Authors: Angela Morrison
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex
Sing Me to Sleep (35 page)
“But—this is an emergency. I need to stay with him.”
Derek’s mom puts her hand out for the phone. I obey.
“We’ll make sure she gets there. No, no. It shouldn’t be late. She’s been wonderful. All right. Good-bye.” She hands me back my cell.
I slip it into my bag. I don’t dare argue. She’s in control and wants me to know it. “I wasn’t wonderful last night—more like a disaster. Why are you making this so easy for me?”
“He says he loves you. Do you love my son?”
I nod.
“Then why wouldn’t I do everything I can to keep you around? I need an ally.”
“Against him?”
“For him. When he was almost five, a doctor told me he would only last two, maybe three more years. I’ve been fighting since then to prove that man wrong.”
“Derek—resists?”
We get stopped at a red light. “He fought therapy and meds when he was little. Fed his formula to the dog—stuff like that. But that’s all second nature now. He resists in other ways—dangerous ways. For a while it was girls. Then he got together with a nice girl in his choir. But he still needed to rebel. His entire life is drugs—so he didn’t go down that road.” The light turns green. She steps on the gas.
“How could you let him get that motorcycle?”
“He’s nineteen.” She shudders. “His dad was for it. What could I do?”
“He was crazy in Switzerland.”
“Ever seen him on a skateboard?”
Stupid adrenaline. “You should have—”
“Tied him up?”
“Padded cell.”
She puts on her left turn signal. “I caught myself looking forward to his hospital stays so I could watch him round the clock.” She makes the turn and shoots me a grim smile.
“The lockup?”
She nods. “But lately he’s taking living seriously.” She glances away from the road. “Thank you.”
“Me?” I roll my eyes and fling my head back against the neck rest. “I got everything so wrong.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I need to help.”
“You already did.” She reaches over and pats my knee. “Last night I was a thousand miles past exhausted—but how could I leave him? And then there you were. Derek’s angel.”
“I didn’t act like an angel.”
She laughs. “I had to take his word for it.” She focuses on the road, drives, silent for a moment. “Derek should not have played with your happiness like this. Not many girls would have stayed. It will get painful.”
“It can’t be worse than not knowing.”
“It can, Beth.” Her eyes catch mine. “It will.”
I draw into myself—refuse to hear her. He’s going to be fine.
We arrive at a small two-story house in a little town west of London. Derek’s bike is pulled up by the side door. We both shoot it nasty looks on our way into the house. She takes me in through the laundry room stacked with dirty clothes—like I’m a part of the family—and into an open kitchen and family room. There’s a waist-high, long black table, narrow and set on a downward slant behind the couch.
She notices me staring at it. “The vest needs help some days. I used to pound on the poor kid forty-five minutes four times a day to get him to cough up that gunk in his lungs. You can imagine how much he liked that.”
Cases of formula sit on the kitchen counter. She opens the dishwasher, and it’s full of all kinds of medical stuff. She finds a couple mugs in there. “You hop into the shower, and I’ll make us some cocoa.” She directs me to Derek’s room. “Don’t mind the mess.”
I wade through his dirty clothes, stop at the foot of his unmade bed, stare at his body’s imprint. There’s an IV pole next to the bed with clothes thrown over it. His computer is almost buried in papers and stacks of sheet music. On the way to the bathroom, I stub my toe on a keyboard floating in the mess. The bathroom is clean enough. His mom must have got it ready for me. I doubt Derek left those fresh towels laid out on the counter last time he was in here.
I take off my borrowed scrubs and get into his shower. The hot water feels so good. I’ve got tears and sweat and snot dried all over me. My hair is caked with hairspray from my performance updo. I find more pins while I wash my hair with his shampoo. I lather up with his soap, scrub until I’m tingling fresh, and rinse it all down the drain. The smell of him lingers on my skin even after I towel down.
My jeans are in my bag, so I put them on. I forego undies. Not usually my style, but the ones I peeled off are nasty. The bra is fine for another day, but my pink T-shirt is stained and crusty. Gross. What was I thinking? I borrow a white one from a folded pile on top of Derek’s dresser. His mom doesn’t mention it when I go back out.
My hair dries into a frizz while I sit in their kitchen and sip cocoa with marshmallows.
His mom leans across her steaming mug. “Tell me how you met—and everything. If I ask Derek, he’ll just grunt.”
I blow on my cocoa and try to figure out where to start.
“Please?” Her eyebrows lift. “It isn’t true what they say about mothers. We don’t hate our sons’ girlfriends. The sleazy ones—maybe. But we’re mostly delighted and a little startled when a wonderful girl loves our son. And relieved the son is smart enough to love her back. I’m grateful, Beth.”
“I’m not wonderful.”
“I’m sure you are. Derek has very good taste.”
I slurp up a melting marshmallow—much louder than intended, and we both laugh.
“It started with Meadow, I guess.” I tell her about Meadow’s stage fright and how I filled in. My absurd makeover. Derek up on that mountaintop already knowing my voice. Him coming after me and finding me on that bench. She nods her head when I explain my genetic problems—understanding my pain like no one I’ve ever talked to before.
“You’re lucky in a way. We didn’t know until after Derek was diagnosed. I wanted a houseful of kids, but the risks . . .”
“I know.” Our eyes meet. “Kind of awful. Derek was . . . incredibly comforting.” I flush and my hands get sweaty. The hot cup of cocoa I’m holding is no help. I set it down and lean back in my chair.
His mom grins and shakes her head. “The opportunistic little devil.”
