Secret for a Song (17 page)

I
woke up eight days later—Thursday—to a deep rumbling. In my sleep-drugged
state, I had a weird waking dream that it was Drew. He was trying to walk up my
driveway, but fell over in a heap and couldn’t stand. So he began to army crawl
up to me, his breath coming out in panting rumbles. Behind me, my mother
laughed.

I
woke up with a start and realized that the sound was coming from outside. I
hurried out into the hallway to look out through the bay window to the
driveway. Mum was getting into a taxi van. Drunk-driving school.

As
my brain caught up with the rest of my body, I realized that today was a big
day. Drew had his physical therapist appointment at nine, and Jack was meeting
with Noah Preston at eleven. I had the whole morning stretched out before me,
with nothing to do. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. I had an appointment
with Dr. Stone that I was blowing off. But I didn’t want to think about that. As
Mum’s van drove off, I noticed an advertisement on the back windshield.

After
a moment’s pause, I texted Zee.

Can
I come over in an hour?

She
answered a few minutes later.

Sure.
Not doing anything but hanging out on the couch.

After
a shower and a peek at the pitted skin on my chest, I grabbed my keys and
headed out the door. The drive to Zee’s was quicker than I would’ve liked, and
as I got closer, I felt my stomach begin to spasm with nerves. What the hell
was I doing? I barely knew this girl. What if she was incredibly offended by
what I was planning? But there was nothing I could do about it now.

I
pulled into the driveway and saw Lenore there, shoveling snow. She waved one
mittened hand.

“Zee’s
waiting for you inside,” Lenore said. “She’ll be glad for the company.”

“Great.”
I stopped and lingered. “Um, do you want some help with that?”

“Oh
no, no. You go on in where it’s warm. Rest.”

Right.
Rest. Because she thought I was sick. I nodded and went inside.

Zee
was on the couch, looking pale as she watched TV. She had on her red pigtails today,
and she looked like a strange, overgrown child. Her eyes looked abnormally
huge, staring out from her gaunt face. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her
eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey.”
I took off my jacket and went to sit beside her. “How are you feeling?”

She
stared at me a long moment before she said, “Wow, I must look like old, moldy
shit. You never ask that.”

Pulling
off my gloves, I said, “What? Sure I do.”

But
she was already shaking her head. “No, you don’t, actually. I’ve always liked
that about you. You don’t come with this ‘Aw, poor cancer patient’ look on your
face. You ask me what I’m doing or whatever, but you never comment on the big
bad cancer wolf.” She paused, chewing on the inside of her lip. “I don’t feel
as sick around you as I do around others—even Drew.”

I
thought about the incredible irony of her statement. Me, someone who strove to
be as sick as I could be without actually crossing the line into death, making
someone who was, in fact, at death’s door, feel
less
sick. If there was
a god I was inclined to think he was one twisted dude.

“Good
to know.” I looked around the living room, only to break eye contact with her.
“So, what’s on the docket for today?”

“You’re
looking at it.” She gestured to her untouched breakfast tray that Lenore had
undoubtedly optimistically set up for her. “But that’s not all. In about an
hour, I get to have an enema! I haven’t pooped in about three weeks. Exciting,
huh?” She waggled her eyebrows at me.

“Um,
yeah. Totally. But if you, you know, want to put that enema on hold, I have
something in mind that we could do today.” My heart began to bound, and I was
amazed at how ridiculously nervous I was again. It wasn’t just that she might
be offended, if I was being honest with myself. It was that I really, genuinely
wanted her to like my idea. And, by extension, I wanted her to like me. To
think of me as a friend. Realizing that just made me feel sicker with anticipation.

Zee
cocked her head at me, one pigtail flopping past her shoulder. “Really? You’ve
piqued my interest, Saylor Grayson. Let me throw on a pair of sweats, and you
can take me on this grand adventure.”

We
pulled up in front of Wigs and Twigs about forty minutes later. The boutique
was tucked away in the northwest corner of Ridgeland, so I’d never been to the
area before. We stood outside the storefront, looking at the window displays.
There were wigs of every color and style and length, displayed on creepy
mannequin heads. The heads were set on faux bird nests made of twigs. Some of
the wigs had a crown of twigs, too.

“This
is...interesting,” Zee said, stepping closer to look at a green mohawk-style
wig.

“It’s
fucking bizarre.” My cheeks blazed. What the fuck kind of wig shop had I
dragged Zee to?

But
she turned to me, a wide grin on her face. “Are you kidding? I think this is
great! Are we gonna go in?”

I
sighed. “Seriously, you don’t have to humor me. We can go someplace else. I
just...I saw the advertisement, and they looked like they were this chic, hip
place. But this...” I gestured at the display and shook my head, at a loss for
words.

“No
way, dude! I’m not kidding. I really want to go in.” When I hesitated, Zee came
over to me, grabbed my hand, and dragged me in.

