Hope Girl (18 page)

Dad runs to answer it. “Good morning, Jay Whippoorwill speaking.” Silence. “Well, aren't you efficient,” he finally says. “Ten o'clock? We'll be there.”

That definitely wasn't Mom. I roll over to go back to sleep when Dad knocks on my door. “River? May I come in?”

“Sure.” Zoey runs to him.

“That was Ms. Honey Bunn. She wants us to come in at ten this morning. She finished your brace.”

I sit straight up. “What? She said she'd try to have it done in one week, not three days!”

He picks Zoey up. “She said Dr. Crane clarified the time frame. He wanted it done today.”

I throw myself back against my pillow and pull the sheet over my head. “It's too soon! Doesn't Dr. Crane know about adjustment periods?”

Dad clears his throat. “River, I know you've had a lot thrown at you recently, but I'm sure Dr. Crane has his reasons.”

“But I'm not ready. Mom doesn't know I have to wear one. She has to remember me first. Then I'll get it.”

“River, I said not to get your hopes up, but regardless, what difference would it make?”

I close my eyes tight so no tears leak out. “If she sees me with a brace on, she won't want to remember. Who'd want a daughter that looks like a robot? Especially since she has Bennie and Livvy, who are perfect.”

Dad takes a deep breath. “Your mother's not like that. Remember me saying that her heart's big enough to hold every good thing?”

“Yes,” I say from under my sheet.

“Well, if someday she remembers you and you still have your brace, there'll be just as much room in her heart for you as there is for Bennie and Livvy.”

“But they don't have crooked backs.”

“River, things like that don't stop parents from loving their child.” Dad pulls the sheet off my head and sits on the edge of my bed. “Do you think Rosa loves Carlos as much as she did before he was burned?”

I nod.

“Of course she does.” He sits for a minute. “Anyway,” he says, “you haven't spent much time with your grandmother lately. Would you like to stop in to say hello before your appointment?”

“Sure.”

“Also,” he says, “Ms. Honey Bunn said to wear a loose fitting shirt, like a large T-shirt. And for shorts, you'll need a pair with an elastic waist or ones that are a size larger than normal.”

“In other words, I'll look like a dork.”

“You'll look different, River. I won't lie. But you won't look like a dork. I'm not sure what you have for clothing. If you don't have what you need, we'll stop at the store.”

“I'll find something.”

Dad tucks Zoey under his arm. “I'll feed her while you get ready, but try to hurry.” He reaches for the door. “Oh, Ms. Honey Bunn said you'll need an undershirt to wear under your brace—it'll keep
it from rubbing against your skin. I told her you probably have plenty.”

“Dad, don't you think I'm a little old for undershirts?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I've never raised a daughter.”

“See, Dad? This is a perfect example of why I need Mom.”

“We'll stop and buy some.” He steps out and closes the door behind him.

I pull my biggest T-shirt from my dresser—Gramp's old Philadelphia Flyers T-shirt (his favorite team). Wait till Gram sees.

I look through my pile of shorts. Since I've gotten taller and stretched out, most are loose around the waist. Good thing because I'm not wearing anything with an elastic waist. It's embarrassing enough wearing an undershirt.

We get to rehab as Gram's finishing breakfast. When she sees me walk across the dining room, she jumps clear out of her dining room chair and hollers, “Go Philly Flyers!”

I wrap my arms around her. “I've missed you, Gram!”

She points to the chairs at her table. “I've missed you too, Sugar Pie.” She looks at me and shakes her head. “Good golly,” she says, “Gramp would pop out of his grave and do a cartwheel if he saw you wearing that!”

Gram fills me in on how well she's doing. She doesn't need a wheelchair now, and she's walking by herself with only a walker. She tells me about all the fun she's having with Myrtle.

I tell her I met Mom.

“It was bound to happen, Sugar Pie. You've waited long enough… and good things come to those who wait.”

“She doesn't remember me.”

Gram slams her coffee mug down. “What do you mean she
don't remember you? That sounds fishier than five black bass in a mud puddle.”

Dad explains, “She has amnesia caused by the trauma of losing River.”

Gram wipes her eye. “That's the saddest thing I've heard.”

“It's okay, Gram. She'll remember—just you wait.”

She pats my head. “That's my girl. She don't ever give up.”

After we say goodbye to Gram, we stop at the nurses' station to see Rosa.

Dad sneaks up from behind and grabs her shoulders. “Gotcha!”

Rosa jumps and then laughs. “What brings you here so early?”

