You Shouldn't Have to Say Goodbye (11 page)

I looked at her, but couldn’t see her face. “You saw her?” I said slowly.

“Yeah. What's the matter with her?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. It was all I could say. I didn’t know and couldn’t have talked about it even if I did.

“Something happened today, didn’t it?” Robin stood up then, flipped her hair back into place, but still she didn’t look at me. “I could tell when you came to my house before.”

I just shrugged. Robin looked at me in the mirror then. “It’ll be okay, Sarah. You wait and see.”

“Yeah, I hope. Let's go watch the rest of the show.”

We went back to the gym, but I couldn’t pay much attention to the other kids because I kept watching Mom. From where I sat, she looked okay, although it was weird to see her in that wheelchair. Where had she been? Obviously, something had gone wrong. She must have been sick again, maybe at the hospital, or she’d never have come here in a wheelchair. But why?

She and Daddy seemed happy, though. They kept whispering to each other, pointing out things that the gymnasts were doing, and they seemed pleased with everything they saw.

As soon as the show was over, I ran to them by the back door and threw my arms around Mom, not even caring who saw me or what anybody thought. I was so glad to see her! Also, I felt, in my mind at least, I had to make up to her for being so angry at her before.

She held me close and ran her hands through my hair. “You were wonderful,” she whispered. “Just wonderful!”

I straightened up and looked at her. She looked dreadful, hardly any color at all, and even the whites of her eyes were yellowish. But she was smiling at me, and the smile was the same as it had always been. “I was scared,” she added softly.

“About what? You know I’ve been practicing that for ages.”

Mom nodded. “But there was something more, something about what you were going to do at the end of the rope routine.” She looked at me questioningly.

How could she have known? I turned away without answering.

Mom pulled me close again. “It's been so hard for you,” she said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there this afternoon. We called you and called you.”

“Where were you?”

“At the hospital. They said I needed blood, a transfusion, right away.”

“Blood! Why?” I looked at her, amazed, but before she could answer, people began crowding around us. Some of them were trying to get through the door that we were partly blocking. Some of them were trying to talk to Mom, friends who wanted to know, same as me, what she was doing in that wheelchair.

Daddy bent over Mom then. “Suppose we get out of here,” he said quietly. “We can talk better at home.”

Mom smiled at him. “In just a minute.” She turned to me. “Where's Robin? I want to congratulate her. She was wonderful too.”

I turned and stood on tiptoe, trying to look over the crowd
to see if I could see her. But there was such a mob, I couldn’t single out Robin or her parents. Knowing about her mom though, I thought they had probably left right away. “I think she's gone,” I told Mom. “I think they left right away, but maybe you can call her later.”

Mom nodded and stood then, pushing herself up by the arms of the chair. Daddy reached for her, but she put one hand gently against his chest, pushing him away. “No,” she said. “Let me. I’m not going out of here in this.” She made a face at the wheelchair, then winked at me. But I wanted her to sit back down. She didn’t look strong enough to walk, much less fight the mob that was pushing toward the door.

I took her arm and realized with a shock how thin she was. Her arm was just a bone, and her elbow, a ridge of knobs. “Are you okay, Mom?” I asked, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Mom nodded slightly. “I’ll do,” she said.

Outside, Daddy led us to the car, folded the wheelchair, and put it in back. Mom held my arm tightly, leaning on me so hard that she was almost hurting me, but she smiled at friends, shrugging when they asked what was the matter. “Just a little sick,” was all she said to anyone.

In the car, no one said much, and Mom leaned her head back against the seat, panting as though she had been running.

At home, Daddy left the wheelchair in the car, and the three of us went up the walk together. Mom was between Daddy and me, leaning on both of us for support, the way she had done that first time she came home from the hospital. But this time, she
didn’t say anything about how good it was to be back. It seemed that it was taking all of her energy just to get to the house.

In the front hall, Daddy and I helped her take off her coat, and she was still panting, that funny, gasping way. She looked at me once and rolled her eyes and shook her head, as though laughing at herself, but she didn’t speak. She just nodded in the direction of the morning room. Daddy practically carried her there and helped her into a chair, where she sank down, exhausted, her eyes closed.

My heart was racing as though I had been running, too. What was it? What was wrong? How could it happen so fast? She had been so good two nights ago, the night of the party! I held my breath, waiting for her to say something, and I warned myself not to cry, not to let her open her eyes and see me crying. But I needn’t have worried because she didn’t open her eyes for a very long time.

Daddy stood over her, his eyes glued to her face. “Honey?” he said softly after a while.

“Mmm?” she said. But I couldn’t tell if she was answering him or if it was a little moan of pain.

“Honey,” Daddy said, leaning close to her. “Honey, don’t you think you’d be better off in the hospital?”

Mom shook her head.

“But remember what the doctor said?” Dad put a hand on her forehead, stroking it softly. “He said he could help with the pain?”

Again, Mom shook her head, still with her eyes closed.

I could see a pulse beating in her temple, throbbing fast, and her breath was coming in rapid little spurts. Neither of them seemed to notice that I was there. It was as if I were all alone in that room.

I began to cry, but quietly. What was the matter with my mother? Why did she look like that? Why didn’t she talk to me, say something, anything?

As though she had read my mind, she opened her eyes then and looked at me. “Come here, love,” she whispered. She motioned to me just a little.

I went to her, but stood a little distance away, afraid. But she motioned me closer and patted her lap. I went to her, kneeled down, and put my head in her lap, but I didn’t sit there because I knew she couldn’t hold me. When I put my head on her bony knees, I began to sob out loud. I didn’t know it would be like this! I didn’t know. I couldn’t speak, but thoughts were clear in my head: My mother was dying, and I was crying so hard that I felt as if I would die too.