 There
were more twigs inside. There were bird nests everywhere, too, with what I
hoped were fake robin’s eggs inside them. Racks and racks of mannequin heads
lined the walls of the small store.

“Wow,”
Zee breathed. “This is cool. My mom makes me order my wigs from a discount
store catalog.” She glanced sideways at me. “That’s all we can afford, and it’s
totally fine. But this is pretty wild.”

I
smiled. “It’s on me. Pick out whatever you want.”

“You
don’t have to do that.” The wide-eyed wonder gone, Zee looked uncomfortable.
Her face was vaguely pink. “Really.”

“I
want to. Come on. MS doesn’t come with any excuses for a cool shopping trip
like this.”

After
a pause where I thought I’d really offended her, she laughed. “Okay, fine. Then
I’m only doing this for you.”

“Understood,”
I said solemnly. “And thank you for letting me live vicariously through you.”

A
sales clerk came up to us, her hair—or wig—a giant Marge Simpson-esque beehive.
She wore retro cat’s eye glasses and smiled at us.

“Welcome
to Wigs and Twigs, girls,” she said. “What are we shopping for today?”

Zee
turned in a small circle, ogling all of the wigs. “A bit of everything, I
think,” she replied.

I’d
never been on a shopping trip with a girlfriend. It would be kind of a hard
thing to pull off, when my idea of a fun shopping trip consisted of going to
medical supply stores to check out the latest in tools that could make me
sicker quicker. But now, seeing Zee try on all the different, outrageous wigs,
begging me to take her picture every other second, I could sort of see what I’d
missed out on. I could begin to understand why girls did this as a bonding
activity.

It
wasn’t really about the shopping so much as it was about watching your friend
find something new. It was about watching her turn to you with happiness in her
eyes because she believed she’d finally found the one thing that would make her
beautiful. You wanted that for her because you desperately wanted her to see
what you’d seen all along: that she was already beautiful. But if the right
dress or shoes or wig was what it took for her to see it, then that was totally
okay with you, too.

Zee
ended up picking two wigs, but I threw in another three for her. I paid with
the credit card I’d used to pay for the hotel room with Drew, and we made our
way back outside. It was beginning to snow again. We were climbing into the car
when Zee rushed over to my side.

I
frowned. “Are you o—”

She
cut me off by grabbing and hugging me, squeezing me as tightly as her thin arms
would let her.

“Thank
you,” she whispered in my ear.

I
nodded, my throat tight.

W
hen
I pulled into my driveway, I was checking my cell phone for text messages. It
was noon, and I’d kept my eye on my cell the entire time I was with Zee because
I didn’t know how long Drew’s physical therapist appointment would take. Apart
from one missed phone call and voicemail from Dr. Stone, my phone was silent.

My
hand sweated slightly as I brought the phone up to my ear to listen to what he
had to say. I’d skipped my appointment with him this morning, and he knew what
I’d done—the Tylenol incident. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could evade him
without him taking some drastic measure like calling my parents or the
hospital, but I wanted to stay away as long as possible.

In
spite of my reluctance, I genuinely liked Dr. Stone. He seemed like a
respectable enough guy, not all new-agey and full of bullshit like some of the
others I’d seen. But this new life, this new identity I had when I was with
Drew and the others was too precious for me to ruin it by confessing everything
to Dr. Stone. I knew there would come a time when I’d have to step back and be
honest. No secret could go on indefinitely. But the time didn’t feel right just
yet. Not yet.

“Hello
Saylor, this is Dr. Stone. We had an appointment this morning and it seems
you’ve missed it. I’d very much like to reschedule. Could you please give me a
call back? I look forward to connecting with you soon.”

That
wasn’t so bad. “Connecting with you soon” didn’t sound too ominous. Feeling
infinitely better that Dr. Stone wasn’t about to do anything hasty, I set my
phone down, pushed the button on the garage opener and glanced up in time to
see Drew, sitting on my front porch steps. I stopped the car and got out, my
heart pounding, a mixture of joy and anxiety coating the inside of my throat.

“Hey,”
I said, forcing myself not to ask the question I most wanted to ask. “I didn’t
know you were coming over. Have you been waiting long?”

“Nah,
just a few minutes.” He got up but remained leaning against the pillar, as if
he didn’t trust himself to walk down the icy brick steps to me.

I
stepped up and kissed him on the lips. “Come in.”

When
we walked inside, Drew whistled. “I know I’ve seen it before, but man, your
house is nice. It’s really noticeable after you’ve spent some time in my
apartment.”

I
took off my jacket and boots and shrugged. “I like your apartment.”

Drew
smiled as he hung up his coat. “I like it more when you’re in it.”

We
made our way to the kitchen, Drew stepping slowly and evenly, grasping his cane
tightly with his long fingers curved around its neck. I walked just ahead of
him, my brain filled to bursting with a million questions about his
appointment. But I didn’t want to rush him into it. I wanted him to tell me
what he wanted to tell me in his own time.

“Can
I get you anything to drink?”

