An Unstill Life (15 page)

Chapter Seventeen

W
ithout meaning to, I left the art room at the same time as Bianca. We fell into step next to each other and wove our way through the cluttered hallway. I was about to turn down the corridor to the science wing when she stopped me, her hand on my arm surprisingly firm.

“So, uh—” Her eyes moved this way and that, not resting anywhere, and certainly not on my face. Her boots jingled with the shuffling of her feet. “Um… My cousin’s an artist, okay? And he has an exhibition opening tonight. I thought maybe… Well, maybe you’d like to come?”

I stumbled a little as someone pushed me from behind. My head reeled. “Sure. Sounds cool. Where should we meet?” My voice rang out, clear and firm, without the tremor I was certain I’d hear.

Her face was so scarlet, its peppermint flavor flooded my tongue. “It’s at a gallery downtown, but it’s kind of hard to find. Maybe meet me at the corner of Gilmore and Durham? At, like, seven?”

“Okay.” I nodded, smiling as the tide of people tugged me toward my biology class.

After dinner, Mom prepared to go to the hospital. She’d been home a grand total of three hours, if that.

“Can I come with you?” I asked while she hunted for the car keys she’d tossed somewhere when she came in. “I need a ride downtown.”

She frowned, giving up the hunt for a moment. “Where are you going? It’s a school night, you know.”

I was surprised she even knew what day it was. “Just to a gallery. A…friend’s cousin has an opening tonight. I won’t be late. And I’ve done all my homework.” It was a lie. I hadn’t done any homework, but she wouldn’t check. Even while she questioned me, her eyes roved the room, other thoughts ticking along behind them.

“You don’t want to come and see your sister?” Her hand clawed at her hair.

“Not tonight, Mom.” I couldn’t face an evening of watching Jules puke into a bowl, her eyes begging for someone or something to stop the torture. “I’ll go see her tomorrow, okay?”

“Well.” Mom studied me for a second, lips pursed. “Oh! There they are.” She leaped across the room and held the keys up in triumph. “If you’re coming, let’s go.”

The sun hung low in the sky, tendrils of orange and pink winding around it like wisps of smoke. Bianca stood on the corner, leaning against a crumbling stucco storefront, a loose black tunic shifting in the gentle breeze.

“Thanks, Mom.” I had the door open before the car had come to a complete stop. “Give Jules a hug for me.”

“Livvie—” Mom’s voice held a blue-grey note of exhaustion and sadness.

“Yeah?”

She just looked at me, eyes shadowed, cheeks hollow. “You have bus fare to get home?”

I blinked back tears as I nodded, amazed she’d thought to ask.

The car pulled away from the curb. I stood there a moment, fists clenched at my sides as I fought to compose myself.

“Hey. You made it.” Bianca’s voice made me jump.

“Yeah. I did.” I forced a smile. “So, where’s this gallery?”

We walked down the near-deserted street, sunset painting the abandoned storefronts and shabby junk-stores in improbable shades of ochre, crimson and gold. The colors lifted my spirits with their sweetness and froth. I absorbed the candy-coated air, drinking it in greedy gulps.

“In here.” Bianca stopped in front of a door with peeling paint that may once have been green. Now it was faded to a shade that reminded me of Jules’s face. The thought slapped me in the gut, almost making me puke. I swallowed hard and followed Bianca’s clanking boots up a narrow, unlit stairway. At the top, strands of light escaped through a heavily beaded curtain. The dull roar of voices drifted from behind it.

“This is a gallery?” I whispered. It would not have surprised me to find an opium den or crack house beyond the weird beaded screen.

“Yeah. Come on.” She moved to the left, lifting a corner of the drape and beckoning me through. Ducking, I entered the room.

It was not what I expected.

The large room swarmed with people. Pristine white walls were hung with paintings so vast it was difficult to even seen them as individual entities. The wooden floor was varnished to a high gloss, and I wondered if you could see your reflection in it when the space was less crowded. My cheeks burned when I thought of the implications. A lot of women in the room wore skirts. Including Bianca. I kept my eyes off the floor. If anyone wasn’t wearing panties, I didn’t want to know.