After a long time, Mom lifted up my head. “Hey,” she said. “You’ve got to stop now. Got to.”

But I just shook my head, and although I didn’t put it in her lap again, I kept right on crying.

“Don’t worry,” Mom whispered.

I shrugged because I knew she didn’t mean it.

She began crying, too. “I wish…” She broke off.

Again I only nodded.

“I love you so much,” Mom said, and she put a hand on my
face, and then reached up to Daddy with her other hand.

Daddy held it, and for a while none of us said anything.

But then Mom took a deep, trembly breath. “I feel a little better,” she said quietly. “Think you could help me upstairs to bed?”

Daddy nodded and leaned over her. I backed away, making room for him, but he didn’t help Mom to her feet. Instead, he lifted her up in his arms, and she let him, leaning against him as though she were a baby. She smiled at me. “Come on,” she whispered. “Upstairs, all of us. A good night's sleep and we’ll feel better.”

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. She was right, though. We had to go to bed.

C
HRISTMAS EVE MORNING. IT WAS AS SILENT IN THE HOUSE as though everybody were dead. Dead. The word didn’t do anything to me any more, didn’t make my heart race the way it used to. I lay on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling. I had Christmas presents for Mom, and for Daddy, and for Robin. They were already wrapped and in a stack at the foot of the bed. I had bought two little blue angels for Mom, tiny china angels with candles in their hands. Were there really such things as angels?

I couldn’t stay in bed, so I got up, put on my robe, and tiptoed down the hall to Mom and Daddy's room. I didn’t even knock but just opened the door and peeked in.

They were still in bed, Daddy lying on his side, his mouth open, snoring slightly. Mom was beside him, propped up on several pillows, but she was awake and she smiled at me when I opened the door. She put one finger over her lips and whispered, “I’ll get up and meet you downstairs. Let's let Daddy sleep.”

I nodded, watching as Mom slowly got out of bed and reached to the chair alongside for her robe. She seemed better this morning, as though it wasn’t such an effort for her to move, but I could hardly believe how skinny she was under her
nightgown. She looked over her shoulder, saw me watching her, and smiled. “I’m fine!” she whispered. She went into the bathroom then and closed the door.

I went down to the kitchen, where I started the coffee. I was a lot better at it than I had been that first time when Mom came home from the hospital, and I was pleased when it dripped into the pot, nice and dark brown. It was just finished when Mom arrived in the kitchen. She walked a little unsteadily, trailing one hand along the wall as though to keep her balance, but she smiled at me. “Mmm, coffee's ready. You’re terrific.”

I smiled back and got a mug, poured the coffee, and took it to her. She sat at the table, seeming satisfied to let me wait on her, but even as she sat there, she was breathing hard.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Better than last night.” Mom sighed softly. “Yes, better than last night. ”

My heart did a little flip.

“That was a tough night.”

“What happened?” I asked, almost against my will.

“The cancer's invaded my bones, my liver,” Mom answered. “It's causing the pain I’m having, and the jaundice too—the thing that's making me look so yellow. It's a little complicated— I’m not sure I understand it myself—but that's why I needed blood right away.” It was as if she were talking about a soccer game, just as calm, just as normal. She sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the chair. When she opened
her eyes, she smiled at me. “But I’m home, Sarah. Home for Christmas. And I’m staying here.”

I nodded, but I didn’t ask anything because I didn’t want to know anything more.

Mom set her cup on the table and leaned close to me. “Sarah, stop looking at me as though I were going to explode. I’m not, you know. This is bad, I know. It's not good. But it's Christmas Eve.” She put a finger up to my face. “I order you to enjoy it.”

I couldn’t help smiling at her, and I raised one hand to my forehead in a pretend salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

“That's better.” Mom smiled at me, too. “Now, some unfinished business. What were you planning to do last night when you were at the top of the ropes?”

I picked up a paper napkin and folded it carefully, turning all the corners toward the middle. “Nothing, really. ”

“Sarah, look at me. Answer me. ”

I looked at her and took a deep breath. “Nothing much. I was just—Well, I was going to try to drop onto the trampoline.”

Mom's eyes opened wide with surprise. “You
what!
Why?”

“Why? I don’t know. Just because.”

Mom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Sarah, think about it, about why you wanted to do that. Wasn’t it enough…” She paused, then repeated it insistently, “Wasn’t it
enough
to do all those daring things you’ve been practicing?”

I shrugged. “No, it wasn’t. I mean—Well, it was—once I saw you there.” I was confused, not sure myself if I knew what I was talking about.

But Mom seemed to understand something I didn’t and it seemed to worry her. “Sarah,” she said, “sometimes when we’re troubled or worried or disappointed, we do things we shouldn’t do, wild things.” She nodded as though agreeing with herself. “It's as though we were tempting the Fates. It's a form of running away, thinking it's easier to face the dangers outside than the ones we feel threatened by inside. Do you know what I mean?”

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t quite sure, but I did know that I had never wanted to do anything like that except last night. I also knew that it had been easier to think about that than to think about Mom and what might be happening.

Mom continued, and she was breathing hard again, almost gasping. “It's been so hard for you, being worried about me. So maybe you were running a little. I’ve often worried about Robin and the wild things she does—as though she were running from something.”

“But she didn’t do anything wild last night. Mom, guess what?”

“What?” Mom leaned close, and I realized it had been so long since we had talked like this about my friends and how I felt, anything except about her being sick.

“Robin's mom has been sick with some disease I can’t remember the name of, but it makes her too scared to leave the house. And you know what? Last night she went out, the first time in years that she went to school. She was at the gymnastics show!”