I'll Be Seeing You (6 page)

“Janelle can bring you.”

“Sure—my sister’s going to cut into her social life to usher me to therapy three times a week.” Carley was thinking about Janelle’s red-hot romance with Jon.

“She can just rearrange her priorities,” Carley’s mother said. “Your leg is more important than any of her extracurricular activities.”

“Mom, it’s no big deal,” Carley insisted. “I can drive myself.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” her father said. “No use arguing about it now. Let’s get you out of the hospital and home first.”

Carley shrugged. Her dad was right. Why argue now? There was plenty of time to argue later. “So, how are things at the store?”

“Well, we’re gearing up for Valentine’s Day,” her mother said. “We rearranged our magazine racks to make room for a line of greeting cards. I figure they’ll sell really well. You know how business is: We start on back-to-school the first of August, fall
merchandise in September, Christmas by October—”

“Even earlier these days,” her father interjected.

“Anyway,” her mother continued, “I’m redoing some displays with lots of red and white ribbons and lace and cute little Victorian-style cupids. And some of the romance publishers are putting out special Valentine titles, so we’ve got plenty of new displays with the holiday theme.”

“My favorite holiday,” Carley muttered unkindly under her breath.

“Valentine’s Day is a wonderful holiday,” her mother said, glancing at her husband, who gave her a wink.

Sure, Carley thought.
If you’re normal
. Frankly she’d always thought some sadist invented it. Valentines and syrupy sentiments of love were a cruel joke. She’d learned early on that Valentine cards only went to pretty, popular girls. Janelle practically waded hip deep in them every year. “The best thing about Valentine’s Day is that boxes of chocolate are half price on the day after,” Carley said.

Her father laughed. “I see you haven’t lost your wit.”

“I don’t want to be witless,” she quipped, making him laugh again.

Her parents stayed until late afternoon, then hugged her goodbye and left. Once they were gone, Carley felt blue. She liked her family and she considered herself fortunate to have such supportive parents. All during her ordeal with the cancerous tumor, they had been by her side, and when she’d been permanently disfigured, they’d sent her to counselors and did everything possible to help her adjust to her lifelong disfigurement and build up her self-esteem.

She was deep in thought, when someone rapped on her door.

“It’s open,” she called.

Kyle entered her room, feeling his way cautiously along the wall as he went.

She scrambled toward him, wincing in pain over the sudden movement, but fearful that he might bump into something. “Let me help,” she blurted.

“I can manage,” he said. “Just tell me if anything’s in my path.”

“My room’s exactly like yours,” Carley told him. “Just flip-flopped.” She watched him inch closer. “Does a nurse know you’re trying to navigate on your own?”

“I didn’t think I needed a guide. Or a red-tipped cane just yet.”

Eventually he made it to the small table near her window, where he groped for a chair. She itched to help him, but sat quietly, since she knew he wanted her to. When he was finally seated, she let out a deep breath. “You’re here,” she said.

He grinned, his expression looking pleased. “Maybe I’m not so helpless after all.” He rubbed his shins. “A little black and blue maybe, but not helpless.”

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

“I wanted to apologize for the way I acted yesterday.”

“You were angry. I understood.”

“I didn’t have to take it out on you.”

“I didn’t take it personally … honest.”

He shifted in his chair and leaned forward, holding out his hand in a gesture that
asked her to take hold of it. Heart pounding, she slid her hand into his. “I—I think you’re a really nice person, Carley. I can’t imagine how I would have made it these past days without your help.”

“That’s me. Carley the Helpful One. How do you suppose that translates in Chinese?” She was babbling, but couldn’t stop herself. She felt totally flustered by his sincerity. Absolutely unsettled by his attention.

“Um—I’d really like to ask you something.”

“You can ask.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m weird or anything.”

“This must be serious.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but her palms were sweating. She hoped her hand didn’t slip out of his.

“Not too serious.” He tipped his head and his brown hair spilled over the gauze wrapped around his forehead. “I’ve just been wondering what you look like, that’s all. I mean, you know what I look like and I haven’t a clue as to what you look like.”

Her heart wedged in her throat. How
should she answer him? “I look like a girl,” she finally said. “Hair, arms, legs—the usual stuff.”

He laughed, but she hadn’t meant it to be funny. She didn’t want to be discussing her looks with him. A sudden thought unnerved her. What if one of the nurses had alluded to the fact that she was less than perfect-looking? That something was wrong with her?

“But tell me about yourself. Are you tall, short, athletic? What color’s your hair and your eyes? I’m not trying for your vital statistics, just a mental picture.”

“Well.…” She drew out the word, stalling for time. “What do you think I look like?”

“That’s not fair. No matter how I describe you, you can agree or disagree, whether it’s true or not.”

“I won’t. Tell me, what’s your mental image of me?”

He squirmed, and she knew she’d put him on the spot. But he’d put her on the spot too. “All I have to go on is your voice.”

“How does my voice make me sound?”

“Your voice makes you sound friendly.
And nice.” He appeared more comfortable with this third-person approach—this pretense that her voice was a separate personality.

“And what about the color of my hair? Can my voice give you a clue about that?”

“Blond?”

“Dark brown.”

“Straight?”

“Like a board.”

“Long?”

“Long,” she confirmed. “And what color does my voice say my eyes are?”

“Um—blue.”

“Brown.”

“I like brown eyes. My favorite color.” He grinned gleefully, caught up in the game.

“Oh, puh-lease …” she drawled dramatically.

“You don’t believe me? It’s true. In the first grade I had a crush on a girl named Trianna Lopez. She had the most beautiful brown eyes.”