Bianca and I pressed through the chattering knots of people until we reached the far side of the room. Each painting stretched across a full wall, floor to ceiling, brilliant colors smeared across the canvas in heavily textured lumps.

I hated them.

There were only eight pictures in the whole exhibition. Bianca and I walked the perimeter of the space, exploring the main room and the smaller alcove set off it. All the paintings were too large, too overwhelming, the colors mismatched in such a way they made my teeth ache and my throat clench against the flavors that assaulted my tongue.

“Here.” Bianca thrust a plastic cup into my hand. I took a mouthful of the pale yellow liquid and choked when I realized it was wine.

“How’d you get this?” I hissed, glancing around to see if anyone had seen me drinking.

She shrugged and took a sip from her own cup, leaving a perfect lip-print in blood-red lipstick on the rim. “No one checks ID in a place like this. It’s just sitting there, you know?” She pointed toward a rickety table in the corner, wine bottles dripping condensation onto a yellowing tablecloth. Stacks of plastic cups sat by the bottles, but no one was there to pour it. A few cans of soda sat beside them like an afterthought.

“You like the paintings?” Bianca gestured to the one closest to us, a ten-foot monstrosity in shades of green, purple, pink, and orange. The label beneath it read “Conspiracy,” and the tag below that announced the price to be fifteen thousand dollars. I almost strangled on my second, more ladylike, sip of wine.

“Um…” I stared at the coarse swirls of paint splattered across the canvas. What could I say? It was her cousin’s work. I couldn’t tell her how much I loathed it, how the swirls of color screamed at me and made my stomach roil.

“Personally, I think it’s a load of crap.” She lifted her glass and tossed back its contents in one swig. “It’s ugly, pretentious, and technically a mess. I can’t believe anyone would pay fifteen dollars for this shit, let alone fifteen thousand. My cat could do better.”

I giggled. I took another sip of wine, liking the sour taste in my mouth, the coolness as it flowed down my throat, and the explosion of warmth when it hit my stomach. It was so much better than beer, not so bitter. I drank more, knowing I shouldn’t. Just one cup, one tiny little cup. “It’s pretty horrible, isn’t it? Is your cousin here?” I blinked, the light suddenly seeming brighter. The crowd had thinned out a little, so we could see across to the far side of the room where clusters of people were in deep conversation in front of a canvas that looked like someone had thrown up after eating all the junk at a carnival.

She nodded, her black hair sweeping away from her face to reveal flushed cheeks. “He’s the tall one with the ponytail.” She pointed a finger toward the puke picture.

I followed her finger, squinting a little in the electric glare. The figure came into focus, and I saw a young guy, probably only a few years older than us, dressed in ragged jeans and a faded T-shirt that hung off him. His hair was long and greasy, tied back off his face with a scrap of red cloth.

“Do you need to go see him?” I turned to Bianca who had the wine bottle in her hand again. She offered it to me, but I shook my head. Better not push my luck. She ignored me and filled my cup back to the rim. I sucked some of it back so I wouldn’t spill it. How could something that tasted so good be killing me? Assuming of course, I did have Hep C. If I didn’t, then why should I deny myself? I took another big mouthful.

Bianca sipped from her own cup, dribbling a little down her chin. “Oops!” She giggled, the sound silver-bright. “I should say hello, right?”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

We crossed the polished expanse of floor, Bianca’s boot-heels skidding a little, forcing her to grab hold of my arm to keep from falling.

“Hi, Theo.” Bianca let go of my arm and straightened up, shaking her hair back into place. “Great show. This is my friend, Livvie.” She only hesitated a second before saying friend.

“So glad you could make it, B.” Theo nodded, grinning in a way that made me uncomfortable. “What do you think of the paintings?”

