One Last Song Part 19

He remained staring straight ahead. "No. I want to go alone."

"But-"

"Please." There was a tiny tremble in his voice that cut at me. "I just can't have you there when I'm going through that. Okay?"

I hated myself so much in that moment. I wanted to flay myself open right then and there so he could see just how putrid I was on the inside, how marred and ugly and infected. I wanted him to know that he had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of, that there were some people in this world riddled with scars of their own choosing.

But instead, I said, "Okay."

And I held him.

Chapter Thirty-Seven.

Eight days later-Thursday-I woke up 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. I'd asked the hospital to move my "volunteer s.h.i.+fts" to the days with the TIDD group. And while they thought I was down there, giving generously of my time, I sat in with Drew and the others and shared what it was like living with "MS." But I didn't want to think about that.

As Mum's van drove off, I noticed an advertis.e.m.e.nt on the back winds.h.i.+eld. After a moment's pause, I texted Zee.

Can I come over in an hour?

She answered a few minutes later.

Sure. Couch-surfing all day.

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 h.e.l.l 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," she 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, guilt settling like drizzle on my skin.

Zee was on the couch, her skin 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 was a token gesture, devoid of real feeling. "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 s.h.i.+t. 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 G.o.d, 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 the 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 p.o.o.ped 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 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 made me feel sicker with antic.i.p.ation.

Zee c.o.c.ked 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's 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.

"We can go someplace else. I just... I saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt, 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! We're totally going 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 Simpsonesque beehive. She wore retro cat's eye gla.s.ses and smiled at us. "Welcome to Wigs and Twigs, girls. What are we shopping for today?"

Zee turned in a small circle, ogling all of the wigs. "A bit of everything, I think."

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.

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 a credit card my parents had given me to use at college and had forgotten to take back, 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.

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

I drove home after I dropped Zee off. In the silence, I reached automatically for the syringe in my hoodie pocket. My skin was healing. It was clean now-too clean. But as my hand closed around the syringe's slim middle, I felt an unsettling twinge, an almost physical discomfort like a twisting muscle cramp.

Strange.

I reached for my cell phone instead and the cramp eased.

When I pulled into my driveway, I began checking my cell phone for text messages. It was noon. 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 voice mail 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, not really willing to delve deeper into my mother's subconscious-or mine, for that matter.

In spite of my reluctance, I genuinely liked Dr. Stone. He seemed like a respectable enough guy, not all new-agey and full of bulls.h.i.+t like some of the others I'd seen. If nothing else, he'd introduced me to something I'd never had before: friends.h.i.+ps I cared about and the opportunity to be a member of the most elite of populations. But this new life, this new ident.i.ty 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.

"h.e.l.lo 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. I set my phone down, pushed the b.u.t.ton 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, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 f.u.c.king humil-I felt like a f.u.c.king 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 gla.s.s 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 f.u.c.king cripple," the guy had bit out, turning his chair around. "f.u.c.k 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-twelve thirty. "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?"

"h.e.l.lo, 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 sinister about her silence. What was she doing? Was she just dangling the fact that she knew the truth when Drew didn't in front of me, 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.