“Sure.
Water would be great. Thanks.”

I
handed him a bottle and took a seat next to him on the breakfast nook bench.
“Wonder how Jack’s meeting with Noah Preston’s going,” I said, when the silence
pressed on too long.

“He
said he’d text me when it was done,” Drew replied, unscrewing his bottle cap
and taking a deep drink. Then he set the bottle down and we watched a drop of
condensation slide down its ribbed body. “I had my appointment.”

I
waited for him to continue, my breathing slowing down so the noise wouldn’t
discourage him or scare him away from saying what he really felt. The only
sound was the quiet hum of the ice maker in the freezer. I put my hand on his
when he didn’t say anything else. He looked at me then, his eyes moist and pink
around the corners.

“It
sucked.”

I
nodded, lined my fingers up with his on the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, baby.”

It
was the first time I’d called him that, but it didn’t feel trite or weird in
that moment. “I won’t get it for another three months, but they said I could
start renting a chair from them next week. Since FA advances so quickly. Since
I’ve deteriorated so quickly.” He shook his head, staring at the sweating
bottle of water in front of him. “I failed every single balance test they had
me take. It was fucking humil—I felt like a fucking cripple.”

His
violent distaste for himself felt like a knife straight to the tender spot
under my breastbone. Once, when I was in middle school, I went to a small
convenience store to get a snack. The place didn’t have automated doors, and
there was a man in a wheelchair trying to open the tiny glass door so he could go
in. I rushed ahead, feeling virtuous, and held it open for him. But he glared
at me, his cheeks reddening.

“Did
I ask for your help?” His voice was deep and low, like a dog that growls right
before it goes for your throat.

“N-No.”
I felt my face heat up as people inside the store turned to see what was going
on.

“I’m
not a fucking cripple,” the guy had bit out, turning his chair around. “Fuck
you.”

I
leaned my head against Drew’s arm and wrapped my arms around him. “I love you,”
I whispered. “I love you.” I didn’t know what else to say,
if
there was
anything else to say, in this broken moment.

Drew
kissed the top of my head. I felt his stubble caress the top of my scalp.

“What
makes it a tiny bit better,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “What made
it somewhat bearable was that I knew I had you to come home to. I knew I’d get
to come here and tell you what had happened, and you’d understand right away.
It’s weird how disease does that, huh?”

I
didn’t know how to answer. All I knew was that feeling of self-loathing and
guilt began to churn in my gut again. Before either of us could say anything
else, there was a scrabbling sound and the front door opened. A few moments
later, my mother appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

She
stood in the doorway, staring at me as if she couldn’t quite place who I was.

My
palms began to sweat at the memory of the last excruciating encounter with Drew
and my mother in the same room at the hospital. “Hi, Mum.” I glanced at the
clock—12:30. “You’re home early.”

“Yes.
We only had a half day today.” Having recovered her tongue, she tip-tapped her
way into the kitchen and set the kettle to boil. Then, turning around, she
smiled frostily at Drew. “How do you do?”

“Hello,
Mrs. Grayson,” he said. “I met you briefly at the hospital.”

“Yes,
I remember,” she replied, her eyes moving from me to him, as if she was
expecting something to happen. “Saylor’s boyfriend.” She said the last part slowly,
as if she was turning the words over with her tongue, really tasting them.

My
cheeks were on fire, and I knew the conversation was headed into dangerous
territory, even though my mother hadn’t really said anything at all. She hadn’t
asked where we’d met, forcing me to recount the lie in front of her. But there
was something insidiously sinister about her silence. What was she doing? Was
she just dangling in front of me the fact that she knew the truth when Drew
didn’t, the power that she could end the only thing I cared about with a few
words?

Who
could tell? What I did know was that I needed to get away from this—the meeting
of these two adults who saw me as two completely different people with two very
different truths, and two opposing existences.

I
stood up. “We need to go,” I said. “We have that...thing, Drew.”

He
caught on right away. “Oh, yeah.” He stood, maneuvering carefully around the
table with his cane. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Grayson.”

“You
too, Drew.” Behind my mother, the kettle began to shriek.

As
we passed by her crafting nook, Drew said, “I really like your dollhouse. It’s
perfect.”

We
buttoned up our jackets on the front porch. The icy wind whipped through my
hair, and a tendril of a curl twisted its way around my neck.

“You
were in a hurry to get out of there,” Drew said, untwisting the curl. He smiled
and kissed me. “Embarrassed of your cripple boyfriend?”

I
stared deep into his eyes. It was meant to be a joke, but I could see the fear
there.

“Never,”
I said.

I
wondered how easy it would be, in this moment, to tell him my secret. To tell
him who I really was. To tell him why I’d lied, and why I was with him, to tell
him he was the only person who made me feel alive. But he began to walk down
the stairs and I hurried to keep up with him, holding on to his arm so he
wouldn’t fall. Still, I knew that if he did, there was no way I was strong
enough to hold him up.