“They’re—” Bianca paused and looked at me, eyes wide. Her lips quivered and a sharp bray of laughter escaped them. It was such a bizarre sound, so loud and brassy in that space, I couldn’t help myself—I laughed, too, and then I couldn’t stop. Theo stared at us, a bemused expression on his face.

“Do you know these two?” The voice whipped across me, dark with irritation.

“Yeah. That one’s my cousin.” Theo turned and looked at the gray-haired man in the pinstriped suit whose mouth was so puckered it looked as if he’d jammed a wedge of lemon into his mouth.

“B?” Theo bent down and peered at us, sniffing suspiciously at our cups. “Have you been drinking?”

“Oh, Theo!” Bianca stretched to her full height and took a step toward him, stumbling a little and gripping my shoulder. “We may have had a teeny little bit of wine.” She held her finger and thumb up, a fraction of air between them.

It was such a silly, childish gesture, I laughed again. People were staring at us, and I realized how loud the snorts of hilarity that issued from me actually were. My cheeks blazed. “Bianca? Maybe it’s time to go, huh?”

“Okay.” Bianca swept away from her cousin and the snooty man who watched us as if we might steal something. She took my hand and whisked me along with her. I trotted behind, listening to the now-familiar music of her boots. The colors from the paintings blurred together, and I realized my stomach was churning.

The beaded curtain sounded like an explosion as we burst through it, setting the individual strands dancing and spinning against each other. We tumbled down the staircase and burst out onto the street, giggles consuming us with such force we collapsed against the rough brick.

I lolled against Bianca, aware of her distinctive raspberry scent enveloping me. My laughter caught in my throat, and I had trouble breathing through it. I looked up at her, watching the way the streetlights played across her features. With her head thrown back, her throat was long and white, and I was overcome with a sudden desire to touch it.

I didn’t say a word, but she seemed to hear my thoughts. Her laughter quieted, and she turned to look at me, her eyes glittering in the sodium glow. For a long time we stood there, eyes locked, the warm breeze wafting across our skin.

Bianca bent her head, and her lips settled upon mine. They were warm and soft, slippery with lipstick. I shivered and pressed my own lips hungrily against hers. Her mouth opened a little, and I followed, admitting her inquisitive tongue. It tickled mine, darting in and out, waltzing across my taste buds. The flavor of wine, exotic and sour at the same time, flooded my mouth.

My heart beat a rapid tattoo through my chest. This was wrong. I should not be doing this. But I remained mesmerized, nerves I’d never noticed before singing songs of ecstasy along my spine. Kissing Jesse had been nothing like this.

She pulled away, slowly, as if surfacing from a dive. She licked her lips, smiling in satisfaction. Her lipstick, smeared now, blurred her mouth into something unrecognizable. I ran my tongue across my lips and tasted her there, spikes of electricity igniting in my belly. This was better than I could have imagined.

“Wow…” she breathed. “You’re good.”

“Am I?” I reached for her again, wanting nothing but her mouth on mine once more.

“Yeah, you are.” She pushed me against the wall, and I lost myself in her kisses.

Time held no meaning. It could have been seconds or forever before I drew back. Nothing so good could be wrong, yet my stomach writhed with guilt. “I…I should get home.” My voice was unsteady.

Bianca glanced up at the star-speckled sky and nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

It felt completely natural when, as we walked toward the bus stop two blocks away, she slipped her hand into mine.

Chapter Eighteen

M
y head was still whirling the next morning when I walked to homeroom with Hannah. It was impossible, but my lips still tingled from Bianca’s kiss. Just thinking about it made my heart beat faster. I kissed a girl. I enjoyed it. No, more than enjoyed. I loved it. It felt right, like no other kiss ever had. I searched the over-crowded hallways for a glimpse of her, but the only black I could find was Jesse’s T-shirt emblazoned with a gruesome heavy metal band’s logo.

He sidled up to me, grinning. “How’s it going, babe?”

Babe? I glanced sideways at Hannah before turning back to him. “I’m fine. What about you? Recovered?”

