Emma's Not-So-Sweet Dilemma (10 page)

“How many?” asked Olivia as we turned right into the hallway, following Kathy's directions.

“Twelve,” I said.

“Wow. That's a lot of kids!”

“To be sick. I know,” I agreed. We were silent for a minute, thinking about it, and then I looked at my list and realized we'd reached the first room.

The door was halfway closed, and there was only a dim light coming from inside.

“Knock, knock,” I whispered, tapping on the door. My stomach was in knots. I was so worried about what we'd find behind the door and how we'd react to it.

Quickly, a young man was at the door. He opened it, nodding at us, and gestured for us to enter. We hesitated, since he wasn't speaking, and we pointed at the cupcakes and asked if anyone might want one. Again, he waved us in, so we entered the room.

It was dim, with only one light on in the corner, and cool, and there was a whooshing sound going regularly. As we rounded the corner from the entryway, we spied a tiny girl inside a huge, clear plastic tent.

“Pneumonia,” said the man, thumping his own chest. “Alexandra, sweetheart. You have some visitors.” He reached the bedside and gently unzipped a wall of the tent.

“Go on, you can get in, make yourself at home,” he said, like a totally normal host, as if we weren't being invited into a tent in a hospital with a tiny child.

I hung back and let Olivia go first. “Hi, Alexandra,” she said in a soft but friendly voice.

The tiny girl nodded, a mask over her face. She couldn't have been more than four years old.

“We're sorry you don't feel well,” said Olivia.

I looked at Olivia, then said, “We brought you a holiday treat. We can put it on your table here if you'd like.” She had a wheeled convenience table pulled up alongside her bed. It was covered with color­ing books and crayons that seemed untouched. The child was so thin and pale, she probably didn't have any extra energy for anything. Alexandra nodded slightly at my offer, so I opened the carrier and busied myself with the cupcake transfer.

Meanwhile, Olivia started to chatter in a quiet but upbeat voice, engaging Alexandra with yes or no questions that she was able to answer by nodding or shaking her head. Pretty soon, the questions
were funny, and Alexandra was giggling behind her mask. Olivia showed Alexandra her braids with the bows and offered to braid Alexandra's own, long brown hair, and Alexandra nodded.

I could see that this wouldn't be a superquick visit, so I set down the carrier and waited while Olivia got the okay from Alexandra's dad to go ahead. Pretty soon, Alexandra had two long braids down either side of her head, each with a big red bow at the end. Olivia withdrew a mirror from her bag and let Alexandra look at her reflection. Alexandra giggled again, looking at herself, and lifted her mask to say “I love them,” turning her head this way and that so she could see the braids from all angles. “Thank you.”

“You look beautiful,” I said, noticing that a little pink had come into Alexandra's cheeks.

Olivia said, “Well, we don't want to tire you out, and anyway, I heard a rumor that the big guy in the red suit might be coming to see you soon. . . .”

Alexandra's eyes lit up, and she nodded.

“Okay, then. We'll be on our way. Happy holidays!” Olivia said cheerfully.

“Bye!” I said, smiling a little awkwardly.

I picked up the carrier and we came out of the tent. Alexandra's dad was grinning. “Thank you so
much. She hasn't been that animated since . . . well, since she got sick.” His voice caught in his throat for a minute, and he paused. “Thank you. That was wonderful,” he said. (I was so relieved that he didn't cry!)

“It was fun. She's adorable,” said Olivia, totally relaxed and natural.

“Yes, she is,” said Alexandra's dad, glancing over his shoulder.

“Happy holidays,” I said with a smile.

“And to you too, girls. To you too,” he said as we left.

Outside Alexandra's room, I looked at Olivia, impressed. “You were really good with her!” I said.

Olivia shrugged. “Like I said, I've had lots of bedside practice. Just as long as there's no blood around, I'm fine.”

“I agree,” I said, feeling queasy just thinking about it.

We made our way through three more rooms that were pretty easy (a little boy with asthma in another tent; a field hockey player with a broken leg in traction and who was thrilled to have her hair braided; and a rather spunky three-year-old boy who'd just had an appendectomy). Everyone had cupcakes, including the parents, and I told
Olivia I'd go back to get the other, full carrier and meet her in the next room.

By this point, I'd started to take my cue from Olivia. Light chatting, no pity, don't focus on why the kids are there. Don't use the word “sick,” and some other little details I'd noticed, like not sitting on the bed unless invited, and stuff.

Back at the playroom, I waved at Alexis, Mia, and Katie, who were making Christmas ornaments and dreidels with the kids at the party (hard to tell who was having more fun), and swapped out the carriers. Kathy bustled over to see how it was going, and I told her it was great and that we were about halfway done.

I walked briskly back down the hall to the room where I'd told Olivia I'd meet her, but there was no one in there—the rooms was clean and empty. I looked at the list from Kathy. Maybe she'd meant the next room?

“Olivia?” I called, out in the hall. I ducked my head slightly into the next room, where I could hear a TV playing on low. “Olivia?”

“Emma?” called Olivia. She sounded kind of weird. Like a little . . . panicky. I pushed open the door fully and walked into the room with the cupcakes, and what I saw took my breath away.

It was a girl about our age, lying in the bed asleep, her face a zigzag of stitches, some of it swaddled in bandages. Her entire face was bright red and swollen and it all looked like it had just happened. A huge gash ran across her temple, and there was one down the underside of her jaw. Her right ear was wrapped in gauze that also circled her head.

“Um . . .” I kind of staggered when I saw her.

“Hi, honey,” said a woman I hadn't seen. She was curled in a chair by the window, as if she'd been asleep. “This is Angela. We weren't expecting any visitors today, but we're happy to see you.” She sat up and fussed with her hair, straightening her sweater.