“We stopped to see Gram,” I say, “and now Ms. Honey Bunn's going to transform me into a robot.”

Rosa seems surprised. “So soon?”

“See, Dad? Dr. Crane didn't give me enough adjustment time.”

He puts his hand on my head. “We'll do the best we can.”

“I'd like to go with you,” says Rosa, “but I have meetings all afternoon.”

“That's okay,” I say. Then I remember how rude I was to her last night and decide to make things right. “Rosa, I'm sorry about the way I acted last night. And I was mean to Carlos too. I need to tell him I'm sorry.”

She gives me a hug. “I understand, but I think Carlos would like to talk. He feels like he offended you.”

I shake my head. “I offended him.”

“Tell you what,” she says, “would it be all right if Carlos and I stop over tonight? We'd like to see how you're doing.”

I smile at her. “I'd like that.”

Ms. Honey Bunn greets us in the waiting room. “Come this way, River,” she says, “and, Mr. Whippoorwill, you'll stay here.”

I follow Ms. Honey Bunn to the brace room, carrying my undershirt in a paper bag to hide it. When we enter the room, I see my brace on the examination table. It's a strange contraption of metal and leather that's supposed to resemble the shape of my body.

But it doesn't.

Ms. Honey Bunn picks it up and explains everything about it. “The leather portion at the bottom fits like a girdle—you'll pull it tight with this strap. You'll slide your right arm through this shoulder ring, which puts downward force on your right shoulder, bringing it level with your left. This plastic section at the top rests just below your chin—you will not be able to look down. And these two flaps,” she says, “are positioned behind your head at the base of your skull.” She turns the brace around. “The front of your brace has one long rod, and the back, two. Overall, it's quite simple.”

Obviously Ms. Honey Bunn doesn't know what simple is.

“All right, River,” she says, “strip down, and I'll teach you how to put your brace on and off. Did you bring an undershirt?”

I glare at her. “Yes. I can't wait to wear it.”

“That's the spirit,” she says. “Now, leave your bra and underwear on. The undershirt goes over the top, which makes no sense whatsoever.”

I watch her unscrew a knob on the back of the brace, then pry it open. “It's tricky squeezing in but possible.” She guides my right arm through the shoulder ring, turns my body at an angle, and helps me squeeze in. Then she pulls the sides of the brace together so tight it envelops me like a boa constrictor. Next she takes my hand and guides it to the back of my head. “Feel this knob,” she says. “You'll screw and unscrew that when you get in and out.” She guides my hand to the back of the brace near the bottom. “And this strap,” she says, “that's what you'll buckle and unbuckle when you get in and
out.” After she pulls it tight, Ms. Honey Bunn spins me around and looks me over. “Fits you like a glove,” she says. “How does it feel?”

I wonder if Ms. Honey Bunn actually thinks there's a chance it might feel good. “If you want the truth, it feels like you've stuffed a twelve-year-old girl into a canary cage. And if you want to know how I feel, I feel stiff, trapped, and ugly. And it's so tight I can hardly breathe!”

“Good for you, River,” she says. “Self-expression is healthy. I suspect you'll handle this transition well.”

“I really don't have a choice.”

Ms. Honey Bunn scratches her head. “Would you like to practice putting your brace on and off by yourself, or would you like your father to come in and learn with you.”

“I'll do this myself.”

“Then take it off. I'm here to help if you need it.”

I reach behind my head, unscrew the knob, then reach farther down to unfasten the buckle. I pry it open, turn myself sideways, and wiggle out.

“Look at that,” she says. “You're a fast learner. Now put it on.”

I reverse the process without a problem (except for the fact I hate it). And since Ms. Honey Bunn is the one who made it, I force myself not to hate her too.

Once it's on, Ms. Honey Bunn looks at me and smiles. “Well done, River. You're a bright girl.”

Maybe she's not so bad after all.

She hands me my shorts and Philadelphia Flyers T-shirt. “Get dressed, and then we'll bring your dad in. I'll wait here in case you need help.”

“I'll be fine. I may wear an undershirt, but I can dress myself.”

Mrs. Honey Bunn chuckles. “I must say, River, you've got spunk.”

I put on my T-shirt, which is easy. But when I try stepping into my shorts, I realize how difficult it is getting dressed when you're as stiff as a two-by-four and can't look down.

Ms. Honey Bunn slides a chair behind me. “If you sit, it's easier to dress your lower half.”

She was right. Although I still can't look down, at least I won't tip over. After I step into my shorts, I stand and pull them up. I sit again to put on my socks and sneakers. It's harder than I thought.