“Recovered? From what?” His brow crinkled, and his hand plowed through his mass of curly hair.

“Hangover.” I moved closer to Hannah, searching for an opportunity to get away. “You were pretty drunk Friday.”

“Nah. I was fine.” The bravado wavered a little, and I could see the pale blue questions under the words he spoke.

“Oh, so that’s fine?” I spoke loudly enough other kids turned to look at us, curiosity burning in their eyes.

He gave a lascivious grin and reached for me again. I backed up, slamming right into someone who steadied me with a long-fingered hand. The nails were painted a dark burgundy that tasted oddly like Turkish delight.

“You think it’s okay to leave a girl hanging?” Bianca’s voice was a low snarl that matched the dried-blood color of her nails.

A snort of laughter escaped Hannah, and she covered her mouth with her hands.

Bianca tightened the hand on my shoulder and leaned toward Hannah. “Couldn’t get it up,” she whispered. But it was an exaggerated whisper, loud enough that Jesse heard, along with anyone else within a few feet. Laughter rippled through the crowded corridor.

Jesse’s face reddened, right to the roots of his hair. “Bitch,” he snorted. “All of you are bitches!” He gave the three of us a damning glare. Bianca’s hand dropped away from my shoulder.

“I’m not,” I said, but he didn’t hear me. He shoved through the circle of giggling kids surrounding us and ran.

Hannah slapped my arm. “That was awesome! She’s such a total bitch. Who knew?”

Damn, Bianca was mean. I couldn’t help but admire her. “Guy’s a dick,” I said.

Turning, I looked for Bianca. I needed to thank her. She was gone. I caught a glimpse of her through the crowd, moving easily through the mobbed hallway. Later. I’d have to thank her later.

Hannah looked down the corridor in the direction Jesse had gone. “Guess he is. But don’t worry. There’s other guys. We’ll find you one.”

I didn’t say anything, just walked through the door to our homeroom and slid into my desk. My face burned, too, just thinking about it. No more boys. But maybe a girl? I rested my cheek on my desk for a second, the cold laminate soothing against my feverish skin.

“Okay, class. Announcements.” Mrs. Dunstan’s florescent yellow voice silenced the low murmur of chatter. “First up, I don’t suppose anyone here wants to claim the particularly colorful graffiti in the third floor boys’ bathroom?” She peered over her glasses at us before turning back to the sheet of paper before her. “Didn’t think so. Well, if you get detention today, you know what you’ll be doing. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. Next up, the Winter Formal will be held on December fourteenth. Tickets will be the usual twenty dollars. Proceeds are being split this year between the boys’ soccer team who need new uniforms and the choir who are fundraising to compete at the Nationals.”

I glanced back at Hannah and found her staring at me. I knew that look. She was plotting. I watched her eyes rove over the class, lingering on Greg Hanson for a second, before moving on to Seth Giorgo. She smiled and made a small gesture toward him.

“No,” I mouthed, shaking my head.

The dance was the only thing on everyone’s lips. By lunch my head was full of dress designs since all the girls seemed to know exactly what they wanted to wear already. Hannah: green and shiny, full length, high neck but low back. Mel: pink or maybe red, short, with a heart-shaped neckline to accentuate her bust. Jenny Telford: pale blue, calf-length, full skirt and strapless.

“What about you?” Elise Barrowman fell into step with me after English. “What are you going to wear?”

“I might not go,” I said. “I mean, I don’t have a boyfriend or anything.”

Elise shrugged. “Neither do I. But there are tons of guys out there who don’t have girlfriends either. You don’t have to be dating to go to a dance with someone.”

“True.” I had a sudden flash of dancing with Bianca. I shook my head. It was one kiss. Well, one string of kisses. It didn’t mean anything. And Bianca was a girl. Who ever heard of two girls going to the Winter Formal together? I wasn’t a lesbian. My cheeks burned even thinking the word. It sounded like a disease, the same way synesthesia did. The synesthesic lesbian. The punch line to a bad joke, maybe. Not something real. Anyway, I wasn’t a lesbian. I just liked kissing Bianca.

