We sat Kayley down and I gently explained that it was serious. “You’re going to have to have some treatments,” I told her. “Here in the hospital. And then, in about six months, we’re going to take a trip to Europe for one last batch.”
“Europe?”
“Switzerland.”
I let it sink in. Kayley wasn’t stupid. She could see my eyes were red from crying. “But it’s going to be okay?” she asked in a small voice.
I gathered her into my arms and folded her tight against my chest. “Yes,” I said. “It’s going to be okay.”
And I prayed to whoever was listening that I was telling the truth.
5
LOUISE
Dr. Huxler insistedthat Kayley should start her treatment immediately. I didn’t like it. She was terrified as it was, without sleeping alone in an unfamiliar place. “Tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll bring her back.”
He shook his head. “We need to get her started on the meds as soon as possible.” He lowered his voice. “Look, you want me to give you as much time as I can: this is me doing that. It’s already taken hold. I need to slow it down. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
I knew he didn’t mean it like that, but it still stung. I’d already been berating myself: why hadn’t I brought her in sooner? A month ago, a week ago, before this creeping darkness had claimed so much of her.
I’d thought she was justtired!
I relented and told Kayley she’d have to stay in, then raided the hospital’s store for trashy magazines and candy to cheer her up. When I got to the register, the reality of it hit me for the first time: I was having to search for loose change to pay for ten dollars’ worth of stuff. Kayley’s insurance would cover most of the hospital treatments, but there’d still be some bills, easily enough to eat up what meager savings we had. We were basically broke.
How the hell was I going to findhalf a million dollars? What the hell am I doing?
And then I hardened.What choice do I have?I wasn’t going to give up. If I’d been one of the super-rich, Kayley would already be on her way to Switzerland and would be starting the treatment now. It wasn’t right that her survival hinged on money.
Upstairs, Kayley had settled into her room as best she could. She was eying a nurse suspiciously as the woman prepared her first IV bag.Her first of God knows how many.Dr. Huxler had told me she’d be in hospital for at least the first few months: she’d need almost daily treatments and they’d leave her too weak to come home in between.
I handed over the magazines and candy and then pulled over a chair, taking Kayley’s hand.
“You’re staying?” Kayley asked hopefully.
“Damn right I’m staying. I’ll be here until you go to sleep.”
I held her hand while the needle went in and while the first dose of chemicals trickled into her system. I read to her from the magazines and got her to draw a complicated tree diagram on the back of a napkin showing which members of her favorite bands had dated which actresses. I stayed while she lay down to sleep and waited until she was breathing slow and easy.
If it had been me in the bed, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Kayley could because she still had that child’s unshakeable faith: if your mom or dad tells you it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.
I missed having that like crazy. I needed someone to tellmeit was going to be okay. And I was absolutely terrified that Kayley had put that faith in me. I couldn’t risk her waking up and seeing me crying, so I put everything I had into holding the tears back and quietly slipped out.
At home, everything felt wrong. It was the first time I could remember that I’d been in the apartment alone at night. I couldn’t sleep. Whenever I went towards my bedroom, I’d pass Kayley’s room with the door half open and the silence inside and I’d stumble to a stop.
Eventually, I went up on the roof. It was full-on night, now, but there was enough moonlight to see by. I picked my way carefully over to my plants and sat down amongst them. I put my arms on my knees and my head on my arms and then, only then, did I let it all out. I cried for Kayley and our parents. I cried for the friends she’d never make and the man she’d never meet, for the home they wouldn’t make and the kids they’d never have. Most of all, I cried for being such a fucking bad mother, that I could allow this to happen to her. Why hadn’t I gotten it diagnosed earlier? Why wasn’t I some high-flying CEO with millions in the bank, instead of a college drop-out working at a garden store?Why, why why?And what the hell was I going to do?
And then, just as I was at my lowest low...that’s when I heard the music.
6
SEAN
Some people playand they make beautiful music. I play to let shit out, and you probably wouldn’t even call it playing. I’m sure as hell not very good and I don’t play any songs you’d recognize. I just use the chords that feel right and I thrash the living hell out of them.
The first amplified notes crashed across the rooftop and out across the city. It was probably pretty loud, if you were above the tenth floor. But it wasn’t like anyone would dare knock on my door to complain. Being the scariest fucker on the block has some advantages.
I was up on the raised part of the roof, in among all the air conditioning ducts. Playing, when I do it right, feels almost as good as swinging my hammer. Everything else stops mattering. There’s no now, no future...and especially, no past. I even stop beingmefor a while and that’s the biggest relief of all.
