A Time to Die (9 page)

“I love you,” Christy said.

“I love you, too,” Kara repeated, her voice thick with emotion.

Christy looked relieved, and her face brightened. “Listen. How about if I check with Dr. McGee and see if it’s okay for you to go outside tomorrow?”

“Could you?” Through her window, Kara saw the gray November sky and the tops of trees. One of the best things about the hospital was its beautiful wooded property and footpaths. Often, patients
were allowed to go outside accompanied by a nurse or a health care worker.

“I’ll get a wheelchair and take you on a grand tour. You’ll have to bundle up.”

“No problem. Mom’s brought half my wardrobe.”

They laughed, but then Christy’s expression grew serious again. “It’s so good to have you back with us. You’re a real fighter, and I knew you wouldn’t give up. I would give anything if I could do something for you, Kara—if I could take away your CF forever.”

“I’ve got another chance,” Kara said. “It’s what I wanted. And as long as I get it, I’m going to take it.”

    That evening, Vince came to see Kara. “I’ve missed you,” he said, and kissed her forehead. “Do you know how scared I was?”

Delighted by his show of affection, Kara gave him a radiant smile. “I fooled them,” she said, pulling away and looking up into Vince’s dark eyes. “They didn’t think I could get on top of this one, but I did.”

“You look wonderful.”

She made a face. “Don’t lie to me, even out of kindness. I know how I look.” She settled back onto her pillows, still holding his hand. “Speaking of looking good … You look super.”

He gave a self-conscious shuffle. “This is the best autumn I’ve ever had with my CF. No new infections and a hardy appetite. For once, the enzyme
pills are doing their thing. I’ve gained some weight.”

“It’s more than that. You look—” she fished for a word,—“bigger.”

“I’ve got a secret.” He glanced about conspiratorially, even though they were alone in the room. “I’ve been lifting weights in the gym after school.”

“I had no idea.”

“Well, it’s no big deal. I didn’t know if my lungs could handle it, but the more I build myself up, the better I do. The doctor says it’s fine for me to continue.”

“Maybe I should try.”

He laughed. “You couldn’t even lift a dumbbell right now.”

“Could, too.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “I lifted
you
up, didn’t I? In spirit, of course.”

His dark eyes twinkled. “Yes, you did. I’m so high now, I feel like I’m flying.”

“Thanks for all the cards,” she said. “Fifteen! I’m touched.”

He bowed stiffly from the waist. “You’re more than worth it. Did you get any others—you know from kids at school?”

“Elyse.”

“And?”

She knew what he was fishing for, and trying not to sound dejected, she said, “No, Eric didn’t send me anything.

“I didn’t mean him.”

She stared at him keenly. “Yes, you did. It’s not
important, okay? I would have been more shocked if he had sent me one.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“No,” she corrected. “He’s not sick. You can’t expect him to understand our world.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Vince argued.

She held up her hand. “Stop. I don’t want to talk about him.” She smiled and squeezed Vince’s hand. “Let’s change the subject. I want to think of some dastardly prank to play on the nurses. Like the time we were hospitalized at the same time when we were kids and we smeared Vaseline on all the doorknobs.” She slugged Vince playfully. “Help me come up with something.”

    Kara lay awake, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the night sounds of the hospital. There was the hum of the central heating unit and the muffled sound from a radio at the nurses’ station. Occasionally, she heard a nurse pass down the hall and the soft squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the linoleum. The light burned dimly in the hall, and from somewhere down the corridor, Kara heard a child crying for its mother.

She sighed and shifted upright. No use trying to go back to sleep. She knew from experience, sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon. She decided that if she had to be awake, she should keep herself busy and catch up on her schoolwork. She was behind in every subject. With a sigh, she opened the drawer of her bedside table, where she’d left her work.

Inside the drawer, she noticed a long, elegant envelope lying on top of her English book. She picked it up and read her name, which had been written across the front in calligraphed letters. The envelope was of fine parchment paper, and it had been sealed with red wax, stamped with the letters OLW.

Odd
, she thought. She’d been positive she’d opened all her mail. How could this one have gotten past her? How had it gotten into the drawer? Kara gingerly broke the red seal and pulled out two pieces of paper. One was a letter written in delicate script. The other was a check made out in her name for an enormous sum of money. She stared openmouthed.

Quickly Kara picked up the letter, and using the soft glow of the light on the wall over her bed, she began to read.

Flabbergasted, Kara reread the letter and stared at the check. It was made out in her name. She counted the zeros. One hundred thousand dollars. It seemed real, but incredible at the same time. Who could JWC possibly be? The check was signed, “Richard Holloway, Esq., Administrator, One Last Wish Foundation.”

Kara was awestruck. She felt as if she were in a movie or TV show. She looked around the room, but no one shouted, “Surprise!” With trembling fingers, Kara slid the letter and check back inside the envelope. Her schoolwork forgotten, she stared thoughtfully into space. What she wanted more than anything else was to be well, but no amount of money could buy that. Still, there were plenty of things she could do. She wanted to share this incredible event with someone—but who? She decided that her parents would be skeptical of the entire mysterious business, even
though the check looked real. Should she tell Christy? Elyse? Vince or Eric? Finally, she decided to take her time and think it through thoroughly. This was a miracle and she didn’t want to do anything foolish.

Kara turned out the light, and cradling the letter to her chest, she fell asleep.