“Uh… I just remembered. I have to get something out of my locker.” I turned and ran back up the hallway.

Bianca wasn’t in the art room. My heart clenched when I saw the empty chair, her canvas still propped against the wall. I stood just inside the room for a long moment, uncertain what to do. I could head down to the lunchroom and actually eat lunch. Then again, I could stay here and work on my painting. Or I could go and see if I could find Bianca. But if she wasn’t here, it probably meant she didn’t want to see me. Maybe she’d realized last night was a mistake. She’d been drinking. Maybe her kisses were as much a mistake as Jesse’s. But she’d stood up for me, hadn’t she? She’d humiliated Jesse on my behalf.

My stomach tightened to a fist. Stupid. It was one night. A little wine-induced fun. It didn’t mean anything. I shouldn’t have read anything into it.

“Hey. You gonna stand there all day?” The voice behind me startled me out of my morose thoughts.

“Huh?” I turned and found Bianca standing in the doorway, a shy smile on her face.

“You feeling okay?” She studied me, her blue eyes boring into my face.

I nodded, dropping my eyes to my shoes, cheeks hot. “Thanks. You know, for this morning.”

She made a dismissive gesture. “He deserved it.” Her voice grew warm. “I had a good time last night, Livvie.”

I couldn’t look up. “Yeah. Me too.”

It wasn’t enough, but I couldn’t find the words to say what I meant. Last night had opened a door I’d never known existed. Bianca had touched me in a way no one ever had before, made me feel things I couldn’t have imagined. I peeked up at her, wishing the right words would form on my tongue.

“We could hang out again. You know, if you want.” She crossed to the cabinet and pulled out a handful of brushes, testing each against her palm before picking three or four.

“I’d like that.” I dropped my backpack on my chair and joined her at the cabinet. The solid mass that had formed in my gut was melting away, a warm glow replacing the cold waves and making me bold. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Sure. That would be fun.”

I pulled my canvas from its place against the wall and studied it. Something wasn’t working, but I couldn’t figure out what. I licked the end of my brush, squinting until the colors became just a blur.

“What do you usually do on the weekends?” I asked. I had no idea what someone like Bianca might do away from school. Did she stay in her darkened room, listening to music and painting? Take a book and sit in a coffee shop, smoking and underlining passages of Sartre? Did she have friends outside the school? I’d never thought about it before.

She shrugged. “Nothing much. I paint a little. And some nights I work for my mom.”

“Doing what?”

“She runs a club. Sometimes I help out on the door.”

“What kind of club? Like a nightclub?”

Bianca set down her brush and looked at me. “Kind of a nightclub. But with live music. Bands. You heard of the Cavern Club?”

I stared at her. All the coolest bands played there. “Your mom works at the Cavern Club?”

“My mom
owns
the Cavern Club.” Bianca laughed. “You ever been?”

“No. Of course not. I’m not old enough.”

“When I work, technically I’m not in the club. I’m outside, so it’s okay. But I get to hear the bands. What do you do on weekends?”

I dropped my brush and bent to pick it up, admiring the way the red paint splattered in an arc around it on the green and white floor. It tasted like Christmas, like gingerbread and candy canes and the orange flavored chocolate we always found in the toe of our Christmas stockings. What did I do with my weekends? I could hardly remember.

“Nothing much.” I shrugged. “Spend time with my sister, I guess. Maybe go to the movies or something with my friends.”

I felt myself blushing. Again. My friends. Wasn’t Bianca a friend? “Uh… I mean… You know. My other friends.”

Bianca smiled. “Would you want to go to a movie with me?” Her hair hung over her face so I couldn’t see her, but I could tell she was smiling.

“You mean like a date?” My palms were so wet I had to wipe them on my jeans, my heart pounding in my ears loud enough to deafen me.

