I just haven’t ever met any of my readers.”

“Seriously? What about your friends back in Frozen Hills?”

I pause for a moment, then say, “Hey, Matt? Want to know a secret?”

He looks at me expectantly.

“I didn’t have any real friends in Frozen Hills.”

Instead of calling me a liar or—worse—asking why, Matt mutters “their loss” and moves on.

“I hear you like Arcade Fire,” he says before grabbing my hand once again, and reminding me that I want to be nowhere but here.

Unfortunately, we reach the other side of the bridge a few short minutes later. We stop, ponder our next move, and then decide to turn back. As we retrace our steps, the view is even better. With the vast city in front of us and the wide sky overhead, I feel free to say anything. Apparently, Matt does, too.

“I’m glad you moved here,” he says, eyes on the skyline.

“I am, too,” I manage to say calmly.

“I really like you,” Matt continues. “You’re like this good thing that showed up in the middle of the bad. You’re sort of helping me remember that there actually is positive stuff out there.”

I feel like there’s a balloon inflating in my chest.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I say.

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

Matt squeezes my hand. I wonder if he’s going to stop and kiss me, but he doesn’t. I’m disappointed, but instead I choose to focus on his sturdy grip and the way it makes me feel strong, like I can do anything, charged, like I’m plugged in.

I’m completely content until we reach the end of the walkway: That’s when I get anxious about our impromptu first date being over. As if he feels the same way, Matt slows his pace, then stops. We lean against the railing, admiring the view.

“Home?” Matt asks after a few moments.

“Late-night food?” I ask back.

“Even better,” he says, sounding a little relieved. He takes my hand and leads me back across the wide street, through the parking lot, and into the familiar passenger seat of his car.

“How is it possible that you don’t have a girlfriend?” I blurt out on the way to what Matt says is his favorite diner, ignoring how completely stalker it sounds.

“Who says I don’t?” he answers. I flip my face toward his, shocked and instantly jealous.

“What?” I say a little too loudly, which makes Matt laugh.

“Just kidding,” he says through chuckles. “I did last year, but she started college this year. We felt like it wouldn’t work long-distance. Well, I felt that way. She wanted to stay together.”

Now, in addition to jealous, I feel inferior. My lanky fifteen-year-old self is no match for a college girl. Possibly reading my anxiety, Matt adds, “She’s a bitch.”

We laugh together, and it brightens my mood again. I look out the window at the old and new buildings, thinking the conversation’s over. But then we stop at a red light and Matt turns to face me.

“Even if she wasn’t at college, it’d be over,” he says. “I like someone else now.” I have to look away so Matt doesn’t see the grin spliting my face.

When we arrive at the diner a few minutes later we find that despite it being a Sunday night, we’re not the only ones with the greasy-spoon idea. We have to circle around and park a few blocks away, and when we get out of the car, I suggest cutting through an alley.

“This isn’t the greatest part of town,” Matt protests.

“Nothing will happen,” I say with a shrug, taking off alone. His choices are either to let me walk alone or to follow. He jogs a little to catch up with me. Aside from a tense moment with a large rat, we reach the diner unscathed. When Matt and I walk through the door, he turns and looks deep into my eyes.

“What are you afraid of?” he asks.

The question catches me off guard and makes me feel vulnerable. So I swallow hard and overcompensate: “Nothing,” I say carelessly.

Matt looks at me like he did after the bridge-railing-as-balance-beam incident.

“Okay, fine,” I say, exhaling. “Bees. I’m afraid of bees.”

Two hours later, full from too many fries and a too-big milk shake, I try hard to suck in my stomach as Matt walks me to the guest bedroom door.

“That was really fun,” I whisper, keenly aware of his parents’ presence just three doors down.

“Yeah,” he whispers back, smiling. He steps toward me in that way that guys do in the movies when they want a goodnight kiss, and butterflies flit inside me like I’m at the top of a roller coaster, ready to drop. I raise my chin a little to tell him that it’s okay.

Matt’s lips taste like vanilla. His warm chest brushes mine. His arms stay at his sides, but his left index finger wraps around my right. It’s a long kiss, but there’s no tongue—only sweet softness. And then, too quickly, it’s over.

I look up and admire his face at close range. In the low light, his dark eyes are black, but there’s nothing sinister about them. Our fingers are still intertwined, but our chests are no longer touching. I’m glad about that because my heart is racing. He breathes out and I breathe in.

“I should go to bed,” he whispers.

“Okay,” I whisper back.

Neither of us moves.

“I don’t really want to.”

“Me, either.”

Still, we stand, watching each other. The house shifts. A toilet flushes.

“Okay, I’m going now,” Matt says.

“Okay.”

“Night,” he whispers.

“Night,” I whisper back.

Matt takes a step away and our fingers detach. I get that quick panicky feeling like when a glass tips to spill, a rush like I want to reach out and stop it from happening. He takes another step, our eyes still locked. Two more, and I feel bound to move with him, but somehow I manage to stay still.

He walks backward all the way to his room at the end of the hall, his eyes holding mine the entire time. When he reaches his door, he smiles and holds up a palm. I hold mine up, too. He dips his chin once before stepping inside; the door barely audibly clicks behind him.

And then—only then—do I start breathing again.