How can I get her to let me in, to be her friend?
This time I don’t knock. I pull open the curtain, go to the window, and open the blinds.
“What’re you doing? I’m tired and want to be alone,” she snaps. It’s the longest string of words she’s put together since I started taking care of her and I don’t want the opportunity to pass. I drag the chair across the room and next to her bed. “I know what it feels like to be alone and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’ve been trying to help you. Can’t you see I want to be your friend?” I plead from my heart.
“Why? What’s the point?” The bitterness in her voice cracks with weakness, so I gingerly reach out and wrap my hand around hers. It’s cold and lifeless.
“Because I need a friend.” I squeeze her hand slightly, praying for an intervention.
Tears flow from her eyes as she leans her head back into the pillow.
“I don’t want to be this way.” Tears slip down her face. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be alone. I… just hate it here. I hate everything.”
Tears pool on the rims of my eyes as I focus on her.
“I’ll stay with you. I won’t go anywhere. I promise.”
“I think I’ve been here five years. Maybe longer? Sutton’s the closest thing I have to family.” She clenches and unclenches her fists.
She sits up and wraps her thin arms around me. She starts to shake as she sobs, so I hold her. I wish there was more I could do for her—anything. I want to make her remaining days as wonderful as possible, but how does a child enjoy her time when she knows Death parked himself just around the corner?
“What can I do?” I ask.
“Don’t let me die.”
Her words tear my insides to shreds. A hopeless feeling overcomes me and I want to scream at the top of my lungs “Take me! Take me instead!” I would, without a doubt, trade places with her if I could. I know it’s impossible, and the loss of that control throws me into a frenzy. There’s no way she deserves to be here. I don’t even know where to go or who to blame, but there has to be someone.
“I’ll be right back.”
I run down the hallway and into the linen closet. I ball my fists and pound on the door. I grab the sheets and chuck them over the laundry bins and all the way to the trash cans on the other side. Burying my face into a blanket, I let out a scream that’s been balled up in my chest for way too long. Towels fall off the shelf. I pick one up and throw it, then another and another until they form a disheveled pile. I push the bins out of my way and bolt to the supply closet.
I run my arm down the line of supplies, sending them to the floor. I pick up an IV pole and swing at the wall. I pound harder and harder until it breaks in half, sending one part into the mirror, shattering the glass into tiny fragments on the tile. I dig my nails into my palms.
“Why!” I scream. “Why her?”
“Stop.” Sutton’s calm voice breaks my tantrum.
Slowly sinking to the floor, I rest my head against the wall behind me and look around at the mess I created.
“I’m sorry.” I pull the collar of my shirt up over my face, sniffling and wiping my tears away. “I’ll clean it up.” My arms throb and my muscles twitch from adrenaline. I push myself up, ashamed for losing all self-control, and start picking up gauze and tape.
“Stop,” he says again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
I watch as he makes his way toward me. My lip starts to tremble and I shake my head frantically. “It’s not fair. She’s so young.”
“I know,” he says.
“We have to do something. We can’t just let her die.”
“I’d give my life to save hers.” He puts his hands on my shoulders.
“I thought the very same thing.”
“Because you’re a good person. If you didn’t care about her, you wouldn’t feel this way. Believe me, I’ve tried everything I possibly could for her, but the virus is… too complex. It might take years before a cure is found, and obviously, she doesn’t even have weeks.”
“I hate the virus.”
“Me too.” He pulls me into his chest and wraps his arms around me like my father used to do. “Sweetheart, me too.”
I can hear his heart beating. It’s strong with a consistent rhythm. I know good hearts are hard to find, so for the first time in a long time, I feel comfortable around a man. Maybe it’s because he could easily be my father, or maybe it’s because he treats me like a human being. Either way, I almost trust him.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“You know what I think?”
“What?”
“You should read to her. Not just any book, but a story where she can fly away and escape the world through her imagination.” He releases me from our embrace and steps back, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Come with me. I have a collection in my office… and don’t worry about the mess. I noticed some nurses sleeping on their shift earlier. I’ll send them to clean up and restock.” He laughs. “I hope you feel better now. I’d like to keep my office intact if you don’t mind.”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
He leads me into his office and then opens the closet door. The heaps of boxes and random items overwhelm me.
“How can you possibly find anything in this mess?” I ask.
“What mess?”
“Oh, dear heavens.”
“Ha. I’m joking. I collect the belongings people leave behind and throw them in here. When you close the door, the mess is gone, so I don’t see anything wrong with it. As long as I can’t see it, I’m fine.” He winks at me mischievously.
I nod my head and push past the shelves of bedclothes and sheets. Large boxes stacked on top of each other sit along the back wall. I pull down one box and cough as the dust particles float into my nose and mouth. My fingers slip off the edges, causing it to land on my right foot. Dang it. The top flops open, and I peer inside.
Jewelry, magazines, and old CDs rattle around as I sift through them. A baby rattle makes me pause. These were someone’s prized possessions at one time, but I let the thought go as quickly as it arises, knowing I’m going to use them for a good purpose.
The next box contains more of the same, and I let out a long sigh of exasperation. Alyssa’s probably wondering where I am, and I haven’t found anything to read her yet. Then I see the stack of books at the bottom. I delay my excitement until I lift them out. Their tattered bindings make them fragile, and their browned pages curl at the edges, but I found them!
One by one, I read the titles and settle upon The Last Silk Dress by Ann Rinaldi. It’s the only one that seems appropriate for a thirteen-year-old, and the cover even has an elegant young woman on it.
I put the rest of the belongings back in the boxes and stack them together. Then I skip-walk down the hall and back to her room with a huge smile on my face.
“What are you all happy about?” she asks.
“I got you something.” Proudly, I pull the book out from behind my back and place it on her lap. “It’s the only one I could find that was appropriate for your age.”
“What? Are you kidding me? I’m dying and you’re worried about corrupting me?”
I cock my head. “Do you want me to read it or not?”
She nods enthusiastically and then lays her head back on my flat, measly pillow. I sit in the chair and open the book to the first page. Ironically, it begins with a fourteen-year-old girl and her father at the beginning of the Civil War. I find myself and Alyssa drawn to her vivacious spirit and her close family connections. Will Susan side with the confederacy or with the abolitionists? I remember reading about the Civil War in school, but this book begins to bring it alive for me.