“No.” How can I explain how much that meant? “I’d never had a hot guy like him do anything more than hurl abuse at me. Then doctors were saying they were right. I really am beastly.”
She shakes her head and stirs her cocoa.
“And then there was this beautiful boy holding me while I cried. When he kissed me, my world changed forever. I’ll never be the same. Cystic fibrosis? What difference could that make to
me
?”
me
?”
She gets teary while I tell her how magical the rest of our time in Lausanne was, how scared I was when it was over, how relieved when he showed up on that motorcycle—until he took me for a ride. I look at the trappings of his condition all around us. “Now I know why he kept me away.”
“And why he didn’t tell me about you.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“I’ll manage the medical establishment. You manage him.”
“He won’t like me bossing him around.”
“That’s not what I mean. He wants to live—for you. He wants life. With you. Keep him hoping. Keep him fighting. Until they can save him.”
My heart gets tight, but I look up at her and nod. “All right. Should be easy.”
She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine. “It may be the hardest thing you ever do. Are you sure?”
“I’m not afraid.”
Her mask of calm drops for a moment, and she whispers, “I am.”
chapter 30
EXISTENCE
Getting my butt out of bed Monday morning is painful. I hit the snooze button three times. Mom has to drag me out from under the covers. I throw on an old sweatshirt and slide into my Levi’s. I capture my hair and jam it through a black scrunchie. I treat my face so the sore spots on my chin and forehead don’t erupt on me, but I don’t bother with makeup.
I grab a banana for breakfast. Mom pours me juice.
“Please—can’t I go back to the hospital?”
“After school. But take your homework.”
“It’s December. Christmas break starts in two weeks.”
“And you have finals in all your semester classes.”
“Who cares?”
“Every college you’ll be applying to in a couple of months.”
Applications? Colleges? What planet is she on? “Get real. I can’t bother with that until Derek’s okay.” I filled her in when I got home last night. She took it pretty hard.
She looks down and stirs her coffee. “What if he’s not okay?”
I slam the juice glass on the counter. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Reality sucks, but you need to face it, honey.”
“He’s not going to die.”
“He tricked you. He tricked both of us.”
“Shut up. Don’t talk about him like that. He needs me, and that’s all that matters.”
“I don’t want you to throw away your happiness.” She closes her eyes and her tone drops. “Like I did.”
“You said you loved my father.”
She nods and sighs. “You have to do this. I understand.”
“Good.” I run back upstairs to my room, pull my suitcase from the summer out from under my bed, dump the junk that’s still in the bottom, and start throwing underwear and T-shirts into it.
“Whoa.” Mom barges in. “Hold on.” She grabs my arm. “Slow down.” She takes a stack of jeans out of my hands and gathers me close. “Let’s think this through for a minute.”
I drop my head onto her shoulder. “I have to get back up there. What if—”
“Is he that bad?” She lets me loose.
I sink down on my bed. “How can I waste time on school when he—” I take a deep breath and steel myself to say it. “When he could be dead tomorrow?”
“It’s that close?”
I fight hard to keep my emotions steady. “No one knows. It could be. This new medication they’ve got him on seems to be helping.” His mom filled me in when we went back to the hospital Sunday. “How long it will help and how much is a mystery. They have to keep him alive long enough for him to get the transplant. Only problem is they have to get him so he’s not antibiotic resistant anymore first.”
“How’s that going?”
“It’s not.” I sniff and start to blink. “If they take him off his antibiotics, the infections will win.”
Mom sits beside me. “I’m sorry.” She’s fighting back tears, too. “So, so sorry.” She puts her arm around me and squeezes. “Okay. Let’s take it one day at a time. Go to school today. Get your assignments, and you can take off tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Try to make it before midnight.” I had a hard time leaving Derek last night. “I love you, Beth.” She leans her head against mine. “I’m here. Whatever I can do. I’m here.”
I kiss her cheek, hug her, jam a change of clothes and my zit stuff into my bag, and tear out of there.
I get to school late, but Scott’s still at his locker. I was so awful to him Saturday night. I need to apologize—explain. “Hey, Scott. I’m so—”
He whirls around with his arms full of books. “To hell with you, Beth.” He walks past me, to the far end of the hall.
The locker beside mine is empty.
I hear books thud and a locker door slam down the hall. I feel like he hurled those books right in my face.
He’s not in choir.
At lunch I see him with a tiny junior girl who’s new this year. On my way out after school, he’s making out with her by the front doors.
Crap. He’s taking my stupid, stupid advice. I should be happy for him. I’ve got Derek to worry about. No room for a friend who wants more than I can give. I relied on him and that’s not really fair. Better to have Scott occupied. Right now he’s more occupied than I want to know, but he deserves something. He can’t really like her. She’s tiny and pretty and perfect for him, but he can’t love her. He loves me. She’s probably had a crush on him since school started. And now, oh my gosh, he’s got his hands on her butt.
I hurry by them, chuck my bag on Jeanette’s passenger seat, and drive fast for London. No line at the border between Port and Sarnia. I’ve got my passport today, but the guy glances at my license plate and waves me through. It’s snowing again, but the road is fine. I make it to the hospital in under an hour. It’s easier than driving to choir. Shoot—choir. We have a practice tomorrow. I’ll have to call Terri. Maybe I’ll just update my status on my page. Everyone will get the message that way—
Oh my gosh. My page.
Derek friending me—curious about the rest of me.
What a brat. He was right, though. The Amabile guys beat us. He got his way with me, too. He always gets his way.
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