Olivia was standing in mute shock at the foot of the bed, staring at the girl, like she'd been turned to stone by the sight of her.

“Olivia!” I whispered sharply. She looked at me and kind of snapped out of it, but she didn't do or say anything. Now what? She'd been the leader on all of this: calm, cool, and collected, and cheerful, too. I took a deep breath. I had to do or say something. I started rambling.

“We're volunteers from the holiday party down the hall,” I said. “I'm Emma and this is Olivia. We're
delivering cupcakes. Would Angela like one?” I asked. “Or would you?”

The woman stood up, and I could see that she was tall and elegant, with a very beautiful, if exhausted, face.

“That's so sweet. Thank you. Maybe we could take two and save them for a little later, when she wakes up,” said the woman.

“Sure,” I said in a cheery but quiet voice. I couldn't tell if Angela waking up would be a good thing or a bad thing, but I was pretty sure she wouldn't be eating cupcakes anytime in the near future. Still, I was glad for a task, so I busied myself with opening the carrier, and glanced at Olivia. She was still staring at Angela.

“Olivia! Napkins, please!” I said in a kind of bossy voice.

“Oh,” said Olivia, turning away from Angela and looking for a place to lay down two napkins.

“Here is fine, thanks,” said the woman, gesturing to a shelf on the wall.

I set out the cupcakes and then, seeing as how we couldn't really chat with Angela and Olivia certainly couldn't braid her hair, we turned to the woman to say good-bye. But on turning, I could see that she had started to weep quietly.

Olivia and I looked at each other, and Olivia seemed terrified. I took a deep breath and said the first thing that came to my mind. “Would you like a hug? We're handing those out too.”

The woman laughed a little and said, “Sure, I'd love one. I'm so sorry. I keep losing it. It's been such a long twenty-four hours since the accident. And seeing you two . . . about her age . . . It's going to be a long road back.”

She reached out her arms, and I gave her my biggest, best hug for a long time, rubbing her back the way my mom does with me and my brothers when we're sad. Finally, she pulled away and found a tissue and blew her nose. “I'm so sorry! Weeping on a stranger's shoulder, on a little girl! I'm completely losing it!”

“It's totally okay. Listen, we understand. We're sorry for what happened to Angela. . . .”

“She's such a pretty girl, too,” said the woman, fumbling to show us a photo on her phone.

The image came up, and we saw that the girl was truly beautiful.

“Wow,” I said. “Gorgeous.”

“So beautiful,” agreed Olivia.

The woman clicked the phone off and put it away.

We were all quiet for a minute, looking at Angela sleeping soundly in the bed.

Then, impulsively, I pulled out my cell and showed the woman my football nose selfie. “Um, I don't know if this will make you feel better or not but . . . kids heal pretty quick. This was me a week ago.” I held out the phone, and she looked at the photo, her eyes growing large and her jaw dropping.

“Really?” She looked between the photo and me, back and forth, like it didn't add up.

I smiled. “Much better, right?”

“Much.” She smiled.

“Arnica cream, tea bag compresses, and parsley paste,” I said with a grin and shrug. “Worked like charms.”

“I'll do it,” she said. “Besides all the medicine she's getting, that natural stuff could only help. Thank you.”

I shrugged again. “It's amazing what time and Mother Nature can accomplish together,” I said, thinking of Katie's mom.

Angela stirred in her bed, and the woman went to her side. “Honey, there are some nice girls here with cupcakes. I'll save one for when you're ready, okay?”

“Well, we'd better . . . ,” I started to say.

There was a tapping on the door, and a nurse pushed it open, stopping in surprise when she saw us. “No visitors yet for Miss Angela, please!” she said firmly.

“No, it's fine. . . .” interjected Angela's mom.

“We're not visitors. . . .” I said, starting to explain.

“They're angels,” said Angela's mom with a smile.

I smiled back at her.

Then I took Olivia by the arm, my cupcake carrier in my other hand, and we headed out. I called a soft good-bye over my shoulder. I got Olivia down the hall and around the corner and then found her a bench to sit on for a minute. She was clutching the snowman napkins in a death grip. I pried them from her fingers and set them on the bench next to her. Then I opened the carrier and took out a cupcake, peeling off the wrapper.

“Here, Olivia,” I said. “Emergency cupcake medicine.”

She took it, in a daze, and ate it, and she slowly came back to life. “I . . . don't think we were supposed to go in there,” she said.

I looked at my list. “Yeah, Angela was definitely not on my list,” I confirmed. “It obviously
just happened, whatever it was. That poor girl. Her poor mother.”

“I almost fainted,” said Olivia. “The blood . . .”

“I know. Let's not talk about it. Just think happy thoughts and know that she'll be okay. A few scars, maybe, but only along the edge of her face. And at least she's alive, and she seems to have a really good mom.”

Olivia nodded. “I think I want to go home,” she said in a small voice.

“Okay,” I agreed. We headed back to the playroom, walking quietly, lost in our own thoughts.

B
ack at the playroom, the party was wrapping up. Alexis, Mia, and Katie were thrilled by how it had all gone, chattering a mile a minute, but they stopped when they saw us.

“What happened?” asked Mia, her face full of concern.

Quietly, I explained what we had seen, and they all shook their heads sadly.

“That's so sad,” Katie said, her eyes welling up.

“I know,” I said with a sigh.

Kathy came bustling over and said, “Oh, my dears, I just heard from the nursing station that you got off track. Totally my fault. I'm so sorry. I should have sent someone with you. That poor child, Angela.”

“What happened to her, if you don't mind my
asking?” I said. I wasn't really expecting an answer, but Kathy gave me one.

“Car accident. It wasn't her driver's fault, but Angela wasn't wearing a seat belt, so it was way worse that it should have been. She's lucky to be alive.”