“Fine. Sit there and talk about another girl in front of me.” Carley pretended to be miffed.

She didn’t fool him. Kyle laughed and said, “She was only six!”

“I forgive you.”

“I’ll bet you’re tall.”

“Only five foot three. I’d never make the basketball team.”

“That’s all right. I’ve never had a thing for jocks.” He toyed with her fingers still nestled in his hand. “I’ll bet you’re thin too.”

“Average.”

“There’s nothing average about you, Carley.”

She felt her face blush crimson. If only he knew how unaverage she really was. “So now are you satisfied? Do you have a picture of me?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, here’s what I’ve learned about
you
, mister,” she said, poking him playfully with her forefinger. “You’re attracted to tall, willowy blondes with blue eyes and straight hair. I, on the other hand, am a not-so-tall brunette with brown eyes and straight hair.”

“One out of four isn’t bad for a guy in my situation,” he insisted.

For a second she thought he might get melancholy remembering that he was blind. Quickly she said, “All right, one out of four is good.”

He sat still, his face turned fully toward her. For an eerie moment she thought he might be able to see through his bandages. “What now?” she asked.

“There’s another way I could satisfy my curiousity a little bit. If you’re willing, that is.”

“How?”

“You could let me touch your face. You know, explore it with my fingers.”

K
yle wanted to touch her face. But if he did, he’d know for certain something was wrong. Carley got an instant picture of his fingers tracing along the caved-in area between her left eye and nose and recoiling in horror. He’d ask,
“What’s wrong with you?”
and she’d have to tell him that she was a freak. That just like Humpty Dumpty, all the plastic surgeons and medical geniuses couldn’t put Carley Mattea back together again.

“I know you’re still here,” Kyle said, “because I’m still holding your hand. What’s wrong? Did I upset you?”

“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “I had
a shooting pain in my leg. I was gritting my teeth until it went away.”

With those words Carley realized that she’d crossed a subtle barrier. Before, she’d simply avoided telling him the truth by not divulging certain details. Now she’d told him two outright lies. Truthfully she
was
upset, and there was no pain in her leg.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought maybe I’d offended you by asking to touch your face. I don’t know why I asked. Maybe because the woman from blind services encouraged me to explore the world with my sense of touch. She said it would help me ‘see’ things. Forget it.”

“It’s all right. I—I really don’t mind.”
Another lie!
“But you know what I think would be better?”

“What?”

“I think it would be better to wait until you can actually see my face for yourself. Yes, that’s what I want. I want to greet you face-to-face once your bandages come off.”

He didn’t say a word right away. He only held her hand and brushed his thumb repeatedly across her knuckles. “Even when
the bandages come off, there’s no guarantee I’ll be able to see again.”

“But I think you will,” she insisted. “And because I think so, I want you to wait until you can see me with your own eyes.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you can touch away.”

He slumped back in the chair.

She disliked bringing Kyle’s mood from happy to glum; it wasn’t a nice way to treat him. But she’d been desperate to take his mind off the idea of exploring her face with his touch. What a disaster it would have been. She didn’t understand why it was so important to her that he maintain his illusions about her looks, but it was.

“Do you know what?” she asked brightly. “The orderly will be here any minute to take me down to PT.” She told him another lie. She wasn’t scheduled for another PT session until Monday morning.

“I’ll go back to my room.” Kyle stood.

“Let me walk with you.”

“How? You’re on crutches, remember?”

“We’ll manage.”

“Then let me take your elbow and follow
about a half step behind. That’s the way I was taught to have someone lead me.”

Carley let him grasp her right elbow and slowly she began to take small steps with her crutches so that he could keep up. Back in his room again, he climbed into the bed. “I think I’ll listen to another one of those books you loaned me. I’m not much good at doing anything
but
listening.”

“I have more,” she said, eager to make up for any distress she might have caused him. “Mom and Dad brought me a bunch of new ones today.”

“Will you come visit me later?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

“My parents are coming this afternoon. I’d like for them to meet you.”

“Um—all right,” she declared, knowing full well that she’d find something to keep her busy and away from her room so that she wouldn’t have to meet them.

Carley returned to her room, grateful to be out of her awkward situation. How had she gotten herself into this mess? Was it wrong of her to want to protect herself from his discovering what she really looked like?
Was it wrong to want him to believe that she was normal, even pretty?

Later, when she figured Kyle’s parents might be on their way up, Carley went to visit Reba. The girl was still recovering from her surgery, but fortunately she was alone in her room. IVs hung by her bed, and tubes leading from her stomach were partially concealed by bedcovers.

“For drainage,” she explained to Carley.

“Are you in pain?” Carley might have felt revulsion if she hadn’t been through so much medical trauma herself.

“Not much,” Reba said. Her voice sounded soft and she spoke slowly, but at least she was lucid. She nodded toward a small machine next to her bed with its IV line threaded into her arm. “Morphine dispenser,” she said. “If I start to hurt too bad, I can make the drip come faster.”

“How long before you’re able to get up?”

“Don’t know.” Reba’s eyes closed, but soon opened again. “Talk to me. Take my mind off this stuff.”

Carley told her about Kyle’s visit and him wanting to touch her face.

“Wow,” Reba mumbled. “Close call.”

“Tell me about it. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my secret.”

“What if he asks one of the nurses about you?”

“Don’t think I’m not worried about it. But they’re professionals. So if one does tell him about me, I hope she’ll be kind and won’t say, ‘Carley? You mean the dog-faced girl?’ ”

Reba grimaced. “No one would ever say that about you.”