“If you want it to be.” Bianca tossed her hair back, so I could see the wicked smile on her lips.

“I want it to be,” I whispered.

The week dragged on, the hours until Friday stretching on forever. This round of chemo hit Jules harder than the last. All she could do was sleep and puke. I went to visit almost every day after school, but she just lay there, drool trickling from the corner of her mouth to puddle in the creases of her pillow. If her eyes did open, they were dull, unseeing, clouded with sickness and pain. I stayed less time each day. The walls of her room were too close and pressed in on me, making it hard to breathe. The air tasted of disease and stale coffee from the fourteen or so cups my mother drank each day to maintain some semblance of sanity. The cups cascaded unchecked from the wastebasket outside the door.

“Hi, Mom,” I brushed her cheek with a kiss, shocked at how much her skin resembled Jules’. It had the same dry, papery texture.

“Oh, Livvie. You’re here. I have good news. The donor Dr. Singh found is going to work out. The test results came back. It looks like it’s going to happen.” She clutched at my hands, the hope burning bright in her eyes.

I had to look away. That mixture of fear and anticipation on her face was unbearable. “That’s great, Mom.” I tried to inject enthusiasm into my words without much success. How could I get enthusiastic about something I knew was going against Jules’s wishes? How could I not hope for a miracle?

“Julie’s going to be just fine, Livvie.” Mom’s voice was as brittle as peanut candy, and the same amber color threaded through it.

I nodded and moved around the bed to watch Jules sleep. Restless, her bald head shifted on the pillow. Her emaciated limbs spasmed beneath the sheets, jerking loose of the bedclothes before falling back. I tucked the sheet in on my side to pin her flailing arm in, but it was only a moment before she’d shucked it off again.

I glanced at Mom who appeared oblivious to this bizarre thrashing of limbs. She’d been here day and night the past week. Maybe she was used to this. Although I couldn’t imagine how.

“She’s on a lot of pain meds,” Mom explained, not even looking in my direction.

“Good.” I hoped they were strong. I hoped they kept the worst of the torture at bay. I couldn’t bear to think about Jules hurting.

Dr. Singh arrived and stood in awkward silence by the door. The room’s atmosphere was charged and heavy, and I could see it settling on Mom, making her shrink into her skeleton.

“Dr. Singh.” She stood up and walked toward him, a gush of gratitude flooding those two words.

I had to look away. The steel bands around my heart cinched tighter, the ache spreading across my chest and down into my belly.

Dr. Singh cleared his throat. I watched as he jammed his hands into the pockets of his dark gray trousers. “Well, as you probably know, we’ve found a good enough match to provide the marrow for a transplant. But—” He paused here, took a deep breath and stared down at the floor for an endless moment. “But I’m not sure it isn’t too late. Julia’s condition is deteriorating. Her immune system is so compromised, I can’t advise this course of treatment. At the end of the day it is your decision, but at this point, the chances of a positive outcome are slim. It’s a traumatic procedure for the patient, and in my opinion, you’d be better off spending time with her now. We can get her stabilized to a point where you may be able to take her home for a period of time.”

I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. The words flowed by me in a ribbon, twisting and writhing in shades of blue, green and gray. I thought pointlessly of the dresses the girls at school dreamed of, frivolous concoctions in these same colors. They didn’t realize these were the colors of bad news, of tragedy. A rock lay in my chest, sitting on my already constricted heart. Breath caught in my throat. I was staring at the floor and managed now to bring my head up to see how Mom was absorbing this news.

She sat upright in her chair, hands white knuckled on the arms. Her eyes were two pebbles, cold and hard, unseeing as they stared out across the room. Tension radiated from her in waves I could both see and taste, a coppery blood-like substance that oozed over me.

“So, what you’re saying is, she’s gonna die.” My words split the room wide open, creating a gigantic, sucking void into which I had to struggle to keep from falling. Its pull was so great, I had to hang onto the bed to keep from tumbling into its vacuum.