E
RIC EASED THE
heavy barbells back into their slots on the weight lifting bench and felt the exhilaration that came from pumping iron. He wiped the sweat from his face with a nearby towel. “Not bad,” his spotter said. “That’s the most repetitions you’ve done this week.”

He draped the towel over his neck and stood. Across the gym, he saw Vince, struggling to do arm curls with a set of barbells. When Vince had first appeared at the extracurricular weight lifting program in the school gym, Eric and the others had been skeptical. Now, watching Vince fight for breath as he lifted, Eric felt a grudging admiration for him. Vince wasn’t a quitter, and he was making progress. Eric could see how Vince’s upper
body was developing through the course of his workouts.

Eric thought better of going over to Vince. Except for having to see each other in English class, they steered clear of each other. Ever since the night of Howie’s party, Eric had felt uncomfortable around Vince. Eric went inside the locker room; he had showered and dressed and was ready to leave when Vince came over to him. “You got a minute?” Vince asked.

“Sure. What do you need? Is it about an English assignment?”

“No. I want to talk to you.”

“I’m listening.”

The noisy locker room was beginning to fill up. Vince glanced around. “Not here. Want some pizza? I’ll buy.”

The thought of pizza made Eric hungry, and he was curious about what Vince wanted to discuss. “Sounds all right. My car’s out in the lot.”

“You’ll have to drop me back here to pick up mine after we eat.”

“No problem.”

They walked out into the blustery day, and Eric raised the collar of his sheepskin jacket to ward off the chill. Once the two of them were in Eric’s Chevy, Vince directed him toward a pizza parlor. Feeling somewhat uncomfortable, Eric flipped on the radio and turned it up loud.

At the nearly empty restaurant, they chose a booth and ordered. While they waited for their
pizza, Eric fidgeted with a paper napkin. “So, what’s up?” Eric finally asked.

“Kara.”

Eric felt confusion, then a small stab of fear. “She’s still doing okay, isn’t she?”

“Do you care?”

“Now, wait a minute—”

Vince leaned forward, close to Eric’s face.
“You
wait a minute. For reasons that make no sense to me, Kara likes you. I’ve got some things to say to you, and so hear me out.”

Eric swallowed, unsure of how to respond. “I like Kara,” he said, shredding the paper napkin into strips.

“With friends like you, who needs enemies?” Vince said sarcastically. A flare of anger shot through Eric, but before he could react, Vince added, “Do you know what that girl’s been through these last few weeks?”

“Christy told me—”

“No matter what your sister’s told you, you don’t know the half of it. I’ve been there, so I
do
know, and now I’m going to tell you. When you’re hospitalized with CF, you feel as if you’re drowning in your own body fluids. For every day you’re lying in that bed, the nights stretch twice as long. You’re scared because there’re no guarantees that your doctor’s bag of tricks will work this time—it seems that the nasty little germs get more resistant every time they’re faced with a new antibiotic.” Vince ticked off points on his fingers as he spoke. Eric sat quietly, not interrupting.

“I know what it feels like to think that everybody in the world’s having a good time but you because the only faces you see are nurses and doctors and lab techs who poke you full of needles and suck blood out of you until it hurts so bad, you think you’re going to scream.

“I know what it’s like to cough up your guts and vomit blood. And I know how it feels when you wake up one morning and realize you’re still alive and that you made it through one more episode, only to know that you’ll have to do it all over again. Until the one day you don’t wake up at all.”

Eric had broken out in a cold sweat, but he kept his expression stony, ashamed of the revulsion he was feeling as Vince’s words bombarded him. Poor Kara. Poor Vince.

Vince leaned back against the booth, as if the explanation had drained him of energy. “When you’re recovering, days turn into years. The only thing that keeps you from suicide is seeing friendly faces. Every time I’ve been through it during the last four years, Kara’s been there for me. And I’ve been there for her. This time, I was, too.”

“I-I’m glad—”

Vince pinned him with a look. “But she doesn’t want me. She wants you.” Finally, he looked out the window, his face dark with misery.

“I thought she was your girl,” Eric mumbled.

“No, you didn’t. You were just too much of a coward to go after her.”

If any other guy had called him a coward, Eric
would have decked him. But Vince had bared his soul, and Eric knew everything he’d said was true. He
was
a coward, unwilling to become involved on more than a superficial level because he was afraid of sickness, of suffering. Kara had reached out to him the first day of school. He had responded, but when he learned about her problems, he had retreated.

“What should I do?” Eric asked.

“Figure something out on your own, Eric. Don’t expect me to make it easy for you. This is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but I’m doing it for Kara.”

The pizza came, and they ate in silence. Eric barely tasted it. He wanted to tell Vince that he was sorry and that he did care about Kara. She was sweet and decent and kind, and he had blown it.

He remembered the night of Howie’s party. She’d felt feather light and fragile in his arms when they danced. In the moonlight, she’d looked wispy soft and beautiful. That night, the monster disease that lived inside her had been eating her lungs alive. She had been fighting for every breath, and he’d never realized it.

He should have been reaching out to her all this time instead of avoiding her, pretending she didn’t matter. He was ashamed that he’d acted as if her sickness was her fault. He stared at Vince, wanting to find words to explain it to him, but he couldn’t. “I do care,” he said, but the words sounded hollow and flat.